Rush Lake!

I wonder!
If I were to journey out to Rush Lake this weekend, would I hear? Could I hear the echoes of long-ago voices?
Would I hear them?
Might I catch the echo of Lou calling for Marge to bring him a beer?
Could I catch the faint sound of Pauline giving some sage words of wisdom?
Or Joe and Joe's Mary?
Or Agnes calling for Bill to bring the camera over here?
Or the laughter of Betty and Catherine?
Could I possibly catch even dimly the sounds of Ziggy and Helen?
They should all be there.
They would all be there - they and so many more, their children.
This is Labor Day Weekend.
And in years long gone now that would mean Rush Lake.
Back in the 1950's mom and dad bought a cottage way out in what was really the country back then. It was a simple place at the time, on a double lot, right on the lake - Rush Lake. The property faced west which meant sunsets over the lake.
We journeyed out there many a weekend in season to enjoy the time away, on the water, on the boat (with oars no less!) Rush Lake was our get-away place.
And every year on Labor Day weekend it became the gathering place for pretty much the whole family. And what a family we had!
Mom and Dad were married on Labor Day weekend. Mom also claimed her birthday to be "Labor Day," which, of course made it a moveable feast from year to year. No matter. Labor Day Weekend became a family time of celebration.
And everybody descended on Rush Lake!
True to form there would be plenty of food, a drink or two (or three or more), card playing, games, songs, swimming and fishing. There were not enough beds or bedrooms but that did not matter. Chairs, couches, sleeping bags, the lawn, all worked just fine even if, as they aged, their mornings brought some stiffness.
What memories were crafted in those days long gone!
I treasure them still and come Labor Day, they all come rushing back.
Can you hear their sounds?
"Get your own beer!"
"Bill, get over here with that camera!"
"Afte Nashe Studye Nechke"
Time has passed.
Labor Days have become memories now.
Rush Lake has gentrified and is "fashionable."
And the old gang is - well, I do suspect they are all together once again, still celebrating but now with a celebration that has no end.
And we are left with our memories.
And we listen for the sounds, the echoes of days gone by.

(Enjoy one of their old songs. Click here!)



Click "Follow" to receive notice of new postings or check the Email box and provide your email for notifications of new postings.
And your comments are always welcome!

The Assumption Day Parade

I grew up on the East Side of Detroit, in the Harper/Van Dyke neighborhood. In our area we had St. Thomas the Apostle (Polish) Church and SS. Cyril and Methodius (Slovak) Church. Both also had schools.
My family roots being dominantly Slovak, we belonged to St. Cyril and that is where we went to school as well. Obviously, the entire neighborhood was mostly Polish or Slovak.
When August 15th arrived, those of us who belonged to St. Cyril, especially those of us still in school there had no trouble getting going and getting to Mass on that day. It may have been summer vacation and the days were getting us closer to back to school and we might have wanted to treasure and enjoy every possible moment remaining of summertime, still come August 15 we just knew we had to be at Mass.
Specifically we had to be at the 9:00 Mass that morning.
And this wasn't because of some great devotion we all felt toward the Blessed Mother. Maybe there was devotion but the motivating factor for Mass on August 15th was really The Parade!
Or, since it took place in the church building, maybe it should more appropriately be called The Procession.
Parade - Procession -- whatever.
We wanted to be there for it.
Backing up a bit, our school was staffed by Dominicans, mostly Slovak Dominicans, a community brought here to work with Slovak migrants, helping to acclimate Slovak immigrants to this new and strange country while holding to their ancient customs and traditions.
At the end of the school year, the sisters who staffed our school stayed around for a few days, wrapping things up, putting things away, mothballing school and convent for the summer.
Then the lights went out.
The convent was empty as the sisters returned to their motherhouse. The summer days saw parish convent and school dark and empty.
And then came August 14!
And the convent lights went on again!
The sisters were back.
The next day, August 15, before the 9:00 Mass, they made their grand entrance.
Before the priest went to the altar to begin the Mass, the sisters came marching (Parade? Procession?) in.
From the back of the building to the very front pews, they grandly entered.
And their entry order was important. And this is what drew so many of us to that Mass on that day.
We watched  carefully!
Single file they entered.
First in line would be the house superior for the year, who would also serve as school principal.
Behind her would be the assistant principal
Next would come the eighth grade home room teacher, and then the seventh grade and then the sixth and so on right down to last in line - the kindergarten teacher.
We watched carefully to see who would be our home room teacher. Many who had been there in previous years came with reputations. Sprinkled among the old-timers would always be a couple of new faces - unknowns.
Did the year ahead promise to be easy, enjoyable, challenging, difficult? Or unknown?
We watched.
Our fate for the coming year was marching down that aisle.
We were there to discover what may be ahead for us in the coming year.
We were catching a glimpse of what lay ahead.
Well, that was a long time ago. The school is long gone now. The parish itself received permission some years ago to relocate closer to where Slovaks were now residing. The Dominicans have become part of a larger community, the Dominican Sisters of Peace.
But at this time of the year, I remember.
And that remembering provides a helpful focus for me, and possibly for you as well.
You see, August 15 is really still about what our future holds for us. No, not what the coming school year may hold. Something bigger - more important.
On this day we remember and celebrate what God has done for Mary.
And we remember that what God has done for her, God also has in mind for you and me.
Mary is home now, in her true home.
And we are on the way there.
That's God's plan for you and me.
On August 15 we take the time to focus again on what is in store for us, what that loving, merciful God has in mind for us.
It's all about our destiny, about God's plan for us.

So Very Worth It!

Another funeral today.
Seems like there has been a lot of that going around recently.
This time I was taking part in the funeral of a gentleman whom I have had the honor of knowing for a great many years. I got to know him, his wife and his family in my first pastorate, which goes back to the 1970's, so that is a long time ago.
We got to know one another, stayed in touch over the years, phone calls, letters, notes, visits, and dinners! Good old fashioned Polish dinners!
I will publicly state that I respected that man and, indeed, his entire family.
But this funeral only serves as a backdrop for something that happened today, so powerful, so moving, so rewarding, so very much, I will dare to say, that suggests even a slight touch of heaven!
I mentioned the 1970's.
First pastorate.
Rookie.
But with a parish blessed with many far reaching, far thinking folk who took their Baptism seriously.
He was one of them.
And tapping into a bit of history, the 1970's saw the end of the Vietnam War and countless people fleeing what might be coming and what was already present then. They were fearing and fleeing coming oppression.
Refugees!
So many risking so much for a better, more hopeful life.
Back then even our government was asking various groups, agencies, institutions to find a place for these refugees. Churches were among those being asked to sponsor them.
We heard that call. We sought to respond. We held town hall meetings. We were chosen as a potential host community. We were given a choice - a family of three adult professionals or a mom with six very young children.
The easy choice was there for us. Adults! Professionals! Piece of cake!
Among those speaking for the more difficult, more challenging choice was the man we bid farewell to today. He challenged us to take the more noble, more Christian path.
Our parish sponsored the mom and her six children.
I can still remember the day, standing at the airport debarkation gate, waiting, watching.
And then she emerged, those six little ones huddled about as close as could be next to their mom.
So frightened! So insecure! Yet so trusting.
We welcomed them.
A lot of years have passed since that memorable day.
These "kids" are all grown up now, married, kids of their own, business owners, professionals, even a restaurant owner.
And they were there at the funeral today.
And when the Mass was finished, there they were, all waiting for me. It had been a long time.
They surrounded me. They filled the place with their smiles. They hugged me and embraced me with gestures and greetings and faces of deepest gratitude.
I was merely the pastor of a community that gave them this opportunity and yet, in those moments, I was feeling the power of those who knew the gift they had been given.
The beauty and the power of those moments surrounded by those grateful, joyful one time refugees is something I will not let go of.
In those moments I was called to remember what richness, what blessings we have.
And I experienced the wonder that emerges when we can share what we have with those who do not have.
A slight touch of heaven?
For sure!
For in those moments with which I was blessed today I experienced the truth that true joy comes not from what one has but from what one shares!
And it was a joy rich and full!