That Christmas Phone Call

 It has been a number of years now but this is one Christmas Eve item that stays with me. It is a memory from a Christmas when I was still full-time active (as opposed to pleasantly retired.) I will not mention the parish or even the year in which this took place (as if I could accurately remember the exact year anyhow!)

This is, however, a true story and an honest memory. 

And it seems this memory has had its impact on me, giving me a lesson or two each year since.

As mentioned above, this took place on a Christmas Eve.

It was at one of those overly crowded, standing room only Christmas Eve (well before Midnight) Masses.

As I recall it, most of that evening and that particular Mass went rather as  expected, rather unremarkable. The traditional readings were proclaimed, the traditional Christmas hymns were sung. The sanctuary was decked properly for the season and the Feast.

Nothing unusual.

Until . . .

The time came for the distribution of Communion.

The faithful came in traditional procession from their places to the front, to the very steps of the sanctuary to bow their heads, hear those words, "The Body of Christ," to speak their "Amen" and welcome Emmanuel anew.

Located in a pew, right there in front, very immediate and proximate to the unfolding procession, was a young lady dressed in her holiday finery. 

And suddenly she became the center of attention.

Her phone began to ring!

Not a soft and gentle sort of ring but a serious, demanding, attention grabbing ring!

That phone rang!

It cried out: Pay attention to me!

You forgot (or maybe failed) to shut me off about an hour ago and now I want you to pay attention to me. I will not be ignored!

That phone rang!

And rang still again.

And then she answered it.

Just as audibly as that phone demanded attention moments before, now this young lady's voice was demanding attention.

She did not just softly whisper into the phone, offering some words of assurance that the call would be returned a bit later.

No!

With a voice that could be heard by all around, obviously including me, she responded to the caller on the other end of that phone connection.

"I'm busy now!" She offered. "I'm still in church. They are almost finished, I think, but it's Christmas and they've been doing some special stuff."

All nearby eyes were now upon her.

All who were about to welcome Emmanuel anew, all who had just made that welcome, the ministers providing that welcome Occasion - all eyes were upon her.

And she simply put the phone away, sat back and waited for us to finish doing our "special stuff because it was Christmas!"

Thought of this episode once again this Christmas Eve.

And smiled!

And hoped and prayed that all of those who may be waiting for us to "Finish doing our Special Stuff" will just be kept waiting.

Because we who know and welcome Emmanuel, who truly know Him, are just not going to quit!

Are we?

Celebrating Christmas?

 And, yes, that is a question.

Are you celebrating Christmas? 

For those who are professing to truly, honestly claim that they are celebrating Christmas, I have an even deeper question.

Christmas, in its fully Christian sense, is about celebrating an event that took place some two thousand years ago. It happened, according to certain traditions, in a Middle Eastern village called Bethlehem. Supposedly, it took place during the courase of a Roman government census, an item that presents some difficulty authenticating.

A birth took place in this village of Bethlehem, a most remarkable birth.

Very traditional Christians call it an Incarnation - in the flesh or, perhaps a bit better, into the flesh. The belief is that God chose to become incarnate, enfleshed. God became one of us, one like us, one with us, enfleshed.

God entered into our history in a most remarkable way.

Christmas calls believers to remember and rejoice in the entry of God into our history in a way we could never really imagine.

And this year we have the shortest possible celebration of Christmas. The actual day falls on a Sunday, which makes New Year's Day a Sunday and that results, at least for American Catholics, in the Feast of the Epiphany also being observed on a Sunday, January 8, 2023. And when that happens, we observe the Baptism of the Lord on the day immediately following Epiphany, January 9, 2023.

And that's it!

Christmas is over.

All grown up! Baptized in the Jordan.

Thing is, do we really want Him to grow up?

Do we want this Child to become adult?

Or putting it another way, do we really, honestly want to welcome Him into our history, our lives, our journeys

Do we really want to celebrate Christmas?

No question that we are ready and eager to celebrate the birth of that remarkable Child.

But what happens to that welcome when He grows up?

And He does grow up, has grown up.

Are we ready to hear Him teaching us that we will be known as His disciples by the love we have for one another? Even when that "other" may be a vagrant, homeless nameless one out there on the street or a shivering migrant, huddled and hoping at our country's border?

Are we ready to take Him dead seriously when He tells us to turn the other cheek or find blessedness in being merciful?

As we look at all the prettily packaged stuff under the Tree, how do we hear His words about our Father knowing what we truly need?

Are we ready to hear the words He just may speak about what we are doing to His creation? The air He give us? or the water? or those wonders that populate land, sea and air, wonders so many of which may face extinction unless we care and act?

And possibly, just possibly He may have something to say about the billions we are willing to spend on weaponry while claiming "In God we trust!" Can we hear that teaching about being peacemakers?

He might peak into our classrooms and notice the lack of prayer, but likely He would not be surprised because He just might be hard pressed to find prayer in our homes and families these days. 

He  might have a comment or two about those empty spaces in our church pews these days.

And that may cause Him to ask a question or two about how welcoming we are and open-minded to those whom we deem "different" - because or color or culture or . . .

Christmas, true Christmas, is about an incredible intrusion into our history of God-Made-Human.

And celebrating Christmas is about declaring our eagerness to welcome the One who was born on that day so long ago.

But a true celebration of Christmas is about a welcome that does not stop. It continues long after January 9. It continues each and every day of our lives Not every day provides a full or fitting welcome. But every day is a sincere effort.

Celebrating Christmas is about welcoming the Child of Bethlehem and welcoming the Lad of Nazareth and welcoming the Teacher of Jerusalem.

And welcoming, every day, the Lord of our Life!

Ready to celebrate Christmas?

Well, then, Merry Christmas!

Facing "That Question"

 As I write this, we are moving into the Third Week of Advent. At least those of us who are not yet ready to toss the Christas Tree and silence the seasonal muzak - we are moving into the Third Week of Advent.

And this year as we do so, the Gospel that is proclaimed will set out a question. (To check out that Gospel, Matthew 11:2 - 11)

The question comes from John the Baptist who is, at the time, sitting in a prison cell due to his words of criticism surrounding the circumstances of King Herod's "marriage."

John has dedicated his life to what he believed was his calling and purpose from God. He proclaimed that the folks of his time needed to get ready. They needed to take seriously, very seriously, the messages of those ancient prophets. Prepare the Way of the Lord.

John stood on the shores of the River Jordan declaring that the time was short for that preparation. The Day of the Messiah was near at hand.

Then he ended up in that prison cell.

And his cousin, Jesus, from Nazareth, was emerging strongly on the scene and word was that in this Jesus could be found the fulfillment of those ancient prophetic words and those more recent declarations of John himself.

Jesus might well be the long awaited One, the Promised One, the Messiah.

But John was sitting there in that prison cell and wondering.

And so he dared to ask his question.

Confined to that cell, he could not ask it personally and so he sent his disciples, messengers. They would, in John's name and in their own, ask the question.

"Are you the one who is to come or shall we wait for another?"

I am thinking about that question in the present, right now, in this twenty-first century.

And I am hearing many, so very, very many asking that question today - of Jesus, as did John, but now also of us, every one of us who would call ourselves disciples, followers of this Jesus of Nazareth.

"Are you the one? Or shall we keep on waiting?"

In that Gospel when the question is set before Him, Jesus answers by pointing to His works, to the things He is doing. He points to the brokenness that He is healing, to the ignorant being enlightened by His teachings and His words, to the unwanted, the marginalized being welcomed and embraced, to those who in various ways seem dead and are, by Him, being overwhelmed by the wonder of life.

He points to His works as testimony to answering that question.

But today, twenty one centuries later we, His disciples, are the ones charged with giving the questioners the answer to that question. Make no mistake about it. They are asking. They are wondering. "Why should we believe in Him? Take Him seriously? Why?"

And the answer is not to be found in the beautiful buildings we have crafted. Not to be found in the majestic music we have composed. Not to be found the the smells and bells of some High Church Worship ritual.

The answer today must be the same and the one He gave so many years ago.

Look at our works.

Look at what we are doing.

Do you see us lifting up the downtrodden? Giving worth to the marginalized? bestowing health - physical, yes, but also mental, psychological, spiritual? Do you see the care we have for children? Their parents? Those at our country's borders? Those kids who have to engage in active shooter drills in their classrooms? The air that we breath? The water that we drink? Do you see how generously we are willing to share the rich resources with which we are blessed?

What do they see when they ask That Question and then look at us?

Can they catch a glimpse of Him?

Can they get a feeling for why they just might consider paying closer attention to Him?

"Are you He who is to come or should we wait for still another?"

Are we, His followers, giving solid reasons to celebrate Christmas? Or just encouraging a Happy Holiday time?

The question set before us this weekend brings to my mind an astute observation made by that great author and thinker, G.K. Chesterton. 

Chesterton observed: "Christianity has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and left untried."

What might happen if, somehow, this Christmas followers of Jesus Christ really committed to show by our actions that He truly is the long awaited One!

Reelect . . .

 I remember Andrew C. Baird.

Make that Sheriff Andrew C. Baird!

Andy Baiard was the Sheriff of Wayne County back in the 1940's and on into the 1950's and he even made it briefly into the 1960's. That was quite an accomplishment back then and it would be an even more remarkable accomplishment in our time.

Back then this executive office was for a two year term.

That meant that every other year was election year and Andy Baird had to run, once again, for office.

And to folks like me and my siblings this was a critical matter, especially in those earliest of years. Our Dad worked for Andy Baird. Dad was, at first, turnkey at the Wayne County Jail and eventually lieutenant. Every day, five days a week for one of the three work shifts, Dad literally ran the county jail.

And in those earliest days, this was a position dependent on the person of the sheriff. If the sheriff got reelected, Dad keep his job. A defeat for the sheriff meant that a whole new staff, (friends and family?) would be brought in by the new officeholder.

For us every other year being election year also meant that we had to get out there and drum up support for Andy. Either he wins and we put food on the table or he looses and we . . . well! Perish the thought.

In these years our campaigns consisted mostly of those red, white and blue tee shirts we wore to all sorts of events, shirts that simply proclaimed "Reelect Andrew C. Baird, Sheriff."

There were signs and posters as well, all with that same message, "Reelect Andrew C. Baird, Sheriff." Those posters also would include a photo of this strong, stately, steely photo of Andrew C.Baird, our virile, vibrant sheriff.

Thing is, in that time I got to know and personally meet on several occasions that sheriff, Andrew C. Baird. 

And we are talking a whole lot of years here, years in office, years when that steely image on the photo never altered.

But the real Andrew C. Baird grow old, and frail and increasingly fragile.

But the campaign images could never show him that way or there might be questions about his ability to truly fulfill the duties of that office. The jobs got done and done quite well because a strong staff stayed on duty and continued through so many years.

And no one seemed inclined to get ugly about a man growing older. There was a job to get done and this man had assembled the right collection of aides to get that job done and done rather well, I might add.

And I am remembering that time in our history as I reflect on today's elective process.

I watch and listen to the ads and all I can see is for the most part ugly, very, very ugly.

And hateful!

And anger inciting!

This candidate is just plain crazy and this one is a drunk and this is only concerned with stuffing her purse or his pocketbook.

And so vote for . . .

Only I am hearing all too very little about the issues that face us and  what sort of possibilities and solutions might be offered to us and how we might grow as a society by choosing this candidate over that.

Instead of campaigns being about what the job entails, what the challenges are and what solutions we might embrace or reject, we are getting a message that seems to say, "Hate my opponent enough to vote for me!"

How does that help us to be a civil society?

Why should we have to think that we have to vote from our points of anger?

Wy can't we vote, instead, for clearly presented possibilities and solutions?

I guess that I am saying that I long for the days when elections consisted of "Vote for . . ." or "Reelect . . " 

And an invitation to look squarely at the jobs needing to be done and the persons best equipped to get them done.

Why can we not have, once again, candidates who talk about how they see the job they seek and what they see as challenges and possibilities and what solutions they can offer to us?

Why can we not once again be given the possibility of voting based on what needs to get done rather than who needs to be hated?

Definitely A Hot Button!

I Know! I know!

It as been a long time . . .  a really long time since my last musing but, truth be told, either the muse has not prompted any worthwhile inspirations or maybe the current climate seems to be making any honest sharing of one's thoughts as dangerous. The air is, truly, toxic!

Anyhow, here I go again, back with another thought to share.

And I will begin with a clear warning.

Not everyone is going to like this. Some may well take offense and that, I would suggest, is your personal choice.

For some time now I have been inclined to set down in writing what has been going on in my mind. I have hesitated and that primarily because I really do not want to contribute to that already toxic climate that seems to be prevailing these days.

But today, well, I really feel the inspiration to set this thought before any readers with the hope that you will step back and reflect seriously (prayerfully?) on what I am trying to say.

And I know it may not be easy.

But here goes.

And with it I enter into one of the biggest storms engulfing our society today.

Oh, and backing up for a moment, I suspect that one strong motivator just may be the fact that very many years ago, my college major was Philosophy. And while we did review a number of prevalent philosophical systems, the emphasis in these studies was Scholastic Philosophy. I do, presently, suspect that the Scholastic Philosophical System these days is not exactly looked upon with great favor.

Too bad.

It is my background and it does impact the way I may view things. And one of its great contributions has been in the areas of logic and reason.

And that is strongly at play in what I have to say on this Hot Button Topic.

I suspect that something similar is occurring presently in many other places around our country, but here In Michigan it seems that we are being inundated with the message especially as Election Day draws nearer. It seems to be a mantra repeated with every other political ad, a mantra that has sickened me and, yes, is angering me.

It is the statement that this candidate or that opposes abortion "Even in cases of rape or incest."

That's the part - "Even in cases of rape or incest."

Horrible, heinous crimes are being dealt with here. 

And with them, in this whole political climate another issue, critically important, is being raised as well. That is the matter of a woman's right to choose and her freedom and her dignity and her well being.

And, putting the ideas together, it sounds as if a woman can only be free and well adjusted if, after either of those horrid crimes, she is free to abort the result.

But my mind raises the question: such crime already scars the individual mentally and psychologically. That scar is not easily erased, if ever truly erased.

To that scar it sounds like we are suggesting a second scarring as some sort of "healing balm!"

Abort and then live with the knowledge that you have destroyed the life potential within you.

To me this sounds like a classic male chauvinistic approach to a woman.

You got scarred by some man and now we give you the freedom to heal that by giving yourself another scar!

And live with that for the rest of your life! Scarred once by a crime committed against you and scarred a second time by the "solution" offered to you,

That, in my mind, is not the kind of respect any person should be offered!

And still worse in this scenario?

The criminal, the perpetrator of this tragedy gets to walk relatively free!

Justice?

How about laws that truly give justice and dignity and freedom?

How about something like laws that allow judges to impose on any convicted of rape or incest that they have their bank accounts and financial holdings transferred to the victim, especially to provide a financial base for raising a child? And add to that garnishing the perpetrator's wages for a lifetime of child support?

Make the criminal pay.

Not the victim through a lifetime of scarring.

And not the potential life.

And having said my piece on this, I invite you to show me how my thinking just may be wrong.

(If, indeed, it is.)

Guns - Another personal (but darker) Story

 Previously, I shared with you the story of a time when, at least for a few hours, I actually possessed a gun.

This is a second story and this time about a gun that "possesses" me.

These days as we recall gun tragedies in schools, our stories go back usually to beginning with Columbine and the student massacre that took place there. And while it is probably true that the horrid tales of modern day school mssacres should be traced to Columbine, the reality is that  there is to be found a long history of gun violence in our schools.

And while this is not a tale of mass shootings or multiple deaths, it is a tale of a gun tragedy in a school and in our time. It is the tale that, for me, personally, marks the saga of modern day school gun violence.

This story unfolds in late April of 1984 on the West Side of Detroit in Precious Blood Grade School.

It was Holy Week and for the students Easter Break was right around the corner. In fact the final half day of classes before the Great Easter Break was coming to its final minutes. No doubt, with Springtime and Easter heavy in the air, the excitement among the students had to be running very high.

Minutes to go!

And in the eighth grade classroom one  young lad at that moment proudly decided to produce a unique token of his excitement.

He had brought a gun to school!

And this, minutes before that final bell, was the perfect time to produce this item and allow his friends to be properly impressed.

And, indeed, they must have been.

All the while, that is, until, somehow that gun went off. That weapon discharged.

A single bullet.

Just enough to tear across the room and lodge in the skull of an unsuspecting eighth grade girl, a young lady named Kelly.

And in an instant Kelly was gone.

Dead!

I was the pastor of Precious Blood Parish at that time and, thus, that school was directly in my care. One of "my kids," Kelly, was dead and still another, perhaps a couple of others, responsible for her death.

In an instant what had promised to be a calm and quiet few hours before entering the Easter Triduum suddenly turned into nothing short of a nightmare not just for me but for so many.

There were grieving, shocked parents and frantic, fearful parents and bewildered, dazed boys and girls and sirens everywhere and police and media and questions - questions mostly  with no answers right then.

Try, just try and sit down on an evening like that with parents who have just lost their daughter and try, just try and find some words to make sense!

And the next day, with media still hounding and legal authorities still searching for answers, that day that in our calendar is called Holy Thursday, I and the faculty and the parish staff spent in sessions with grief counselors, all just trying to put our own spirits and souls somehow back together.

And on that Friday which we call "Good" there was the usual Service that focused on that long-ago cross and death even as we continued to deal with a right-here-right-now senseless death.

In the evening the church building was filled to overflowing, not for prayer and worship, although there likely was plenty of that present in  hearts and minds, but rather for a neighborhood and community meeting to gather and talk about what had happened and how some healing might begin.

And in Easter Week - the Funeral!

And a whole lot of years have passed  since that moment, those days and yet, in all honesty, every time a new story of a school and youngsters and a gun or guns emerges, well, for me it is like tearing a bandage off an old wound and opening it yet again.

I continue to be called to grieve and so I do.

And as I do, I can only imagine what some parents are going through and some kids and some teachers and some First Responders. Sandy Hook! Uvalde! And so many others!

And I can also suspect that, even after all these years, there are those who were part of this story who, likewise, still feel the pain and those wounds. This sort of hurt just does not heal.

A single bullet has taken one life.

It has also wounded countless others.

I know.

I continue to be one of those.

Guns - A Personal Story

 Guns are the topic of many a conversation these days, and, I might add, rightly so. As a society we are being forced to take some hard looks at our present policies, laws and practices. And with guns being such a hot topic at present, I thought I might share a little bit of my own personal history as it involved guns.

You see, there was a tie when I had a gun.

And notice, I did say, "Had."

I do not possess a gun today and I, personally, do not feel any need to own one, desire one, or even handle one. While this is my own personal feeling, I do not understand believing that, somehow, a gun provides me personal protection. I am willing to leave that matter to those legally charged with my personal protection.

And I say that just to get it out of the way.

I do not intend to invite any attempts to persuade my changing my mind.

This is just my present, persistent and personal mode of thinking and I am at peace with it.

Having got that out of the way, let me tell you about a time when I actually did have a gun.

And, please, do not ask me what make or what capacity or what anything else about those devices.

I do not know, never even bothered to find out.

All I know is that it was a handgun.

You know. One of those things you can rather easily hold in your hand.

And I would guess that you had to put bullets ito it somehow but I never actually bothered to find out any of those details.

I hd a gun - briefly.

It was my father's gun.

Dad had a gun. For many years he had a gun. He had to have a gun because of his job. He was a Wayne County Deputy Sheriff. In fact for one shift daily five days a week, he was in charge of the operation of the Wayne County Jail.

His job required that he have a gun.

Occasionally, we saw it. He never really showed it off and I have to say, I am not sure if he even shot it off. I would suspect that, because of his job, he would have had to know how to use it and actually get in some actuations practice.

He had a gun and when he retired, his gun retired with him.

It was his to keep and keep it he did.

Frankly, we never really saw it after his retirement. We just sort of knew that he had it.

And when he died, we knew that sooner or later, we would find it and actually have to deal with it.

It was some days after the funeral and we were going through things when the gun was discovered. As I recall, it was wrapped and tucked away in a box high up on a shelf in one of the closets.

The finder, one of my siblings, let out a shrill sound and that let the rest of us know.

The gun had been found.

And as executor of the estate, it fell to me to take possession and deal with that gun.

Keeping it wrapped and boxed, I laid claim to the gun.

It was now mine to deal with and to this day I could not even tell you if it was or was not loaded. I did not take it out of that box or the wrappings.

I did take it home.

And when I got there, I almost immediately placed a phone call to a local police office whom I knew. I explained what I had and asked for professional guidance in dealing with it.

"Do you want to keep it?"

"Not a chance!"

"Does anyone else in the family want it."

"Not a chance."

The officer offered to come and pick the gun up. It would be officially turned in. We would receive a financial compensation for turning it in. ($50.00 as I recall!)

And soon enough that gun was out of sight, out of my hands and on its way to gun heaven or something.

But the fact is that for a few brief hours I actually did have a gun.

And truth be told, I was glad to get rid of it.

Sorry, Dad, but that's the truth!

Forbidden! Absolutely Forbidden!

 Those are my instructions. And I fully realize that, when the time comes, I will have no control over this decision. However, my hope is that by saying it enough times and even, as for instance now, by setting these words in writing, my wish will be honored.

And that wish is that it will be seen as forbidden. At least by me, forbidden. I do not, most definitely do not want even a slight consideration.

Even if someone tries to see it as a joke, a sort of expression of humor - please, when the time comes, honor the dead and hold fast to my wish. Do not make light of this wish.

And that wish of mine is that that phrase - A Celebration of the Life of . . ." will not in any way be used as a descriptive of any of the services connected with my death and/or my funeral.

My funeral is to be a funeral!

That is that!

It will not be, should not be, cannot be billed as some sort of "Celebration of Life"

I know that that phrase can be found with increasing frequency in obituaries these days. People are being invited to join in these Celebrations of Life.

My  designated funeral directors (and, yes, I have met with, spoken with, provided detailed written instructions to chosen funeral directors. I firmly believe that one of the great acts of love shown to family and friends is to provide clear plans and directions for so sensitive a time. We do our loved ones no favors by leaving them to guess what we might have wanted or had in mind.)

Anyhow, my designated funeral directors have been firmly instructed to avoid at all costs that phrase - Celebration of Life.

And when I issued that directive, the question was immediately asked, "Why?"

My answer is easy, at least it is for me.

I believe.

I believe in the resurrection of the dead.

I believe in life  everlasting.

I believe in Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, who has promised us that He has come that we might have life and have it to its fullest.

And with those beliefs firmly locked my deepest heart, when I hear words like "A Celebration of the Life of .  . .  " it sounds so final. It sounds like, well, that's all there is. Close the book. Story finished. Wasn't it just a great and touching story? And now - The End!

But I do not see the years, many though they may be, as the story.

I see them as a sort of prologue.

The years we are given until That Moment are a "getting ready time."

The Main Event, the whole reason why God chose to call our name and breath that life-giving Breath that got things started, is all about what happens when we close our eyes on this "prologue."

So, with that said, feel free to have a Celebration of Memories, or even a Gratitude for Blessings.

But if anyone feels compelled to drag out that phrase, Celebration of Life, then do it correctly.

When the time does come, have a Celebration of Entry into or Beginning of . . .  Life!

Because Life isn't over.

It is just really getting started!

Days of Sights, Sounds and Senses

The Great Days are upon us.

The Days of Sights, Sounds and Senses.

This year as I anticipate these Days I find myself reflecting on how, through my many years, they have been filled with sights, sounds and appeals to the senses - things that stay with me and continue to shape these Days. 

And just to be clear, the Days to which I am referring are the Days of Triduum, the greatest of our days each and every year. They are the Thursday that we call "Holy," the Friday that we call "Good" and the Saturday, also called "Holy" that ushers us into the Wonder of Easter.

Entering into these Days, I can still hear the echo of times now long gone. I can hear a Gloria (Glory to God in the highest!) 

That is how we entered into these most Sacred of Days.

Vestments of white brightened what had, for so many days before been the somber drapings of purple. And those vestments of white were greeted with that long silenced acclamation - Glory God in the highest! The sound of that singing was accompanied by the majestic, triumphant soundings of the mighty organ. It seemed as if every possible stop that had to be pulled was done so for this grand moment.

And it was also a moment of bells!

From seemingly every corner bells were ringing - at and around the altar, in entryways and doorways and in those churches with steeples hosting bells, clang! Dong! Bells!

Sights and sounds were proclaiming our entry into these uniquely historic of moments!

And this was followed by the silence!

The next time music was called for, only voices, a cappella I believe it is called.

No grand organ playing! No accompaniment of any sort. Majestic sound was suddenly and sharply replaced by a somber silence. 

This was now the time to focus totally on the story, the memory, the present reality - The God who loves us, who so loved the world . . . 

And in place of ringing bells - KaPoomp! (Say it; speak it loudly. Perhaps to some degree this captures the sharp, shrill sound that then replaced that of jubilant bells.) A wooden device with hammer-like attachment sounded this new, jarring signal.

It almost sounded like a hammer driving nails into . . .

And then came that Friday called "Good."

Silence dominated.

In churches and in homes.

No radios played; no televisions were allowed. Words seemed kept at a minimum. A sacred silence prevailed until the moment of that sound again, that hammer-like device that called the faithful to attention once more.

And a silent procession of ministers entered churches, no words, no music, no sound but that of the movement toward the sanctuary , a movement which ended suddenly and stunningly with all ministers involved first getting down on their knees and then laying prostrate on the floor.

In silence.

Before we unfolded the Story once again of the One who seemed so helpless and yet so strong - strong enough to embrace a cross and welcome death itself.

For us.

For you and for me.

And then another sound . . .  Let us pray . . . Let us kneel . . . Let us stand!

Again and again in prayer for all . . . for you . . for me.

And soon we were folding into the silence yet again. Words for the meaning, the power, the message, the reality of these days seemed so inadequate.

We waited in the silence.

Oh, there was another sense being awakened in this otherwise silent time.

Smell!

The aroma of ham baking and fresh kielbasa simmering and other tantalizing sensations being prepared but kept in waiting for a blessing and then a meal to be treasured and enjoyed as the first prepared for that New Creation, that Water-Washed People of God.

And as these incredible Three Days began to move forward there was, in darkness, a blazing fire and a Mighty Candle lighted and proclaiming, "Christ, our Light!"

And the darkness began to disappear as smaller candles gained their flame from that Majestic Light.

Then came the words, that Song!

Rejoice, Oh Heavenly Choir! Let trumpet sound aloud our Mighty King's triumph!

Was there ever a sound, a song as great, as beautiful as that of the Exultet piercing through not just the darkness of the night but the darkness of our fears, our tears, our setbacks and disappointments?

We are disciples of the Mighty King who has conquered!

And in His love for us, He desires to share that Victory with you and me. He lives and wishes to share that life, that true life with you and me!

How the sights and sounds (and even smells!) have led us into the power of these most Sacred of Days!

One more sound, a very unique sound, still rings in my memory in these days.

It is the sound of an elderly priest, Joseph Zalibera, the pastor of my home parish through most of my early years.

In his time the Easter Vigil had not yet found its way back into the hours of that Saturday Night. That did not stop Fr. Zalibera. He drew upon an ancient Slovak tradition that emerged from the hearts of generations of faithful.

As did our ancestors of old, we in our parish under the guidance of Fr. Zalibera had an evening prayer service on that Saturday. As the darkness descended, we gathered. The building was filled to capacity and beyond. Standing room only. It was important that we be there.

We sang and prayed.

And then came the moment.

Joseph Zalibera stood and faced us all.

And in a voice nasal yet strong, he sang out, "Pan Jesus Christus stal smrtfy!"

The Lord Jesus Christ has withstood death!

And everyone stood!

And the organ blared out!

And the bells rang!

And the procession began - a true March of Triumph!

And the Alleluias sounded again and again and again!

And a truly loved People knew still again who they were and how we are loved!

And we didn't need a whole lot of words to tell us.

The sights and sounds and smells of the Sacred Three Days covered the greatest of messages!

Ready for Healthier?

This is that time of year for us, especially us Catholics, to ask ourselves if we are ready to get healthier.

And as I set those words down, I can almost hear her voice.

It was a long time ago, a very long time ago.

She was one of the members of that season's RCIA group.  And for those not familiar with those letters - RCIA -  Try Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults. It is a process whereby adults, perhaps sensing some movement of God in their lives, enter into a discernment process. Is God calling them? Asking something of them? Leading them somewhere they as yet, perhaps, have not fully been. And dare they respond to such a call. What may it cost? What are its risks? What might happen to their lives from that moment on?

RCIA involves some study, more reflection and much, much more prayer. It can be a difficult and challenging life movement.

Anyhow, so many years ago, I was leading one of the study sessions for the RCIA group and Lent was approaching and so I decided to spend some time presenting some background and history behind the development of the season we now call Lent. As I came into more contemporary times, I talked about some of the communal Lenten practices:  fasting (which meant no food, nothing, nada between meals and two small daily meals (sufficient to maintain strength but both, together, not having as much food as the one, allowed main meal.) Food consumption was reduced greatly during those Forty Days. And then there was abstaining from all meats and meat by-products. 

Fridays (Lent and all year long) were days of total abstaining together with a number of additional days throughout the year, which meant on those designated days there would be no meat or those meat by-products. But back in the day, when Monday through Saturday every week in Lent were days of fasting, that also meant at least partial abstaining. Meat only at the main meal and never in between all week  long.

As I described these Lenten dietary regulations, one voice spoke up. The RCIA lady, a professional nurse. And she asked the question. "Why did you quit all of that?" she asked. "It sounds very healthy to me!"

And, of course, she was right.

Too many of us eat too much and we definitely eat too much meat. 

And that got me thinking. 

And more than thinking. It got me acting.

For a good number of years, every Lent, I tried  to get "healthier." Monday through Saturday for me became meatless, totally meatless. I allowed myself some bacon at breakfast on the Sundays and also some of that meat and meat by-product stuff through the day, but those Lenten weekdays became meatless.

It was my Lenten "body cleanse."

In more recent years I will confess to putting that practice aside.

However, as this year's Lent approached, I began to hear that voice again, yes, even after all of these years. "Why did you quit?" Only this year I am hearing it with a new and richer meaning.

If you haven't been paying attention, lately studies have been demonstrating how our prodigal consumption of meats is negatively impacting our environment. What it takes to raise, feed and maintain those animals that are slaughtered tor our dinner tables is harming the health of Mother Earth and Sister Air and Brother Water.

There is much now being said and written about Catholics going back to at very least forgoing meat again on all Fridays throughout the year. Something called meatless Mondays is also beginning to get some attention. And the meatless call is going out even beyond Catholic boundaries.

(If you want a quick glimpse of what studies are showing, check this article out: America Magazine: Catholics and Meat.)

And it is, as that very wise RCIA nurse declared, healthier!

Not just for us but for the world in which we live.

Reducing the amount of meat we consume is proving to be healthier for us and for our environment.

So, for Lent again this year, I will be passing on the meat and meat by-products.

I invite you to consider joining me. Maybe you are not yet ready for the Monday through Saturday regime but how about adding one or two additional days to the already set Fridays together with Ash Wednesday? And going a step further, how about considering a more permanent lifestyle change and reducing your consumption of meat even outside of Lent?

It just may make you healthier.

And it will make our beautiful but suffering world healthier.

Oh! And if this may be your concern - go ahead. Enjoy that corned beef on St Patrick's Day!

February - - - and that reminds us we have WHAT???

It being February, I guess that caused me to actually learn something. Or perhaps it really was not learning anything new so much s it was simply putting two and two together and, somehow, for the first time discovering "four!"

Long before this February arrived, I already knew that back in the late third century the Catholic Church hd a Pope Victor I.

I also knew that, like so much of that part of our ancient history, little is known about this pope or his dealings. Items, however,  known include his attempt to pull varying factions together into agreeing on a common day, specifically a Sunday, for observing Easter. He did not do too well in his time on that particular issue. However, there is another in which he rather overwhelmingly succeeded.

He is the one who quite literally gave the Roman Church Latin.

Prior to him, the common language of the Church was also the common language of the Roman Empire and that was Greek. It was most used although, when it came to the language of liturgy, a number of other languages were also in play. Linguistic uniformity was not the norm, not even in play.

Pope Victor I brought Latin into ecclesiastical use in Rome.

I knew about Victor (sort of) and I knew about the introduction of the use of Latin (sort of.)

But this February I did some exploring and some research with a whole different perspective in mind.

See, February is Black History Month and that extends a call for us all to come to explore a part of human history that has too often been overlooked or even ignored. Maybe some consider that segment of our history too be a bit too painful to face. However, if we are to be truly human, we need to know better all of our history.

And that quest led me to put a two and two together and discover a hidden "four" in our history.

You see - Pope Victor I was from Africa! He is considered the first Black Catholic Pope! And this is the guy who introduced us to using Latin!

Now that is a piece of Black Catholic History that probably opens many an eye!

And that also raises the question: How much Black Catholic History do we really know?

Of course, historians will quickly point out in this matter that our more contemporary concepts of race were not the same as those held in earlier centuries. True. However, Victor 1 is listed as our first Black Pope.

Consider this - in our Religious Education classes, how much awareness is given to our young about that part of our history and culture? 

Do we take time with the story contained in Acts of the Apostles (Acts :26 - 40) about the interaction between the Deacon Phillip and the Ethiopian, a tale reminding us that before the Good News headed north into Europe, it was taking root in the south, in Africa and Ethiopians, even back then were definitely not Western Europeans.

Consider our litany of saints - include those African Greats such as Augustine and his mother, Monica, and Perpetua and Felicity and - well, perhaps it is time for some exploration and a little Googling to break open the richness of our not just Black but universal history.

And in that search and discovery, we dare not ignore our own African/Americans who even now are on the way to sainthood. The Church in the United States has been truly blessed. Do we even know how richly? or by whom? Do we know any of their names? Their stories?

If I mentioned John Augustus Tolton, would that register with you?

How about Mary Elizabeth Lange? or Thea Bowman?

And if you know nothing of Thea Bowman, you are really missing out! She is a true gem in our history - her music! her speeches!

Perhaps it is long overdue to start helping ourselves and our young to become more aware of just how Catholic we truly are and our enriched we can be because of it.

Our religious classes need to be truly "catholic."

Our images in our places of gathering and worship need to far better reflect our catholicity.

Bulletin art and calendar art needs to proclaim - We are truly a Catholic Church!

It is February.

The weather is still not all that great. Winter has still locked her grip.

So, why not use some of this time to do some personal, enriching exploration.

Google things like "Black" and "Catholic" and see if you don't discover an old, reliable two and two that suddenly make four!

And this is in tribute to and memory of a dear friend, Oliver Wilford - RIP -d.2022