If We Could . . .

. . . So can you!
My reflection this time is inspired by the funeral in which I took part just hours ago. It was the funeral of a priest, one whom I have known somewhat in passing over the years and in more recent years have known rather closely.
Rick Bass - excuse me! Msgr. Richardo Bass was laid to rest today.
Over the years our lives paths periodically crossed. I knew who he was, I knew of him, he was a passing acquaintance and I am sure he would have used the same descriptive in speaking of me.
And then, in one brief moment of life's relentless journey, our lives connected.
When I first retired, I had a condo out on the east side of the metropolitan Detroit area in Harrison Township. It was a great place, seconds away from things like the freeways and Krogers, important stuff, you know. I was providing needed assistance in a number of places as needed and requested.
Then in 2011 Msgr. Richardo Bass was named pastor of St. Hubert Parish, Harrison Township, right down the road from where I was living.
I wrote him a letter congratulating him on his appointment and offering whatever assistance he might see need for from me.
Next thing I knew I was at St. Hubert weekends, like every weekend and often enough during the week as well and likewise filling in while the Msgr. went on vacation or a workshop or seminar or whatever.
He declared that I had now become an associate - his associate and the parish associate.
And with all the pastoring experience I had under my belt and with my official status as Senior Clergy, I did not mind one bit that title "Associate."
And as we entered into that working relationship, I can remember asking him a question.
I suppose to the average church-goer it would not sound like much of a question.
But believe me. To those who know, this was THE question.
I asked, "Do you think it is possible for a Canon Lawyer and a Liturgical Theologian to actually coexist? Work together?"
You see, The Msgr. was a Canon Lawyer, and not just a Canon Lawyer, but a well known, well respected Canon Lawyer. Why he even served as President of the National Canon Law Society! And that is nothing to snicker at!
And me? Well, back in 1973 I managed to earn a Masters Degree in Liturgical Theology from the University of Notre Dame and from that point on, liturgy and liturgical theology became my personal unique trademark.
And if you could catch a glimpse into the inner workings of our theological life as Church, Canon Law and Liturgical Theology are often on opposite sides of the universe.
Stereotyping - Canon Lawyers are the Pharisees of today, wrapped around what the law does and does not allow.
Liturgists are the party on down, celebrate, let's throw caution to the wind and have a good time folk.
And remember here - these are only the stereotypes. But they are there and they do try and capture, at least somewhat, a certain dynamic reality.
And so I asked, "Can we coexist? Can we work together?"
And we both laughed at the question!
And so it began.
Back in 2011 a Canon Lawyer and a Liturgical Theologian began working together, ministering together and seeking to serve the faithful people of St. Hubert Parish.
And we respected each other and,  I would hope, always sought to put the people first.
And I do believe that the People of God were served.
In fact, from all of the words and hugs and tears today at the funeral, from all the familiar faces present to me, I truly felt like I was back again, among Family!
We worked together.
And we did it!
And we could do it!
Until he retired in 2017, we truly worked together.
Our differences did not get in the way of our concern for a greater good.
In fact, our differences strengthened our ability to work for that greater good.
We did it!
And if we could do it, I believe that is a lesson, a critical lesson for so many in so many various situations in our very real world today.
If Ricardo and Ronald(o), polar opposites, could work together, so can you!
Believe it!
Don't let differences divide!
Oh, and as an epilogue to this whole thing, as the brilliant homilist at today's Mass mentioned, the funeral for Msgr. Bass was taking place in the very place where he was ordained. From this place he was sent, his journey began. Now in this same place his mission, his journey here is completed.
Cleverly crafted - the choosing of that place!
Rick - that's stuff truly worthy of a Liturgist!

An Inconvenient Truth

I will warn you ahead of time - there are some of you who may really not like what I have to say in this blog. However, I do wish that you will bear with me, keep an open mind and allow yourself to receive a possible message of value and importance.
And the reason that this may be greeted with a degree of dislike (perhaps, to say the least!) is that this is a current very hot button issue. However, much as I would like to avoid it, I do also believe that I have a responsibility to speak.
The issue - and here it comes - is Racism!
We don't like the sound of that.
We don't want to deal with that.
We just want to shove it under some carpet and pretend -and I do mean PRETEND - it just does not exist. At least not for "Me."
And yet, how many times have we heard someone insist, "I am not racist!"
And how many times may we, ourselves, have made that declaration.
But do we even really know what racism is? What it looks like? What it sounds like? How it manifests itself?
We could be so very much better if only we could just dig down deep and discover and admit, it is there. It is real. And it is likely a part of every "me."
If we can face it as a reality, we can better deal with it.
I hear that word and remember the time, so many years ago now, when I actually met and shook hands with what had to be the very first Black person I had ever met. You know what I felt I had to do as quickly as possible after that handshake?
Wash my hands!
It is true and I confess it and I am still ashamed!
Nothing was said negatively. There were no negative signals outwardly exhibited. Nevertheless, there was something deep down inside, something that made me feel unclean. That is a manifestation of racism.
The thought of that experience still reminds me that, in spite of all my fine "liberal" talks and Christian upbringing, I was racist. But facing that gave me the power to deal with it.
Racism is an ugly, subtle and very hidden force that seeks to drive us. It is there and it is real and we can only begin to overcome it by actually admitting its existence.
And admitting its existence and its hold on us, we can move to conquering its force by learning what we can about its power, its history and its effects.
Knowledge is power.
Ignorance is the doorway to defeat.
What I am getting at here is that we need do way better in educating ourselves. We need to know and own our history. We need to know the tensions that may exist and the reasons why they may exist.
We do no favors either to ourselves or to our very diverse neighbors by avoiding the issue and we make no progress at all by denying the issue.
I have shared with you just one small, seemingly innocent, action and reaction I had, one that woke me to something dark within me, something I had to come to grips with and deal with.
What about you?
Can you look back at your days and years and find just one example that you might call out as being an indication that that darkness is present within you?
Do you dare?


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Sing a New Song . . .

Or maybe not!
And as I jump into this writing and reflection and as you read it, you just may find yourself tempted to print a copy, and then, annonymously (of course) leave that copy for your parish music minister to find. If so tempted, go right ahead! I dare you.
Anyhow, getting caught up on some reading, I find myself in the last issue of America Magazine. You know - that's the one with the Jesuit slant on the world. Good stuff nonetheless!
And a couple of items early on in my reading caught my attention, both dealing with our music and singing (or lack thereof) in our churches.
And I suspect these items caught my attention for a couple of reasons - one, because at my stage of life, I have found myself on the road and experiencing worship in various settings. I am getting a picture of what is and is not happening out there.
And secondly, as a liturgist I do have a strong interest in the quality of what is going on out there. I long to see the best for the People of God.
And with all that in mind, needless to say, our music and our singing is something that grabs my attention and stirs my concern.
So, while reading this particular America magazine, the first thing that caught my attention was a brief item about what may be our favorite songs and our least favorite songs.
And I got a surprise or two.
Now before I go on and share with you the article's findings - quick - what is your favorite Sunday morning, go to church hymn? and your least?
Now, how do yours compare with this?
Favorites - old, sung a whole lot.
On Eagle's Wings, You Are Mine, Lord, When You Came to the Seashore.
And a surprise - How Can I Keep from Singing!
And the reason given for that one is that it somehow captures the sentiment that, whatever is going on,  I just don't know why but I do know that You, God, are here!
And least favorites?
Well, Where Charity and Love Prevail, Amazing Grace and America, the Beautiful. Another unfavorite is Battle Hymn of the Republic!
Now, having that information, you can duke it out with what may agree and/or disagree with your choices. That's what survey said!
But then came a second item in the same magazine.
This one was by an 82 year old (my senior!) Jesuit and it has to do with how to get more people to sing at Mass.
And his basic premise is - stop adding new hymns!
Stick with the old tried and true.
Like when was the last time you sang "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name"?
In this article something very significant is stated. Namely, our concern should always be not that we add more hymns to our repertoire but rather that we put more people in our pews!
And he observes wisely, the vigor of our participation in our worship invites and encourages others to take notice. If we look and sound like we mean what we are saying and doing, that catches attention. And weak singing obviously discourages.
And what may cause weak singing?
Too much variety. Too much switching. Too much concern for music relevant to the day but irrelevant and unfamiliar to the Assembly.
My Jesuit friend tells of his days in parish work. He would limit the music selections to a total of 74 for the entire year. The music minister had to select 74 hymns, and that included the great seasons of Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter. 74 and only 74 hymns would be used in the course of the year. And then, of these hymns, the same choices had to be used for at least six week straight!
After six weeks one hymn could be replaced.
The people came to know the hymns and know them well.
They could sing and sing with gusto!
And that is what mattered.
St. Augustine is said to have observed that when we sing, we pray twice.
So, we need to do what it takes to sing and to do so with force and vigor and faith.
What matters should be not that we have learned a new song but rather that we have truly prayed.
So, the old tried and true stuff just may be the better stuff.
We know it! We like it! We sing it!
And with that in mind, try asking your parish music minister, "How come we don't sing 'Holy God, We Praise Thy Name" anymore?
Stir up some trouble!

¡Hola! ¿cómo estás hoy?

Spanish!
Do you realize that this is the native language of the majority of Americans?
True!
Only in Brazil, Canada and the United States is an other language the dominant one.
All the rest of America, North, Central and South all speak Spanish.
I started some reflecting on this as the last evening's First (half) Democratic Debate unfolded. Yes, I did watch - although I only lasted  for the first hour. When you are 80, bedtime can come earlier and so I defer the second hour to the youth of our country. Besides, we have a year and a half to go of this stuff. Can't take too big a dose this early on.
Anyhow, back to the matter at hand - the Spanish language.
Anyone who watched the debate had to note that at times some of the candidates did at least part of their response in Spanish. One of the moderators also at times questioned in Spanish.
Of course a part of that just may have been that this was taking place in Miami where a great majority of citizens are Spanish speaking.
Nevertheless, this also drew the attention to the fact that we have a sizable population who understand Spanish and can be at home with it. They are not to be forgotten or ignored. They are part and parcel of the United States.
Now I know that some folks may take offense when anything other than English is used in situations like these. There seems to be a move afoot that claims we should all speak English all the time. Some, especially these days, tend to forget that we really are a nation of immigrants. Fact is that likely, our ancestors spoke a language other than English when they came to the United States and also likely, they continued to speak that language even as they gradually learned English.
My roots on my mother's side were Slovak and grandma and grandpa spoke it as did at least their older children. Out home parish was Slovak and it was not unusual to sing and pray in Slovak. Maybe we youngsters did not understand it or even try to (shame on us!) but we did it and besides, we also back then prayed in Latin as well!
We were not alone. Italians, Germans, Japanese, Vietnamese, and so many others likewise retained the linguistic ties to their roots.
Even today I often enough encounter folks shopping in the aisles of our grocery stores and speaking to each other in mid-Eastern languages. I hear folks from places like India publicly using their native tongues.
We are a nation of many languages and considering our place in the big picture of Spanish America, it should come as no surprise that we hear that language in our land. A significant portion of the population of the United States as well as a significant number of Catholics among us, while they may speak and understand English, still speak, understand and are at home with Spanish.
I see this as a reflection of the greatness of the United States.
Matter of fact, I believe that I have been inspired and motivated by hearing those speakers last evening move so smoothly between English and Spanish, I have decided to give learning some Spanish a try.
At my age there is little chance of being assigned to a Spanish speaking community. Nevertheless, I just might, somewhere along the line, be able to minister to someone somehow. For whatever reason, I am going to give some Spanish a try.
And, if nothing else, I can always just show off!
So, on to some Spanish sessions and for now
¡Adios!

And just like that . . .

BOOM! And just like that it is summer and BOOM again and just like that the days that have been growing "longer" and now beginning to shrink and BOOM still again and it is the Fourth of July and suddenly Labor Day and then another BOOM! and just like that there is a nip in the air and football is on the scene and those really are pumpkins outside of that Kroger store.
And BOOM! and BOOM! and BOOM! again!
How quickly the days slide right on by.
Just seconds ago, or so it seems, those leaves were beginning to appear on the trees and buds were forming. And just like that, BOOM! fully leafed, buds to blossoms and now all gone. And it is summer. What happened to Springtime? and April? and that whole, seven weeks long Easter Season?
It seems impossible now to even remember those days back so many eons ago when the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed like an eternity, a stretch that would just never end. That's the way it seemed when we were young.
How is it that as we get older, the days seem to move more quickly?
Oh, those who know will tell us that it all has to do with how many days we have ahead in life and how many are now already spent. Somehow that is what creates the illusion, and it is an illusion because every day has the same number of seconds, minutes and hours, that time is moving more quickly.
Back in college at Orchard Lake St. Mary's where, again back then, we studied Polish, we learned a traditional Polish song, Jak szybko mijają chwile. Translation: How Quickly the Time Does Pass.
Traditionally, this is sung at celebrations, especially birthdays and anniversaries.
But back in those college days, who would have truly grasped the full truthfulness of this.
As I feel the days so swiftly whizzing by I wonder: How do we ever convince the young of how precious each moment, each day truly is?
They won't believe it.
They have all the time in the world. Or so they think.
And then BOOM!
All I can do, all you can do, all any of us who now understand can really do is to embrace each moment, welcome every opportunity and treat as precious and sacred the time we now have.
I did a Google to capture the words of that old Polish song so that I could share a translation with you. What I found was not just the words of the song but some comments that followed. A couple that really caught my attention and also told me that I am not alone in feeling that BOOM! I share with you:

One commented on how: "As the years go by the words to this song bear more and more meaning for me. Sadly, also, there are less and less people to sing it with and slowly its message is coming true."

Another said this: "This song is so beautiful but sad. I remember the day that my Aunt Helen could no longer sing it because of all the sad memories. Such is life."

The memories really do not have to be sad. The sadness comes from the richness and beauty of memories passed, times that have passed. We can and should create wondrous memories to someday be cherished before the next BOOM! comes.


Here is the translation of that song:

How swiftly moments are passing, how swiftly time goes by.

A year, a day, a moment from now, we’ll not be here you or I,

A year, a day, a moment from now, we’ll not be here you or I,

So while we still are youthful and spring is drawing near,

At least for this brief moment may our eyes shed no tear,

At least for this brief moment may our eyes shed no tear.

And here is the song:

Jak szybko mijają chwile

Pentecost People

That's my dad on the afternoon of Pentecost Sunday at St. Margaret of Scotland Church. I cannot give the exact year other than to suggest 1993 as most likely. I was still rather fresh, brand new at the parish in 1992, so I am going to rule those years out. As to 1995, well, that was the year Dad passed away and that journey of his began right around Pentecost Sunday that year. Actually, the year doesn't matter.
What matters is that it is clearly Pentecost Sunday. I can tell by the array of red geraniums around the baptismal font.
From my recollection  it was back then that we introduced this idea. Bring a red geranium plant on Pentecost Sunday and after Mass they will be planted around the grounds of the parish. Nowadays many churches have adopted this idea and on Pentecost Sunday you can see numerous folk headed to church bearing their geranium plants. Then as summer progresses, drive around your neighborhood and check out the local church grounds and you may see red geraniums flowering in abundance.
Red geraniums, wearing red on Pentecost Sunday are sorts of little things to remind us of a big thing!
Those with all that red are by that very color proclaiming that, "We are a Pentecost People!"
Those red geraniums flowering on the grounds of so many churches are likewise proclaiming, "Here is the gathering place of a Pentecost People."
"You can find Pentecost People here!"
Or you should!
I am afraid that many, far too many who should see themselves as Pentecost People really do not.
Pentecost People are those who are filled by the Holy Spirit, moved by the Holy Spirit, and led into action by the Holy Spirit.
And wearing red while sitting back is awfully easy and very comfortable.
But look at the story of that first Pentecost.
The Spirit came and those filled with the Spirit went out into the streets, no, make that rushed out into the streets making something happen, beginning to transform the world in which they lived.
The Spirit will cause us to disturb the status quo.
And therefore that's a Pentecost People - those who do not just sit around waiting for something but those who actually make something happen!
My dad was a Pentecost Person.
Deeply involved in his parish even before Vatican II. I can remember many an early Saturday morning when he would get me into the car and we would drive down to Eastern Market to beg fresh produce for the Sisters who staffed our school. Just one little thing to make something better.
He was also an usher. He was involved in number of church organizations. He was definitely not one to sit back, waiting for something to happen.
In his later years, and I am talking here about his 70's and 80's, he was lector, Eucharistic Minister, regularly spending time visiting the homebound on his way home from church. He became a Stephen Minister, a trained bereavement minister, a Third Order Franciscan. A take your breath away kind of person.
That's a Pentecost Person!
Mom was right there along with Dad.
Matter of fact, I was surrounded by family who knew the importance of being Pentecost People. In one way or other, not always dramatically, they were involved and doing.
In a previous blog I mentioned my Uncle Bill and Aunt Agnes, both active in promoting the message of Divine Mercy. That was just one way in which they let the Spirit move them.
I think of two other of my aunts - Pauline and Catherine.
Some might consider what they did not very "churchy." But living under the guidance and power of the Spirit empowered then to do what they did.
Both were widowed early in life. Both were left with young children. In those days there simply were no mega-life insurance policies. So, while working to raise their children properly, they went back to jobs and work, putting in full days on the job and coming home to clean house, fix dinner and do laundry. And add to that helping with homework, taking time to pray with their children and providing dedicated "Mom" time. Unrelentingly they devoted themselves to doing the best job possible in caring for those children whom God had gifted to them.
As I think back on the parishes in which I have served over some 55 years, I can recall many, so very many Pentecost People. They were the ones who brought life not just to their parishes but to their families, to their jobs, to their neighborhoods.
They made a difference.
Being Church was not just saying some prayers, fitting in time for Mass on Sunday and adhering to some certain code of conduct. Not for those truly Spirit filled people.
It was about being Pentecost People.
That is who God wants us to be.
And just try and imagine what this world would be like if those who should be Pentecost People really tried to be.
So go ahead and wear red on Pentecost, carry a red geranium to church as well.
But more critical is how you answer the question, "Am I truly a Pentecost Person?"

May the Spirit shake your world!

Treats!

Take a good look at that package!

Dog Treats - those words stand out loudly and clearly.

But look again, above and below and you will see that these treats are produced by Omaha Steaks. I suspect most of you are at least somewhat familiar with Omaha Steaks. They are the ones who deal in seriously premium cuts of meat and related edibles.

These treats are all natural and contain premium contents.

Shall we say that these treats are the Cadillac of dog treats? Or BMW? or Mercedes? 

Something like that, right?

Anyhow, some months ago I place an order for some items for my freezer from Omaha Steaks. When the items were totaled up, I still needed some small purchase to qualify for free shipping. Paying for shipping was more expensive. Solution? Buy something else and rather than spend on the shipping, get something more for yourself.

The only problem with that was that I did not need more. What I had already ordered would qualify for filling my freezer. However, that is when I noticed the premium dog treats. Having a dog, I decided this was the answer. 

Dog gets treats and I get free shipping.

When the shipment arrived, I tucked those treats away for "A Special Occasion." Dog had plenty of other treats to work on.

And then came the last few weeks.

I began to realize that these just may be the last days for Dusty.

And he had all those premium treats.

Waiting for "A Special Occasion."

If he doesn't get them now, he may never get them!

Well, in the time he had left, he got a few but plenty got left behind.

"A Special Occasion."

How many of us do that?

I know that I do.

I can look on that shelf and see those special and expensive bottles of scotch that have been given me over the years.

There they are, waiting for "A Special Occasion."

When Dad passed away, he left behind some boxes of shirts, still unused, still waiting for "A Special Occasion."

Some years back I was laid up after surgery and a priest was assigned to temporarily serve the parish. One evening he asked if I would enjoy a glass of wine. I accepted. He poured a fine wine. In fact I thought I recognized it. So I asked and he gave me the name of the wine. He had opened the bottle of wine I had bought some time back and was saving for Easter Dinner! 

With an assortment to choose from, he had chosen the one premium bottle!

So much for that "Special Occasion."

Those left behind premium dog treats are now serving as a challenge to me.

Can I start to see every day as "A Special Occasion?"

I have waited through retirement, turning 70, reaching my 50th Anniversary and turning 80. Somehow, up until now that "Special Occasion" has not arrived.

Those unenjoyed premium dog treats now remind me to realize that, if I wait long enough, that "Special Occasion" will be my funeral!

And that will be someone else' s "Special Occasion."

It's time to believe that, because my heart is beating, I am breathing, the sun is shining, there are so many good people in my life today, this is "A Special Occasion."

Now is the time to recognize the blessings of the Present Moment and celebrate.