Solution

(If you are just getting aboard this blog, you are coming in "In the Middle of the Movie." What you will read below is a continuation of a series of writings that began with my post on December 27. So your best bet would be to back up a couple of entries to get the big picture!)


St. John Lateran, the great Mother Church of the Catholic World, the Cathedral of Rome.
It was there that I was scheduled to preside at Mass on the second "official" day of our Jubilee Pilgrimage.
Morning arrived, December 30, the second last day of 1999. This is now the third day of the Luggage in Amsterdam Saga. Would the luggage finally arrive in time for dressing properly for our excursion to the Lateran?
Of course not!
And so for still another day we were off to visit the Holy Places and soon I would be presiding at the Eucharist in the Mother of All Churches.
Wearing my jeans, sweatshirt and hiking boots!
It was at this stage of the journey, while on the bus headed to the Lateran that one of the members of the group extended his offer. I could borrow one of his freshly laundered, neatly pressed dress shirts.
But we were already well on our way and that possibility would not be available, therefore, until later that afternoon.
The Great Lateran Basilica would just have to deal with this very informal? casual? seasoned? dose of clearly non-clerical attire.
And we once again survived.
More looks - certainly.
More stares - of course?
And one more occasion to produce the official documents declaring that I was whom I was claiming to be.
But we had bread and wine and that was all we really needed together with a healthy dose of faith.
And we gave thanks at the Great Mother Church of Rome.
The afternoon gave us some free time and so, when we got back to the hotel and once again discovered that the errant baggage was still nowhere to be found, I finally decided to use some of that free time to produce a solution to this ongoing dilemma.
"Who would like to go souvenir shopping?"
That's a tempting offer.
Mention shopping and pilgrims transform into tourists!
And because I knew where a goodly number of souvenir shops and religious supplies shops are located, I quickly acquired a following and off we headed on a little hike to the shops.
Of course in the back of my head I had something else in mind.
A solution!
In these shops clerical shirts could be purchased.
In these shops black (clerical, of course) shoes could be found.
At least come New Year's Eve, I would look something like clerical and official.
The hiking boots would be replaced by dress shoes, black.
The sweatshirt would be replaced by a clerical shirt with a back up at the hotel just in case this situation endured.
Not wanting to go the route of purchasing a new suit, I decided that the jeans would continue to make the pilgrimage.
But I would be at least somewhat respectable as we ended the year, the decade, the century and the millennium.
So shopping we did go.
And I came back to the hotel with something of a solution.
Back at the hotel at the end of the day another delivery arrived for us. Cardinal Szoka had come through once again.
We would be spending the evening of New Year's Eve in St. Peter's Basilica joining pilgrims from across the globe, being led by Pope John Paul II in Solemn Evening Prayer, concluding with the Great Te Deum.
And as we prepared to head out for dinner that evening another delivery arrived.
The Missing Luggage!
And a significant cheer arose from the gathered group  of hungry pilgrims.


(More is coming . . . )

Getting Some Looks!

Of course when we got to our hotel there was no missing luggage waiting for me.
My stuff was off having a good time somewhere in Amsterdam.
But, I was again assured, it would probably be joining me when we got back from dinner.
Which it did not!
"But don't worry," more words of assurance poured forth, first thing tomorrow morning.
Again it did not!
And so on the 29th of December, 1999, the formal pilgrimage began with me far less than formal in my jeans, sweatshirt and hiking boots.
First stop - Papal Audience.
Long before leaving on this trip, I had made a request of Edmund Cardinal Szoka. At that time the former Archbishop of Detroit was now head of the Vatican City State. With his connections in Rome I asked that he provide our group with some really good admissions - to the Audience, to New Year's Eve Evening Prayer in St. Peter's Basilica and to the Papal New Years Day Mass. His response was that I could have two but not three, so I opted for the later two.
Then I proceeded to contact Detroit's then current Archbishop, Adam Cardinal Maida. (Pays to have "friends" in high places.) Could he provide Audience tickets?
He did.
And they were hand delivered to me at our hotel the evening that we arrived in Rome.
And shortly after that came a surprise hand delivery of another set of Audience tickets, compliments of Cardinal Szoka. He relented after all.
And these two sets of tickets came as a surprise to our tour guide who had worked to procure for us tickets to the Audience!
We were definitely going to the Audience! And we would have our choice of seats!
I wasn't too concerned about my all too casual attire for this event because I knew that, even with all of our tickets, we would still be among another ten thousand or so, lost in the crowd. That's standard for an Audience.
Audience time came and we took our seats, just far enough away so as not to be too noticeable.
Next to me sat a young Italian man. He was part of a special project that had been undertaken especially for the Jubilee Year under the inspiration of Pope John Paul II. Volunteers were recruited throughout all of Italy to serve some time in Rome as hospitality ministers, guiding, aiding in whatever way they could, answering questions and the like.
This gentleman sitting next to me was one of these volunteers.
So he welcomed us.
And looked at me.
And looked again.
I know - not exactly dressed for the occasion.
We got talking before the Holy Father arrived.
Eventually, he asked what I did for a living.
And I told him.
And he looked again.
He really looked!
"Priest!" He exclaimed.
"You are a priest?"
I explained the missing luggage.
He smiled, and nodded and looked still again. Several more times.
Guess priests in Italy don't wear jeans, or maybe sweatshirts, or likely hiking boots.
Oh well!
When the Audience ended, we had time for some lunch and then it was back to the bus for a drive out into the Roman countryside for a visit to a catacomb. It would be there that we would gather for our daily Mass, there among the memories of martyrs who had witnessed their faith through the sacrifice of their lives.
I would, of course, preside.
And I would still be clad in those . . . well, I suspect you are getting the routine by now.
There was still no other choice.
And the very helpful sacristan who set everything up for us?
Well, he did a look and then still another.
"Priest?"
I had my papers testifying to such but I certainly did not look dressed for the part.
The tour guide backed my story up, verifying that I could put those vestments on, even with those hiking boots evidently visible below that alb.
Catacomb tour over, we headed back to our hotel. Again I was given that increasingly familiar assurance.
My luggage would probably be waiting back there at the hotel.
It wasn't!


(More will be coming!)

Welcome to Rome!

On December 27, 1999, we left Detroit Metropolitan Airport headed for Rome. On board I was decked out in some comfortable travel duds.
I was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans and hiking boots. On board my carry on had the usual assortment of necessities - basic toiletries and one basic change.
Travel comfortably and basically. That's the way to go.
We settled in for the overnight flight - dinner (and drinks, of course!) and then snooze or watch some sort of movie if you must. And then breakfast and the usual formalities for entering a foreign land - filling out the customs forms.
Smooth landing - Da Vinci Airport, Rome!
Morning, December 28, 1999.
The schedule for the day was easy enough.
Our guide would soon meet us, help us with baggage claim and then through customs. Board the bus and take a little drive around town. I have come to suspect that this little drive around - aka "City Tour" - is actually a time killer to allow the hotel staff to get the necessary rooms ready for the incoming occupants.
Anyhow, there we were at the baggage claim.
And the tour guide was there and ready to assist with claiming our bags.
Of course we did have to go through customs with our own luggage but once through a porter would be on the ready to set our bags on a cart and wheel them to our bus.
And so it began.
One by one voices could be heard, "That's my bag!" "That one is mine!"
And little by little the luggage selection dwindled.
And as for me, well, instead of proclaiming, "That one is mine," I could be heard increasingly declaring, "Where is mine?"
End of the line.
And mine is nowhere to be found.
Fortunately our guide was there to assist. He escorted me to a special desk where he was able to explain to the attendant that my luggage seems to have gone missing.
She asked for a description of the bag and I did thew best I could. Then she pulled out some pages of luggage illustrations asking me to identify the one that looked closest to my missing piece. It was almost like reviewing a police lineup, but there it was.
An almost exact spitting image.
Luggage looks declared, the attendant turned to her computer and began some clicking and typing.
It was amazingly only moments before shed declared, "It has gone to Amsterdam!"
So here I was in Rome and there my luggage was en route to Amsterdam.
But do not worry, I was assured. It will soon be on its way back to you and you will have it, perhaps even by the end of the day today.
So off we went to enjoy the rest of the day and begin our pilgrimage.
And off went my luggage with my formal clerical blacks, black dress shoes and all, everything prim and proper for a pilgrimage in Rome.
Only it was headed to Amsterdam.
And I was in The Eternal City with my jeans and sweatshirt and hiking boots!
My dream trip of the Millennium had begun!


(And, yes, there will be more!)

Twenty Years??? Really???

Has it been twenty years already?
Hardly seems so.
Twenty years ago today we were on our way. The great adventure was beginning.
The year 2000 was fast approaching.
And we were on our way!
This journey had its beginning some years before.
Somewhere around 1995 or maybe 1996 I can still recall that someone asked me the question, "So were would you want to be for the dawning of the Year 2000?"
Even years before that historic New Year many were already looking ahead and planning ahead and maybe even dreaming ahead. This was to be an historic moment. There was emerging that sentiment that somehow this should be a special moment, a dream event moment.
Where would you like to be?
I had no problem answering that question.
Where would I like to be?
There is one city, one place, one experience that has over the years captured my attention, fascination,  heart.
Rome!
I had already been there a number of times including spending several weeks on sabbatical.
Nevertheless Rome never lost its charm with me.
Rome!
What a dream!
New Year's Eve 1999 - Rome!
New Year's Day 2000 - Rome!
Start the new year, century, millennium in the Eternal City.
Rome!
That was my dream but realistically that would not be.
"Why not?" my questioner asked of me.
"Why not?"
Simply put - fascinating as Rome is, I would not want to be there for this event all alone. This would be a moment to be shared.
But who would even think such a possibility? Why would anyone even consider a possibility like this? New York, maybe. Even Paris, maybe. But Rome?
But then cane the challenge. My questioner set it before me.
Check it out.
Ask around.
You just might be surprised.
And so I began to ask and in so doing I began to discover.
Yes, indeed, there was an interest, a rather strong interest, I may add.
Next thing I was sitting down with a travel consultant and discussing possibilities.
And then came firm plans.
And a brochure.
And advertising.
And response.
And as autumn was turning to winter in the final year of the Twentieth Century there were over forty of us all set and ready to make that excursion across the Pond to Italy and Rome.
We would be welcoming the New Year, New Century, New Millennium in the Eternal City.
On the 27th of December twenty years ago now we were on our way across the Atlantic headed to the adventure of a lifetime.
And now as 2020 approaches, I cannot help but think back to that moment, to those days, to that adventure.
Twenty years ago now - when we headed to Rome.
And my luggage headed to Amsterdam!

(Stay tuned!)

The First Time (A Christmas Memory)

The year was 1963 - I am certain of that.
I was a deacon, ordained just a couple of months before Christmas, so a brand new, fresh deacon. In the coming June I would be ordained a priest (God willing , we would always add.)
For now I got to fit into the role of deacon for a few months.
On the Third Sunday of Advent I preached my first homily. Remember that well too. How could I forget that one? My first experience was at the Detroit House of Correction, mens' division and then a bit later at the women's division.
A few days before Christmas we were sent home.
Christmas vacation.
And as freshly minted deacons before being sent home we were given a set of behavioral instructions - what we could do and what, back in those days we could not do even if asked by someone as significant as our pastor.
There were limits on the proper role of a deacon, serious limits. Vatican II was just unfolding.
One of the limits on us then was that we were not allowed to distribute Communion.
Priests and only priests in those days distributed Communion. Only the hands of a priest were allowed to touch the Eucharist.
I had no worry about that since I knew my pastor and I knew that this would never be something he would ask or expect.
Sure enough when I got home for that vacation, I was readily asked by my pastor to serve as deacon for the Midnight Mass.
I would vest as a deacon, stand directly behind the pastor at the Solemn Midnight Mass, proclaim the Gospel (in Latin, of course.) I would announce the ending of the Mass. End of story.
And then came that moment during the Mass.
The ciboria were on the altar filled to the brim with freshly Consecrated Hosts, numbering enough to tend to the overflow Midnight Mass crowd.
And my pastor, that pastor who would never put me on the spot, handed me a ciborium!
"I am not allowed to distribute Communion, " I protested but in a whisper for we were at the altar.
"Who told you that," my pastor responded also in his whisper.
"The seminary rector, " I answered.
"Well," my pastor countered, "I'm in charge here and I set the rule here and you will distribute Communion!"
To that moment in my life I had never held a consecrated Host, never even held a ciborium.
Now, in that moment, I would hold in my hands the Eucharist, the very Word made flesh. I would give the Lord of Bethlehem to His people!
And I started to shake, tremble.
The realization of what was now taking place, a realization empowered by faith, grabbed hold of me.
And as I reached into that ciborium, what was it? Six? Eight,? Maybe even ten hosts came flying out!
The moment caused me to tremble so!
And today, so many, many years later, I still remember and even feel the moment.
It was the first moment I held Him and presented Him to His people.
And that makes me wonder how Mary felt when first she held her new-born Child.
And how she felt when she presented Him to those shepherds.
Did she tremble? Even just a bit?
And Joseph? When he held that Child and looked down into His eyes?
Did he tremble? Even just a bit?
It is an awesome thing this thing that God has done for us.
This is what we remember at Christmas..
This is the essence of what we celebrate.
The Word has become flesh and come to dwell among us.
And He has placed Himself into our hands and our hearts and our lives.
Oh, come, let us adore Him!
It truly is an awesome thing that  God has done for us.
Out of love!

December 12

This has been simmering on my mind all day today and so I am going to give a go at it. I'm not quite sure how this will turn out but I feel compelled to set some words down in writing and so, here goes!
This day I have found myself focused on two places - Jersey City, New Jersey and Tepeyac, Mexico.
Hundreds of miles separate these two places geographically.
On this day each year we, especially we American Catholics, are called to focus our attention on Our Lady of Guadaloupe. We recall a series of appearances of Mary, Mother of Jesus, to a indigenous native, a humble peasant, Juan Diego. He was sent to the bishop with a request from Mary that a chapel in her honor be built in that place, the place being Tepeyac Hill, just outside of Mexico City.
Of course the bishop was not exactly anxious to comply with the request being set before him by so lowly a one as Juan Diego. He asked for a sign.
And did he ever get one!
Juan Diego appeared before him, again sent by the Lady, but this time Juan had a multitude of December blooming Castilian roses folded into his tilma. Even more surprising - the image of the Lady was imprinted on that tilma.
That image led to the building of the shrine which now stands in that place and that image, that tilma, is enshrined in that place.
The image captured my thoughts today.
Mary chose to show herself and image herself as a native, as one with the indigenous people of that place. She also chose to be imaged as pregnant.
In a powerful way Mary was declaring, "I am one with you! I am one of you."
And that is where my thoughts turned to Jersey City, New Jersey.
It has been much in the news recently.
There has been a horrid attack on a Kosher store there, an attack that left four innocent victims dead and an entire community, a Jewish community in shock.
Hate Crime!
Another one!
Hated toward Jews.
And Mary doesn't even have to in one slightest bit alter her image here.
She is Jewish.
Her history, heritage, traditions, religious tenants, her very appearance - all Jewish.
Remember how Jesus told us, "Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto Me?"
Well, that is what Mary is showing us there at Tepeyac.\ by her very appearance.
She is Jewish . . .  and indigenous . . . and Asian . . . and Black . . . and Eastern . . . and Western European.
She is mother of us all.
In all of our diversity we all have the right to image her as one of us.
She is one of us.
She is our Mother.
So hate any one us us and you hate our Mother.
And hate our Mother and you hate her Son, our Brother.
That's where my thoughts have been going today.
And I had to say it . . . in writing.

Put Christ Back into Christmas? Really?

I am serious!
Put Christ back into Christmas?
Are you sure?
Do you really want to do that?
This is the time of year when that battle cry emerges: Put Christ back into Christmas. Either that or Keep Christ in Christmas. Same thing.
Posters proclaim it; bumper stickers declare it and even billboards broadcast it.
Keep Christ in Christmas!
But do we really want that to happen?
Seriously?
I mean - think about it, think carefully.
Sure, at the heart of Christmas, if we truly understand this celebration, is the birth of a Child Who is the Promised One, Messiah, Savior.
A Baby!
And we can certainly get into a proper mood to focus our attention on a Baby.
And that makes this a kind of "birthday."
So, Happy Birthday.
And isn't that keeping Christ in Christmas.
Make sure those Christmas cards include somehow that Baby.
Make certain that Nativity scene is evident under your tree or else somewhere very prominent.
And by all means make sure that some of that Christmas music is all about things like, "Silent Night" and "Come All Ye Faithful."
Why we can even take time to go to church to really say and show we mean it, "Happy Birthday!"
But is that really putting Christ or keeping Christ in Christmas?
Remember, that Child grew up.
And when He grew up, He did cause some trouble.
We dare not forget that this Christ came to dwell among us to introduce us to a Kingdom . . . a Kingdom far different from the one we live in now, the one we are used to, the one we can even get comfortable being in.
He came to call us to the Kingdom of God.
And that meant He would challenge some of the things we could currently call important. He would challenge some of the things we currently call values.
He would tell us of a Kingdom of peace - where war is not an answer or even an option.
He would teach us of a Kingdom where power would be found in service and meekness and humility.
He would reveal to us a Kingdom where even sparrows are sacred because, well, all of God's creation is sacred and we need to see that and live its implications.
He would show us that mercy and forgiveness are more noble than vengeance and anger.
And on and on the litany would go of the things He would teach us and show us and call us to be.
Keep Christ in Christmas?
The only way we can truly do that is to commit ourselves to His way rather than any other way. He did come to show us something, to bring us something. That is very real!
No compromises!
His way must be the only way.
Even if that means standing in opposition to some, maybe even many, of the present currents and movements and thinkings.
In His own time there were many who did not like what He brought when He came to dwell among us.
It's no different today.
We can easily welcome a Baby.
But what that Baby became when He grew up?
It's easy to shop for gifts, to wrap them and give them.
It's easy to decorate - lights, tree, candles and such.
It's easy to bake and cook and entertain.
And amid all of that it is also easy to focus on a birth and a Child.
But if we really want Christ in Christmas then it should also mean to stand with Him as He calls us to be a most unique people, God's own People, builders of, teachers of, leaders into a Kingdom very, very different from what surrounds us today.
And being that kind of people will not be easy, never has been.Because so many really do not want things "His Way."
Keeping Him in Christmas?
That means giving Him the greatest gift we can give - ourselves!
No if's and's or but's!
Totally!
So are we really ready for that?
Do we really want to Keep Christ in Christmas . . . and in our lives?
The whole of our lives?