Rush Lake!

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

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



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The Assumption Day Parade

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

So Very Worth It!

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

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!