Author: Denis Wilhelm

Trying to Try

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the suffering in our world.

When my kids were small, I worried about a litany of things – Their faith formation, their education, their nutrition, their choice of friends, their personal hygiene, and on and on. Now that they’re adults, I still worry about most of that stuff except for the personal hygiene thing – I think they’ve mastered that (most days). Of course, I have grandchildren who now require that I worry – they don’t know it, but it’s essential. They don’t even know how much my worrying will help them (me?).

I pray that my teenage granddaughters will enter into adulthood unscathed by the brutality of an often unjust, patriarchal society. I pray that my grown children will continue to find faith in God while worshipping in a Church that at times seems tone-deaf and completely out of step with their lives. I pray that my grandson’s kindness and caring nature will not be not drummed out of him by peer pressure during his teenage years. I pray that my younger granddaughters find a world that is sustainable and healthy and fulfills their every dream. And that’s just my small clan. My needs (and those of my loved ones) are minor compared to millions of others. So, I also worry about my neighborhood, my village, and my world. I worry about climate change, the war in Ukraine, the proliferation of guns in our country, child abuse, and discrimination in all its forms. I often feel helpless in the face of so many with such great need. So, I fret. And I make a plan to help someone. Or I pray about it. Or I plan to help. Or I plan to pray. Or I think about planning and praying. And then I don’t. I fail.

In her book “Jesus, Companion in my Suffering”, Joyce Ruff talks about compassion fatigue.

A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion.

Ms. Rupp supposes that Jesus was suffering from compassion fatigue and through sheer exhaustion he fell asleep in the boat. Perhaps being on that boat was the only physical comfort he had felt in days.

Those of us who have aged parents, or drug or alcohol addicted children, or a spouse who is battling a life-threatening illness, or folks who are facing insurmountable financial problems or divorce, can understand why Jesus fell asleep during a raging storm. We are often fatigued to the point of mental or physical exhaustion. And yet, we continue to do what we can. No matter how overwhelming the situations seem. We nurse our sick. We bury our dead. We comfort our injured. We listen. We act. We love. Mother Theresa said, “We can no great things; only small things with great love.” I’ll start there. I can try to stop worrying so much and do something. At least some small thing. Anything.

Of course, I’ll continue to worry. I will wring my hands and plan to make a plan. I will probably fail. But I’m trying to try. And I will keep trying. Acknowledging that I am limited and sinful and selfish is a good first step. Realizing that after that first step that there will be many more to follow on this journey, I will find solace in the fact that Jesus was exhausted, too. I’m giving myself permission to fail. There will be days when I will need to climb in that boat with Jesus.

And after a rest, I will try to carry on.

Peace,

Denis

Lost Civilizations

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Recently we toured the Cahokia Mounds Historic Site. As the largest prehistoric Native American site north of Mexico it once covered about 4,000 acres and included 120 mounds. Today 2,200 acres and 70 of the remaining mounds are protected as a World Heritage Site. It is estimated that during years 1,050 to 1,200 A.D. there were between 10,000 to 20,000 people living in the area.

By the late 1,300s Cahokia was essentially abandoned. Much is lost to history of the peoples and why they left. Ironically the name Cahokia is even a misnomer. The Cahokia Tribe were late arrivals and did not build the mounds. The Mississippian Culture actually built and populated the site during its greatest peak of civilization.

But what of its demise? Why did the peoples leave? Where did they go? Depletion of natural resources; climate change; political unrest are all hypotheses.

Climbing Monks Mound, the largest manmade mound in the Americas (named after French Trappist monks from the 19th century who had absolutely nothing to do with its creation) one experiences the vastness of the site. I couldn’t help but be in awe of what the Mississippians had built. It’s beautiful and at the same time heartbreaking to think that this civilization which must have been so important during its existence has essentially vanished.

I couldn’t help but think about the year we lived in England and toured what seemed like countless abbeys, cathedrals and churches that were essentially abandoned. Most were tourist attractions with little or no worship taking place. Will our churches, mosques and synagogues someday become ruins that future peoples view with mixed feelings of confusion and curiosity?

It’s easy to discount the Mississippians as primitives who had no understanding of God (at least the God of my beliefs) but what of our (my) legacy? Empty churches? Grand buildings with no purpose? Icons and statues to a God who is removed from daily life?

I need to stop only looking for God in institutions and sanctuaries. I need to stop just searching for faith in buildings and books. I find comfort in my traditions and in those comfortable places and in those inspired writings but that is not enough. I must look at my neighbor with compassion. I must look at my loved ones with mercy and forgiveness. I must face myself and embrace my fears and my failures. And love. Above all I must love.

Peace,

Denis

So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13

Do Something

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

This morning at Ash Wednesday mass, Monsignor challenged us to do something during Lent this year. Something for others. Fasting and abstaining is all well and good, and self-reflection and self-improvement is always a good thing, but he suggested that doing something for others might make a difference in our homes, in our communities, in our world, but perhaps most importantly in our hearts.

I’m realizing that giving something up is much easier than doing something. Giving up chocolate or alcohol is admirable, but it’s an empty gesture if I remain unkind to others. Prayers are nice but are rendered meaningless if I don’t put a little action behind them.

I need to do something. So here I am, telling myself to get up, get out, and get going! This isn’t easy. And to make it an even greater challenge, today’s Gospel comes with a warning label: Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; when you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you. What the heck*? (also trying to give up swearing for Lent or at least tone it down a bit) So, I should do something good or give to the poor but do it on the down low? Christianity is hard. Lent makes it even harder.

For me Lent is about trying to try – if that makes sense. I’ll try to DO SOMETHING. I’ll try to GIVE SOMETHING. I’ll try to quit swearing (that’s where the trying to try really comes in).

I used to think that Lent was a time to fix me. But when Holy Week comes, I may not have a spiritual awakening. When Lent is over, I may not feel like a changed man. Perhaps God is just waiting for me to figure that out. My only hope is that God will save me and that I will have the courage and humility to allow it.

And it the meantime, I need to do something.

Peace,

Denis

Stuff

/ Denis Wilhelm / 4 Comments

My resolution for 2023 is to get rid of some stuff. I started with my home office, got out the shredder and emptied the file cabinet and desk drawers of accumulated, outdated, unnecessary paperwork. Next came the spare bedroom with a closet chockfull of clothes that have “shrunken” or gone out of style in the 10+ years they have been hanging patiently waiting for another outing. On to the basement wasteland of abandoned but once-loved stuff. I’m trying desperately to take a clinical approach with my purging. If we haven’t used it or needed it in the past year or so, it can be sold, donated, trashed or otherwise disposed of. My mantra: “When it doubt – toss it out”.

Turns out that’s easier said than done.

At Christmastime when our grown children were in the house, I encouraged them to remove their treasures. I mean seriously, the Teddy Ruxpin Bear has been waiting to be loved once again for decades. What about all those scouting badges and dozens of neckerchiefs? What about the countless middle-school volleyball and basketball trophies? Even our grandkids have outgrown any interest in their parents’ old toys, dolls and games. Apparently, our kids were insincere years ago when they begged us to never get rid of whatever is in all those boxes of mystery lining our basement walls. I’ve been told that the landfills might be spared the dollhouse furniture, He-Man figures, and Teenage Ninja Turtles via Ebay but that seems like too much effort for too little return. Why won’t my grown children stake their claims on Ebay?

Now in fairness, not all of the mess is the kid’s stuff, but my stuff has more intrinsic value. My three old hammers: one came from my dad, one came from my father-in-law, and the third one is a mystery. My conundrum is that I don’t know which one of the three came from Dad or Pop, and only God knows where the third one came from, so I have no choice but to cherish all three. My wife has similar challenges with some old china, glassware and a trove of “home decor” accessories. So, separating the wheat from the chaff is painstakingly slow. But it’s just stuff.

Letting go of stuff is not easy but it is necessary unless your goal is to be featured on an episode of “Hoarders”. Is that show still on television? I’m usually too busy watching stuff saved in my DVR to watch anything currently being aired – ugh, more saved stuff!

As hard as it is to let go of the physical stuff, letting go of the emotional stuff is even harder. But it’s time to unload that baggage, too. I find I often pack up resentments, disappointments and heartaches in neat little boxes so that I can haul them out, unpack them and fuel my grudges and prejudices. Never forgiving or forgetting any injustice (actual or imagined) that has been inflicted upon me gives me another opportunity for self-righteousness and indignation. Sometimes it so satisfying to be the victim. And nursing those wounds of others’ wrongdoing only serves to make me feel correct and superior momentarily. In the end it just feeds my sadness. It’s exhausting carrying all that crap around.

Jesus invites us to be reconcilers. It’s impossible to be a reconciling presence in my world, my community, my family if I’m angry or resentful. Carrying boxes of hate in my heart just clutters my mind and burdens my soul. So, I have some unloading to do. I have stuff to get rid of. And it’s just stuff.

So, I’ll keep trying to unpack and let go.

Peace,

Denis

Star Gazing

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

We read in Scripture that magi from the east arrive in Jerusalem. Magi are understood to be astrologers and it was a common belief in ancient times that a new star appeared at the time of a ruler’s birth. Scripture does not call them kings. Scripture doesn’t say they were men but, considering the time in history when most women were at home trying to not get stoned to death for some infraction, it’s likely they were. Scripture doesn’t say there were three of them, although there were three gifts mentioned. So, it appears that legend and tradition have colored this story for many of us.

I for one, love the idea of The Three Kings. Royalty (men) humbling themselves. Offering their finest treasures. Following that Star in search of a greater treasure. I have fond memories of “our magi” being placed amongst the nativity crowd as a child. My own children would place them at our nativity (and sometimes throw in a statue of Santa for good measure). Our oldest son came bounding in the house once after a kindergarten religion class and proudly told us the story of the “Three Wise Guys”. Those are all warm, happy memories.

But what’s the relevance of the magi in my life today?

Am I searching for the true treasure? Am I able to surrender my comfort and security for the unknown? Am I capable of humbling myself? What gifts do I have to offer?

The story of the magi challenges me. I just retired after fifty years of working, and I have a feeling of uncertainty about my own future, but I can let go of my need for control and accept whatever changes life has to offer. And I have the freedom now to be a bit of a star gazer. I can search for new opportunities. I can serve God by serving others. I can humble myself by serving the poor, the disenfranchised, the immigrant, the imprisoned. The gifts I can give are dignity, respect and love. And I’m not traveling alone. The magi in my midst today (my wife, my children, my grandchildren, my friends) are carrying me as I stumble along my way. When I lose my focus, they will help me find that Star.

And my journey continues…

Peace,

Denis

And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, 
until it came and stopped over the place where the child was.
They were overjoyed at seeing the star, 
and on entering the house
they saw the child with Mary his mother.
They prostrated themselves and did him homage.
Then they opened their treasures 
and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Matthew 2:9-11

Perfecting Christmas

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

I grew up with images of Sweet Baby Jesus being born on Christmas day. Sometimes I’m nostalgic for those days of innocence: Jesus’ and mine. In the comfort of my suburban home, I imagined all good girls and boys had the same kind of Christmas to which I was entitled. I was taught that Jesus was born poor and in a stable but, I had no real understanding of poverty or homelessness. Our Christmases were gloriously predictable: Santa would come; cookies would be baked; dinner would be plentiful; family would gather. And plaster Baby Jesus was perfectly happy to stay tucked away in his manger with Mary and Joseph dutifully at his side while we opened our presents.

While playing with my new toys, I would give an occasional nod to Jesus. We would attend Mass and sing our carols and I knew that Christmas was about the birth of Jesus. But my world was small and my understanding of life beyond my family, my neighborhood, and my parish was limited. And I liked it that way. There was security in the bubble that was my young life. Mom and Dad and my brothers and baby sister were all I needed. The messy stuff; the scary stuff; the life outside; was more than my little mind could (or would) comprehend.

Then it happened. I grew up. Life got messy and sometimes scary, but I held on tight to my need for perfect Christmases. I wanted everyone to be happy. “Jingle Bells” would be blaring from my cassette tape player. Reality would be put on hold. As a newlywed I found Christmas to be another opportunity to share our love but with the added stress of finding (and affording) that perfect gift. When our children came along, I tried desperately to give them the Christmas of my youth: warm, secure, loving, with plenty of gifts and a dash of Baby Jesus thrown in for good measure. And we would routinely go in debt to make darn sure that happened. Because no one could be disappointed with a less than perfect Christmas!

They say with age comes wisdom. I’m not sure if that’s true. I think more accurately “with age comes the same mistakes over and over”. And sometimes if we’re paying attention or we get kicked in the head we might actually learn from those mistakes. You can call that wisdom, I guess. At least that’s my wisdom experience.

I mean no disrespect to anyone who needs the image of Baby Jesus at Christmas. I love babies and I think it’s remarkable that our Savior was born an infant. However, Jesus’ humble birth sends a message that for most of my life escaped me. As I’ve aged, I’ve come to the realization that Christmas comes to everyone, not just the happy little families gathered around their tree. I will always cherish my childhood experience of Christmas, but as Christians we are called to have a preference for the poor, the marginalized, the forgotten. “As followers of Christ, we are challenged to make a fundamental ‘option for the poor’—to speak for the voiceless, to defend the defenseless, to assess lifestyles, policies and social institutions in terms of their impact on the poor”. I have some work to do.

But here’s the good news: Jesus comes for all of us! What I need to constantly remind myself is that Christmas comes whether we’re celebrating a beautiful Christmas liturgy or working the graveyard shift at a convenience store. Christmas comes whether the gifts under our tree are beautifully wrapped and plentiful or if they are being given to us by a volunteer at the Salvation Army. Christmas comes if we’re enjoying a sumptuous feast with family gathered or sitting alone at a soup kitchen. Christmas comes while we’re holding our sweet-cheeked grandchild on our lap or holding the hand of a loved who has just received a devastating diagnosis. Christmas comes whether we are celebrating new love or mourning the loss of our lifetime companion. Christmas comes with giggles and joy and with tears and heartache. Christmas comes.

I still strive for those perfect Christmases. The ones where everyone is happy and well fed and sufficiently gifted and loved beyond measure. But now I know to also look for Jesus in the less fortunate circumstances. I try to find Christmas in the hurried shoppers, the beleaguered parents, the refugees searching for a home, the lonely neighbor, the recovering alcoholic, the estranged family member, and that old man that I see in the mirror.

So, my prayer this year is that wherever we find ourselves, we are still able to shout the Good News. Jesus is born! Our salvation is at hand. Whether you’re in a high holy place with a glorious choir singing Alleluia or handing out “Toys for Tots” to children in need; if you are “on top of world” or find yourself lost in despair, hoping for better days to come or pining for days gone by, I hope that Jesus (or whatever/wherever you find comfort at Christmas) touches your heart and lifts your spirits.

May your Christmas this year be perfected by His love.

Denis

The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all people. Today a savior has been born for you.”

The Only One

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

Sometimes I feel like I’m the ONLY ONE. The only one who gets the joke; who knows the score; who sees the absurdity in a given situation; who uses correct grammar and knows the meaning and proper use of the word exacerbated, which is often how I feel. Being the ‘only one’ can be a lonely place. Why isn’t everyone as intelligent, well-informed, and confident? 

Of course, when I think about it (and pray about it) I realize how self-important and misguided I am. At times I choose solitude because I really want to be left alone; to not be bothered by the opinions and needs of others. It’s easy to be uncaring when you remain aloof.

Do you suppose that John the Baptist (the crazy, animal skin wearing, locust eating, hermit) thought that he was the ‘only one’? The only one who knew what was coming? Was he skulking around in the desert because he was disgusted with the callous disregard of others? Maybe. Or did he think that wandering around alone in the desert was a great way to get his message out? I don’t know. But as we prepare for the coming of the infant Jesus at Christmas, John the Baptist reminds us that there is something else coming. We must prepare for the change that Jesus creates; in our world; in our church; in ourselves. While I may feel like ‘the only one’ that is exactly the opposite of the message of hope, peace, love and connectedness that Christ brings to us. I am admonished by the Gospel message.

I need to join humanity. Get dirty. Pay attention. Get involved. Make a difference. Lend a hand. Carry a load. Love. These are not things that I can do alone.

I believe that when I open my heart to others, Christmas will come. In the meantime, I have some valleys to fill and some mountains to tumble. I know that my own arrogance, pride and ‘only one-ness’ need to be made low. And my heart and spirit could use some filling up and straightening out right now.

Then and only then, will I be truly worthy to hold the Christ-Child and be able to encounter Jesus in everyone I meet.

Peace,

Denis

A voice of one crying out in the desert, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.” Matthew 3:3

Waiting (impatiently)

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Waiting. Always waiting. Still waiting.

Waiting seems to be the story of my life. Waiting for the end the school year as a boy. Waiting to get my driver’s license as a teenager. Waiting for my bride to come down the aisle. Waiting for our first child to be born and our second and our third. Waiting for promotions and raises. Waiting for grandchildren. And now I’m waiting for retirement.

I’ve been thinking lately about waiting and my impatience. During Advent we are reminded to slow down and be patient. We are expected to wait. We are told to be hopeful. Impatient people like me, try to “gird our loins” and tough it out so that we can get through these weeks of waiting. We prove our worth by being watchful and ready to embrace the impending joy of the coming of the Christ Child at Christmas.

But waiting alone is not enough. Being hopeful about the good things to come isn’t the complete answer either. It misses the point. The beauty is the waiting. The joy is in embracing the longing. Peace comes when I surrender myself to God’s plan. True patience is actively living in the present. It requires that I let go of my need to finish the game; win the race; get to the prize. The true joy of Advent is acceptance. Accepting my here and now; for better or for worse. I live with the hope of better things to come but I must love and treasure what I have now if I am to truly be fulfilled in the future. Baby Jesus at Christmas won’t mean much if I don’t find Christ in everyone I see TODAY.

So, I try to be patient and I try to live in the moment but realistically my impatience is not going away any time soon (or ever). Waiting for my wife to be ready to go somewhere or for the weekend to get here or my coffee to finish brewing will always make me tap my foot and wonder, “How much longer must I wait?”

Anna and me (back in the day)

Today I ran across a text message my daughter sent me years ago when her daughter was only six or seven years old. It reads:

Tonight, at Girl Scouts, we decorated bags that will eventually be used to carry food to the homeless. The girls have nothing to do with the food portion, but were asked to decorate the bags with drawings, stickers, etc, and they could feel free to write a nice Christmas sentiment on them. I did three of Anna’s 5 bags because she’s slow as molasses and I wanted to leave early. And then she showed me her long-awaited 2nd bag (how could it have taken so long?) and her sweet message simply said, “God is love.” Those three words brought me so much joy. She gets it. She’s been paying attention. And she’s sharing that simple message with a stranger. And with me.

Now that’s a testament to patience. For both mother and daughter. And granddad, too. Anna is in high school now, and she’s still slow but patient (especially with granddad) and she lives in the moment. She challenges me to try (again) for patience during Advent and to embrace my waiting. Even if it means an occasional foot tapping.

Peace,

Denis

Misty Water-Color Memory

/ Denis Wilhelm / Leave a comment

First of all, sorry for the cheesy title which harkens the schmaltzy lyrics from the title song of “The Way We Were”, a 1973 hit movie starring Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. My wife and I were dating when that movie/song came out. I suppose I looked a lot like Robert Redford back then and I guess she was just spellbound. That story (almost believable) is for another time. I really hope the song’s not playing in your head now.

My actual misty water-color memory is from Thanksgiving fifteen years ago. Seven adults and one child made the whirlwind 10-day trip from the U.S. to Germany to England and back to Germany before returning home to the U.S. We spent Thanksgiving in London that year and had to forego our traditional turkey and dressing, sweet potatoes, cranberries, and pumpkin pie. Instead, we dined on fish and chips at a quaint pub in London. It was lovely.

Because Thanksgiving is not a holiday in the U.K., we were able to tour Westminster Abbey. The Abbey is truly awe-inspiring. This place is steeped in history, and one can’t help but imagine all of the kings and queens who have processed through that space. As an Anglophile, I could have spent days there. I’m sure for our three-year-old granddaughter Charlise it might have seemed that we had. I imagine from her perspective it was dull, but she was an angel the entire time. 

The River Thames is within walking distance, so after we finally left the Abbey, we decided to walk across the Thames. I was pushing Charlise’s stroller, and I could hear her speaking very excitedly. I stopped; walked around the front of her stroller and bent down to ask her what it was that she wanted. Her response: “Look Pawpaw, water!” After spending hours in Westminster Abbey where her point of reference was everyone’s kneecaps (or rear-ends); she finally saw something that she could recognize – WATER:  How beautiful. How simple. How wonderful! 

Charlise and I looked at the river together and I too felt like a three-year-old. We were transfixed by the sheer beauty of the water swirling under the bridge and I realized, then and there, that ancient artifacts and significant historical places could never take the place of my granddaughter’s enthusiasm for that moment.

I’ve misplaced most of souvenirs and the photos of all the majestic and important places we toured on our trip, but the treasure that remains in my heart is the memory of the time when Charlise and I looked at the water in the Thames. It transcends time and space. And I remain grateful to have been blessed by that experience. 

I have so much for which to be thankful. This year we will again have our usual feast in the comfort of our own home. We will be surrounded by all the familiar sights and sounds and smells and tastes of our traditional Thanksgiving dinner. The comforting embrace of the laughter, love and good food will fill my soul and new memories will be made. But sometime during the day I know that I will have a fleeting memory of water swirling under the Westminster Bridge.

And, once again, I will give thanks!

Peace,

Denis

Now for a little schmaltz…

Sanctified

/ Denis Wilhelm / 4 Comments

I’m an usher at my church; officially a minister of hospitality. My responsibilities include greeting people, finding parishioners a seat, keeping an eye out for anyone in need, opening and closing doors as needed, sending people home with a bulletin and a wish for a good week. Simple job for a simple man. I’m qualified.

Most Sundays, things are pretty predictable: same friendly faces, same unfriendly faces, same older folks with their assorted accessories – walkers, canes, etc.; same crying newborns; same sweet-faced babies; same ill-behaved toddlers; same angelic school children; same skulking teenagers; same off-key singers; same beleaguered families doing their best to be there on time (or to not arrive too late). As the hymn reminds me: “All Are Welcome In This Place”

The truth of the matter is that I usually go about my “duties” pretty mindlessly. Oh, I try to be welcoming and accommodating, but often it all seems pretty perfunctory. A cardboard cutout with a “WELCOME” caption might be as effective. I must admit that often my heart and my soul aren’t in the right place even if my body is. My anger or disenchantment or apathy towards the Church (the capital “C” Church – the hierarchy; the dudes who are calling the shots) keeps me distant from the faith community in my midst. Many times, I dig in and refuse to even listen to the preaching. My failure, my loss I suppose. But sometimes self-righteousness feels so damned good!

Yesterday was different. As families were arriving, I noticed one particular family entering single-file. It appeared to be a mother, father, three or four children and perhaps a grandmother. Rather abruptly, a boy of about 5 or 6 years-old stopped, stepped out of the family line and turned around to wait for his grandmother. When she was next to him, he took her hand, and they walked in together. Simple, honest and, humbling. With his loving gesture, that small boy brought Christ to me at that moment. Suddenly the choir sounded more beautiful. Later the Gospel held more meaning. The prayers had greater depth. All because of witnessing this simple act of love. I realized (again) that God needn’t only be found in the piety of churches, and mosques, and synagogues, nor through intense prayer nor profound worship, but in the love of a small boy towards his grandmother. I just need to put down my sword of anger and pick up my plowshare of compassion in order to witness it.

Later I thought about my own grandchildren and how just being with them lifts my spirits and brings balance to my life. And once again, I am reminded of my blessings.

Peace,

Denis