Author: Denis Wilhelm

Say a little prayer (or maybe a big one)…

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Lately our grandson Noah has been having some tummy trouble. Nothing serious but when you’re five years-old a bad belly came be disconcerting (come to think of it, when you’re sixty it’s no fun either). Anyway, his pediatrician has prescribed some over-the-counter remedy which seems to be working. Hopefully soon he will be back to his usual life’s-a-party, happy-go lucky, free-spirited, never-say-die self.

But right now he’s scared. He’s afraid his belly will start hurting again. He’s afraid he won’t be able to play on his soccer team. He’s afraid he won’t be able to make it through an entire day of pre-school. He’s afraid to eat too much or not enough. And he WANTS MOMMY when his tummy hurts! Poor little guy. Poor little mommy.

NoahThis morning he didn’t think he could make it to school. He pleaded his case but Mom and Dad assured him that he would be okay. They offered him a favorite stuffed animal to take for “rest time” at pre-school (which is apparently a common practice for others in his class). The stuffed animal might offer some security and reminder of home but he refused it in a very adult manner: “No thank you Mommy, there are two reasons I don’t want to take my stuffed animal. First, I don’t want germs from other kids to get on it. And sometimes people play with their stuffed animals when it’s not resting time and our teacher doesn’t like that.” Apparently he knows his limitations.

What he did ask for: “Mommy, please pray to God that I’ll be okay today!” And later, “Daddy, please pray to God that I’ll be okay today!” His parents assured him that they pray for him everyday and all day and that certainly he would be prayed for today. Now there may have been a little bit of five year-old drama in that “please pray to God” plea but I prefer to think that Noah believes in the power of prayer or at least finds comfort in knowing that someone is asking God to help him. What Noah doesn’t realize is that he brought God to us today. His reminder that God is with us and will protect and help us in our time of need is the purest form of evangelization.

Of course now I’m praying, too.

Peace,

Denis

Kindness

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Our granddaughter Anna comes from a long line of short women. For at least five generations the women on my wife’s side of the family have hovered around the 5-foot mark, give or take an inch or two. It is no surprise then that Anna is petite. I believe that Anna may be shortest second grader in her school. But she has a big personality, a huge smile, a brilliant mind, and a heart full of love – all rolled up into a tiny exquisite package! She is so much like her Nana (my beautiful wife) that at times it is frightening.

KindnessShort and sweet can grow tiresome when the rest of the world (or classroom) is tall. My wife has reaching sticks and step stools and similar aids but I’ve heard her say many times that it would be nice just to be “tall enough”. Tall enough to reach the top shelf in the grocery store. Tall enough to buy pants that don’t need to be tailored. Tall enough to do some things without help from the Tall Ones.

Anna cannot reach the coat hook in her classroom. Each day she needs help getting her coat hung. There is a boy in her class who waits patiently EVERY DAY for her to arrive (which of course takes her a little longer because short legs can’t move as fast as long ones) and he hangs her coat. His cubby is next to hers because of alphabetical happenstance. He’s a rough and tumble boy who loves sports and playing outdoors and just being a regular boy. But because of good parenting or good manners or maybe just because he’s a good boy, he helps Anna.

The kindness that this boy extends to “the one who can’t reach” is sublime. His thoughtfulness is a testament to the innate goodness of others. And I suspect that he doesn’t realize the importance of his simple act of waiting and hanging up Anna’s coat each day. What these two second graders may never know is that they are a gift to one another – she affording him an opportunity to be kind and he showing her how kindness can transform our lives. These two would be embarrassed if someone pointed out their need for one another; their interdependency. I’m glad Anna can’t reach her coat hook and I’m even happier to know that there is someone to help her.

Kindness can be a simple act with a powerful effect.

Jesus said, “Let the children come to me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

Peace,

Denis

Follow That Star

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(Originally published on January 3, 2011 – edited January 5, 2015)

 When Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea,
in the days of King Herod,
behold, Magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying,
“Where is the newborn king of the Jews?
We saw his star at its rising
and have come to do him homage.” Matthew 2:1-2

I love this gospel story of the Epiphany. I imagine the Magi (The Wise Men) following the star and journeying through vast deserts on camelback to a distant land in search of a newborn king. And discovering their hearts’ desire in the most unexpected of places.

It has occurred to me recently that my “understanding” of the Magi hasn’t really changed much since I was a child. I’ve always pictured them as mystical and exotic; richly robed kings or emirs driven by an ‘unearthly desire’ to find Jesus. Did they know he was born in poverty? Did they know that he would change the world? Why were they driven to find him? And upon finding him in such humble surroundings why did they prostrate themselves as if he were a king? And why the gifts?  Why gold, frankincense, and myrrh?   

Wise MenLegend and tradition tell us more:  The Three Kings (three gifts were presented but the Gospel never tells us the number of Magi) were named Caspar (or Gaspar), Melchior, and Balthasar. Early Christian art depicts the three men as coming from Europe, Asia, and Africa. And growing up my nativity set at home would show them likewise. Tradition also tells us the significance of the gifts – gold: a gift fit for a king; frankincense: which is burned during prayer; myrrh: which is a perfume most often associated with burial – a foreshadowing of Jesus’s death and suffering. Another tradition (brought to the U.S. by European immigrants) involves writing the initials of the three kings’ names above the main door of the home to confer blessings on the occupants for the New Year. For example, 20 + C + M + B + 16.

I still find some comfort in the imagined Wise Men of my childhood – these three; certain of their mission; moving toward the star without question; and knowing when they found the Christ-child that He was THE ONE.

But how do I relate to this ideal in my own life? Where is my certainty? Where is my mission? Where is my star?

I think of how I sometimes miss the obvious – and maybe my star is burning brightly and I just can’t (or won’t) see it. Perhaps my mission is to continue to question; to journey; to “look to the east”. Maybe I need to find my certainty in my own heart and soul. God has truly blessed me – what wonder do I seek to be assured of His love? It’s likely (for me) that I need to look right here; right now.

There’s a message from the Magi for me today – they were immigrants. How do I accept strangers into my life; my home; my country? How do I open my heart when others seemed to be obsessed with building walls and strengthening borders? Jesus was born in the most humble of circumstances. How do I treat those who are living in poverty; in despair? Maybe it’s time for me to prostrate myself before them. Isn’t that the message of Jesus? Isn’t that what the Magi were truly following?

This image of the Magi isn’t as “warm and fuzzy” as those cute little figures I remember under my tree as a kid. But perhaps my challenge is to follow a new star.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Attached is a link to “A Child of the Poor”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEkdr62eVMY&feature=related

Another “not-so-perfect” Christmas

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The dreamlike version of Christmas that I carry around in my head remains unfulfilled. You know, the one where all the family is together and the children are all happily playing and singing in perfect harmony. Everyone is healthy and prosperous, charity and goodwill are abundant, and there are no harsh words, hurt feelings or resentments. The house is resplendent and there is a gentle snow falling in the garden as we share stories beside the fireplace. We tuck into bed on Christmas Eve knowing that Santa (or Jesus) will fulfill all our wishes. The perfect Hallmark Christmas!

Instead we have The Messy Christmas. The “not feeling well enough to enjoy it” Christmas. The Hurried Christmas. The Anxious Christmas. The “not everything I’d hoped for” Christmas. Regular Christmas.

That first Christmas, the one we should be celebrating, wasn’t perfect. Childbirth is messy. It was surely hurried and anxious. And no doubt probably not what Mary and Joseph had hoped for – an arduous journey to Bethlehem and birth in a stable.

So I thank God for our Regular Christmas. The one where we do our best in spite of not feeling our best. The one where the kids are a little too excited and someone cries or pouts (even though the offender KNOWS that Santa is watching). The one where a gift is forgotten or a casserole in burned but we somehow manage. The one where we’re as TOGETHER as we can be and we carry the rest of our loved ones in our hearts.

christmas 2015I suppose our Regular Christmas is my Perfect Christmas after all. Last night, my usually “stand-offish” two year-old granddaughter Ainsley, without being prompted, ran up and jumped in my arms with a big hug and a kiss. My seven year-old granddaughter Anna told me that she was more excited about the gifts that she was giving than the ones she might receive. And then she whispered in my ear to tell me about the VERY SPECIAL PRESENT she had gotten for her Daddy at her school’s Santa Workshop.

Once again my Christmas has been perfected by love. Just like that night in Bethlehem. And angels still bring glad tidings…

Peace,

Denis

 

 

 

 

Through The Eyes Of A Child

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Do you remember the anticipation of Christmas as a child? For me it was always an exciting time. I tried to patiently wait through the Advent season for the miracle of Christmas.

There were some certainties: practical gifts wrapped in white tissue from my great-aunts (usually socks or underwear), Christmas cookies baked by Mom, Christmas Day gatherings at my grandparents where all my aunts and uncles and cousins would be together.

And of course there were uncertainties: would I get the Erector Set® that I so desperately wanted, and the transistor radio like my brother’s (the one that I not-so-secretly coveted)? Rarely was I disappointed.

St. NickI loved Christmas presents but I knew even as a child that Baby Jesus was always at the center of it. We were raised to believe he would come (again) each year at Christmas. We set our crèche under the tree with all the characters (except baby Jesus of course until Christmas morning). We lit our Advent candles each week. St. Nicholas would come on December 6th and fill our stockings with an orange and some nuts, a peppermint stick and one Hershey® bar (thanks Dad!). At school we would pray and sing carols, collect money for the missions and go to daily Mass. My little Catholic world was secure. And there was abundant joy!

It brings me great comfort in knowing that my wife and I carried on these traditions with our kids. Now our grandkids are celebrating Advent and Christmas in a similar way. Of course they are excited about potential new toys but they also focus on the mystery of Christ’s birth and they pray and sing carols and go to Mass. St. Nicholas paid a visit to them on Sunday morning. They light their Advent wreath and wait. They wait in hope and joy and love.

I still have uncertainties in my life: they are more adult now, more complex, more troubling. Often it is hard not to become overwhelmed. Sometimes I feel desperate.

But I have certainties, too. I have people who love me. I have friends who are making our world a better place each day. My children and grandchildren give me hope for our future. So I light my Advent wreath and I pray for change in our world, in our church, in our city, in our home, in my heart.

I know that Christ will come again this Christmas. I wait with my grandchildren in hope and joy and love. And for just a little while I can see Baby Jesus through the eyes of a child. And I am blessed.

Peace,

Denis

 

An Attitude of Gratitude

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Sometimes it’s hard for me to be thankful.

I get caught up in all the tragedies of our world: the horror of violence, starvation, war, terrorism, hatred, disease and poverty. I often feel that my prayers for friends who are suffering seem shallow and rote. My futile attempts to ask for God’s mercy seem woefully inadequate in the face of such immense pain and suffering. And I feel numb and helpless. So much sadness; so much heartache; overwhelming misery. At times it really feels as if there is nothing for which to be thankful.thanks

Then I open my eyes! And my mind! And my heart! And I realize that have been given so much – my family, my friends. My beautiful wife of 40 years reminds me daily that we should ALL have an attitude of gratitude. All the sadness in this world is somehow manageable when I hold her in my arms. I become thankful once again for my job, our home, our food, but mostly for the love of one another. All the heartache is bearable when I hear my sons’ voices or hold my daughter’s hand. All my tears are washed away by the smiles, kisses and hugs of my grandchildren. All the hurt and disappointment in my life is diminished by the love of friends and family.

So yes, I’m thankful for those whom I love and those who love me. I’m thankful for those folks I’ve meet along this crazy journey of life. May we always carry one another’s burdens, share each others joys, wipe each others tears, and celebrate one another’s triumphs. We live in an imperfect world but we are perfected by love that we share. Awful things will always happen but those things shouldn’t define who we are. How we find our joy each day should be the measure of our worth.

I, for one, will continue to try to have an attitude of gratitude. My wish today is that you have a blessed and joyful Thanksgiving.

Peace,

Denis

 

Conditional Lover (but trying…)

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Conditional love is love that is ‘earned’ on the basis of conscious or unconscious conditions. In other words, if you do what I want or behave in a manner that is pleasing to me, I will love you. If not, then my love will be withheld. Sadly this is true for many of us; both those loving and those being loved. I’m not talking so much about romantic love here, although I suppose it works that way sometimes, too. I’m referring to our relationships with friends and colleagues. I’m thinking of work associates, neighbors, classmates, fellow parishioners, and friends.

Capture I often find myself questioning whether or not to spend time with someone because of something that was said or done that “rubbed me the wrong way”. There have been times that I judged someone simply because of who their friends are.  Worse yet, how about those people I avoid just because of their affiliations with certain political or religious groups? Not to mention the folks that I distance myself from simply because of age, race, ethnicity or income level. My justification – “I don’t hate them; I just don’t really like them.” or “I don’t have anything in common with these people.” or “I already have enough friends.”

In truth: My love is conditional. My conditions are simply not being met. And I own this. And it’s a shame.

So I’m   T  R  Y  I  N  G   to love unconditionally. But it’s not easy. Not for me anyway. Unconditional love – such an easy thing to say and such a hard thing to do. Loving without expecting to be loved in return. Kindness given without any expectation of kindness returned. I struggle with this every day.

And yet, I have been given countless examples of unconditional love in my life. Strangers who welcomed me; teachers who guided me; friends and family who have loved me during some pretty un-lovable times.

I think about the year that we lived in England. We were truly foreigners. We tentatively entered our little St. Peter Church in Cirencester for the first time not knowing what to expect. No proof of worthiness or commitment to financial support was required (or ever requested for that matter). Even with our funny American accents, we were loved by our priest “as we were” and embraced by our faith community “just because”.

I have a wife that loves me unconditionally. And I have friends and family that love me unconditionally, too. They’re not looking for anything from me (not that I can offer much anyway). My grandkids love me unconditionally. They just accept me as I am (and they like me this way). Which makes me want to be a better person because of their love.

So I’m going to keep trying to love unconditionally. So don’t be startled if I smile at you for no apparent reason. Don’t be surprised if I am kinder and gentler. And don’t be weirded-out if I give you a hug. And of course sometimes I’ll revert to being a jerk and then if you still love me I’ll know that your love is unconditional.

Loving unconditionally doesn’t guarantee that love will be returned. But it’s all the sweeter if it is.

Peace,

Denis

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Mark 12:31

Dias de Muertos

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In the U.S. on October 31st we celebrate Halloween as a time for children (and some adults) to go door to door begging for candy. With a cheery “Trick or Treat” the little beggars wait with their bags and buckets outstretched to receive their treat. Most households oblige. Some communities have moved “Halloween” to the Sunday afternoon before October 31st to avoid a dark night. Others have opted for “Trunk or Treat” which corrals families in a safe place such as a school or church parking lot. All of these activities are fun and none of them have much to do with the origin of Halloween or more accurately “All Hallows Eve”. All Hallows’ Eve is the day before the very important feast of All Saints Day in Western Christian traditions.

Trick or TreatIn early Christian tradition the night before All Saints was a time to honor the saints that have passed before us and folks often dressed as their patron saints and visited neighbors. I suppose this may have been the beginnings of today’s modern celebration of Halloween. How we went from honoring our dearly departed, and the saints to slogging around as zombies, vampires, witches, princesses, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and all other manner of characters, I have no idea. Still I think Halloween is harmless fun and most people handle it responsibly. Kids running around the neighborhood asking for candy is hardly a sign of a predilection to the occult. Some people seem to think that allowing children to “Trick or Treat” is tempting the devil. I say relax – no little girl or boy dressed as princess or a ninja is sacrificing animals at an altar. No one has traded their soul for a Snickers bar.

I admire the tradition of my friends in Mexico. They celebrate November 1st and 2nd as “Dias de Muertos” or days of the dead. It’s a time to remember and honor those saints in our own lives. Families gather in cemeteries and bring the favorite foods of their loved ones. Sometimes the food, flowers, and small gifts are left at the grave and at other times the friends and families will share the meal of favorite foods in honor the deceased.

I love the idea that someday when I’m gone from this world my children and grandchildren might gather at my grave and share a favorite food or drink, tell a joke, sing a favorite song and pray for my soul. Maybe it’s as superstitious and as silly as our modern Halloween traditions but I find comfort in knowing that I would not be forgotten. And if they leave some candy, I hope it’s chocolate.

Peace,

Denis

Who Is Worthy?

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Pope Francis’ message is LOVE above all else. He strives to strike a conciliatory tone while some conservative bishops and cardinals appear to be focused only on the LAW. Sadly many American bishops display some of the harshest criticism of our Holy Father. Instead of reaching out to those in need of Christ’s love, they prefer to remind us of our sinfulness; our unworthiness. Instead of finding ways to evangelize and share God’s love, they prefer exclusion and divisiveness. It’s sad that in a world aching for reconciliation and peace these bishops have chosen a very narrow view of Christ’s Gospel.

Recently Archbishop John Myers from New Jersey has given a directive to his parish priests concerning those ineligible to receive communion. He seems to be primarily concerned with those “guilty” of sexual sins. So once again another bishop has decided to “police” the Eucharist. So who is worthy to receive Christ? The publicly pious person who refuses to support legislation that will serve the poor? The folks who attend weekly mass but find no time to serve those less fortunate in their communities? What about the priest who makes it abundantly clear that he has no time for pastoral care but reminds us weekly that we are sinful?

And who are the unworthy? Only those guilty of sexual sins? Ironic that a clergy still plagued by the sexual abuse of the most innocent among us is seemingly obsessed with contraception, homosexuality and infidelity. I am dismayed that many Catholics flock to protest at abortion clinics yet remain virtually silent about the abuse of minors by priests. When was the last time members of a parish stood outside a bishop’s residence protesting the grave sins of pedophile priests at the urging of their parish priest?

Some progressive Catholics have suggested that we boycott communion. Some have suggested that we band together wearing our rainbow attire in support of our gay brothers and sisters and sons and daughters. Others have just decided to walk away. None of these options will bring reconciliation to our church.

imageHaving lived in Europe for a year, I’ve seen the empty churches; the cathedrals and abbeys that are little more than museums today. How sad that some American bishops seem to be working feverishly to empty our churches as well.

Come Holy Spirit, renew the face of the Earth! And when you’re done with me, maybe you could work on a few priests and bishops.

Peace,

Denis

Autumnal

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It seems as if EVERYONE loves Autumn. Oh the beautiful colors of the leaves! Oh the crisp, clean air! Oh the pumpkin pies and apple cider! Oh the magic of it all!

But I’m not a fan of Autumn or as I prefer to call it “the beginning of the end”. Goodbye warm sunny days. Goodbye green grass and hummingbirds. Goodbye swimming pools, patio dining, lush gardens and summer nights. Goodbye baseball, flip-flops, lazy days and Corona®  (it’s just not the same when it’s not Summer).

To me Autumn represents that slow, painful march into the dark days of Winter. Cold. Bleak. Sad. Winter. You can call me a curmudgeon but Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Lattes® and hay-rides aren’t really my thing. I’m a Summer-lover. And I’m sad that it’s over. And I’m even sadder that Winter is on its way. Oh you can be fooled for a while into thinking that these easy Fall days with sunshine and moderate temperatures will last but you’d be wrong. Just lurking around the corner is the dreaded freezing cold of Winter. The Ice. The Snow. The Darkness.

Be warned: Soon Autumn will only be a memory and you will be trudging through the dreary desolation of Winter.

Perhaps my displeasure of Autumn (and what it brings) is the reality that I am in the Autumn of my life. After all, the Springtime of my youth is a long-ago memory. I’m 60 now and squarely living in my Autumn and that’s assuming I will be around to see my Winter. Maybe that’s what scares me or makes me uncomfortable – getting older. Realizing that time waits for no one. And my Winter? Well that’s more than I care to think about right now. Is old age the impending doom? Are the twilight years an endless reminder that soon it will all be over? Surely not. My Dad will be 90 in the Spring and he’s still going strong.

Ah, the Spring! That’s it! Springtime – life renews again! Dad will be 90 next Spring! And so life goes on.

Yes I suppose Autumn is a beautiful season and I will try to embrace it. Even if it reminds me that the end is near. And even if it represents the dying and passing away of my Summer. But that needn’t be a bad thing. I should just bundle up and stay warm. Maybe I’ll even enjoy a pumpkin latte. Because when this life ends (and it will, no matter how hard I fight it) I know that there will be a rebirth in heaven.

And my Summer will come again…

Peace,

Denis