Author: Denis Wilhelm

Relating to Worldly Concerns

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It’s the second week of Advent and I’m feeling the pressure to be more holy (or holy at all, in my case). So, I’m lighting my Advent wreath and reflecting on how to celebrate our Savior’s birth. How do I put aside my anxiety regarding the political rancor in our country? How do I deal with the grief of losing my best friend, fear for a dear friend who is battling a painful recovery from surgery and concern for a toddler from our parish who is facing serious health issues? Do I just put on my “Happy Christmas Face” and suck it up? I fear l that my celebration of Christmas this year might feel ingenuine.

Most importantly, can I love God and love our modern (sometimes tacky) celebration of Christmas, too? Must they be mutually exclusive? Merriam-Webster defines the word secular as: Relating to worldly concerns; not overtly or specifically religious. That doesn’t sound so menacing to me. And yet I’m constantly hearing about the evils of the secular world in which we live. It seems that I am bombarded with warnings about being consumed by our secular society. On the first Sunday of Advent, we were admonished for placing gift-giving, holiday decorating, and Santa Claus before Christ. Somehow those things are equated with secularism and by association deemed contrary to what Christmas should really be about.

Often, I think that we get so caught up in protecting our traditions we forget that some of our most sacred Christian celebrations – Easter and Christmas were placed on the calendar to take advantage of earlier non-Christian feasts. People were already partying at the spring and winter equinoxes so why not just slip Christ’s resurrection and birth into those time slots? Did we in fact Christianize earlier pagan feasts? I don’t know – maybe. But who cares? Is Christ’s birth and life on Earth less significant if he wasn’t actually born on December 25th? Is His resurrection any less meaningful because of when we celebrate?

Living in the world today, spending too much money on silly Christmas presents and decorating a tree doesn’t define our belief in Christ any more than the likelihood that we celebrate His birth on what was once a pagan feast day. In addition, pretending that everything is perfect seems foolish because no one I know has a Hallmark® Christmas where everyone falls in love and the snow falls on cue. Most of us are dealing with some hurt or fear or uncertainty. But here’s the thing, we can lay that hurt and those fears at the foot of the Cross.

I know that “Jesus is the reason for the season” but as a Christian I believe that He’s also the reason there’s a world to live in. Sometimes it’s messy and confusing. I won’t pretend that everything is okay, but I have time for tears and laughter, too. Knowing that Jesus walked among us in this world, I will relate to it the best that I can.

It just so happens that some of his creation likes a little tinsel, eggnog and “Jingle Bells” blasting from their iPhones. I suspect that God is not offended but merely amused when I’m “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” or when we finally finish decorating our 4th Christmas Tree (that’s right, four!). And for the record, in our house, we all sing “O Come O Come Emmanuel” at the dinner table after lighting our Advent wreath, too. Somehow it works because love is at the center of it all.

The Lord is patient with you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.  2 Peter 3:9

Peace,

Denis

A Friend Indeed

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When I was seven years old, we moved. There had been much anticipation about the new house. Because my dad’s family were plasterers by trade, we were allowed to see it as it was being built. We made frequent trips during construction, which for me was mesmerizing. Watching it transform from a hole in the ground to a completely new house was almost more than my little mind could comprehend. Moving day was filled with excitement until I realized that I had left my little friends from the old neighborhood behind.

On day two of the new house, I sullenly asked my mom who was I going to play with. I didn’t know anyone at this new place. She suggested I go next door and meet the little girl who lived there. Reluctantly I agreed. The girl was playing outside, and I shyly walked over to her yard. We greeted one another with skepticism and mutual disdain. The girl was playing with another girl. All I could imagine was that my new house, the one I had been so excited about, only had girls living nearby. The girls were playing with dolls or baby buggies or some other horrible girl-stuff. Dejected, I started to head back home when the ‘other girl’ said, “Hey, I have a brother; we live across the street.” I raced home and asked Mom if I could go across the street. She said yes, and I ran across the street and found the boy! He was playing with a toy truck in an empty lot. His name was Alan. We were the same age, and we went to the same school, and we became fast friends. My world was changed forever.

Alan and I spent that summer and nearly every day for years after, fishing for crawdads in creeks or running through farmers’ fields or hiking in the “woods” near our homes. We played baseball and kickball and football and camped out in one another’s backyards and rode our bikes daringly beyond our “parental boundaries”. We climbed trees and jumped off cliffs. We had adventures that carried us unto adolescence and beyond. On nice days we would walk the 2 or 3 miles home from school just because we were “big enough” to do it. We imagined an uncertain future with confidence beyond our years. With Alan by my side, I was invincible. He made me braver. He made me stronger. He helped me believe in myself. And my childhood was blessed beyond measure!

When we got to high school, I was worried that I might lose my friend. He was popular; I wasn’t. He was athletic; I wasn’t. But he never left me behind for the ‘cool kids’. We were an unlikely pair: the jock and the nerd. For four years we walked to school together. Unlike our grade school years, our conversations now focused on girls, cars, part-time jobs and grades. Not necessarily in that order. No one made me laugh harder or accept a dare quite like Alan could. We got into some minor trouble, but those details remain hidden to protect the innocent (and our reputations). After high school, we shared a place together for a while, and our shenanigans continued. Sometimes our guardian angels were working overtime.

We both married young, and our wives became friends, too. Through the ensuing years we raised our families, struggled through some tough jobs, and each found successful careers. We endured some tragic times with heartbreaking loss. We enjoyed some carefree days when we could look back and laugh at the good times that we had shared through our many years together. I moved out of state and out of the country and back home again. Our children grew up and had children of their own. Sixty-plus years and through it all we remained friends. Within moments of a phone call or a visit, we were back to being us. No one else had that thing we shared. It didn’t require words. It didn’t need explanation. It was true friendship.

We lost Alan this week. I’m still in shock. It was too soon. Too fast. I was struggling to feel thankful on Thanksgiving, but Alan’s thoughtful, easy manner kept coming back to me. I saw him two days before he passed, and he was so calm, so peaceful. In his characteristic fashion, he calmly accepted what was happening and helped all of us get through it. I wanted to be angry, but his demeanor assured me that God has a plan.

This time he is going on ahead of me. It might be a while before we can share that next laugh or reminisce about times gone by, but I find solace in knowing that I have a friend looking out for me.

A friend indeed.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Nancy, thanks for letting me know that you had a brother.

Falling Leaves

/ Denis Wilhelm / 3 Comments

I don’t love autumn. I’m not a fan of cold weather. Watching leaves falling and flowers dying makes me melancholy. This is the time of year that we are supposed to be thankful. So, bring on the turkey and pass the pumpkin pie. I will force a smile and at least pretend to be thankful. I will try to look for the positive. Fall colors are beautiful. The ‘gravy season’ brings comfort foods that fill my body and my soul. My favorite sweater wraps me in warmth and familiarity and hides the extra pounds.

I also find Autumn a good time to reminisce. This time of year, as things slow down and as I slow down, it seems appropriate reflect on life. I will pull out old photographs, dust off memories and embrace them. I will use this time to let go of hurt. I will offer and accept forgiveness. I will bask in the joy of love’s presence in my life and honor the lives of those I have loved and lost.

Mom left this earth five years ago, but she’s still with me each day. I see her in my sister and my daughter and my granddaughters. I hear her in their voices. I feel her in their touch. Love is never truly lost. I’m not sure if it’s genetics or learned behaviors but Mom’s love carries on in these next generations.

This week my cousin and I visited our 94-year-old aunt. She is my mom’s younger sister. They were just fifteen months apart in age. Growing up on a farm together during the Great Depression, the twelfth and thirteen children in their family, they shared everything and remained close all their lives. My aunt actually married my dad’s best friend, and our families became intertwined. Sisters who were inseparable and best buddies who carried one another home from World War II sounds like a movie plot, but it was true. They were America’s greatest generation.

My aunt is the lone survivor of that generation in our family. Time with her is precious. She is our only link to the past. Spending time with her is bittersweet. I am so grateful to still have her in my life, but I feel the ache of my loss more acutely when I see Mom’s mannerisms and hear Mom’s voice in her words. When I am able to set aside my selfishness, I pray that my aunt is comforted by my presence. I hope she hears my dad’s voice and sees my mom’s actions in me. I pray that her own grief is lessened in some way by my visit.

Each flutter of breeze brings another cascade of leaves falling just outside my window. It’s as if they are waving goodbye. And I suppose they are. But they are also promising to return again next spring as green buds and leaves that will sprout again.

Because love is never truly lost.

Peace,

Denis

God causes the changes of the times and seasons. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who understand. Daniel 2:21

Don’t Worry, I Have a Plan!

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Fourteen years ago, our grandson was born. My wife took our daughter for her last prenatal visit (she was going to be induced later that week). Our son-in-law was at home with their two-year-old because it was nap time, and this was just supposed to be a routine visit. Mother and daughter decided to have lunch prior to the office visit. During lunch our daughter mentioned that she had had a couple of contractions earlier in the morning, but it was nothing to get excited about. During lunch her contractions started coming again. This time, it was the real deal. They left the restaurant and headed to her appointment. While traveling, our daughter had a few more contractions and couldn’t talk while she was having one. Her contractions started coming every four minutes. She started to feel panicky. She was in active labor, had not packed for the hospital, and her husband was home with their daughter. It was not supposed to happen this way! So, she asked her mother, “What are we going to do?” My wife’s calm response: “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

She had no plan.

What she had was a calm, steady, and determined response. It would all be ‘okay’, even though my wife had no idea what to expect next. Things moved pretty rapidly, and a routine doctor’s visit evolved into a hurried trip to the hospital. I was dispatched to collect our granddaughter. Our son-in-law raced to the hospital. A few hours later a beautiful baby boy was born. All is well that ends well. And that baby boy has become a young man who blesses my life with each encounter.

This has been a tumultuous week. My preferred presidential candidate lost. My fears about the next four years have kept me awake at night. I’m afraid of the risk of losing our democracy. I’m confused as to why there is so much hate in our country. The moral and political divisions in our country today appear insurmountable. So many Americans are victims of xenophobia, racism, sexism, antisemitism, and homophobia. My prayers for peace and love of my fellow humans are feeble. Hope seems lost.

I have no plan.

Except I keep thinking about the wisdom of the beautiful woman who has chosen to share this life with me. I lean heavily on her words. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.” Her calm, steady, and determined response to the unknown has given me a glimmer of hope. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not sure if I can make any real change in this world. But I will remain calm, steady and determined in my approach.

There might be dark days ahead. There will likely be major disappointments. Rather than being disgusted with half of the voters in our country, I will be respectful. I will work for justice where I can. I will remain committed to the causes that I hold dear. I will love. I will hope.

And on those rainy days, I will pray…

Peace,

Denis

I’ll Give It a Go!

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“Give it a go” is an expression I heard many times while living in England in 2012. Of course, it’s not too difficult to translate. It means “give it a try” or “take a chance” or “go for it”. My workmates often implored me to “just give it a go” when I felt unsure of myself or a particular situation. Usually, it was when we were in Italy or Germany or Spain working on a project, and my workmates had no more confidence in their ability than I had in mine. I’m still not sure if they were encouraging me or whether they were just afraid to “give it a go” themselves. Manufacturing and construction terms are confusing in Europe (even in English). I learned quickly that hoarding, skips, and trolleys are actually barricades, dumpsters and dollies. Regardless, I usually “gave it a go” and most times things worked out. Perhaps Europeans were bemused by my complete ignorance of permitting, safety and labor requirements in their countries, or they admired my pluck, except the Germans, they clearly seemed annoyed by my ineptitude. Somehow though, I survived the year, and projects were completed, and my workmates had my back (I think).

Because we were in England for most of 2012 several of our friends visited throughout the year. Even with the rigors of working in foreign countries and missing our home, knowing that another visitor would soon be coming to stay for a while sustained us and helped make our time away from home feel like an extended vacation. A highlight was when our daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren came for a three-week visit. Anna was only four years old, and Noah was not quite two. Adults don’t change much in a year, but oh, those babies…

We made the most of our time with Anna and Noah and their parents during their visit. I was able to take some time off from work and we enjoyed the English countryside. We lived in the Cotswolds, so it was it literally outside our backdoor. In the mornings Anna would watch television and enjoy some of the shows she watched at home, Peppa Pig, Olivia, and some other cartoons all dubbed in British English. We were used to watching British television and had become accustomed to the accents, but we still struggled to understand some phrases.

One day on the third week of their visit we went to a petting farm near our home. On the day that we visited there happened to be a group of preschoolers. Anna nestled in amongst them. When the attendant at the farm asked if any of the children would like to feed a goat, Anna’s little arm shot up in the air as she exclaimed, “I’ll give it a go!” We were all nonplussed. Where had she learned that phrase? I never used it myself. It was something I had heard plenty of times at work but never spoke those words. Had Anna heard it from Olivia or Peppa Pig? We’ll never know. But what we do know is that this precious little four-year-old acclimated to her surroundings in three short weeks. This is something that I had struggled to do for months.

And there’s the lesson. Children learn. Children adapt. Children are not afraid of new adventures. They can lead us to the truth if we can just open our eyes and our hearts and our minds. We can lift up our world by their example if we can get past ourselves and let go of our fears and prejudices. We can accept change. We can embrace our differences and know that our diversity only makes us stronger. And our diversity reflects the true image of God.

Anna taught me so much that day. I can still smell the straw and the goats and lambs. I can still hear her tiny voice, so confident, so capable, so strong. She was undaunted. She knew the right thing to say. And she gave it a go!

Peace,

Denis

Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14

Peace Be With You (and also with me?)

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In a Catholic mass we offer the “Sign of Peace” to one another. It’s typically a polite and friendly gesture of greeting which often includes shaking hands. The celebrant says to the congregation “Peace be with you” and then everyone responds, “and also with you.” We are then invited to offer peace to one another. Then we turn to our fellow congregants and say, “Peace” or “Peace be with you”. Not an insignificant gesture but it sometimes feels rote or worse, awkward if the person next to appears to be nonreceptive.

Often, I feel conflicted when offering peace. There is currently so much angst in my heart and head that peacefulness seems unattainable and offering it to others seems insincere. The moral, economic and political divisions in our country today are greater than any other time in my adult life. So many in our nation are victims of xenophobia, racism, sexism, antisemitism, and homophobia. The recent hurricanes and natural disasters only add to the suffering of millions. It’s hard to not fall into despair. Why is there so much that is so wrong? Why are so many people embracing hatred and vitriol? And why are some politicians ratchetting up the hate and fear? Where are the better angels of our nature that Abraham Lincoln spoke of so eloquently?

How can I, a flawed, sinful and desperate man, offer peace? This isn’t easy, but I believe that I must begin with me. To “reconcile” means to rebuild; reconnect; to be at peace. To embrace my suffering and try to understand the suffering of others, I’ll have to try to be more loving; more caring; more respectful; and less judgmental. I’ll have to shut my mouth and open my ears and more importantly my heart. And offer myself some peace before I can extend it to others.

In her book, “Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope, and Repair”, Anne Lamott writes: “My understanding of Incarnation is that we are not served by getting away from the grubbiness of suffering. Sometimes we feel that we are barely pulling ourselves forward through a tight tunnel on badly scraped-up elbows. But we do come out the other side, exhausted and changed. To heal, it seems we have to stand in the middle of the horror, at the foot of the cross, and wait out another’s suffering where that person can see us.“

This is my challenge: To make the “The Sign of Peace” more than just some friendly, smiling, handshaking, muttering of peace-be-with-you. I will ask God with each encounter to lift me out of my despair; to embrace me with love and kindness toward others. And to bring peace, if only briefly, to each soul that I encounter.

Peace,

Denis

Fearful, confused, yet still hopeful

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When our son Blake was a boy, I worried more about him than his older brother and sister. This was the child that questioned everything and needed to have answers that were more than the standard “because I said so”.

When he was about seven years old, he disassembled the lamp in his room. When I him asked why, he told me that he was trying to see how it worked. After conversations about electrical currency and positivity and negativity and his serious risk of shock, he said that he would put the lamp back together. I doubt that I answered his questions about how electricity worked but he relented. He was inquisitive; I was afraid. He had sleepless nights worrying about his brother’s Jewish friend when he learned in kindergarten that Jesus was our Savior. What about his brother’s friend? Would he not get into heaven? I was flummoxed; he was afraid. When Blake would play outside, I kept a keen eye on him. He would climb trees and fences and perform other feats of derring-do. Always challenging the limits of physics and gravity, he was his own test subject. I would shout, “Be careful, or you’ll skin your innis.” His embarrassed and astonished response was often, “What’s an innis?” My response was always the same: “You’ll know when you skin it!” Our little game became a ritual, but it reinforced our fear, confusion and ultimate hopefulness. Somehow, embracing his fears while looking for answers, time and time again he would survey the risks, do it again and survive. And I would I gain another gray hair.

Recently I attended a meeting with a group of thoughtful people struggling with our current political situation in the United States. The stated purpose of our gatherings is to find transforming grace; to establish practices that will help us journey toward that grace. For me, there have been a few roadblocks. The current ‘us against them’ sentiment in our country makes it hard for me to reach beyond my own feelings; my own needs; my own fears. Politicians seem to be telling me that I should vote for or support a candidate or a position “because I told you so.” I am not okay with that.

I’m taking a page out of young Blake’s playbook. I’m going to push past my fears. I’m going to try to get to the truth. And I’m going to continue to love others with whom I disagree. It might take some feats of derring-do, but I’ll state my positions and put that bumper sticker on my car. I’ll listen. I’ll debate. I’ll pray, I’ll vote my conscience.

At the end of the day, I’m still afraid of the risk of losing our democracy. I’m confused why there is so much hate in our world, especially in the name of God. But I’m hopeful because many of the young people that I know are not afraid of immigrants or diversity or change. They were allowed as children to swing from those trees and jump off those fences. And when they fell and “skinned their innises” they got up and tried again. I might be overly optimistic, but I believe that truth and love will prevail.

Peace,

Denis

Thank a Teacher

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Teaching is more than a profession. It is a vocation. And yet, teachers are not always well regarded and are often the subject of ridicule. Certainly, their pay does not reflect the enormous responsibility that has been bestowed upon them. The people that maintain our lawns and groom our pets are likely paid more than the teachers with whom we have entrusted the education of our children. Public-school teachers and teachers’ unions are maligned. Private-school teachers are typically paid less than their public-school counterparts. School board members and parents’ advisory board members, many of whom have never spent a day in a classroom teaching, hold sway over our teachers lives and careers. Most politicians claim to value education, but their actions would prove otherwise.

Last week comments made by Vice Presidential candidate J.D. Vance in 2021 resurfaced. Vance attacked Randi Weingarten, the president of the American Federation of Teachers, for not having “a single child of her own.” It would appear that he believes someone without a “child of their own” is not qualified to teach.

Apparently, Vance was never blessed with the kind of the teachers that I have known. My favorite teachers were all childless. Whether by chance or choice or more likely by a conscious decision to live a consecrated life, these teachers tirelessly devoted their lives to other peoples’ children. I was the lucky recipient of their devotion to education. The religious Sisters that taught me in grade school and high school instilled in me a thirst for knowledge and a curiosity for life beyond my small-town existence. They taught me self-discipline and gave me self-confidence. None of them had given birth to a child, but they were all exemplary teachers. 50 or 60 years on, and I still remember those lessons.

My aunts, who were Sisters of the Most Precious Blood in O’Fallon, Missouri, dedicated their lives to education. Taking religious vows and being childless, didn’t weaken or lessen their ability to teach. In fact, I believe it strengthened their desire to serve others. They were all three remarkable women who taught, wrote, and had positions of leadership. I still, on occasion, will meet someone who was taught by one of my aunts. They are remembered for their love of teaching and their dedication to the children in their care. And not the just the children, they served the families of their students as well. Plus, they taught their own nieces and nephews by their examples of loving devotion.

So, if you are able to “do math” in your head, thank a teacher. If you know the difference between there, their, and they’re, thank a teacher. If you are able to read and write in cursive, thank a teacher. If you have a passion for learning, thank a teacher. If you pursued a career that you learned about in a classroom, thank a teacher.

It doesn’t matter if they had children of their own – they had you!

They had you and they gave you a part of themselves. Let’s lift them up! If they’re still around send them a note (in cursive) thanking them for the gift of education. If they have passed on, remember to thank God for them in your prayers. And thank God that they also helped you learn how to pray.

Peace,

Denis

Storytellers

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Some folks are great storytellers. They have a way of capturing your attention and touching your heart. My Dad was a storyteller. He never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Not that he lied exactly but his stories may have had a little embellishment from time to time. The best cooks add a little spice, so why not let a storyteller add a little flair. Besides, Dad’s stories seemed mostly true to his listeners. The essence of his stories was factual. The names, times and places may have been changed to protect the innocent. The stories Dad told have stood the test of time. He’s gone now but his stories live on. His kids and grandkids can regale any interested listener to this day.

Everyone has a story to tell. What is needed are listeners. How often have I avoided conversations? How many times have I dreaded crossing paths with someone because I didn’t want to hear about the latest heartache or heartbreak. I used to work with a guy who I routinely evaded. He was the kind of guy who if you asked him for the time, he would tell you how to build a clock. I think he was just lonely, and I was just a jerk. Maybe if I had acknowledged him, I would have made a friend. But I was too busy, too important, too egotistical to make myself available. I think my “could-have-been friend” had a story to tell but I couldn’t be bothered.

Now that I’m retired, I would like to use my career as justification for not always listening to others in the past. That would be lie, and not the harmless kind that Dad would weave into his stories, but a bald-faced lie. I just didn’t care enough to listen, really listen. What a loss.

Life is a journey and as with most journeys there are challenges along the way. And opportunities for growth. I’m learning to be an active listener. I’m trying to shut up and listen; to stop planning the response in my head while someone else is speaking. Unfortunately, I’m a slow learner. Perhaps this is the problem in our society today. People like me are so sure of themselves and their positions and their opinions that we don’t the take time to consider that there are others who have something to say; something worth listening to. I recently read (or heard) that truth is the integration of different points of view. That’s something to ponder. My opinion and your opinion and countless other opinions create the truth? If you think you’re right and I know I’m right, but we fundamentally disagree where is the truth in that? I have no idea but I’m trying to listen.

So, here’s the deal: We need to tell our stories. More importantly, we need to listen to others’ stories. And we can share our commonalities and learn to accept our differences. We need to open our minds and our hearts. My Dad once said, “Be open-minded, but not so open-minded that your brain falls out.” I chuckle when I remember that, but I get his point. We can listen to others’ stories respectfully. We can hold on to our “truths” while allowing others a chance to share theirs. We live in a diverse, pluralistic society where many voices make us stronger. We can and must listen and learn. Jesus shared his truth through parables. Perhaps we have our own parables to share.

I’ve read countless times, “Tell your story; sing your song”, but without listeners, storytellers have no story to tell. And we miss out on their wisdom; their insight; their love.

Peace,

Denis

My Everything

/ Denis Wilhelm / 1 Comment

Please indulge me as a I send a birthday greeting to my beautiful wife today.

Deb, we’ve been together since we were teenagers and most days, you still make me feel like that young man that was captivated by your beauty and charm and spirit all those many years ago. Of course, then I glance in the mirror, and I am reminded that more than 50 years have passed since the day that I fell head over heels.

We’ve had a lifetime together and I am one lucky man. We’ve shared some amazing adventures together. We’ve traveled the world, lived on two continents, survived several career changes, raised three incredible children, and been blessed with five beautiful grandchildren. We’ve had grand celebrations where we have been surrounded by countless friends and loved ones. But the quiet times, when it’s just you and me, are what I cherish most. The knowing look. The shared laugh. The gentle touch. The simple prayer.

Through it all, you have been my rock, my refuge, my home, my heart, my everything.

Somehow God decided that I was the one who got to share this life with you. Through the good and bad; through the joys and sorrows; I’ve had your beautiful hand to hold. And I’ll never let go.

Today when you’re blowing out your birthday candles and making your wish, know that my wish came true the day we met.

Love,

Denis

I created this video several years ago, but like our love it’s timeless…