Author: Denis Wilhelm

Repeat The Sounding Joy

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Today our Church celebrates the third Sunday of Advent also known as “Gaudete Sunday.” Gaudete means “rejoice” in Latin. This joyful spirit is marked by the third candle of our Advent wreath, which is rose (or pink) colored.

Growing up I was always excited to see the pink candle lit – it meant just two weeks until Christmas.  And my excitement and anticipation would intensify tenfold. I knew that Christmas was still two full weeks away but we were already halfway through Advent. Halfway through our time of waiting!

So lighting that pink candle was a time for rejoicing. And it still is.

Today of course I am less excited about what gifts will be exchanged (although gift-giving is still a joyful experience) and more focused on Christ’s coming. As Catholic Christians we celebrate Christ’s coming at Christmas in three ways:

His coming as an infant over 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem.

His coming at the end of time.

His coming in our lives today.

While images of tiny baby Jesus are sweetly sentimental (and for those of us that have been parents or babies perhaps easy to relate to) and imagining the majesty of end times can be quite awe inspiring, for me receiving Jesus in my heart and home at Advent and Christmas is most significant.

Third Week of Advent - light your pink candle!

I need Jesus here and now to help me put my life into perspective. I need His loving example to help me deal with relatives that always seem to be the least lovable at Christmastime. I need Jesus’ wisdom to decide how to give gifts that honor His birth while still meeting the needs of those that I have gifted. I need His patience to allow the holidays to “unfold” and not become a raving madman because something doesn’t go as I planned. I need Jesus’ forgiveness for all of the times that I will fail to be loving, giving, and patient.

Today I’m filled with joyful anticipation. Because very soon He will come. He comes with love. He comes with wisdom. He comes with patience. And He offers me forgiveness.

Peace,

Denis

I rejoice heartily in the LORD, in my God is the joy of my soul. Isaiah 61:10

 

Things I Never Thought I’d Love

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Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s just the way life unfolds. But lately I find more and more that I love things that I never thought I would. I don’t know whether to be amused or horrified. So I’ll settle somewhere in between; let’s call it light-hearted befuddlement.

Here are some examples:

Brussels sprouts. I still have vivid memories of the gag reflex kicking in just thinking about eating them (not that many years ago). Now I love them – thanks for being such a good cook Deb!

Turner Classic Movies®. As a younger person I used to dread it when my Dad would start talking on and on about some great movie starring William Powell or Buelah Bondi or Spencer Tracy or countless others. Now I am practically addicted to the channel and love all those classic (old) movies.

Snail mail. I love getting cards and real letters in the mail. Years ago I would be dismissive of the letters Deb’s grandmother would send to us, particularly the ones where she would rant about the state of our nation or the (poor) quality of education or the general moral decline of society. What I wouldn’t give to receive a letter from Mimi today – written in long hand with her standard XOXO and the end.

My old gray wool cardigan. I love that sweater. I don’t care if it’s not fashionable or not in great shape. When I wear it I feel completely wrapped in comfort and warmth. I’ve learned to sacrifice style for comfort – unthinkable not too many years ago.

Fingerprints. When my kids were small I was a maniac about trying to keep the house clean and orderly. I’m sure that they’re all emotionally scarred (but seriously, was it too much trouble to wipe their feet and pick up their book bags?). Today when one of the grandkids leaves a fingerprint on a mirror or window, I’m hesitant to clean it. I want to save all those precious prints.  Oh, those sweet little hands!

Some things change. Our appreciation of things can change, too. What remains constant is our need to adapt. Along the way I’m learning to love some new things and embrace some old things, too. I thank God that I’m an ‘old thing’ that someone still finds embraceable.

Peace,

Denis

Relating To The World

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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 I celebrate our Savior’s birth. 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 lately our priests’ homilies are filled 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.

Second Week of Advent

Sometimes 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.

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

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. So I’ll try to 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 iPods. I suspect that God is not offended but merely amused when I’m “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” or playing Santa with my grandkids. 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 at the center of it all is love. Isn’t that what Jesus asked us to do?

Peace,

Denis

Liar, Liar; Pants On Fire!

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Lying seems to be the great American pastime. Politicians lie so much that it seems newsworthy when one of them is discovered telling the truth. University officials lie to cover up the misdeeds of coaches. Bishops lie to cover up the misdeeds of bad priests. Attorneys lie to protect their guilty clients. Cops lie to protect other cops. Advertisers lie to sell more stuff. Lying in America seems to be rampant. And acceptable (sort of).

I know that lying is supposed to be a sin. And there’s a commandment: “Thou shalt not lie”. I’d be a liar if I told you that I know which commandment it is, but I know it’s in the top ten. So if God commands us not to lie, why do we do it so freely. Why do we lie so much???

I know that there are some “good lies” or “little white lies”; for example when someone gives me an awful gift, I usually respond with something like, “Thanks. I love it!” It just seems rude to be honest and ask, “What in hell were you thinking when you selected this ugly-ass sweater for me?” I know because I’ve tried the honest approach and lying would have spared feelings and the resulting wrath (however the ugly sweaters stopped, come to think of it, all gifts from that individual have stopped). It’s also a good idea to lie when people ask, “How old do you think I am?” or “Does this (dress, suit, jacket, sweater, etc.) make me look fat?” Also lie about how cute their babies are – even if the kid looks like Yoda or the Mayor of Munchkin City.

But lying is a slippery slope. Lying leads to cheating; cheating leads to stealing; and stealing leads to God-knows-what. Folks cheat on their taxes and rationalize that “everybody does it”. People justify cheating the government by finding “loop-holes” in the tax code, welfare system, unemployment insurance programs, Medicare and Medicaid. And the ‘little guy’ feels entitled to cheat whenever possible because the Big Banks, Major Corporations and Wall Street have cheated him (her). It’s a vicious cycle.

Let’s stop! Or more to the point, let’s start. Let’s start by telling the truth; the whole truth; and nothing but the truth. I know it’s radical but let’s try.

And if I tell you that your butt looks big in those jeans, you can feel free to tell me that you think my grandchild is ugly (but you’d be a liar). Maybe I need to re-think this…

Peace,

Denis

Patience (or lack thereof)

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Last Wednesday Deb and I went to our favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch. We enjoyed our ‘usual’ – hot braised chicken and a cup of tea. When the fortune cookies arrived I switched them around so that the one nearest me would become Deb’s and vice versa. Here’s how they read. Deb’s: “your charm will bring you something wonderful soon”. Mine: “you must remain patient in order for good things to come your way”.
 
Deb’s charming and will get something wonderful? And I need to be patient? This was a little too close to the truth! We both laughed but Deb laughed a little too hard and said something like, “Boy that fortune cookie was made especially for you, ha, ha, ha, ha!” I immediately lost patience with the fortune cookie game – it was time to go!
 
Patience is a virtue that I’ve witnessed in others but rarely experienced myself. I tell myself that I don’t have time to be patient – that’s what impatient people do. Besides after lunch I had to rush out and get Deb something wonderful. She on the other hand has plenty of patience. Of course I would be patient too if my ‘charm’ alone could bring me untold treasure!
 
I’ve been thinking a lot about patience as we enter this season of Advent. For the next four Sundays we will be reminded to  S L O W D O W N  and be patient. We are expected to wait. We are told to be hopeful. Our salvation is (almost) at hand. But waiting alone is not enough. Being hopeful about the good things to come isn’t the complete answer either. 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 Christ’s coming.
 
But that misses the point. The beauty is the waiting. The joy is in embracing the longing. The peace comes when we surrender ourselves to God’s plan. True patience then is actively living in the present. It requires us to let go of our need to finish the game; win the race; get to the prize. The true joy of Advent is acceptance. Accepting our here and now; for better or worse. We live with the hope of better things to come but we must love and treasure what we have now if we are to truly be fulfilled in the future.
 
That’s a tall order for the impatient amongst us. But with God’s help and your prayers…
 
Lord, we are the clay and you our potter: we are all the work of your hand. Isaiah 64:7
 
Peace,
 
Denis

What Matters Most Is The Thanks

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I’m a sucker for tradition. I love old movies. I love family folklore. I want to believe that “the way” we do things at Thanksgiving is the way generations before us celebrated as well. I love the fact that Deb shares the same need for traditional holiday gatherings (with some southern country flair compliments of her beloved Mimi). We’ve blended our family traditions and created some new ones of our own. So on Thanksgiving there will be turkey and dressing and candied sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts and cranberries and pumpkin pie – just like the Pilgrims (well at least in my revisionist history of the First Thanksgiving anyway).

But it has occurred to me that none of that really matters. How can you celebrate Thanksgiving WITHOUT turkey? Or Stuffing? Or Sweet Potatoes? Or Cranberries? Or God Forbid – Pumpkin Pie???

We have dear friends that have traveled east to visit family and celebrate an ‘Italian Thanksgiving’ complete with lasagna.  My cousin Colleen who lives in Thailand can’t get pumpkin for a pie this year. Our son Ty is stationed at Kunsan Air Base in South Korea and will likely be eating in a mess hall and missing Mom’s special recipes. And millions of folks will be having Thanksgiving pizza, sub sandwiches, burgers or God-knows-what. And they’re (we’re) the lucky ones. Millions more will be starving.

But those of us that can give thanks, should. We should be thankful for one another. Thankful for love. Thankful for a full belly. And a place to lay our heads. Thankful for a God that provides light even in our darkest hours.

There is certainly no shortage of pain or heartache or suffering in our world. And perhaps you’re suffering, too. For me Thanksgiving this year is a little bittersweet; feeling especially melancholy about the separation next year from family and friends (especially my grandkids). Yesterday I was feeling down and then I received a Thanksgiving card in the mail from my cousin Rose. Just a simple thing but it immediately lifted my spirits. And for that I am thankful – thankful to be loved and to be part of a family that remembers to share their love. Thanks Rose, you’ll never know how much I needed your note!

So tomorrow I will remember to give thanks for all my blessings. And I know that it won’t matter if Thanksgiving dinner isn’t perfect in every way (everywhere) because it’s the sharing that matters not the meal that is shared.

Peace,

Denis

Praying With Anna

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My granddaughter Anna prays. And she prays like I wish we could all pray – unabashedly, joyfully and out loud! Of course most 3-1/2 year olds don’t have much inhibition. They’re still too young to be controlled by peer pressure. So I suppose that announcing loudly that she “needs to go potty” or pointing out someone’s obvious physical flaw falls into the same category as public prayer – there’s nothing wrong with it. Time will tell. Hopefully she will learn that some public comment should remain private but I hope that she never loses her zeal for prayer.

Holy Anna

Last week we had lunch at one of her favorite places, Chik-fil-A® and before eating she began singing loudly: 

“Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus; For our food, for our food; And our many blessings, and our many blessings; We love You, we love You!” to the tune of ‘Frere Jacque’, complete with hand gestures. Amen!

Some passersby smiled. Some seemed puzzled. Some seemed genuinely touched by her prayer. Of course I had previously witnessed her new meal prayer ritual and was thrilled that she would sing out in public. God bless her parents and her preschool teacher for teaching her to love Jesus.

One evening last month I was asked to lead the Rosary at our parish. For those of you that don’t know, the Rosary is an ancient prayer of our church that dates back over a thousand years. The Rosary beads are used to mark prayers said in repetition while meditating on the mysteries of Jesus’ life on earth. I used to think that the Rosary was just for the blue-haired old ladies of our parish but I’ve come to honor the tradition that it represents and respect those that have gone before me in their devotion to Mary and the Saints. My Aunt Minnie must be smiling down from heaven.

Anna’s parents, Bess and Travis, had gone out to celebrate their anniversary the evening that I was to lead Rosary and Deb and I had Anna and baby brother Noah for the evening. I decided to take Anna with me. Not certain if she could stand still for the 20 minutes or so that it would take to pray at the grotto, I asked the Holy Spirit to look down on her and be with her. I needn’t bother – Jesus held her up for all of us there to witness.

Although she got a little wiggly at times, she stood beside me with her own little rosary and prayed along. At times I lost my place because I could hear Anna’s tiny voice praying, “Hail Mary, full of grace…” But somehow it only made our prayer gathering that much more meaningful for me. This wasn’t something rehearsed or practiced – this was just pure joy.

At the conclusion of prayer I thanked the small gathering for their patience with us and apologized for whatever distraction Anna might have caused. I was assured by everyone that Anna had made the prayer especially beautiful. I was told by one person that he was quite certain that Mary’s statue could be seen smiling. I don’t think that plaster can smile but I know that I was beaming!

Pray on, Anna, pray on! Pawpaw’s learning to do the same.

Peace,

Denis

Cleaning Out Closets

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This week we’ve begun cleaning out closets in anticipation of our move to England. We’re desperately trying to organize our lives. And with each closet comes a new discovery or re-discovery perhaps. Some of this has just been grunt-work; pulling stuff out, boxing it up or trashing it and moving on to the next pile. We’ve already given away tons of clothes and household goods but we find some things cannot be so easily tossed aside. I believe that there’s a reason most of that stuff is still with us (and not just because we’ve been too lazy to toss it out).

Our closets seem to me to be like a little microcosm of our 36 years of marriage. There are treasures packed away for sentimental reasons and safekeeping. There are mistakes (regretted purchases, unwanted gifts, ill-fitting clothing) jammed into the dark recesses but not quite forgotten. There are the everyday items that are always needed (and sometimes taken for granted until they don’t work or fit or simply wear out). There are the ‘surprises’ – things long ago forgotten but now given new life and purpose.

I think marriage is like that. We often hold on to our treasured memories and locked them away for safekeeping. And our regrets and disappointments are very likely shoved into the dark recesses of our consciousness. And of course the everyday experiences; probably taken for granted and rarely given the respect and appreciation so rightly deserved. But then there are the ‘surprises’; those special moments when your love is rekindled and you see one another in a new light or experience something about your life-partner for the first time (even after all these years).

So take some time to ‘clean out the closets’ of your marriage. Clear the cobwebs; get rid of the junk; pack up your regrets and let go of them; treasure your golden memories and make some room for the new ones. And don’t forget to appreciate the everyday experiences – the smile; the warm embrace; the shared laughter; the love delivered in so many ways…

Peace,

Denis

Big Brother

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I grew up with two older brothers – Dave and Dean. My brother Dave, the oldest, has always been my protector, counselor, advocate, defender and friend – in short he’s my big brother and my hero.

Today it seems that we’re in short supply of heroes. Politicians lie to us. Church leaders have abused us (and their authority). Sports stars are too often arrogant jerks. And movie stars, rock stars and television stars seem to be mostly self-absorbed narcissists. So I’m blessed to have a hero in my family. And I suspect that some of you may have once shared a bunk bed with a hero, too.
 
My brother Dave is only a few years older than me but at times it seemed that we were a generation apart. He was a teenager in the 1960’s and I was one in the 1970’s. He was all “crew-cut and skinny neck ties” and I was all “moppy-haired and platform shoes”. The sixties were way cooler than the seventies – he had the Beatles and Route 66 on TV. I had the Monkees and Marcus Welby, M.D. When Dave was a teenager I was still in grade school and in complete awe of his coolness. I would secretly listen to his Motown LP’s and douse myself with his English Leather® while he was away. 

One of the best Christmas presents that I ever got, The Kenner Girder and Panel Building Set®, came from Dave. He bought it with money he earned working part-time at Standard Drug Store. He could have spent all his money on himself. He didn’t have to get me a gift but that’s just the kind of brother he was (and is). I credit Dave for instilling in me the love of design and construction that I still possess today (and have made my career).
 
Dave was born responsible. Which is perhaps the curse of the ‘first-born’. Parents seem to place all their hopes and dreams on their first child. “Make us proud!” is the command to the oldest. By the time parents get around to the third child the command becomes a plea, “Don’t shame us!” And with the exception of those aforementioned platforms shoes, I believe that I held up my end of the bargain. Oh, and that time that I wrecked Mom’s Corvair (I still say it wasn’t my fault). But while the expectations were lowered for Dean and me, Dave was charged with making them proud. And he did! And he does.
 

Little Brother ~ Big Brother

Growing up, Dave did all the tough stuff. He was the trailblazer. He was the trendsetter. Dean and I were the followers. Dave did all the heavy lifting. We reaped the rewards of his older brother wisdom and hard work. He took care of us even when Mom and Dad didn’t ask. And long after he should have. When you have a reliable older brother it’s easy to think that he should just take care of it – whatever it is. Such is the blessing of being the younger sibling.

 Dave has always been there when I’ve needed him and has shouldered his responsibility as the oldest with grace and generosity. Anytime that I’ve asked for his help the response has ALWAYS been the same – What, where, when? No hesitation. No resistance. Just support.
 
So Dave here I am again and of course I am in need. What I need is for you to know that I love you – here, now and always. And you are my hero. I keep hoping that someday I’ll grow up to be like you.
 
Peace,
 
Denis

Remembering…

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This morning I read names at the Mass of Remembrance. Our parish celebrates the lives of those that have died each year on the first Saturday in November. I’ve done this a few times and it’s a beautiful ceremony and I believe it’s especially healing for those that have recently lost loved ones. Of course the physical challenge is pronouncing the names correctly – particularly the Polish, Italian and Chinese names. I always ask the Holy Spirit to help with that and I suppose even if I butcher a name or two it won’t be the first time that these families have had to endure some clod that can’t pronounce ‘Um Sung Huan’ (somehow that makes me feel better – my apologies to the Sung Huan family, oh and to the Szcgielski family, too).

But my ability (or inability) to pronounce names doesn’t diminish the significance of this day. As Catholic Christians we believe in life after death. Further we believe in some type of purgation of our souls. We believe some folks go straight to heaven; others may exist in a state of being somewhere between life on earth and eternal life with Christ. It’s a sticking point with my Protestant friends but it is Scripturally founded.

If he were not expecting the fallen to rise again, it would have been foolish to pray for the dead. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in Godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be absolved from their sin. 2 Maccabees 12:44-46

I’m not trying to convert anyone here; just trying to explain my own faith tradition. But my traditions are beside the point. What I experienced this morning was joy through sorrow. Which is exactly what Jesus offers us each day. And it’s only in our darkness that we can truly find the light. This morning as I read each name I felt honored to speak the name of a loved one; someone who was being lifted up in prayer or more likely being asked to pray for the loved ones remaining here on Earth. Afterall, my personal saints are in all heaven (Aunt Noel, Aunt Minnie, Mimi, Grandpa Tony, Aunt Sha, Uncle Ted, and countless others). Who better to ask prayers of than those who are experiencing the eternal light of God.

Not long ago my granddaughter Charlise told me, “Pawpaw someday you’re going to die.” I have to admit that I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that truth. I think I told her that I would like to be very old when that happens but I assured her that I would be in heaven ALWAYS smiling down on her.

Today I was reminded (again) that I may need her help getting there.

Peace,

Denis