A couple of years ago we had friends in from out-of-town and wanted to show them the mosaics in the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis.  I’ve been to the Cathedral on many occasions but this was my first time as “tour guide”.  Of course I studied up on the Cathedral and learned that it contains the largest collection of mosaic art in the world.  And that several generations of the same family has produced all of the mosaics.  I also learned that the Cathedral is the final resting place for Cardinals Ritter, Glennon, and Carberry as well as Archbishop May.  I was properly prepared…until we got there.

Upon entering the Cathedral we realized that a wedding was about to take place.  I grumbled that they must be VIP’s if they were getting married at the Cathedral.  We ducked into a side altar.  We just wanted to view the mosaic art but instead we became uninvited guests in someone else’s most personal and joyous day.  So we lurked around in the shadows and whispered.  It occurred to me that we were not lone interlopers.  There were several other small groups of folks just trying to enjoy the beauty of the Cathedral.  One sweatshirt clad woman nearly walked up to the altar!  We were much sneakier than that.  I was certain my “stage whisper” could only be heard by my friends – contrary to my wife’s disapproving glances.  So we skulked along on our tour.

And then it occured to me that I was being taken in by the celebration.  The priest began his homily and I found myself listening.  I stopped pointing to my favorite mosaic (Pentecost) and I listened.  It seems that our “wedding couple” was a member of the Cathedral parish.  And that they rightly should be married there.  The homilist spoke of their love for one another and reminded them that they were partners in Christ.  And that they were charged with being the light of Christ to others in their married life.  To their future children; to their parents; siblings; friends; and co-workers.  I thought about this young couple witnessing to all those that they would encounter in life and I wondered “were these just nice words to say on a wedding day or would this couple make a difference”; would they be “Christ to others”?  I said a little prayer for that couple and asked the Holy Spirit to be with them on their journey.

How often do we think about our responsibility to be witnesses to Christ?  I often forget that we are called to this in Baptism – to be Christ to one another.  What better way than in marriage?  We can model Christ’s love for us in the way we love and honor our spouse and our children but equally important is the way that we welcome others into our married lives.  I love the words of Joshua “As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord”.  My personal challenge is to really live those words.

I’m going to start today by being kinder to my co-workers.

Peace,

Denis

I’ve been thinking lately about Mother Theresa.  The revelation that Theresa suffered “a dark night” in her spirituality, which lasted for decades, was big news last year.  And the words to this song keep playing in my head. 

Holy darkness, blessed night

Heaven’s answer hidden from our sight

As we await you, O God of silence

We embrace your holy night

How many times have I faced that “dark night”?  How many times have I prayed for God’s strength and felt powerless?  How many times have I faced hardship, disappointment, loss or pain and felt completely alone?  How often have I wondered if God hears my prayers at all?  If Jesus really exists; why does He not answer my pleas? 

I’m challenged by Theresa’s example of embracing God’s “holy night”.  I don’t consider her inability to feel God’s presence in her life as a failure but as an opportunity for each of us to model her faith during our most desperate times.  When we are adrift in our desert of doubt and loneliness, when we question God’s very existence, we can look to Theresa’s example of faith and know that God is with us; even in our darkest hour.

I know that when I can’t pray; when I can’t feel Christ’s presence; I have family and friends that are praying on my behalf.  We are called to be the Body of Christ, to be Christ to one another.  I know that I’m going to continue to struggle through my own “dark night” from time to time.  But I’m trying to remember that I have each of you lighting my way.  So to those of you that pray for me, have prayed for me, or will pray for me – thank you for helping me to embrace His holy night.

Peace,

Denis

On this Memorial Day once again I am conflicted.  I oppose all war and yet I have a son that has a military career. Tyson is a Master Sergeant in the Air Force and is exactly the kind of person that you would want defending your freedom.  And yet, I believe that all conflicts should be dealt with diplomatically and still I know that there times when the use of arms is preferred to the evil being eliminated.  Sometimes I would like to bury my head in the sand and wish it all away but that is not possible.  So while academics and politicians debate ‘just war doctrines’ and the strict conditions for legitimate defense by military forces, brave men and women like Tyson take up arms and “do their jobs” everyday. Their job is to protect our way of life. And they do this without question or concern and often at great personal hardship.  As a citizen I appreciate and applaud their sacrifices and service to our Nation.

However, as a parent there are no words to describe the helplessness that I felt when Tyson was deployed in Iraq.  At that time I remember thinking that no one’s child (or spouse, or parent, sibling) should have to be there.  Watching the Nightly News and holding your breath with each report of another attack or roadside bombing.  Waking up night after night from the nightmare about getting “the call” that your son is injured or dead.  Worrying that your granddaughter may grow up fatherless and may never know how much her Daddy loved her.  Feeling so consumed by anger and resentment that you can’t find good in anyone or anything.  Each day I would pray:

Father all-powerful and ever-loving God,

Hear my prayer for Tyson, my son.

From before he was born,

your love has nurtured and sustained him.

Keep him safe in time of battle

and faithful to you, day in and day out.

Bring him safely home to those who love him.

I ask this through Christ our Lord. ~ Amen 

I love my son and I am so proud of him.  I also love my country and am proud to be an American.  But I hate war.  And I could never be a “flag waving” enthusiast that wants to “bomb the hell out of our enemies!”  Does this make me less of a patriot than others?  I’m not sure, but it’s fascinating to me that some folks assume because my son is military that I share their penchant for war and retaliation.  This has made for some awkward situations.  Especially when I ask – who would Jesus bomb?

So this is my Memorial Day paradox.  I mean no disrespect to any of the brave men and women that have served our nation, especially those that have died.  In fact, I thank them and honor them for their sacrifices.  I’m just a dad worried about his son.

Peace,

Denis

My granddaughter Anna is 10 months old and my daughter and son-in-law bring her to Mass every Sunday.  As with most babies she sometimes gets a little wiggly and needs to be taken to the “back of church”.  Personally I think that her parents are a little quick to invoke the “back of church” rule but that’s because I know that she’s perfect and she only gets fussy when things are REALLY DULL!  By comparison, there is a family that sits near us most Sundays and their kids (there must be 4 or 5 of them) are like Chinese acrobats.  These kids are bouncing off the pews, the kneelers, the parents, and occasionally yours truly but it’s okay with me – I kind like it in a weird sort of way; it reminds me of when my own three kids were small and on some Sundays we would feel like we had been competing in Mixed Martial Arts by the time Mass was concluded – oh the memories!  Plus I love the honesty of kids.  Recently I heard the blonde acrobat proclaim “Mommy that man is really fat!” It only became truly funny when I realized he wasn’t talking about me.
 
On a recent Sunday, Anna let out a little pre-squeal – sort of like the sound that your smoke alarm makes when the batteries are going bad.  It was during a particularly DULL HOMILY and I begged my daughter, “Let me take her, let me take her!”  And they said yes – and off we went to the “back of church”. 
 
What a mystical place – the “back of church”.  And now I know why Anna loves it so.  I found in our Gathering Space, the official name for the “back of church” a multitude of infants, toddlers, snarky teenagers and beleaguered parents – sort of the misfits of Mass.  In addition there were folks setting up for ‘after Mass’ sign-ups and informational hand-outs. All of this activity was great fun for Anna – so much to see!  I encountered another granddad that was with his granddaughter and he felt the need to tell me her name and ask about Anna, her age, etc., etc.  Who knew all of this was going on every Sunday? Well, I guess Anna does.
 
Anyway when we reluctantly returned to our pew, after Anna had been sufficiently entertained, and after my initial guilt passed for having ‘missed’ part of Mass, I started thinking about what an amazing and wonderful place the “back of church” really is.  Normal ‘Mass behavior’ can be abandoned there; children can run and giggle; crying is completely acceptable; bragging about your granddaughter is the norm; and teenagers can skulk about like parolees.  In all of this, I saw God’s love and Christ greeted me with each smile and kind word.  I finally looked at the “Body of Christ” in a whole new light. 
 
“As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ.  For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit.” 1 Corinthians 12:12-13
 
Those of us that were absent from our pews, regardless of the reason, were still in God’s house, albeit the servants’ quarters.  And we were still worshipping; just in a different way.  I met some folks that day that I would have never met praying in my usual pew.  And I’m better for the experience.  I’m looking forward to my next trip to the “back of church” to worship with the misfits – it’s funny how much I felt at home there. 

Peace,

Denis

Last year I was traveling home from a business trip in California.  After my fourth flight in two days I was getting a little fatigued.  And that’s when it happened.  I realized that I was becoming a “cranky old man”. 

Let me explain – I was stuck in the middle seat of a completely full flight.  The people behind me had four or five kids (seemed like a dozen).  I say that I love kids but it turns out that I think I really only love my kids and grandkids; most others are just examples of someone’s bad parenting.  And don’t even get me started on the NAMES.  Brody or Brady and his baby sister Ecstasy or Fantasy were especially delightful.  When Brody/Brady wasn’t kicking my seat he was annoying most of the rest of the passengers on Flight 1376.  And the parents were idiots.  This was the running commentary: “Brody don’t run down the aisle!” “Brody stop hitting your sister!” “Ecstasy, don’t cry – Brody didn’t mean to hurt you.” “Brody, it’s not nice to use those words!”  Oh, I had a few words for Brody.  Did I mention we were on a flight?  I get busted by the flight attendant because I didn’t turn my cell phone off soon enough and darling little Brody is literally running through the airplane! 

To top it off the lady across the aisle gets up out of her seat no less than ten times on a four hour flight (crazy), the guy next to me has a bloody nose (gross) and little baby Ecstasy pukes (even grosser).  Gee whiz! 

So at first I felt justified in my “crankiness”.  In fact I felt righteous.  How dare all of these nitwits destroy the end of a perfectly lousy day?  If I ran the world (or airlines) they all would be denied permanent flying privileges!  Especially the little puker.

Then I started thinking about how my wife tells me that at times I can be intolerant.  Well, if she were on this flight she’d understand how wrong she is.  And I also remembered her admonishing me during a similar situation with ill behaved children (and I maybe lost my cool).  She said that all kids (and adults, too) have bad days and that the last thing the poor parents needed was some “cranky old man” giving them the “stink-eye”.  Besides, she said, “Your granddaughters aren’t always perfect either”.  That’s when I realized that menopause has affected her mentally.  Of course our granddaughters are ALWAYS PERFECT, but that’s another subject.

So I started praying on Flight 1376.  At first I prayed that Brady/Brody would stop kicking the back of my seat.  I prayed that ‘bloody nose guy’ would get up and deal with it in the bathroom.  I prayed that the crazy lady across the aisle would sit down and keep still for a while. 

Then the Holy Spirit took over and my prayers changed: I prayed for the parents of Brody and the rest of the troop, that they could relax and not be too stressed and that they could show the rest of us what a loving family really looked like.  I prayed for the restless lady across the aisle – I wondered if she was dealing with a serious life issue or on her way to or from some tragic or painful event.  I prayed for the man with the bloody nose – that his discomfort and embarrassment would be eased.  And the more I prayed the more I felt at peace.  And the more I prayed the more I saw Christ in each of my fellow passengers. 

By the time the plane landed I didn’t feel like a “cranky old man” anymore.  I thought of the Beatitudes – Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  I’m definitely poor in spirit and that night God treated me to a little glimpse of heaven on Flight 1376.  I just needed to refocus in order to see it.

Peace,

Denis

In her book “Traveling Mercies” Anne Lamott recounts the story of a man lost in the Alaskan wilderness.  The story goes…

A drunk in a bar in Alaska is telling the bartender how he recently lost whatever faith he’d had after his twin-engine plane crashed in the tundra. “Yeah,” he says bitterly, “I lay there in the wreckage, hour after hour, nearly frozen to death, crying out for God to save me, praying for help with every ounce of my being, but he didn’t raise a finger to help. So I’m done with the whole charade.” “But,” said the puzzled bartender, squinting an eye at him, “you’re here. You were saved.”   “Yeah, that’s right,” says the man. “Because finally, some goddamn Eskimo came along…”

Wow.  How often do I miss seeing God in my midst?  How many times have I encountered setbacks in life or disappointments, tragedies, heartaches only to find a “blessing in disguise”?  So why is it so difficult for me to see ”God in disguise”?  Aren’t we all made in  God’s image?

Holy people (I’m not included in this group) are kind of easy to identify.  They’re the ones that pray at a drop of a hat; that always remember to thank God for everything – even the shitty stuff (supposedly it makes us thankful for everything else); they go to church ALWAYS; they are a kind to even the least lovable (I may be in that group); they are unflinching in their BELIEF.  So I get it: Holy people are made in God’s image.

But if we’re all made in God’s image then what about me?  What about my limited ability to love?  What about the times I’m not so sure that God even exists?  Or if He or She does exist, isn’t relevant in my life?  The idea that I’m made in God’s image is a really disturbing idea – God should be way cooler than me; more loving; more calm; more wise; more everything!

Have I ever been the ‘Eskimo’ to others?  That concept is easier to imagine in my imperfect humanness.  I suppose the answer is yes.  I’ve helped others without expecting anything in return (although a simple ‘thank you’ would have been nice!).  And I’ve loved some pretty unlovable creatures – I raised three teenagers! 

But mostly I have seen God in others – the friend that listened to my heartache and didn’t judge me; the co-worker that prayed with me when my son was deployed to Iraq; the spouse that loves me enough to let me be the person that I have always wanted to be; the child that accepts the fact that “I did my best” in raising him.

So maybe we all need to stop looking for God in the clouds.  Stop searching for God in books and laws.  Look at the person next to you.  Look in the mirror.  Seek and you will find. 

God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them. ~ Genesis 1:27

It’s comforting to know that God has given us a reflection of Himself in everyone we encounter in our life – sometimes it just takes a second look.  I’m hoping that you will see God today.

Peace,

Denis