He is Risen, Indeed!

Today the Alleluia returns! The bells will ring. The choirs will sing. Our salvation is secure.

Easter Sunday Mass is always exultant but of course there’s usually a bit of unplanned “entertainment”. That’s what you get when you stuff kids full of Easter candy, put them in itchy new clothes, pack them into an overcrowded church (if only every Sunday could be this well attended) and expect them to sit quietly for over an hour.

I for one LOVE the ‘carnival atmosphere’ of Easter Sunday services – My version of heaven is filled with wiggles, giggles, and jelly-bean breath.

WHY DO YOU SEARCH FOR THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD?
HE IS NOT HERE. HE IS RISEN!

Have a joyous Easter!

Peace,

Denis

“Good Friday – what’s that?”

Today our office is closing early. It’s Good Friday and the boss has decided to shut down early – more of an “Easter weekend” thing than a “Good Friday” thing but because I’m a Catholic Christian, and I view today as a day of solemnity, I appreciate the gesture. It will afford me some quiet time in prayer – always needed.

I know that many people in our world (and office) are not Christian and I support their right to freedom of (from) religion. But I’ll admit that I was shocked (a little) this morning when I went around informing the staff that we would be closing early. Here’s what I encountered: one staff member wanted to know why we would be leaving early. When I explained that today is Good Friday, she said “What’s that?” I was dumbfounded. This twenty-something had no idea what Good Friday was or what it meant or that Easter was this coming Sunday. I felt a certain amount of indignation!

Just to be clear – this young woman was born and raised in Saint Louis, Missouri; her parents are not first generation immigrants; English is not a second language; there is no obvious cultural or religious reason why she wouldn’t have at least a cursory understanding of what Good Friday is or Easter means. And yet for her there was complete and utter ignorance of this most important Christian holiday.

That got me thinking. How ignorant am I of other religions? How often do I assume that everyone is Christian or at least understands why my Christian observances are so important to me? Who am I to lord my Christianity over others? I believe that a message was sent to me today: be more tolerant; more accepting; less judgmental; more Christ-like. After all, Jesus gave us plenty of examples of reaching out to those considered “unworthy” during His time here on Earth. Remember the Samaritans? The woman at the well? Tax collectors?

So this Good Friday I will remember that we are all created in His image and I will pray that I am cured of my blindness and prejudice and can encounter Him everywhere that I journey in my life.

‘Lord, by your Cross and Resurrection you have redeemed the world’ – all of us.

(Not just middle-aged, white guys like me).

Peace,

Denis

Holy Week

I had a rare opportunity to begin Holy Week in Espana. I went to Mass at the Cathedral de Santa Maria la Real de La Almudena in Madrid yesterday for Domingo de las Palmas Misa. In English that means I went to the Cathedral in Madrid for Palm Sunday Mass. I love architecture and history and this place has both. It took over 100 years to build the cathedral. It’s adjacent to the Royal Palace. It is apparently built over a Moorish mosque that was destroyed in 1085. As early as the 1500’s plans were discussed for building a cathedral in Madrid. Construction didn’t actually begin until 1879 and due to the Spanish Civil War the project was abandoned until the 1950’s. The cathedral is very modern in European terms – Pope John Paul II dedicated it in 1993. It has a Neo-Gothic interior and Neo-Romanesque crypt. It is an amazing structure. The way the light filled the space seemed truly divine.
As beautiful as the building is, what actually made my experience so memorable was the excitement of the people. We began with a procession outdoors in the vast courtyard between the Royal Palace and the Cathedral. The clergy and dignitaries were carrying palms but most of us in attendance had bunches of olive branches mixed with Rosa Maria (rosemary). I suppose it’s fitting that we were waving olive branches in Spain; you see olive orchards from central Spain to the coast when traveling by train. The music was being broadcast outdoors and it filled the courtyard and beyond – all the way to Plaza de Espana. I felt as if I was being lifted up by the voices in the choir. The atmosphere was truly celebratory.

HOSANNA A NUESTRO REY! HOSANNA EN LAS ALTURAS!

Of course I was only able to understand a little of what was being said during Mass but because our Church is truly universal I knew that my friends and family were listening to the same Passion account in my parish at home. And I was able to understand many parts of the Mass (if not all of the words). It’s amazing this faith of us ours – ancient yet new; timeless yet present. I took tremendous joy today in knowing that millions of Catholics (and other Christians) were celebrating Christ’s triumphant journey into Jerusalem in much the same way. The fact that I was celebrating in Spanish made it all the more special. It made me realize that in French or German or Spanish or English; whatever language that faith-filled people speak the message is the same:

The crowds preceding him and those following
kept crying out and saying:
“Hosanna to the Son of David;
blessed is the he who comes in the name of the Lord;
hosanna in the highest.”

What I’m reminded of again this Holy Week is that Jesus died for our sins – it’s easy to think of our collective sinfulness and of Christ’s saving grace. What’s harder for me to wrap my head (and heart) around is the fact that He died for the sins I committed today and will likely commit tomorrow. His death and suffering was for you and me. He wasn’t crucified just for those who lived 2000 years ago. His sacrifice is as real today as it was on Calvary. How we embrace it and reconcile ourselves to His unconditional love is entirely up to us.

Wishing you each a peace-filled and blessed Holy Week. May you find the comfort this Easter Season that only our Savior can bring.

Peace,

Denis

Habla Ingles?

I’ve been in Spain on business for a week. I’ve toured a dozen or so ‘El Corte Ingles’ department stores here in Madrid and Valencia (think Macy’s meets Telemundo). I love Spain (what I’ve seen of it) and I’m trying to learn to speak Spanish. I really am.

But “habla ingles?” is still how I begin most conversations here. Sometimes I begin with “hola!” or “buenos dias” or “buenas tardes” or “buenas noches” but I’m not quite sure when “tardes” and “noches” begin and end so usually I just say “Hola”. I often say “gracias” and “de nada”, too. Beyond that things get a little sketchy. What I have found is that MOST Spaniards seem to appreciate that I’m trying to speak a little (muy poco) Spanish (or they’re just enjoying my stupidity and can’t wait until I’m gone so that they can let out a big belly laugh; either way I’m fine) and many will respond S L O W L Y so that I can understand them (sort of). I can see why total immersion teaches you how to speak a second language. You’ve just got to figure it out – if you want to eat or need to go to the bathroom or have lost your way – you need to be understood.

I will be happy to be home next week but if I had another week or fifty-two here in Espana I could really be “habla-ing some Espanol”. But instead, I guess it’s back to ‘Rosetta Stone’. I hate those cheery ‘Rosetta Stone’ people; they’re so smug and they’re ALWAYS right. If I could just move to Spain for six months or a year I would never need ‘Rosetta Stone’ again. Of course that would mean quitting my job and living in Spain with no income; not to mention the cost of airfare, hotels, paella, manchego cheese, wine and cafe con leche. Hmmm? I guess maybe ‘Rosetta Stone’ is a more reasonable option – damn it! I just think that I learn better “on the job” so to speak. No one in Madrid or Valencia has asked me “donde esta la biblioteca?” (where is the library?) but I have been asked “quires otra copa de vino?” (would you like another glass of wine?) and because “si” is my default response, I only realized after the third “copa de vino” that I should probably say “no”. So hey, ‘Rosetta Stoners’: here’s a heads up – we’re not spending our free time at the library. I’m just sayin…

I actually felt pretty good about myself today. I asked a Senora if she wanted my seat on the Metro and she understood me. Also I asked a couple how old their daughter was and then told them “mi nieta es tres anos tambien” – I felt so Continental!

Tomorrow I’m going to Mass – of course it will be in Spanish. I just hope nobody asks if I want more “vino”.

Adios mis amigos.

Paz,
Denis (pronounced: DAY-NEEZ)

More of Everything

Remember the “Seinfeld” episode where Jerry is flying First Class while Elaine is stuck in Coach? He’s being feted while she’s suffering through a miserable flight. At one point the flight attendant asks Jerry if she could get him “more of anything” – his response, “More of everything!”

I spent three days in Las Vegas this week where the slogan is “What Happens in Vegas – Stays in Vegas” but I think “More of Everything” would be an equally fitting slogan. After all over-indulgence is what Las Vegas seems to be all about. There’s too much food, alcohol, gambling, skin, etc., etc., etc. Most folks seem to leave Las Vegas with heartburn, hangovers, empty pockets, regrets, and shame (you know who you are!).

So why the attraction? Why do millions flock to Vegas each year? Is the desire for “more of everything” so compelling that ordinary folks lose all sense of decorum and reason? Are we a society that is morally bankrupt? Is mankind really willing to abandon everything that is virtuous for a good time? I don’t think so. I don’t believe most people go to Vegas to become hedonistic pleasure-seekers. I think most (like me) are sent there for business conventions. The rest are probably just looking for a fun get-away with built-in entertainment. And if you get bored with the casinos and the shows you can take a tour of the Grand Canyon or play a round or two of golf. So it’s not a bad destination – all things considered.

But as with most things in life – I’m the odd man out. I’m not a gambler. I’m not much of a drinker. And I’m too cheap to pay $150.00 to see a “Vegas Headliner” (whose show will be aired on HBO or Comedy Central in a few months anyway), I don’t play golf, and I don’t have a burning desire to join a bus tour (with a bunch of senior-citizens) for a tour of Hoover Dam. So what’s a guy like me doing in Vegas? PEOPLE WATCHING – that’s what!

I love to walk “The Strip” and watch (sometimes stare at) the other people in Las Vegas. I try to imagine what their story might be, or why in hell they chose to wear those plaid shorts with that striped shirt. Sometimes I just find myself in utter amazement that people must really believe that “What Happens in Vegas – Stays in Vegas” because nothing else would explain their behavior/attire/choice of companionship. And I’m not judging (well maybe a little) – I’m just observing. I suspect that some of these folks must live pretty dull lives and this week or few days in Vegas is their only opportunity to “make up for lost time”. Or maybe they’re just someone who stifles or suppresses all their creativity or playfulness and can only “let loose” when no one is watching – so to speak. But I’ve got news for you, nerdy accountant from Des Moines or frustrated housewife from Memphis or neglected store clerk from Baltimore – I’m watching. I’ve been watching you partake in “more of everything”. And I’ve been a voyeur at your expense. So there’s my shame.

Vegas revelers, while God’s is forgiving you for your over-indulgences, I hope that He forgives me for staring (and sometimes laughing) at your humanity. We all want “more of everything” at times. But as the saying goes: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR – YOU JUST MIGHT GET IT. Because let’s face it; what happens in Vegas will probably follow us home…

Peace,
Denis

‘Old’ Was Not One Of The Things I Wanted To Be When I Grew Up

Like looking into a mirror

How does the saying go? Something like: “the only certainty in life is death and taxes”. Now I would add “and getting old”.

But I don’t really think of myself as old – I’m middle-aged. Which means at 55 years-old I am in my middle years, right? Only if I live to be 110! So maybe it’s time to face my mortality; something us baby boomers seem to be in great denial about. Oh, we have our “bucket lists” and our life insurance policies but do we ever really think that someday we’re going to run out of time? I know I don’t. I keep planning my next vacation, my next adventure, my next birthday party, etc. I don’t have an end-game. Not only do I not think about my life ending – I really haven’t given much thought to getting old(er). Because old was not one of the things I wanted to be when I grew up!

This week Elizabeth Taylor died. At work a group of YOUNG PEOPLE were talking about it and I commented, “Do you suppose that Debbie Reynolds is dancing on her grave?”. There was complete silence. Finally one of them asked, “Who’s Debbie Reynolds?”. Not only did they not get my HILARIOUS reference to the tawdry break-up of Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds by the man-stealing Liz Taylor in the 1950’s, they didn’t even know who Debbie was! Really? “Tammy”? “Singing in The Rain”? Anyone? When I mentioned Carrie Fisher and “Star Wars”, I got a few nods of recogition – apparently one these brats had parents that were “Star Wars” fans. At that moment I felt like I should be driving a Studebaker, wearing “trousers” and hanging out at the Barbershop.

So I guess I am beginning to face my own mortality; I just don’t like it. I realize that, I am in fact, getting older each day (and maybe becoming a bit obsolete). I watch my parents now dealing with ‘old people stuff’: illness and aches and pains and hearing loss. And I realize when I see Dad struggling sometimes to be steady on his feet that I’m only 29 years younger than him. Twenty-nine years ago Tyson was 3 and Bess was about to turn 2 and that seems like only yesterday. So tomorrow it will be me (if God allows) who is 84 years old and wobbly on my feet.

Today I have decided that even though I may not have wanted to be old when I grew up, I will try to embrace aging with dignity. I want to be around to see my grandkids as adults. I’ll gladly be the ‘old man’ dancing with my granddaughters at their weddings. I will someday help “pack-up” Noah off to college. And if God truly blesses me with a long life I will continue to share my HILARIOUS stories and my PROFOUND WISDOM with another generation of Wilhelm/Kleckners and they will show their appreciation with their kindness and patience for this old man.

Until then, I think I need to go hug my Dad.

Peace,
Denis

We Ran Away From Home And Joined The Circus

Nana and her circus “performers”

It’s fun to escape reality sometimes and the Circus seems to be the perfect place to “get away from it all” and be a kid again. After all nobody knows how to enjoy a fantasy like a child. And the Circus is one BIG FANTASY. Where else can you find grown ups that play with tigers and entire families that “fly through the air with the greatest of ease” and contortionists and monkeys in polka dot underwear and elephants that do tricks. What better place to find all those things than at the Circus – plus some “not too scary” clowns. The fact of the matter is, running away from home and joining the circus seems pretty attractive at times. I could so be the guy getting shot out of the cannon – most days I feel like that anyway!

So yesterday Deb and I “ran away” for a little while and took our granddaughters along for the ride. I have to admit that this ‘Circus thing’ was new to me. Or at least enjoying the Circus was new to me. Deb grew up going to the Circus each year with her grandparents and LOVED it. I went once as a kid with my Godmother and HATED it. Not sure why; maybe I was scared of something or maybe I was bored. Whatever the reason it left me with a negative impression of the Circus. Deb on the other hand had been waiting a long time for this day – “And if no one else wants to go, I don’t care!” “I’m taking the girls to the Circus!” (Imagine hands on her hips and maybe a little foot stomping).

So we went. And it was magical! Not the Circus actually but watching Charlise and Anna and Nana relishing every moment of every performance. And while watching them I was transported to another place and time and I could see little Debbie Dobbs clapping and waving at the Circus performers. And I knew that I had waited 50 years just to be in that moment. That moment when Nana was a little girl again and there were no wars to fight; no hunger; no disease; no injustice; no heartaches; no sadness – only smiles. The only tears were tears of joy. And I was blessed to be along on her journey.

Running away from home and joining the circus won’t make the problems of this world go away but they may help put it all into perspective. On one magical Saturday my girls and I took a ride to that fantasy land. And I came home refreshed and ready to take on another day as an adult. And now I firmly believe that all adults need a little ‘Easter Bunny’ or ‘Santa Claus’ or ‘Tooth Fairy’ once in a while; not to mention leprechauns, elves, magic potions and ‘cloaks of invisibility’.

Just imagine the fun that you will have…

Peace,
Denis

Calling All Grammar Police!

I have to admit that sometimes I don’t speak properly and there are times when my spelling, grammar and punctuation need editing (Just read any blog post). But I am aghast at how awful some people’s use of the English language has become. Too often I find myself silently correcting another’s speech. And sometimes not so silently – Rosko! It has become such a distraction that I find it hard at times to be in meetings with (allegedly) well-educated, professional people. I am afraid that this grammar (or lack thereof) problem has become nearly epidemic.

Let me give you some examples:

I have a customer who says “irregardless”. Irregardless? Really??? It’s not even a word! I have a work associate that routinely uses the word “exasperate” when he means to say “exacerbate”. Which I must admit, I find completely exasperating! And don’t get me started on using “I” or “myself” incorrectly instead of “me”. I guess some people think that they sound fancy when they say “I” instead of “me”. News flash: you only sound stupid when you use it incorrectly.

Being this correct all alone is exhausting. I need your help because this is not just limited to my circle of friends and acquaintances (although there is some serious verbal abuse – not that kind – going on with my work associates and family members). Recently at a family gathering someone commented that our two-year old granddaughter “Sure does talk good, don’t she?” We tried to shield the child.

Please share the load. Start correcting poor speakers. We owe to our children and our grandchildren. This problem is nationwide – worldwide and it’s time to right this wrong. I promise that tonight when you turn on the news you will hear folks butchering the English language. Especially some of those yokels who want to mandate that ‘English only’ is taught and spoken in our schools. I have a challenge for those people: start speaking English yourselves. And it’s pervasive. Even our past President couldn’t pronounce “nuclear”. This is a far-reaching and overwhelming issue. Celebrities, politicians, clergy, business leaders – all guilty of massacring our language.

Don’t get me wrong. I love regional dialects and accents and colloquialisms. I think that they are charming. My friends from Boston move their ‘R’s’ around – like taking the ‘R’ out of chowder (chowda) and placing it in ‘idea’ (idea-r). And my friends in Wisconsin routinely say things like, “Hit it once with a hammer a couple of times” or “Throw me down the steps a pack of cigarettes”. And my friends from the South will welcome “All y’all”. Even here in Saint Louis some folks make ‘O’s” sound like ‘A’s’, for example: horse is pronounced “harse” and corn is often called “carn”. And this can sometimes lead to humorous statements, like when our Deacon invites us to “Pray to the Lard”. I chuckle every time (Lard please forgive me).

I haven’t even taken the time to discuss poor writing skills. I’ll save that for later. Suffice to say, I receive e-mails that are so poorly written I sometimes feel that I need a ‘decoder’ to make sense of them. And don’t get me started on text messaging. It is truly the decline of our entire civilization. R U kiddin’ me?

So I’m calling all grammarians. Step it up! Do your part. Stop the abuse. Our precious language is counting on you.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Feel free to correct my grammar, spelling or punctuation in this post.

Sharing Girl Stuff

On Sunday evening, my granddaughter Anna told me, “Nana and I share girl stuff”. I’m not sure exactly what she meant but I have a pretty good idea. On Saturday her Nana (my Debbie) bought her a pink tutu and ballet slippers. And on Sunday morning they made pancakes together – Anna knows all the rules of Nana’s kitchen – “we wash hands first, Pawpaw!” Plus later, on Sunday afternoon Nana painted Anna’s toenails red. So I suspect all of that stuff that they shared was “girl stuff”. So grandmothers and granddaughters share girl stuff and so much more. What a blessing for all.

Debbie had a grandmother that she loved dearly and her Mimi loved her. Mimi would take time with her just like Deb now takes time with our granddaughters Charlise and Anna. Debbie fondly remembers how she and Mimi shared girl stuff, too. And I know that Deb must feel Mimi’s spirit smiling down on them during those special times when she and our granddaughters are together now.

Six-year old Charlise loves spending time at Nana’s house. She actually calls it Nana’s house (as if I’m a boarder only allowed to live here out of Nana’s enormous generosity). There are always favorite foods and special meals. Always special things to do and special places to go. Nana makes certain that Charlise’s weekends at Nana’s house are always fun! They bake cookies together and there’s popcorn and “movie night”. And I get to join in the fun sometimes, too. But the “girl stuff” is just for them. And I believe that’s the way it should be.

Now (almost) three-year old Anna will tell you that she’s Pawpaw’s girl but everyone knows that she’s Nana’s shadow. Not only does she act like Deb but she mimics her every move. If they’re cooking together, Anna will take notice so as to stir and mix in her ingredients in the exact same manner that Nana does. If they’re signing together, Anna will finish the words of the songs that Deb is singing. And she even plays with Deb’s stupid little dogs – one of the reasons that I still haven’t called the animal shelter for a pick-up. She even loves feeding those dumb dogs.

Nana's Girls

So Nana and her girls “share girl stuff”. And it’s really nothing new. I suppose grandmothers and granddaughters have been sharing time together since life began. But what makes it special isn’t what they do – what makes it “sharing girl stuff” is the intrinsic bond that grandmothers and their granddaughters have. There is something almost primal in their need to bridge the generations. Granddaughters learn about tradition and grandmothers get to glimpse and help shape the future. It’s their legacy.

And grandfathers? Well we get to marvel at the wonder of it all.

Peace,

Denis

Praying With Men

On Saturday my son-in-law Travis and I went to a ‘Men’s Day of Recollection’. This has become an annual event for our parish and it is held at a local Catholic high school nearby. I don’t know who named it ‘Day of Recollection’. It could just as easily be called ‘Day of Renovation or Reconstruction or Restoration’ but that’s beside the point. Each year the format is basically the same although the themes vary – but not greatly. This year was not much different from the other years that I’ve attended with one exception – I prayed. Now I know that probably sounds strange but it’s not that strange for me. I have attended many workshops and retreats and not prayed – NOT REALLY PRAYED anyway. I guess I’ve just been sort of programmed to pay polite attention to the presenter and participate in the discussions and attend the obligatory Mass and sing the hymns. And that’s what I usually do – just barely do.

You see I can’t remember when I haven’t been angry at my Church (at the institutional Church). And in fact part of the presentation on Saturday was about how all mainline churches are losing members in droves and how the Catholic Church is no exception – and I thought; well no duh! As the talk continued, we were somehow supposed to take comfort (or shame – not sure here) about the fact we are not alone. The Presbyterians, and The Lutherans, and The Baptists, and The Episcopalians are all in the same boat with us Catholics. I’m not sure if ‘the why’ was explained but I think it has something to do with our secular world not wanting to FOLLOW THE RULES. And that includes our acceptance of abortion, gay marriage, female clergy, and bargaining rights for public-sector employees. (Just kidding about that last one – although I have a feeling some men in attendance were thinking it). Anyway that’s about when I started to fade out. Whenever someone starts throwing around the word ‘secular’ I feel as though I’m blushing because I believe ‘secular’ might be code for ‘Denis Wilhelm and his kind’. After all, I voted for Barack Obama and my favorite nuns are the ones that don’t wear habits.

So while I was (sort of) zoned out. I started praying. I prayed for our pastor (who was our presenter). I prayed for the other men attending the retreat. I prayed for Travis, whose love motivated me to be there in the first place. But mostly I prayed for myself – for patience; for understanding; for guidance. I prayed my granddaughter Anna’s guardian angel prayer: “Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits me here; ever this day be at my side; to light, to guard, to rule, to guide. ~ Amen”

It’s funny that a child’s prayer would bring me great comfort at that moment. I realized (once again) that I AM A CATHOLIC – warts and all. I understood more clearly that all of us men who were gathered there on Saturday brought our strengths and weaknesses to God. Some of us were just searching for a way to live in peace. Some of us were mired in the need for ‘black and white’ answers in a world where all the questions are shades of gray. Some of us were holding on to hurt and pain for years or decades that we can’t (or won’t) let go. And some, like me, were carrying all of those things.

And in the strength of those seventy-odd men I was reminded that if God can continue to forgive me for my failings – I can continue to seek the Truth. I will commit myself to living my faith. And I will (try to) follow the rules. But I will also never stop questioning, challenging, hoping for a better world, a better church, a better community.

I know that we are perfected in Christ. For some of us it just takes a little longer. Now if I could just be as patient with myself as God is with me…

Maybe it should be called ‘Men’s Day of Recalibration’.

Peace,

Denis