Growing up in the Midwest, my world was pretty small. Growing up Catholic and attending parochial schools made my world even smaller. To say that my life was insular is an understatement. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know more – I just didn’t know anything else. Everyone that I knew had a mom and a dad; went to mass on Sunday; lived in a modest house; played in one another’s backyards; had a crucifix and pictures of President Kennedy and Pope John XXIII somewhere in their home; and were mostly happy (at least on the outside). I’m glad that I grew up and out and away from that life but I still remember my childhood with nostalgia. Some things haven’t changed but many things have. I believe that I have.
When I reflect on where I came from and where I am today, I become more aware of the tremendous chasm between what once was and what my life is now. I’ve lived in England. I work in Mexico. I’ve traveled the world. I have friends in England, China, Mexico, Canada, France, The Philippines and The Netherlands. I have strolled through castles in Scotland and Germany. Toured museums in Paris, Madrid and Rome. Walked down cobblestone streets in England and France. Prayed in temples, churches, abbeys and cathedrals in London, Strasberg, Mexico City, Zhujiajiao, Heidelberg and Amsterdam. As an adult I’ve had experiences that I couldn’t even imagine as I child. Today I live only a few miles from where I was born but my world is so much bigger. I respect where I’ve come from and how my upbringing formed my conscience and my beliefs but I am grateful for the experiences of this life that have expanded my horizons.
Last month I joined my manufacturing team from Mexico City on a trip to China. We were touring factories in Shanghai to give the team from Mexico some insight into successful practices being employed there. We were entering the offices of one facility and my good friend and business associate from China stopped in front of a statue of Buddha that is prominently displayed in his lobby. He asked if any of us had a coin. A member of my team from Mexico pulled a peso out of her purse. She was asked to place it on the statue of Buddha, which she did. It was explained to us that this simple act would bring peace and good luck to us and to our friend from China. I couldn’t help but think of all the statues of Our Lady of Guadalupe that I have encountered in nearly every factory, employee lounge and public place in Mexico. Of course my friends from Mexico honored the request because they are so familiar with devotion to Guadalupe. Buddha in many ways is looked upon the same way in China. His image is everywhere and perhaps is dealt with somewhat superstitiously, as are images of Guadalupe sometimes in Mexico.
But on that day, at that time, the connection was real. It’s not often in business that I have a spiritual awakening. Placing the coin on Buddha wasn’t just some hocus-pocus good luck nonsense. I may have grown up in a small town in the Midwest and my childhood experiences may have been limited but here I was in China with my friends and co-workers from Mexico sharing this moment. We weren’t arguing over political or religious differences. None of us were intent on proving our practices or our beliefs were the best. Instead we were reaching out and embracing one another’s cultures. It was done with respect and humility. We had all come from different places but that day we were focused on our similarities not our differences. And I believe that God was pleased and we were all blessed.
Peace,
Denis
We need the joy of Easter. It is a welcome balm that can ease the pain in our world. I for one love the carnival atmosphere of Easter Sunday services. Kids dressed in itchy new Easter clothes barely able to sit still because of all the candy that they have consumed before breakfast; beleaguered parents who rose before dawn to hide eggs and prepare baskets full of the aforementioned candy for the little darlings; folks who have not been to church in a while looking conspicuously out-of-place; ‘the regular-attenders’ barely able to conceal their annoyance of having to share their pew. We squeeze in and make room for all. And we love and forgive and ask for forgiveness for the times that we have failed to love. The Alleluias return!
Sunday at mass it will be the same priest, the same boring or out-of-touch homily, the same listless liturgy, and sometimes I just want to “phone it in”. I’ll go through the motions but I can’t help but wonder if my time might not be better spent cleaning out a closet or organizing the cabinets in my office. I suppose I could pray while I straighten out my clutter. Isn’t cleanliness next to Godliness or something like that?
This morning he didn’t think he could make it to school. He pleaded his case but Mom and Dad assured him that he would be okay. They offered him a favorite stuffed animal to take for “rest time” at pre-school (which is apparently a common practice for others in his class). The stuffed animal might offer some security and reminder of home but he refused it in a very adult manner: “No thank you Mommy, there are two reasons I don’t want to take my stuffed animal. First, I don’t want germs from other kids to get on it. And sometimes people play with their stuffed animals when it’s not resting time and our teacher doesn’t like that.” Apparently he knows his limitations.
Short and sweet can grow tiresome when the rest of the world (or classroom) is tall. My wife has reaching sticks and step stools and similar aids but I’ve heard her say many times that it would be nice just to be “tall enough”. Tall enough to reach the top shelf in the grocery store. Tall enough to buy pants that don’t need to be tailored. Tall enough to do some things without help from the Tall Ones.
Legend and tradition tell us more: The Three Kings (three gifts were presented but the Gospel never tells us the number of Magi) were named Caspar (or Gaspar), Melchior, and Balthasar. Early Christian art depicts the three men as coming from Europe, Asia, and Africa. And growing up my nativity set at home would show them likewise. Tradition also tells us the significance of the gifts – gold: a gift fit for a king; frankincense: which is burned during prayer; myrrh: which is a perfume most often associated with burial – a foreshadowing of Jesus’s death and suffering. Another tradition (brought to the U.S. by European immigrants) involves writing the initials of the three kings’ names above the main door of the home to confer blessings on the occupants for the New Year. For example, 20 + C + M + B + 16.
I loved Christmas presents but I knew even as a child that Baby Jesus was always at the center of it. We were raised to believe he would come (again) each year at Christmas. We set our crèche under the tree with all the characters (except baby Jesus of course until Christmas morning). We lit our Advent candles each week. St. Nicholas would come on December 6th and fill our stockings with an orange and some nuts, a peppermint stick and one Hershey® bar (thanks Dad!). At school we would pray and sing carols, collect money for the missions and go to daily Mass. My little Catholic world was secure. And there was abundant joy!
I often find myself questioning whether or not to spend time with someone because of something that was said or done that “rubbed me the wrong way”. There have been times that I judged someone simply because of who their friends are. Worse yet, how about those people I avoid just because of their affiliations with certain political or religious groups? Not to mention the folks that I distance myself from simply because of age, race, ethnicity or income level. My justification – “I don’t hate them; I just don’t really like them.” or “I don’t have anything in common with these people.” or “I already have enough friends.”
Journeying & Journaling 