Carrying On

Like me, do you ever find yourself in a spiritual desert? Those times when my prayers seem empty and perfunctory, it feels as if I’m just going through the motions. Maybe I am. So, I pray: God, please help me!

I feel overwhelmed by the ugliness of our world. Lately before I turn on the television or my computer or look at my phone, I hold my breath and wonder what now? What has our government inflicted upon the most vulnerable? Who has been attacked or murdered? What hate in God’s name is being celebrated? At times some of the buffoonery of our elected officials is laughable but mostly it’s just frightening.

I have dear friends who are battling serious health issues and others who are dealing with the loss of a loved one. So much to pray for and seemingly so little prayer left in me. A wise person once told me that tears are a form of prayer. Sometimes tears are all I have to offer.

Lately my desert experiences have been coming along more frequently and lasting much longer. Too many times, I approach the altar angry or hurt and I can’t (or won’t) let go of my outrage. Too often I have judged others as hypocrites. I find it increasingly difficult to forgive and yet I expect complete forgiveness for my own shortcomings.

During those times, I attend Mass and sing and pray along and listen to The Word, but I might as well be driving through the Automatic Car Wash. My experience is completely passive, and it barely registers on my psyche. It almost feels as if I’m watching someone else – it’s not worship; it’s not prayer; it’s just sort of dutiful religious regurgitation.

But maybe just BEING THERE is enough. Maybe just being in the presence of others who are truly engaged spiritually has its own grace. Being part of a community of believers means that sometimes we carry one another along on the journey. The prayers and singing of the “inspired ones” can lift me up before God when I can barely pull myself into the pew.

So, I trudge along; hoping that maybe just by being at Mass and participating, however vacuous, I might find some grace and be touched by the Holy Spirit. Witnessing others’ worship, during these empty times, I wonder why I can’t feel God’s presence as they do. When my spirituality feels particularly bankrupt, I find comfort in just seeing friendly faces in church and greeting them with a smile or kind word. That simple act brings me a measure of peace (God’s peace?).

Some days my prayer is just this: God, please help me! 

And angels come to lift me up and carry me on.

Peace,

Denis

There are many things that can only be seen through eyes that have cried – Saint Oscar Romero

The Weary World Rejoices

I awoke this morning recalling a time several years ago right before Christmas with my baby grandson. Apparently, everyone else had last minute things to attend to, and Noah and I were left at home alone. I held him in my arms, and he drifted off to sleep. My heart still swells with joy as I remember those precious moments. Feeling his tiny heartbeat against my own, hearing his gentle breathing, and smelling his baby sweetness, I was humbled by his presence in my life. I wanted to stay wrapped up in that moment forever. As I was embracing Noah, God was embracing me.

While we welcome Baby Jesus with triumphant hymns and celebrations, somewhere a mother is mourning the loss of her own child. Disease, poverty, racism and injustice ravage our society. Christmas itself won’t end hunger, or war, or poverty, or terrorism, or racism, or homophobia or violence, or human trafficking, or all other injustices. Millions will go to bed hungry tonight. Millions more will have no place to lay their head. Others will be at war or surrounded by violence. Others are imprisoned by drug addiction, domestic abuse, neglect or alcoholism.

Still, Jesus comes amidst our joy and sorrow, our triumphs and disappointments. He comes to be with us. He will embrace our joy and our pain.

Christmas comes with the hope of renewal. Christmas raises our expectations of peace and goodwill. If we believe in God and take an active role in His plan, we can bring peace to our world. We can take a stand; perform an act of kindness; make a small sacrifice for another. We can share a smile; speak a kind word; give a gentle touch. I believe that kindness, multiplied by millions as we proclaim our Christmas joy, can transform our world. Ram Dass is credited with saying, “When all is said and done, we are all just walking each other home.”

My wish is that you all can recall some “Baby Noah moment” in your life and be sustained by the comfort that God is with you while you are walking one another home.

Peace,

Denis

All Is Calm

In December of 1973, while in college, I was working part-time at a Venture Store. Venture was a big box discount store. As you can imagine, during the weeks before Christmas the store was always busy, and customers were increasingly demanding. Folks were scrambling to grab the latest gadget or toy and at times the scene at Venture could best be described as frenzied. When customers discovered that the “Specially Advertised” merchandise was sold-out, they could turn downright nasty.

It was in this cacophony of ringing cash registers, blue light specials, and loud-speaker announcements that I discovered her. There she was with tears streaming down her face. It was the girl from the Health and Beauty Aids Department. I didn’t know her well, but she was cute and always friendly, and no one deserved to be that upset. I was certain that some jerk-ass customer had yelled at her and I was ready to hunt them down and give them a piece of my mind. After all, who needed this lousy job?

When I approached her and asked, “What’s the matter?” She said, “Don’t you hear it?” Puzzled, I asked, “Hear what?” “Listen!”, she said. And I did. Ever so faintly amidst the noise of weary shoppers, screaming kids, and the umpteenth Public Address Announcement, I heard the strains of the Muzak version of “Silent Night”. Before I could ask her why on earth that would make her cry, she told me that she loved the song and it touched her heart and that Christmas was her favorite time of year. She assured me that her tears were really tears of joy. Her tenderness, her serenity and her beauty filled that space.  

I was speechless. And right there in that busy, crowded, awful discount store she brought Christmas to me. She gave me peace. She brought me to Bethlehem. And for the first time, I truly understood that I have a Savior.

I will never forget that night or that girl or that beautiful moment.

Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come. Mark 13:33

Peace,

Denis

P.S. That was over 50 years ago and lucky me married that beautiful girl from Venture’s Health and Beauty Aids Department. Our children and grandchildren can attest to the fact that she stills cries whenever she hears Silent Night.

All is calm; all is bright!

Finding Joy

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. Lighting the pink candle is a time for rejoicing. We rejoice in our anticipation of Christ’s coming as an infant over 2,000 years ago in Bethlehem.

Today’s Gospel speaks of John the Baptist. Did John (that crazy, animal skin wearing, locust eating, hermit) think he was the only one who knew what was coming? Afterall, he leapt for joy in his mother’s womb on hearing of the coming of Christ.

I like to imagine that John was stoic. He had fortitude – that thing of mighty men. Muscle and endurance; toughness and resiliency; never-ending and never-failing. But was he just skulking around in the desert because he was disgusted with the callous disregard of others? Do I sometimes find myself lost in a spiritual desert or do I choose to be there to distance myself from others. Are my apathy and cynicism just convenient means of avoidance? “I don’t know and I don’t care” avoids the messy and bothersome involvement with humanity.

I find myself searching for joy in the desert. Looking for a glimmer of hope. Praying for peace.

As I prepare for coming of the infant Jesus at Christmas, John the Baptist reminds me that there is something else coming. I must prepare for the change that Jesus creates; in our world; in our church; in myself. I need Jesus here and now to give me balance. I need His loving example to help me deal with the tragedies in my life. Sometimes it’s hard to find joy in our world. I need Jesus’ wisdom to find the good in all His creation. I need to learn how to disagree without being disagreeable. I need His patience during this holiday season to be truly present, especially when something doesn’t go as planned. I need Jesus’ forgiveness for all the times that I fail to be loving and patient.

So, 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. He offers me understanding and forgiveness.

I’m reminded that a single flame can illuminate the darkness. So, I’ll light my pink candle and welcome Him home.

Peace,

Denis

Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you; he will prepare your way before you.
Amen, I say to you, among those born of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist;
yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
Matthew 11:10-11

Mary Knew Her Strength

Author Joelle Chase writes, “Mary is an archetype of the feminine in all of us—man or woman—sometimes hidden or subverted, but always present and available, inviting us to embrace what appears small, unimportant, embarrassing, weak. She knew her strength, the miracle of her body that would knit Life out of God’s seed.” 

That’s a powerful statement and it runs counter to the image of a helpless, hapless, teenage Mary who is poor, afraid, pregnant, unwed and uncertain. Mary said yes. Not because the angel told her that she should, but because she knew her own strength, her potential and her power.

Mothers are powerful! Ask any woman who has cared for a sick child; wept for the loss of life; fought for her child’s acceptance; guarded her offspring without flinching; celebrated joy and comforted heartache; loved unconditionally. All while saying “yes”.

Ask any man who loves a woman and he will tell you that mothers are powerful. When men can’t – women do. When fathers fail and flail; mothers take charge. No one loves like a mother; fights like a mother for what is right; dreams beyond her own capabilities like a mother. All while saying “yes”.

God could have come to earth on cloud or from a lighting bolt. Jesus could have appeared “poof” out of nowhere. But instead he was born to a woman as an infant. God chose to be loved by a mother. Jesus shared in the joy of being truly human; of being cradled in a mother’s arms; to know her strength and her tenderness.

We can all learn from Mary’s “yes”. Women and men alike. Yes to truth. Yes to courage. Yes to strength. Yes to gentleness. Yes to peace. Yes to love. Yes to life. Yes to God.

Peace,

Denis

“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Luke 1:38

Quiet and Slow?

Last Sunday our Associate Pastor gave us two words to reflect on: quiet and slow. On that first Sunday of Advent, he suggested that we approach this Christmas Season quietly and slowly. Considering the usual hustle and bustle of this time of year that is a challenge for many of us. For me it seems nearly impossible.

Let me explain.

I’m loud. Really loud. I was born the third son in a family of four siblings. In our house you didn’t wait for your turn to speak, you just spoke louder than your brothers. My sister is the youngest and she’s pretty loud, too. Our father was loud (even when he thought he was being quiet). My wife reminds me all the time that I don’t know how to whisper. And I know that I speak over other people. I try to suppress this tendency but most times I fail. So apparently, I’ve inherited my dad’s inability to be quiet.

I’m fast. My mother was fast. In fact, her entire family moved at a rapid pace, and I’ve inherited that trait, too. Why spend your whole life just moseying along? I’m often restless and find no pleasure in ‘taking my time’ to do anything. We have stuff that needs to get done! My dad used to joke that “Rome wasn’t built in a day, because no one in your mother’s family was on the job site”. Of course, he told that joke loudly.

I know that Advent is counter cultural. It should be a time of quiet reflection. There’s plenty of time to wrap the presents and trim the tree and raise a glass of cheer. I need some time for meditation and prayer. Time to quiet my soul and prepare the way for Christ’s coming into my life. But it goes against my very nature.

Quiet and slow. These attributes are not my strong suit. When I’m with a prayer group and we have ‘moments of silence’ and quiet reflection I begin to twitch. I can only hear the ringing in my ears. My mind jumps around to the various and assorted IMPORTANT THINGS that need to be done (quickly!). What was our focus? Something Jesus-y. When can we begin talking again? Oh Christ! I mean oh Christ, please help me!

Quiet and Slow. I like a challenge. But quiet and slow?

This Advent, when I get caught up in all my busyness, I will listen for God’s voice shouting for me. I imagine God, as my Mom, all those years ago when I was boy out playing with my friends, shouting for me to come home.

Wisdom shouts in the street,
She lifts her voice in the square;
At the head of the noisy streets she cries out;
At the entrance of the gates in the city she utters her sayings.
  Proverbs 1:20-2
1

Come home! And then I can light my Advent wreath. One flame at a time.

Peace,

Denis

In All Circumstances Give Thanks

Saint Paul urges us to give thanks in all circumstances. Sometimes that’s a tough nut to crack.

Years ago, my spirituality group was encouraged to list our blessings and to reflect on what matters most to us. I was the only one who didn’t mention God. Not that I didn’t think that God was important, I just didn’t single him (her) out. Instead, I chose to list experiences for which I was and will always be thankful. In retrospect, I realize that God’s hand is in all of it. That’s kind of how God and I operate. We tend to sneak up on one another. I’m not a “God is My Co-Pilot” kind of guy. I’m more of a Hey God, you still out there?” “Remember me?” “Help me!” “Wow God, thank you!” kind of guy. And God is like, “Yeah, I got this.” “And you’re welcome”.

So, I thank God for all my blessings: My beautiful wife, who never gives up on me, who keeps me grounded and makes me a better man; my kids, who never grow tired of me and who remind me that I did my best even when I was running on empty; my grandchildren, who never cease to amaze me and who allow me to see into the future through their love, energy, devotion, and kindness; my siblings and my cousins, with whom I share a history and who have never abandoned me. I am thankful for my family.

I am thankful for everyone that I’ve met on this journey of life. Especially those persons with whom I can bare my soul. We carry one another’s burdens, share one another’s joys, wipe away one another’s tears, and celebrate one another’s triumphs. We live in an imperfect world, but we are perfected by the love that we share. Bad things happen, but those things do not have to define who we are. We measure our worth in the joy we find each day. I am thankful for my friends.

My prayers of praise and supplication and thanksgiving often feel like fleeting thoughts (never fully formed or well-articulated). Still, I believe that God listens to my prayers – poorly formed and selfish as they may be. I pray and God listens. I cry and God hears me. I try and God accepts my humble efforts. I am thankful for my faith.

When I think of all the goodness in my life, at times I feel undeserving. But mostly, I am humbled. Why have I been so blessed? How can I begin to thank God for all I have been given? Who am I to have received so much? I am thankful for God’s mystery.

This Thanksgiving, I will rejoice again for all that is good (and try to understand and accept the not-so-good stuff, too). I will give thanks today and continue to work on the ‘always’ part.

And I will keep on singing.

Peace,

Denis

Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances, give thanks. 1 Thes 5:16-18

Raised Up

I’ll admit it. Lately I’m running a little low on patience, compassion, and empathy. So much seems to be so wrong. Good friends battling serious health issues. Government shutdown. The Golden Ballroom. Epstein Files. Families struggling to feed themselves. Plus waiting on hold for “customer service” from a robot. Leaves piling up outside. Spam calls. Dreaded self-checkouts. Leaking dishwasher. And that kid down the street who drives too fast.

I know in my heart that sadness, anger and bitterness only serve to drain the spirit from my life. Being justified in my outrage is not worth the loss of love that I will be denied by my own stubbornness or self-righteousness. Still, sometimes it feels so good to feel so angry. What the heck, God?

I try hard not to be a curmudgeon but at times it feels as if the cards have been stacked against me. My prayers seem to go unanswered. I’m tired of giving others the benefit of the doubt – because I doubt that they deserve it. So, I yell at the cable news anchors, groan with every new spam call, bitch at the self-checkout thingy (because I don’t know how to scan properly, I suppose) and I shake my fist at that hoodlum down the street while I curse him under my breath as I’m raking leaves (again). Slow down you maniac!!!

As often happens in my life, a miracle occurs. Just when my outrage and disgust with mankind seems completely justified, I am confronted with the love of others. Somehow, I am carried along by good news, good fortune, and goodwill.

We were honored to watch our teenage granddaughter direct her first school play. Her joy was contagious, and my pride was overwhelming. While doing fall cleanup in our gardens, I noticed the neighbor next door was playing with her two young daughters in a pile of leaves. The delight of their giggles warmed my stone-cold heart. Later I learned that my fifteen-year-old grandson was on a retreat weekend with his faith community which restores my soul. I connected with my cousin to plan a small reunion (of sorts) which will include lots of laughs and shared memories. Our younger granddaughters were delighted with a little early Christmas surprise. Who knew that something so small could be such a big hit? I received the joyful news that a baby was born. Friends that I’ve come to know from church were blessed with a healthy baby boy. I’m told that two-year-old big sister is “over the moon”. And so am I.

God is good. Sometimes I just need a ‘kick in the pants’ or a gentle nudge to be reminded that I am carried along on this journey of life by the love of others. And in the grand scheme of things, when I take their hands, I am blessed beyond my dreams.

Peace,

Denis

A Tale of No Tail

We have a squirrel living in our garden who has no tail. Of course, as a mere human I have anthropomorphized him. I call him Stubby. Not a particularly clever name but, it definitely fits his situation. Stubby seems undaunted by his lack of tail. He climbs trees. He frantically buries acorns. As he is happily scampering across our lawn, I wonder if he is he aware of his disability? Do the other squirrels shun him? Will he become a hero like that red-nosed reindeer? He seems to like our backyard. He lives in our big live oak tree. We’ve become (sort of) friends.

I’ve read a bit about tailless squirrels. Squirrels may be born tailless or lose their tails to injury; although this affects survival, many adapt and thrive regardless. I hope that Stubby can beat the odds and thrive. Mostly I hope he comes back and digs up all those acorns so that I don’t have a bunch of little oak trees sprouting up in our garden next Spring. I’m pulling for the little fellow. He likely won’t attract a mate because he can’t do that tail shaking move that all the female squirrels seem unable to resist. He’ll probably remain a bachelor. Maybe he’ll be the fun uncle. I just hope he survives the winter. Being different needn’t define him.

Watching Stubby dart across our lawn and strain to climb our tree, I can’t help but think about my own challenges. How often have I struggled with physical limitations? How many times have I accepted defeat and not even tried something new out of fear? What if it is too hard? What if I fail? Worse yet, what if I’m singled out for not “fitting in”?

Some of my disabilities are physical, a few are emotional, and many of mine are spiritual. Many people I know are steadfast and confident in their faith. Many people I know have the assurance of God in their daily lives. Many people I know never question their belief. But I’m different. I sometimes struggle with the self-righteousness and hypocrisy of others. I often struggle with church hierarchy and their silence in the face of social evil. Sometimes in the midst of the cruelty and unkindness of this world I wonder if God is paying attention. And I struggle with my own prayer life at times. My prayers can seem futile. I feel empty, lost and alone.

Faith in God is not easy. What is easy is to explain away all of my hardships and struggles and sadness as random acts in a world full of chaos. What is easy is to accept that some folks will always have better luck/money/position than me. What is hard is to find solace in times of sorrow and desperation in a God who at times feels very distant. Sometimes it’s challenging to find joy in others’ happiness when I am feeling overwhelmed with my own difficulties. But this is the essence of faith. I learned a long time ago through trial and error to stop looking for God in the stars. To stop praying to the clouds. God is in my friends. God is in my family. And when I look deeply (this is the really hard part) I can find God in me.

So, maybe I’m different. But that needn’t define me.

Peace,

Denis

Grace For the Trials

It’s hard to find grace these days. There is so much anger in our world. Our nation’s politics have become poisonous. So much cruelty inflicted on innocent people. So much hate in the name of righteousness. I often feel desperate and frightened. I fear for my grandchildren and what the future holds for them.

Our congressman just stated on the House Floor, referring to his fellow citizens across the aisle: “they literally will kill those with whom they disagree, just as their predecessors—leftists Marx, and Stalin, and Lenin, and Pol Pot, and Fidel Castro—did.” He was ratcheting up more hate and distrust between our political parties instead of representing the people in his district. Apparently, Bob Onder, a self-proclaimed Pro-Life Catholic has shamefully chosen ugly rhetoric instead of bipartisanship. So much for respecting all life as sacred. Sadly, we have a president who behaves likes a petulant child. I suppose our congressman is doing his best to emulate Trump’s behavior.

On these worst days I become cynical and morose. I throw my hands in the air and exclaim WTF!

But then I encounter the angels in my life. And I realize that I am not alone in my pain and worry and despondency. Last night while watching a particularly sappy moment in a movie my wife reached out and held my hand. That touch restored my soul once again. I was reminded of a poem that she shared with me 50 years ago. I have returned to it many times in the ensuing years.

Help from above; unfailing sympathy; undying love. Being afraid, crying out in pain, needn’t be a sign of weakness but of surrender. This week Pope Leo addressed a crowd at St. Peter’s Square with these words:

“Jesus teaches us not to be afraid to cry out, as long as it is sincere and humble. A cry is never pointless if it is born of love, and it is never ignored if it is delivered to God. It is a way to not give in to cynicism, to continue to believe that another world is possible.”

So, instead of wringing my hands and cursing the future. I will hope for a better day and pray for the courage to hold on until it arrives. And I will remember that there is no justice without compassion, no joy without sorrow, no peace without pain. So, bring on the rain!

Peace,

Denis