Journeying Into Mystery

Our journey began on September 3, 1968 in the bandroom of St Bernard’s High School, on Rice Street, St Paul, Minnesota.

My dad’s company, Westinghouse Air Brake, transferred him from Chicago to head up the St Paul office. That September I was beginning my Junior year of high school. My dad had been transferred a number of times before, so I was use to transferring from school to school, however, this was a hard move for me. I was leaving a lot of my life behind in Chicago, a great high school and high school band, a girl friend, good friendships. That first day of school, I was walking into a school in which everyone knew everyone, students that had for years been pigeon holed into the normal clics that form in high school. As the new kid in the school, I was getting sized up by the other students. No one really talked to me, they just observed. I am introvert by nature and not very outgoing, so I was rather trepidatiously living through that first day of school, trying to learn not only the written rules of the place, but the unwritten rules of the place. Compared to my former high school, this was a strictly run school with strict rules about uniforms, hair, we had silent lunches (you got slugged by the Dean of Discipline if you spoke during lunch … as I quickly learned). My former school was a suburban school, this school was an inner city school which might account for the strict policies of the school. It was not a college preparatory high school, but one in which many graduates went from high school into a blue collar factory job or attended vocational school to learn a trade. Nevertheless, the education at this school was top rated, with many of the teachers possessing graduate degrees in their area of expertise.

After my first lunch period, I went to band. Having had many years of taking piano, I had a good musical background that allowed me to play a number of brass instruments, the french horn being my primary brass instrument. I played first french horn in my previous high school band, but this band already had a first french horn player. The band director pointed me to the french horn section, and I found myself sitting next to this absolutely stunningly beautiful girl with brunette hair. She welcomed me warmly, smiled a smile that melted my heart and introduced herself as Ruth Ahmann.

She was a senior and I was a junior. On that day of September 3rd, 1968, my life was wonderfully altered for the better. Toward the end of the year, Ruth and I grew into being good friends, and, having falling in love with her, I finally worked up the courage to ask her out on a date. She said, “yes.”

It was May 29th, 1969 when we went out on our first date. It was a stormy, rainy night, but for me it was memorable. This is how I remembered in a poem.

FIRST DATE

Pouring down rain drenching the night
as I climb the steps to your  home.
With one knock, light from within
greets me, and there you stand,
the scent of herbal essence from your hair,
your brown eyes looking deep into my soul.
You bid farewell to your Aunt and Uncle,
open the screen door
and step outdoors.
The drenching rain suddenly
frozen in time
as your hand touches mine
and you laugh,
aware of the secret
I have hidden deep within.

© 2011. The Book Of Ruth,  by Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

Ruthie lived with her Uncle Harold and Aunt Evelyn a couple of blocks from our high school. Ruth and her older sister, Annie, shared a bedroom on the second story of Ev and Harold’s house on Marion Street. Because Ruthie never spoke of her mom and dad, I figured that she and her sister were orphans adopted by her Uncle and Aunt. It was not until I was invited to her graduation open house that I discovered that Ruthie had a much larger family living on a farm in Scandia, Minnesota. Both Ruthie and Annie went to St Bernard’s High School and boarded with their Aunt and Uncle during the school year.

Completely captivated by her, I fell only more deeply in love with her and resolved that some day I would marry her.

Though Ruthie dated other guys, I dated Ruthie exclusively. I had plenty of good friendship with girls throughout college. However, as fine and as fun as all my female friends were, none could come close to Ruthie. During the summer months I worked the relief shift as a maintenance man at Har Mar Mall to earn money for college. During the school year I worked weekends in maintenance as the same mall. Ruthie, upon graduating from high school, worked initially as a clerk in an office in St Paul, but soon started working as a nurses aide at St Joseph’s Hospital. It was there she fell in love with nursing, and began her studies to become an RN at Anoka Ramsey Community College. When she started her studies, she lived at home on the farm (which was closer to Anoka Ramsey) and would come and stay with her Aunt and Uncle in St Paul on the weekend so we could go out on a date. There were some nights she would stop by Har Mar Mall and keep me company when I was working.

My initial goal in life was to major in music and become a composer of music. However, in meeting Ruth, my principal goal was to marry Ruth. Musicians are a time a dozen, and only those with connections and good breaks ever make music a living. At the beginning of my sophomore year in college, I decided to refocus my music career by becoming a music educator. Adding education classes in the middle of my sophomore year, added another semester to my college, but I was determined to marry Ruth and support our family as a music educator. I would compose music on the side for my own enjoyment.

It was during this time I began to compose music for Ruth. Here is a short little song I composed on piano for her in 1971. The melody came to me in a dream.

Ruthie’s best friend from school, Cheryl was engaged to Robert DuCharme. Cheryl and Robert were married in the Fall of 1973. Ruth was Cheryl’s maid of honor.

I remember going shopping with Ruthie prior to Cheryl and Robert’s wedding. She needed shoes to match her maid of honor dress. The only shoes we found that matched her dress were a size too small for her feet (see picture). Ruthie, loving woman that she is, put up with the pain of the shoes until the wedding dance. The shoes were quickly lost at the dance.

A good friend of mine, and fellow music major, Larry Hennessy, married his college sweetheart, Charlotte, in December of 1973. Larry was a percussion major, and I played piano for part of his graduation recital. Larry got married in Ortonville, Minnesota. We traveled out to Ortonville, on the far western border of Minnesota on a really cold winter day for the wedding in Ruthie’s Ford Mustang. On the way back, the car had no heat. We found out later that the thermostat had gotten stuck. That was one very cold ride. We were scrapping the frost off the inside of the windows all the way back. Ruthie dropped me off at my home. Needless to say, she got that thermostat fixed.

The weddings of our friends only made me more determined that Ruthie and I would be married, too. Of all the things I was busy doing at that time, my main focus was to graduate from college, get a teaching job so that I could marry Ruth. As a music major, I was required to do a graduation recital in the Spring of my senior year. I had been practicing hours every day, practicing and memorizing to perfection all the music that would be performed at my recital. In spite of the time I spent in practice rooms, in classrooms, working at Har Mar Mall, Ruthie was my primary focus. I was trying to excel at my studies and performance for the primary reason of marrying Ruth.

Though I had been up against some stiff dating competition, Ruthie consented to marry me in December 1973. Happiness is a poor word to describe how happy I was. We planned to be married on December 24, 1974.

During the Spring semester, Ruthie was busy studying for the nurses boards and I was pretty much confined to a piano practice room. I remember one Saturday in which I went with her to Anoka Ramsey and found a rehearsal room to practice piano while she did some group study for the State of Minnesota Nursing boards. When her group study ended, she came by the rehearsal room and we decided to go to the local Mr Steak for a steak and lobster dinner.

Ruthie graduated from Anoka Ramsey in May, 1974 with a degree as a registered nurse. She passed her nursing board and started working at St Joseph Hospital in St Paul as full time nurse. Her work shifts varied from days, reliefs, and nights. She floated to whatever floor the hospital needed her.

The time came for my graduation recital. 90 minutes of memorized music. Programs printed. I discovered at the time that there comes a time when you cannot practice anymore or prepare anymore. I told Ruthie that following the recital we would go out on the town and let off some steam.

There is something akin to a myth for music performance that dictates no sexual behavior prior to the performance. My piano professor, Dr Callahan, knowing that by this time Ruthie and I were practically joined at the hip, strictly prohibited me from any contact with Ruth the three days before my recital. I told him that apparently the great composer and pianist Franz Liszt never heard that advice. Liszt was among a number of composers who were quite the playboys during their time, with all sorts of sexual dalliances. Dr Callahan, however, was quite adamant and put his foot down. So as the time of my recital approached, I was tired living the life of a cloistered monk, and in need of seriously painting the town.

My recital required me to play music from all periods of music. There was a prelude and fugue by Bach for the Baroque period. A Suite of music by Bela Bartok for 20th century music. A Schubert piano sonata for the Classical period. A Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody for the Romantic period. Since I had a minor in voice, I had also performed two aria from the Mozart Opera, The Marriage of Figaro. I concluded with seventeen variation on a theme by Felix Mendelssohn. My mind was so fatigued by the 17th variation that my mind went blank. Fortunately, there is muscle memory built into the hands, and the hands carried me through till I could remember the score and finish the piece. I was so exhausted by the end of the recital, there was no way for Ruthie and I to paint the town. I went home to bed.

That summer, Ruthie and I were busy planning our lives together. We were searching for a place to live. After quite a while of looking we found a two bedroom apartment on the corner of Larpenteur Ave and Dale Street in St Paul. Ruthie moved into the apartment while I remained at home with my parents. We shopped and found some bedroom furniture at Dayton’s Department Store, and a couch at Donaldson’s Department Store.

We spent a memorable time with Ruthie’s family at her Uncle Bud’s Cabin on West Battle Lake.

In the Fall of 1974, I began my student teaching at Highland High School in St Paul. Between student teaching and finishing up some classes, I was busy composing some music and arranging music for our wedding.

Two weeks before our wedding I graduated with a B.A. in Music from the College of St Thomas.

Everything was ready for the wedding. We chose the readings, I took care of the music. Tuxedos ordered. Ruthie bought her wedding dress and ordered our wedding cake. Bridesmaid’s dresses were ordered from Dayton’s. We were all ready, or so we thought. Our wedding dance couldn’t be held at the church, but we were able to rent a little hall in Shafer, Minnesota, outside of Lindstrom. For all the preparations we made for the church wedding, we hadn’t really planned for anything at the wedding dance. At the last minute, Ruthie, her family and I were busy cleaning the hall, putting up decorations. Since we could not have any alcohol at the church hall, where we had the wedding dinner, we hadn’t taken into account that people might want some at the dance. At the last minute, we ordered a couple kegs of beer and soft drinks for setups in case people wanted to bring something harder to drink. Rosemary, Ruthie’s mom, thought Ruthie was the worse bride when it came to providing for the party aspect of our wedding. I suppose because our priorities were more focused on church than the party, we were negligent when it came to the comfort level of our wedding guests.

The day finally came for the wedding. Ruthie had been working full time night shifts the week of our wedding. Ruthie only had about three hours of sleep prior to our wedding. We got married at St Bridget of Sweden, Lindstrom, Minnesota. The wedding was scheduled for 7 pm. Pictures were to follow the wedding and then the wedding dinner was in the lower level of the church.

Early in the afternoon of the wedding, my brother, Bill, who was also my best man, took me to the Ground Round where we had a drink (Rum and coke was what I was drinking then), and he lectured me on what he meant to be married. We got home, I showered and got dressed in my tuxedo, while my folks and my sister got prepared for the wedding, too. About two hours before I left for the church, I got word that the band that was to play the dance canceled the gig. As I was leaving for Lindstrom, I told my folks to bring records for the wedding dance. Fortunately, my mom had a friend in the music union, Lou Piahelli, who got a 3 man combo to play the dance at the last minute.

I was cool, calm, and collected prior to the wedding, that is, until my soon to be father-in-law, Al, came. He was in a bit of a nervous fluster about the wedding flowers. His nervousness was contagious and got me nervous, too. Our wedding was in the middle of the octave of Christmas. The church was beautifully decorated in Christmas colors. I didn’t give a hang if we had flowers or not, that is up to the time Al got to the church. However, the flowers came in plenty of time for the wedding.

The time for which I had been waiting from the first time I met Ruth finally arrived. I stood in the sanctuary of the church with my groomsmen, awaiting that moment around which my whole life was based. Then, my bride, accompanied by her parents, processed up the aisle of the church.

Ruthie didn’t tell me this part of our story till far later. Perhaps, it was because Ruth was the first of Al’s daughters to get married. Perhaps, it was because Ruth was marrying an out of work musician (though I was working part time as an X ray aide at Miller Hospital in St Paul). It is true, musicians do not make the best of spouses, so I could understand Al considering me a poor choice of a son-in-law. As Ruthie told me later, as she was processing up the aisle with her parents, her dad kept saying to her, “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, I won’t be mad.” When I saw the super 9 movie, my sister-in-law, Wanda made of the wedding (Wanda was my brother, Bill’s wife) Ruthie just smiled at her dad and kept on processing up the aisle. In her great wisdom, Ruthie knew that it would be better not to tell me that story until long after her dad and I became good friends. Had I known at the time it occurred, I would have been incredibly angry.

The readings were proclaimed. And, then, the time arrived for Ruth and I to exchange our vows.

Following the vows, the song, “One Hand, One Heart” from Bernstein’s musical West Side Story was song, by my friend and voice major, Diane Strafelda. During the preparation of gifts, a song I composed for the wedding, “Take Me as a Seal”, text derived from the Book of Ruth, was sung. Here is a reimaginated version just for piano of the song I composed for our wedding so many years ago. The original melody begins and ends the song. The middle part of the song I composed in 2016 and added to the song.

The typical wedding Mass lasts about an hour. However, caught up in the emotional high of being married to the person I loved the most, that hour seemed like only 5 minutes. I heard nothing of the priest’s homily. I remember the vows. and with the exception of an extra song thrown in by the organist and Diane to cover communion, “O Come Little Children”, the next thing I remembered was processing down the aisle during the recessional, an arrangement for organ and trumpet of an organ fanfare I made for a choir member who played trumpet and the church choir organist for my choir at Maternity of Mary.

I wrote a poem in 2011 trying to express what I felt that day as I walked down the aisle with my bride, Ruth.

WEDDING VOWS

The moment for which I have waited
from the time I first proposed to you,
arrives like music on the air.
Chosen scriptures read,
homily preached, all unnoticed,
unheard by me, so utterly
captivated am I by you
kneeling at my side.
I pinch myself, “Am I dreaming?
Is it really you next to me
and not some hologram?
Is the culmination of all
for which I have wished
and hoped, actually happening?”
We stand and as the priest
says, “repeat after me,”
you begin, “I, Ruth, take you Bob
for my husband …”
Rings placed on proffered fingers,
the mutual signaculum
of covenantal love.
A kiss seals the covenant,
life takes on the dream.

© 2011. Deacon Bob Wagner. All rights reserved.

The one thing Ruthie and I would have done differently would have been to have the pictures taken prior to the wedding. We thought it important to keep to the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride prior to the wedding ceremony. We were wrong. While we were still up in the church getting pictures taken, our guests were starving in the hall below the church. It was 8 pm and no one had eaten, so people were very hungry awaiting Ruthie and I to get down there and begin the meal.

The other thing we would have done is to not allow others attending the wedding to take pictures at the same time as the wedding photographer. As a result, there is not one picture of all of us looking at the photographer’s camera.

The excitement of that moment has erased all memory of what we ate. I somehow remember something like turkey, with the dark meat in the middle and the white meat surrounding the dark meat. Mash potatoes and gravy. Oh, and of course, the wedding cake.

Then, off to Shafer and the little hall for our wedding dance. I think that the dance began at 9:30 pm. Time seemed suspended for me. We did not have the grand introduction of the couple like many weddings do today. Everyone just gathered. Some line up for beer, others bringing their favorite form of alcohol and enhancing it with seven up or coke and ice. The three member combo started the music. Ruthie and I danced, others joined us. Being musicians, Ruthie and I aren’t really dancers. We normally played the music for dances, not actually doing any dancing. Ruthie threw the bouquet, I shot the garter, and at 11 pm we left the dance to go to the family farm to change clothes and drive north to Duluth.

It was around midnight by the time we left the farm and started the two hour drive up to Duluth. I drove all the way, while Ruthie dozed on the way up. I remember how bitterly cold it was outside. The more north we drove, the colder it got. The 55 mph speed limit had been mandated by the President and so it was very slow going on a freeway that was designed for 70 mph. I was very tempted to stretch the speed limit, however, every time I tried a State Patrol car would come off the ramp onto the freeway behind me. The State Patrol must have designed it like a relay race, with one State Patrol car handing off the baton to the next one following me. That was such a long car ride to Duluth. It was 2 am when we finally checked in to the Radisson Duluth.

I don’t think we got up in time for breakfast. The Saturday following our wedding, the Minnesota Viking were playing the Los Angeles Rams for the semi-finals. I am ashamed to say that the “dumb gene” that many males possess kicked in and I felt compelled to watch the stupid game. I expressed my idiocy in a poem in 2011.

HONEYMOON

Duluth, bitterly cold,
nestled along Lake Superior,
an unlikely honeymoon destination
for newlyweds in winter.
Two days, two nights
to begin a life together.
Chinese food,
smuggled bottle of rum,
bottles of coke,
lovemaking, card playing,
football watching?
An incredulous choice,
Vikings and Rams
to be chosen, for even
one moment, over the
most beautiful woman
in the world, the folly
of youth, the
penultimate of idiocy
quite deserving a hard
kick in the ass
and punted into
freezing cold Superior!
You withheld your
foot, and patiently
awaited the end of
the game, to
show me what
I had missed.

© 2011. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

While in Duluth we decided to see a movie that night. Duluth was a depressed city in decline at the time we were there for our honeymoon. There was no Miller Hill Mall with all the shops. There were only two hotels in town, the Radisson and the Duluth Hotel. The area around the Lift Bridge had not been developed. There were no hotel resorts and fancy shops on the shore of Lake Superior. There were three theaters in town. Two were showing porn, “The Devil in Miss Jones” and “Deep Throat.” The third theater was showing “Winnie the Pooh and Tigger, Too”. We left the movie humming “The wonderful thing about Tiggers, are Tiggers are wonderful things ..” We then went to Duluth’s and the State of Minnesota’s best Chinese Restaurant, The Chinese Lantern, at which Ruthie introduced me to the wonders of Chinese food. The decor was early white slavery ring, heavily done in dark reds and blacks. As we walked back to the Radisson, I remember it being bitterly cold.

We helped ourselves to some rum and coke, and played double solitaire. Poor Ruthie has still very sleep deprived. I am sure that the rum drinks didn’t help.

Come Sunday morning at 11 am, we packed our few belongings, checked out of the Radisson and headed back to the Cities.

When we got back to her mom and dad’s farm that afternoon, we opened up our gifts, ate a wonderful meal and listened to the escapades of her brothers and sisters, I think Jeannie and Gary were still recovering from some excesses of the wedding dance at that time. We loaded up the car and headed to our apartment to begin our married life in earnest.

We were both back at work Monday morning. Ruthie working at St Joseph’s Hospital and I, two blocks away at Miller Hospital. I remember a co-worker of mine, Helen Syrup, talking with me two weeks before my wedding. Helen was in her sixties and a widow. During one of our breaks, she looked at me and asked, “Do you know how to have a happy marriage?” I answered I thought so. Then, Helen gave me the best advice I have ever received about marriage. She said four words that have shaped my idea of marriage. “The courting never ends.” She then told me that when she married her late husband, Barney, she made him promise that they would go out for a steak dinner every Friday night. Barney, worked in the South St Paul stock yards, so I am sure steak was easily available to him. But what Helen told me is you have to continue to court your wife after marriage as you did while you were courting her. Helen was such a wise woman. The first twelve years of marriage, we were living under the poverty line, with four children. We could only afford to go out on a date maybe twice a year. However, Ruthie and I made it a point to “eat out” even if it was pizzas from the Dairy Bar, or a Momma, Poppa, Baby burger and root beer from A and W. The lesson I learned from Helen was never, ever take your wife for granted. I never have.

My whole life long, I have never taken Ruthie for granted. All the years we have been married, 46 counting this year, I continue to center my life on her. I am her greatest student. I have observed how she has loved me, how she has loved our kids, how she has loved others, whether they be her family, or the many men and women for she has cared as a nurse. The words “self-centered” or “selfish” are words totally absent from her character. I have told her on many occasions that when I grow up, I want to be exactly like her. I have struggled and have dedicated my life to love as Ruthie loves. I will always be the student at her feet, learning how to love.

I expressed in a poem I wrote her on a birthday a few years ago:

To walk with you is
to learn how to love,
each measured step,
a grace-filled journey
to something greater,
far beyond and far better
than the stumbling steps
that I could have
made on my own.

To  walk with you,
is to see the
world with different
eyes, colors bursting
through the greys,
warmth on the
coldest of days, your
voice floating, playing
delightfully in the air
alongside until the
sound settles gently,
gracefully in my ears.

We have walked many
steps together in life,
my gait now not as steady,
these days of uncertain
limbs, joints and cane.
In walking with you,
new discoveries never
end, new beginnings
abound, and that
with you, the first
and the finest of
all teachers, learning
to walk is never
fully learned.

© 2015. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

On our 10th anniversary, shortly before our fourth child, Beth was born, I composed a special song in honor of our wedding anniversary. It is fugue, however, it sounds a lot like Aaron Copland rather than Johann Sebastian Bach.

On this night, 1984, we invited our dear friends, Robert and Cheryl DuCharme to our apartment to play games of 500. As always, there was wine, and later, rum and coke consumed. Ruthie and Cheryl beat the snot out of Robert and I, as always. Those two are 500 savants. Robert is seeing impaired so we always played with braille cards. He would turn off the lights and say, “Now, let’s really play cards.”

One year, Robert and I decided that we would not consume any alcohol while we teamed up against Ruthie and Cheryl. All we drank was coke. Ruthie and Cheryl killed a quart of 180 proof rum. They could barely hold their cards, and they still beat the crap out Robert and I, who were stone cold sober. I did nurse my bride back to health when her head and her stomach rebelled at night at all the rum she had consumed.

Ruthie has always stood my side, during my graduate school days, during my formation as a deacon, by my side during the many long injuries and surgeries that resulted, when I was suffering from depression and anxiety. This beautiful woman, whom I met so very long ago in high school, has been the sole constant in my life. She is the living embodiment of God’s love for me and I celebrate every moment I have been in her presence.

I have composed many songs and poems to this incredible woman over all my years. Just this year, I composed a Tango and a Rhapsody for her. Of all the songs I have written for her, the one I treasure the most is a song I wrote for the 49th anniversary of our first date in 1969.

I will conclude this with one last poem I wrote for Ruthie in 2015.

AT 2 AM – A POEM FOR RUTH

Quietly
you enter,
and with feline
stealth, pick your
way through the
darkness of
our bedroom.
My senses,
honed
over the years
like radar to
hear the pings
of children’s cries,
pukey wretching,
and troubled
hearts and spirits
detects you
as you silently
remove your clothing,
the wisp of your
nightgown falls
with a slight breeze
over your
outstretched arms,
you slip within the
sheets. “Are you
sick?” I quietly
ask, as I turn
my warm body
to embrace the
coolness of yours.
“They were overstaffed,”
you softly reply,
and I slip contentedly
back to sleep,
our marriage bed
complete.

© 2015. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

Lastly, a few pictures of Ruthie culminating in my favorite of all our pictures as couple.

Ruthie and I celebrated our 46th wedding anniversary on December 27th this year. We were supported by our own nuclear families as we began our own family. By November 4th of 1975, our family grew from two to three. By the time 1984 rolled around, our family grew to six members. Our oldest child, Andy, is 45 years old. Our youngest child pictured here, Beth, will be 37 years old. Time has passed since the picture, above, was taken (poor Ruthie was working nights and was so tired when the picture was taken.).

As Ruthie and I were honoring our wedding anniversary yesterday, we did so quietly and at home, venturing out just to pick up our take out order of Mexican food. We spent the day with our son, Luke, and our daughter, Meg, both of whom did not have to work this weekend. We watched four movies about relationships. My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2, focused on the love relationships that existed in the Greek immigrant family. Moonstruck, focused on the struggle of relationships within an Italian family. The Bird Cage focused on the relationships within a Gay family, and the blossoming relationship of their son with the daughter of a right wing Senator. And, Shall We Dance, focused on the love relationship of a middle aged man with his wife, and his own mid-life crisis (cured in many ways by learning to ballroom dance).

Our families are as varied as the families in these four movies. It matters not whether the couple is straight or gay, it matters not what ethnicity a family is, or what religion or no religion may exist within a family, family is always about relationship. All families have their dysfunction and failures, some more than others, but all families are also blessed and holy in varying degrees.

In ministering to and with the Latino community, I admired and loved the way they embraced the concept of family. Family was never limited to just those within a biological relationship, blood kin. Rather, the understanding of family extended way beyond the nuclear family to those within their community. I remember an undocumented friend of mine whose car was in need of repair. One of the people living in his apartment complex was a mechanic. The mechanic repaired his car for the cost of the parts. As my friend explained it, when he asked the mechanic how much he wanted for labor, the mechanic replied, “nothing.” My friend then told me, “People can’t live on nothing.” He then took a picture down from his wall to which was afixed $50 in cash. He gave that cash to his mechanic friend. Why? Because his friend was a part of his greater family.

Scripture informs us that we are all children of God. We all bear the face of God and are made in the image and likeness of God. What is required of us is to begin to see God’s face imprinted on the faces of all people around us and treat and respect each person as we would God. If only we could see the commonality that unites us as family, instead of focusing on that which separates us. It matters not to what religion a person belongs. It matters not as to what culture has shaped a person, nor what language a person speaks. That person is our brother and sister to whom we are bonded by the divine DNA of God who has created us. This is what it means to see others as God see others. This is what it means to live the teachings of Jesus. This is what it means to “put on Christ”.

If only we could see with the eyes of Christ, we would never again experience the artificial divisions that separate us and impoverishes us. As this year evolves into a New Year, let us resolve to begin to see others as our brothers and sisters, the Holy Family of God.

While for those in our secular society, the Christmas Season begins on the Friday following Thanksgiving (something that FDR started to try and jump start the economy during the Great Depression). However, for the Christian faith communities, the Christmas Season begins on Christmas Eve at the first liturgy of that day and extends (at least in the Catholic Church) through the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, the final of the three Theophanies in which Jesus is revealed as the anointed One of God (the first was the revelation to the shepherds, the second was the revelation to the Magi).

Every year, I compose a poem for Christmas. After the horrific year we have experienced on all levels of our lives as humans throughout the world, I have composed this poem at the end of this year, and, in hope for the year 2021. For me, Christmas is no longer about remembering what was at the first coming of Jesus. Rather, Christmas is more about awaiting the second coming of Jesus.

Here is the poem:

A CHRISTMAS PRAYER POEM FOR 2020

Exiled to our homes,
We sit, so many of us alone.
Outside, in a world awhirl,
In which darkness and fear swirl,
We peer for your light,
A respite from our soul’s blight.

In his mountain cave, a grieved,
You appeared to Elijah in a breeze.
Young Mary in the midst of her chores
Surprised by the Angel’s word.
Shepherds startled from a drowsy watch
By the Angels exultant shout.
We seek for that which so many long,
A “Glory Hallelujah!” song.

As this year ends,
O loving God, send
Us the reprieve which we seek,
In the One born so humble and meek.
Whose word set straight the crooked road,
And valleys and mountains laid low
In which the lion and lamb peacefully lay,
And children and asps safely play.
Our world awaits your loving embrace,
May your peace fill our dwelling place.

© 2020. By Robert Charles Wagner.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippian 4:4-7, NRSV)

This blessing of St Paul to the Philippian community was written during a time of great duress. Paul was in prison when he wrote these words to the Philippian community. Christianity was experiencing persecution, as a religion by Imperial Rome, as a sect within Judaism, and, also experiencing great division within itself. Though both Peter and Paul had largely settled their differences by the time this letter was written, the conservative Jewish Christian church of Jerusalem was still a very divisive element in the early Christian Church, so much so, that the great scripture scholar Raymond Brown found written evidence that it was James’ Christian community in Jerusalem that alerted the Roman authorities of the presence of Peter in Rome at the time of the first Roman persecution.[1] Even within the Christian community of Philippi there were factions vying against one another.

Yet, in the midst of all this unrest, outside and within the Christian community, Paul insists that the Philippian community must not be consumed by worry, but to rather be joyful. They are to do what they can, and leave everything else up to God, who ultimately will resolve all conflict. In doing what is humanly possible, they must trust God to do that which only divine intervention can accomplish. In their trust of God to reconcile all things, they will find peace.

As I read these words, I was reminded of another time of great unrest in our world. In the Autumn of 1938, Nazi Germany invaded Sudentenland. Totalitarianism ruled a great deal of the world; Hitler in Germany, Mussolini in Italy, Franco in Spain, Stalin in the Soviet Union, and Hirohito in Japan. The United States was just recovering from the Great Depression in which many Americans were displaced and unemployed, and many family farms destroyed by drought resulting in the Dustbowl. Fascism and Communism was seeking its hold within the nation as Franklin D Roosevelt began The New Deal.

It was during this time that the film You Can’t Take It With You was released. The film directed by Frank Capra, is, in my opinion, a cinematic metaphor of this blessing from Paul to the Philippians. Grandpa Sycamore presides over a large home filled with an eclectic people comprised of family members, extended family members, acquaintances, and, essentially, the neighborhood in which his house is located. Earlier in life, Grandpa had decided to quit his quest for great wealth and power in order to focus his life on building up relationships within his family, his neighborhood, and his community. He refers to the people in these relationships as “lilies”, derived from Jesus’ parable of the Lilies of the Field. Within the story, conflict does occur, the relationships that Grandpa had steadfastly built up during his lifetime nearly come to an end, but Grandpa’s ultimate trust in God to make things right prevails. Grandpa does what he is able to do and puts the rest in the hands of God. This is beautifully expressed in the closing scene of the movie in which Grandpa presides in many ways at what liturgists would call a “home eucharist.” All the protagonists, family and extended family members are gathered around a large dining room table as Grandpa prays this meal blessing.

“Well, sir (God), here we are again.
We’ve had quite a time of it lately,
but it seems that the worst of it is over.
Of course, the fireworks all blew up,
but we can’t very well blame that on you.
Anyway, everything’s turned out fine
as it usually does.
Alice is going to marry Tony.
Mr. Kirby, who’s turned out to be
a good egg, has sold us back our house…
…and he’ll probably forget
all about big deals for a while.
Nobody on our block has to move.
And with the right handling…
…I think we can even thaw out
Mrs. Kirby in time.
We’ve all got our health,
and as far as anything else is concerned…
…we still leave that up to you.
Thank you.”[2]

So, here we are today. The world is in as great a mess as it was in the time of Paul, and in the time that the movie, You Can’t Take It With You, was released in 1938. There is a rise in totalitarian leaders in Poland, Italy, and Hungary, a totalitarian leader in Russia, North Korea, China, Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, what’s left of Syria, and a wannebe totalitarian leader wishing to establish his own family dynasty in the United Sates. Our nation is torn by racism, white vigilante groups armed with AK-47’s roaming our city streets and countryside, exacting their own brand of justice. A nationwide pandemic has largely destroyed everything under the umbrella of the entertainment industry, livelihoods of many families and family businesses wiped out, resulting in widespread poverty, homelessness, and hunger, and, worse of all, the deaths of over 228,000 people and rising in the United States. On top of all the infections and deaths of Covid-19, we have an administration that is working hard to take away all medical care of those most vulnerable.

Yes, the situation is very bleak and desperate, and the peace, for which we all seek, very elusive. This blessing from Paul in his letter to the Philippians seeks us out. First, Paul reminds us to do what we can to better the situation, namely, 1) to get out and vote rebuilding order, compassion, love, and mercy within our society. Secondly, Paul reminds us that after we have done all we can do, then to let God do all the rest. As Grandpa Sycamore says so very succinctly, “We’ve all got our health, and as far as anything else is concerned… we still leave that up to you. Thank you.”

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[1] In the book Antioch and Rome: New Testament Cradles of Catholic Christianity, © 1983, Paulist Press, co-written by Raymond Brown and John Meier, Brown cites written evidence from James’ Christian community in Jerusalem to the Roman authorities, just prior to the Nero persecution of the Christians, that Peter was present in Rome. 

[2] From the movie, You Can’t Take It With You, © 1938, script by Robert Riskin, directed by Frank Capra,  based on the play of the same name © 1936, by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart, and released by Columbia Pictures.

I just found today that my new song cycle of piano music, “Musical Reflections On A Pandemic” is digitally being released on Amazon Music, iTunes, and many streaming services. On the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young live album, Four Way Street, Neil Young introduces a song with the words, “Here is a new song that is guaranteed to bring you right down. It is called, ‘Don’t Let It Bring You Down’.”One might think that a collection of music entitled, “Musical Reflections On A Pandemic”, might just hold a similar experience for the listener.

While there are some songs that are somber in nature (let’s face it, living through a pandemic is NOT a cakewalk), the majority of the songs are not cloaked in somber tones. In spite of the 223,000 recorded deaths in the United States at the time that I write this, life does go on. People still get married, infants are born, children play with puppies in the yard, adolescent love continues its clumsy exploration, love deepens in couples sheltering in place, and heroism is displayed by all those first responders and medical personnel in our hospitals and clinics. There is plenty of hope to be had in the midst of all the grim news we see, hear, and read in the news.

I have been present to many people at times of crises in their lives during my forty-two years of ministry. The time I have spent in isolation with my wife, Ruthie, and our family as we have sheltered in place these long months, have given me plenty of time to reflect upon the crises many people are facing during this pandemic.

I began the composing of this music first by meditating on how this pandemic has affected our lives. This led to the writing of ten poems. The music is programmatic in that it reflects the sentiment expressed in each poem. During the composing music process, I found an interactive relationship between the notes in the score with the words of the poetry. There were times in which the music dictated a change to the text of a poem. Of course, the change in wording would then be reflected in the musical score.

While the majority of the music is decidedly in the genre of the Romantic period, the listener will find elements representative of the Baroque period, Medieval Dance, and Impressionistic periods of music.

While one can simply just listen to the music, for a deeper experience of the music I would suggest to the listener to first read and reflect on the poem, and, then, listen to the music.

I hope that the listener will find the music on this album, spiritual, meditative, enjoyable, and an aide in coping with these very trying times in our lives.

TABLE OF POEMS AND SONGS

1. Juxtaposition 1: Prelude for a Dying Loved One and a
2. Fugue for a Newborn Infant.
3. An Estampie for Would Be Lovers
4. Song for the Unknown Dead
5. Frolic for Children and Puppies
6. Juxtaposition 2: A Berceuse for a Deceased Loved One and a Waltz for Newlywed Couples.
7. Sheltering in Love: A Rhapsody for Ruthie
8. Feast of Fools: A Pandemic Danse Macabre
9. March of a Solitary Sentry
10. Nocturne for Our Medical Heroes
11. Hymn for Our God of Many Faces

With the feast of All Saints Day and All Souls Day, two feasts in the Catholic Church which I really regard as one feast, it is natural for one’s thoughts to think of the deaths of loved ones and friends. With most birds migrating to warmer climates, the days getting colder, and nature transitioning into the cold, darkness of winter, it only amplifies a general feeling of loss.

With the death of my brother, Bill, on February 1, 2019, I have no living members of my nuclear family, with the exception of Ruthie, our children, and our grandchildren. My mom and dad, and all my siblings have died. My brother had indicated that he wished his cremains to be buried on the grave of my sister, so my whole family is buried together at Roselawn Cemetery in Roseville. Given this, I was surprised, when suggested by Ruthie that we go visit their gravesites, my reluctance to travel to the cemetery to “pay my respects”.

I can give a number of practical reasons for not visiting their gravesites. First, they are buried an hour and twenty minutes from my home. Second, after a year in which I have had four surgeries on my left ankle, I am not very steady walking on uneven surfaces. My family is buried inn an unlevel, slightly hilly plots in the cemetery. I feel very leery about trying to walk up and down a hill to get to and from their burial sites. Third, with the third wave of the Covid-19 pandemic causing rising infections and deaths in the State of Minnesota, I am very reluctant to leave my home to go anywhere but the grocery store. With the number of Minnesotans who actually believe the falsehoods of our current president about the pandemic, and selfishly refuse to wear masks in public places, much less socially distance themselves from others, I try to avoid most public places (though I do note that the chance of being infected at a cemetery is slight to none).

Now all the reasons stated above are reasonable and practical. Over the next six months, I expect that I will grow more steady to walk on uneven surfaces. Over the next year, I expect that a vaccine will be developed in which I can place my trust so that I can be inoculated against the Covid-19 virus, thus making the long trip to the cemetery more reasonable and safe.

However, as reasonable and practical as these reasons may be, they are not the primary reasons why I do not feel compelled to go visit the gravesites of my mother, father, sister, and brother.

Over forty-two years of active church ministry, I have played, prayed, and presided over the funerals of countless people. I remember one month in which I was involved in over 20 funerals (the Angel of Death was certainly circling over the Church of St Wenceslaus that month). At an average, I was probably involved in 40 to 50 funerals a year. In spite of the number of funerals in which I have been involved, I never have grown callous about death and the impact of a loved one’s death on family, friends, and community. So why my reluctance to go visit the graves of my family? Am I some heartless bastard? Far from it.

Science informs us that our bodies wear out over time. I am a living example of this. I have had three artificial hip replacements, a knee replacement, and presently, a heavy duty metal plate with ten screws in my left ankle. I have so much metal in me, that my former pastor, Fr Kevin Clinton, called me Robo Deacon. I remember at an IANDS (International Association of Near Death Studies, an association of scientists, medical doctors, and near death survivors), the body being referred to as a “space suit” in which a person’s soul navigates our world. Over time, the “space suit” wears out and can no longer be used anymore. Over the 20+ years of my sister’s chronic illness, I visibly saw the disintegration of my sister’s body by her chronic illness. As mighty and powerful as my sister’s spirit is, and her strong will to live regardless of her illness, her body deteriorated to the point to which her spirit could no longer inhabit that body. Ruthie, our daughters, and I were with her when she died. I remember my father saying that at the time of her death, my sister’s face relaxed into a smile.

Paul, in the fourth chapter of his second letter to the Corinthians, speaks to this. “So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, ¹⁸ because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. (2^nd Corinthians 4: 16-18, New Revised Standard Version)

In this part of his letter, Paul acknowledges that our bodies naturally waste away. He then informs us that this world and all we know is only a temporary place of being, for that which is real, that which is eternal lays just beyond our sight in our present plane of existence.

Paul continues at the beginning of the 5^th Chapter using the metaphor of our bodies as a tent that is gradually destroyed. “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. ² For in this tent we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling— ³ if indeed, when we have taken it off we will not be found naked. ⁴ For while we are still in this tent, we groan under our burden, because we wish not to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. ⁵ He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. ⁶ So we are always confident; even though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord— ⁷ for we walk by faith, not by sight. ⁸ Yes, we do have confidence, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2^nd Corinthians 5:1-7, New Revised Standard Version)

These two passages from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians have changed how I approach death, and the practice of visiting the graves of my loved ones. In the Catholic Church, to show respect for the human body in which the soul of a person is enfolded, we bury the human remains or cremains of the ones we love. We mark the places, in which the human remains or cremains are buried. However, if what Paul writes in his letter to the Corinthians is true, namely, that the human soul yearns to jettison the “tent” in which we dwell and are burdened so that we may be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, the place in which our “tent” is buried is emptied of our presence. Who we are, our souls, no longer inhabit the dead body that is buried. Who we are, our souls, are now clothed in the glory of God. All the gravesite marks is that this person once lived and walked this earth. Who that person is is gone and has moved on to a different plane of existence.

The funeral prayers of the Catholic Church are seemingly contradictory. In one set of prayers, principally the burial prayers, they speak of the bodies of our loved ones being buried in this place until the second coming of Christ. The prayers give the impression that the souls of our loved ones are trapped in the decaying body or cremains buried in the ground until the time when Jesus comes at the end of time.

 In second set of prayers, that of the funeral, the prayers speak of our loved ones leaving this plane of chronological time and entering into the timelessness of metaphysical time. Their souls are not trapped in their graves, rather, the second coming of Christ has already happened. The Last Judgment has already happened.

So why the contradiction in these prayers? The first set, those set in chronological time, are for those of us still living in chronological time. We tick off the years, the months, the days, the hours, and the minutes. For we who are trapped in chronological time, the fact is that the bodies of our loved ones are there buried at the cemetery. However, for our loved ones who have died, the second set of funeral prayers apply. They have entered metaphysical time, no longer trapped by the rising and setting of the sun year after year. They have entered into the freedom and joy of God’s timelessness. Their eyes have been opened and they look upon and now live in eternity.

 I don’t need to visit the gravesites of my father and mother, my sister and my brother, to honor the memories of who they were. Who they are not imprisoned in a grave awaiting the second coming of Jesus. The very genes of my father and mother are a huge part of my own genetic makeup. I carry them in my body. For me, they are very much alive and well and present to me. All I need do is merely think their name, and they are there by my side. I remember them and many of my extended family and friends by name every night in prayer. I honor the date on which they were born in this world, and honor the date on which they were born into eternal life.

The only meaning their gravesite holds for me and for the world, is that they once lived and inhabited this earth. However, they have moved on to something far better than what this world offered. They are alive and well, and have reached the promise and happiness for which they longed while alive in their bodies. And, so, I am content to allow their bodies to rest at Roselawn Cemetery. I have no need to visit them. They are always here, present to me, at the mere thought of their name.

Today, this meme was posted on my Facebook feed. It brought back a flood of memories for me of that time. I did not fight in the Vietnam War. Though I was in college, I never applied for a student deferment from the draft because I thought it was unfair to those of my generation who were not in college. Why should I receive a privilege that was unavailable to those who did not? The year I was eligible for the draft, it had evolved into the lottery system. A number was assigned to a person’s birthday. As it happened, the number that was assigned to my birthday was 266. Had I been born a day before or a day after my birthday, my draft number would have been 60 or 158. The draft board went up to 254 that year. From that moment on I was given a new draft status, 1-H. I ended up not being drafted into the armed forces.

However, I never forgot those who fought, died, and those wounded by that war. The irreparable psychological damage caused by combat was as grave as the physical wounds suffered by these men and women who served. Many died in the Vietnam War, but didn’t know it as Agent Orange completed that task many, many years later.

On this anniversary of what now has been seen as a major failure of American policy with such a high cost in human life, I resubmit a prayer song I composed back in 1975 for those who fought and died in that war. It was one of my first piano musical compositions. I think the song equally applies to all those who have fought in the Gulf War, in Iraq, and in Afghanistan.

In the Star Tribune today, a news story of the complicity of Jeff Sessions and Rod Rosenstein in the horrific criminal and racist policy of Donald Trump, Stephen Miller, and the rest of the racists in his administration and Department of Homeland Security was reported by the Inspector General of the Justice Department.

In reading about this account, I think of the same kind of policy that Heinrich Himmler and Adolf Hitler contrived in their “final solution” to the Jewish population.

I remember how shocked and outraged I was when this policy was first being implemented by trump, miller, sessions, and Homeland Security in the summer of 2018. In my many years of ministry, I have ministered to and with the Latino community, some documented and some undocumented. This segment of our population is no more criminal than the Caucasian or any other community. The hardest workers I have known have been Latino men and women. Their understanding of the blessings of the greater community far stronger than many of us who come from Northern European ancestry. The harm inflicted on these suffering families by trump and those complicit in trump’s crimes is irreparable.

Jesus makes it very clear in the Gospel of Matthew the importance of welcoming the refugee. “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. ³² All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, ³³ and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. ³⁴ Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; ³⁵ for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ³⁶ I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ ³⁷ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? ³⁸ And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? ³⁹ And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ ⁴⁰ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’” (Matthew 25:31-40, New Revised Standard Version)

It is very convenient for many who call themselves Christian to forget that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were political refugees who fled for their lives to Egypt. Herod the Great who slaughtered a countless number of children in his attempt to kill Jesus. It was only after Herod’s death, that it was safe for Jesus, Mary, and Joseph to return to Palestine.

¹³ Now after they (the Magi) had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” ¹⁴ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, ¹⁵ and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.” ¹⁶ When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: ¹⁸ “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” ¹⁹ When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ²⁰ “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” ²¹ Then Josepha got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. ²² But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. ²³ There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.” (Matthew 2: 13-23, New Revised Standard Version)

I decided to channel my anger, my outrage, into two musical prayer songs for piano in my cycle of songs, Psalm Offerings Opus 10. I composed these two songs in a very short period of time. They were published by CD Baby in September of 2018.

Here are the two songs:

Today is the feast of Don Yackley. For those who do not what a feast is, it is the date on which a person dies. Why would we celebrate a day filled with such sadness? The Catholic Church views that day as the day a person is born into everlasting life.

Now I know that many ultra-orthodox Catholics would criticize me for ignoring October 7th as the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. I counter that criticism by saying the Mother of Jesus has multiple feasts, including three Solemnities (Immaculate Conception, Mary, Mother of God, and Assumption), along with many minor feasts. Given the giving nature of Mary, as pictured especially in the Gospel of Luke, Mary is not a glutton and would easily concede this day over to Don. Besides which, the feast is the celebration of the defeat of the Turkish fleet by the Christian fleet at the sea Battle of Lepanto. The defeat was attributed to the praying of the rosary. While I would never deny the power of prayer, the intercessions of the saints, in this case, Mary Mother of God, on our behalf, on a day like today, we never take time to think about the tremendous loss of human life on both sides of that sea battle, and pray for those who died in that battle. This is something I think should be rectified.

However, today is Don’s feast day. I see the presence of Don, and his business partner, Kevin, everywhere in my home. Ruthie and I appreciate the wonderful transformation Don and Kevin accomplished in the many rooms of our home.

If I remember correctly, it was in the winter of 2016 following the 5 pm Saturday night Mass that Don and Jackie told me that he was initially diagnosed with ALS. I felt devastated by the news. I went home and began composing the following piano song as a prayer for Don and Jackie. I completed the song two days later, recorded it and gave it to Don and Jackie.

Our lives touch and impact the lives of many people. Don’s life was a tremendous blessing for my family and I. I still grieve his passing as I rejoice that his body is no longer imprisoned by such a devastating disease. Rest in the joy and peace of God’s reign, good friend.

READINGS: IS 5:1-7,  PHIL 4:6-9, MT 21:33-43

Another week has passed by as we enter into this 27^th week of Ordinary Time. The events of this week have continued the pattern of that of the past three years, namely, disruptive, unsettling and generally horrific for our nation, and the rest of humanity. The scriptural readings for the past four or five weeks has been eerily prophetic for our time.

Through the prophet Isaiah, God warns the people of Israel that they must not be complacent about being the Chosen People of God. Their self-righteousness will be their downfall and they will be destroyed by their enemies unless they repent and transform their lives. They have a choice to make. Repair their relationship with God, and live by the statute of God’s justice and peace, or choose to continue to follow their own path and suffer the consequences. As world history informs us, they chose to abandon God and go their own way. The Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar, invaded Judah, leveled Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple, and enslaved all but the poor of Judah, exiling them to Babylon.

Jesus in the Gospel tells the parable of the Landlord and his Vineyard. It is clear that the rebellious people who torture and kill the messengers of the Landlord, and later, kill the son of the Landlord, is Jesus’ thinly veiled reference to the Jewish religious leaders of his time. Jesus warns them, as did Isaiah did the Judeans of his time, that their self-righteousness and their complacency will be their downfall. He concludes the parable by stating that the Reign of God will be taken from them and given by God to those who are more worthy, namely, the people they despise the most. Jesus often tells the religious leaders of his time that the most despised people, the prostitutes and tax collectors, will be first into the Reign of God.

I spoke much about the danger of self-righteousness in last week’s homily. Again, self-righteousness is just selfishness and self-centeredness disguised in respectable clothing. In this time of great political unrest, most of us, including myself, are tempted to clothe ourselves in self-righteousness. The question that raises itself for myself is whether in my speaking out on important events, is this being outspoken motivated by self-interest or motivated by interest in others? The intent behind being outspoken is extremely important.

In Catholic theology around the reception of sacraments, the intent of the one receiving the sacrament is equally important as the sign of the sacrament. For instance, in receiving the sacrament of reconciliation (formerly known as confession), it is equally important that the one receiving absolution for his/her sins, is truly repentant of the sin being absolved, as it is in receiving absolution from the priest. If the recipient of the absolution is not repentant and intends to keep on committing that particular sin, all the absolutions given by all the priests in the Church will NOT absolve that sin. In the baptism of children, it is the intent of the parents that their child to be raised according to the laws of Christ and the Church is as important as the pouring of water and speaking of the baptismal formula by the deacon or priest. In fact, in baptism, the parents are asked three times in the ceremony whether they know what they are getting into, what that intends, and how that will impact their raising of their child. In the sacrament of matrimony, it is the couple who actually do the sacrament. The priest or deacon merely witnesses that sacrament for the Church, and in the United States, witnesses the marriage for the State. It is the three questions of intent that the couple do prior to the exchange of vows and rings that is the MOST important part of the sacrament. The couple MUST FULLY intend to: 1. freely and without reservation enter into this sacrament; 2. promise to remain faithful to one another for the rest of your lives; and, 3. open their lives to have children and raise them according the laws of Christ and his Church. If either the bride or the groom do not intend to live by these three intentions, the sacrament does NOT happen.

The bottom line is that the intent behind our words and our actions is as important as the words we speak and the actions we take. Are the words and the actions we take fueled by a desire to better the lives of others, or is it fueled by only desiring to better ourselves to the detriment of others. Is it about others, or only about me? This is the question we must ask ourselves as we take our stance on issues. If it is only about me, than St Paul in the 11^th chapter of his first letter to the Corinthians would label me a “noisy gong.” Jesus tells us over and over and over again in the Gospels, that self-glory was not the reason why he incarnated as a human being. He didn’t come to BE served, he came to SERVE others. The first will be last and the last will be first, he teaches the self-righteous of his time. Pope Francis has told the Catholic self-righteous that atheists will get into heaven before the self-righteous.

Now reexamine the events of this past week and the players in those events and evaluate to your best the intent behind what they did. Was it all about self-glory, or was it about serving others. Now we must do the same for ourselves. If our intentions were true, if our words and actions were more about the common good for others, then we will rest in the peace of God, of which St Paul writes in his letter to the Philippians, that surpasses all understanding, which guards our hearts and our minds.