Journeying Into Mystery

Some of what I posted on Facebook this past Monday, November 13, which is my Dad’s feast day, I repost here with additional stories, photos, and music which I composed for my Dad over the years. Living in a head/chest cold induced fog prevented me from doing this earlier.

Today, is the feast day of my Dad, Walter Wagner. He is the greatest man I have ever known. Extremely intelligent, he was also extremely humble. He never sought to be first, but always served others first. He did not seek great honors or prestige, though many honored him. He created important math formulas still used in the railroad industry today to determine the stopping distance of a train that are accurate to + or – five feet, especially important in cases when a train has struck a vehicle on the train tracks. Though he copyrighted these formulas, he never made a dime from them, attributing them all to the Holy Spirit who was the real author of those formulas to be used for the common good of all humanity. Incredibly honest, living a life of service to all, especially to my Mom, myself and my siblings, Dad rarely thought about himself.

Dad is the second child of Polish immigrants to the United States. His father, Andrew Wojnar, immigrated from Poland when he was 16 years old, having enough money to travel in the steerage of a ship. His mom, Katherine, immigrated to the United States at, I believe, the age of three years with her family. The marriage between my paternal grandparents was, as was the custom at the time, arranged between my grandfather and my great-grandfather.

They initially lived in Harrisburg, PA, but later, my grandfather built the brick home in which they lived on top of a hill (we would call it a mountain in Minnesota) in Turtle Creek, PA. The house overlooked a valley and the Westinghouse Air Brake Factory at which my grandfather worked, and later, my Dad worked. In order to make ends meet, my grandmother would walk down the hill to scrub the floors of the bars in Turtle Creek after closing. Dad would often go down and help her so that she could get home earlier. While in high school, Dad would set up pins at the local bowling alley. He always kept a bowling pin at the ready to kill the cat size rats that use to gather back around the pins. He said when a bowling ball would hit a particular spot in the alley, the rats would go scurrying.

Dad was a star fullback on the high school football team, good enough to be offered a semester tuition at Ohio Northern University. However, he worked alongside his father at the Air Brake factory for three years after graduating from high school to earn enough money to pay for the second semester of college. He initially wanted to be a doctor, but found his niche in mechanical engineering. He played one semester of football at Ohio Northern, but thought the coach had no concern for the safety of his fellow teammates. He was an excellent baseball player and for the remainder of his years at Ohio Northern was the catcher for the baseball team. Catchers mitts back then, are not the mitts of today, so after many games he would have to ice his left hand to get the swelling down. The fingers of his right hand were sprained so often that he was not able to straighten some of the fingers out. To earn extra money on the weekends, he would help do chores for a local farmer, we knew as Pop Cronbaugh.

Pop was a faithful, church going Methodist. At that time, there was a lot of animosity between the different Christian denominations still living the horrific wars from the Reformation. Contrary to that inter-religious hate were Pop and Dad, who had great respect for one another and for their respective religious faith traditions. Pop would pick Dad up on a Friday night, Dad would work all day Saturday for Pop doing whatever chores needed to be done. Pop would drive Dad to Mass on Sunday mornings and then go to his own Church services. He would pick Dad up from Mass, they would go back to the farm, and a wonderful meal and then Pop would drive Dad back to Ohio Northern.

Dad graduated from Ohio Northern with a degree in mechanical engineering. However, the hurdle he had to get over at that time, was extreme religious prejudice in American industry toward Catholics. Many Catholics, especially Polish Catholics, would never get jobs like being a mechanical engineer in American industry because of their religious. There was a prejudice against Polish immigrants in Pennsylvania at that time, which made matters all the more difficult for Dad to get a mechanical engineering job. My grandfather Andrew had a solution for my Dad. He said to Dad in Polish, “Don’t be a damn fool. Change your last name to sound more Protestant and German.” So Dad has his last name legally changed from Wojnar to Wagner. I don’t think corporate knew he was Catholic until 1960 when it was published in the St Paul Pioneer Press that Dad and Mom were head of the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine in the Archdiocese of St Paul and Minneapolis. They were great friends of Father Raymond Lucker, who would later be bishop of the New Ulm Diocese.

When World War II began, like many men, Dad tried to enlist in the armed forces. He was rejected because of his eyesight. However, as a mechanical engineer, the Coast Guard and Navy used his expertise as a civilian mechanical engineer in testing mine sweepers in the harbors on the East Coast. Dad was also active in the Civil Defense Corps.

Following the war, through the matchmaking schemes of mutual friends, Dad and Mom met. By this time, Dad had been transferred to the Chicago office of Westinghouse Air Brake, so it was a long distanced courtship. He knew she was his soul mate. It would write her constantly from Chicago, sending her little poems from time to time. It was when he wrote in a letter that he had gone to Mass on some particular Marian feast day, that Mom knew for sure that he would be her husband. Mom’s faith was very special to her.

Since both her mom and her dad had died, Mom’s parish priest, Father Conglin, on a promise to Mom’s dad, took it upon himself to screen potential husbands for my Mom. Dad passed the stern scrutiny of Father Conglin, and so they married on June 11, 1949. Of course, Mom had to pass the scrutiny of my paternal grandmother, Katherine. She knew that Mom was the one, because he brought Mom home to meet his parents. Dad never brought dates home to meet his parents.

With Dad working in Chicago, Mom and Dad relocated to an apartment on South Shore Drive in Chicago following their wedding. Soon, Mom was pregnant with my brother, Bill. It was a very tough birth at which my Mom nearly died giving birth to Bill. Dad never left the hospital, spending a great deal of time in the hospital chapel praying for both his wife and his unborn son. Bill was born, and Mom recovered from the birth.

Two years later, I was born. I have very distinct memories as an infant coming home to the apartment on South Shore Drive. I remember a number of people gathering in the Burress’ apartment below my folks, and being passed around from adult to adult. I was not very pleased about it all, especially when I was passed to Harold Buress, who reeked of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Mom came to my rescue and calmed me down. As a small child, I got to know Harold Burress very well. He was a very kind and gentle man. I guess that I just could not stand the smell of cigarettes and stale beer (come to think of it, I still don’t like the smells of either to this day).

One other infant memory was my Dad getting up and lulling me back to sleep in the middle of the night. As he softly patted me on the back, he would hum this little melody over and over and over again. I remember that little two measure motif, and made it into a song for Dad. Dad also loved to Polka, so I composed it into a dance called a Galop, the predecessor of the Polka in memory of my Dad.

The picture above was rather prophetic. What I lacked in mathematical ability I excelled at in music. In the second grade I started to learn how to play the piano. It was the one thing I loved to do. Dad was there at all the piano recitals, and when I started to play French Horn, he was there for all the band concerts. He supported me pursuing a degree in music, whether it seemed like a good career move or not (my guidance counselor in high school tried his very most to talk me out of pursuing music). Dad loved to listen to me and my sister, Mary Ruth, play piano.

It was during the days that I had the wonderful opportunity to accompany Dad on one of his business trips in the Northern part of Minnesota. Dad’s company provided air brakes for the trains bringing iron ore to the docks in Duluth and Silver Bay. It was on this trip that I witnessed the respect Dad showed those he served. In the morning, we met with the President of a railroad company, enjoyed lunch with him, and in the afternoon, Dad took off his business suit, put on coveralls and crawled under trains with mechanics maintaining the trains. He treated everyone from the president of the company to the mechanics covered in grease and dirt with the same dignity and respect.

For the first two years of college, one of the most major music classes I had was Music theory. In that class we not only analyzed music scores, but we were also required to compose music. The song, below, is one of the very first songs I composed back in 1970. I composed it and gave it to my Dad as a present on his birthday.

Upon meeting Ruthie, the only thing on my bucket list for life was to marry Ruthie. Composing music as a living quickly went away. Dreams of living in an unheated garret, dying from consumption, and my music finally being recognized as genius was something only reserved for a Puccini opera. As a result, I started to take classes in education so I graduated with a teaching degree. This added another semester on to college, so instead of graduating in June, I graduated in December. And two weeks after graduation, Ruthie and I were married at St Bridget of Sweden Catholic Church in Lindstrom, Minnesota.

Ruthie and I got married on December 27th so the church was bedecked in Christmas decorations. I composed a special song for our wedding, and arranged all the rest of the music for the wedding. Dad was in the front row recording the music of the wedding on a cassette recorder. Over the years, the cassette of music from our wedding was lost. I lost the original score for the song I composed, but I never forgot the melody. In 2016, I recomposed the song just for piano.

As always, Dad was always there if Ruthie and I needed him. Both Ruthie’s and my family gave us a place to live when we were homeless. They assisted us to cover closing fees on our house. Babysat the kids when Ruthie was giving birth to Meg and Beth. In fact, I remember Dad watching Andy, Luke, and Meg when Ruthie gave birth to Beth. Dad liked very strong coffee. To stretch our food budget, I had a habit of making weaker coffee. I remember making some in the morning for Dad, and after taking a sip, he said, “Just what is this piss? Let me make us some real coffee.” Then he made coffee so strong you could stand a fork up in it.

How can a son ever give back to a parent for everything the parent has done for them? I remember asking Dad what he wanted as a gift on his birthday. His answer was always, “Good kids.”

There was one time I deeply disappointed my Dad. He made me promise that I would not start smoking until I was 21 years old. I agreed. Through weakness, peer pressure, a work environment in which everyone smoked, I started smoking. Dad caught me smoking and the look of disappointment on his face almost crushed me. All he said was that I betrayed his trust in me. I would have far rather him hitting me with a baseball bat than saying that to me. The next day I begged him to forgive me and I promised I would, from that time forward, be true to my word. He did forgave me and I made sure never to ever disappointment him every again.

So again, what do you give somebody like my Mom and Dad who sacrificed so much for me? All I could do was compose a song to express my gratitude. I composed this song for my Mom and Dad, initially as a Psalm setting for them, but later I turned that psalm setting into a piano song.

I think one of the greatest sorrows in Dad’s life was the death of my sister, Mary Ruth, in 1997. At the age of 16 years, Mary began to have trouble with her health. Doctors struggled to figure out what it was ailing her. There were plenty of misdiagnoses until they discovered she suffered from Crohn’s disease. There was not treatment for Crohn’s at that time, except to surgically remove parts of the small intestine that were diseased. Up to the time when Mary died at the age of 42 years, she had countless surgeries. Since the disease prevented her from digesting the food she ate, she had to find nourishment through hyperalimentation, essentially broken down food fed through a catheter. Dad would prepare the equipment every night, prepare the bags of food every night and ready to assist my sister whenever she had a need. We all spent long hours in surgery waiting rooms, sometimes six hours, as they did surgery on Mary. But Dad often stayed with Mary all the way through the night to be present to her whenever she would awaken. I think a part of Dad died when Mary died. Mom and Dad, Ruthie, Meg, Beth, Luke and I were there with her at her death. I remember him mentioning that when she took her last breath, the pain on her face was replaced by a smile. I thought of Dad at that moment when I composed this song.

The well-being of others was always more important to Dad. Is it any wonder that all the relatives would talk to Dad when they sought out wisdom? He was the seat of wisdom in our family. When I think of myself in comparison to Dad, the quote of John the Baptist in John’s Gospel comes to mind. When John was asked his relationship with Jesus, John responded that he was not even worthy to tie the laces on Jesus’ sandals. I have struggled my whole life through to live the values that Dad lived so fully. As I have recounted a number of times, when I was sitting next to Dad’s lifeless body, I thought the Wisdom figure of the family had died, and that torch was passed to me. Followed by the thought, “If people come to me for wisdom, they are shit out of luck.” Years later, I was extremely moved by words Dad spoken to my cousin, Kathy. He told her, “Bob is a copy of me.” In spite of what I might think of myself, Dad apparently believed I am his copy.

When Dad died, I preached his funeral, as I did my sister’s funeral, my Mom’s funeral, and my brother’s funeral. It was my last act of love for these important people who loved and shaped me. There is a beautiful poem written by Edwina Gately that I think best describes Dad’s passing from this life to the fullness of God’s love in Heaven.

It is time to go.
I can smell it.
Breathe it
Touch it.
And something in me
Trembles.
I will not cry.
Only sit bewildered.
Brave and helpless
That it is time.
Time to go.
Time to step out
Of the world
I shaped and watched
Become.
Time to let go
Of the status and
The admiration.
Time to go.
To turn my back
On a life that throbs
With my vigor
And a spirit
That soared
Through my tears.
Time to go
From all I am
To all I have
Not yet become.
“Letting Go” From Edwina Gateley, There Was No Path So I Trod One (1996, 2013)

I always thought the best song that could describe my Dad and his life of service to others would have to be heroic in song and in structure. As I was composing songs for the song cycle, Songs of the Servant, I composed this song Fantasia in B Major as that song.

While I miss my Dad greatly, I don’t miss him because he has never left me. I haven’t visited his grave site in years, not out of disrespect or laziness, but because my Dad remains by my side as much as he did when he was alive in a body. So Happy Feast Day, Dad! You will always remain the greatest man I have ever known.

If any of the music in this blog interests you, you can find all the songs I have composed on YouTube (costs you not a cent), on streaming services like Pandora etc and for sale on Amazon Music and iTunes. The music is found under the name Robert Charles Wagner (It’s a classical music thing).

This past September 24th, I was ordained to the permanent diaconate for 29 years. Man, 29 years! Myself and Dick Pashby are the remaining members of those ordained 29 years ago.

So much as changed from those early days of diaconal formation, both in the Church, in diaconal formation, and personally. Much of the change not good and, in my opinion very regressive and repressive, however, ministry to the “Greek widows and orphans,” has not changed and is as necessary as ever. As Fr Steve Adrian taught so succinctly to my class the first day of classes, “We don’t need any more male bodies in the sanctuaries of the Catholic Church. There are far too many as it is. The sanctuary of the deacon is not in a church building. It is at the gas station, in grocery stores, in the workplace, on the streets with people who are in need. These places are the sacred spaces for deacons.” The truth of deacons personifying Christ as Servant to those most in need is only more paramount today. We don’t need deacons running around in clerical dress. We need deacons who are one with the people they serve, dressed as the people whom they serve, and present to the people they served.

For our ordination, I composed a choral hymn for the ordination Mass, and a song for each deacon couple of my class. What follows are the songs I composed for them.

My class came from all different walks of life. We all varied in age, levels of education, and occupation. We were from the various communities, urban, rural, small town, and suburban that comprised the Archdiocese. Our varied backgrounds was a wonderful composite of those we would serve in our parishes and communities. We were all equal and united in serving those we encountered in our parishes and in our communities. We each had our own unique set of gifts that we shared with those we served.

I spent all free time I had during the summer months prior to ordination in composing these songs. In contrast to much of the later music I have composed, these songs are relatively short in length. You will notice that while I composed music for the 9 men and 8 women pictured, I didn’t compose one for Ruthie and I. I address that toward the end of this blog.

ABBA, YESHUA, RUAH

I composed this four part hymn for my ordination class. Abba is Aramaic for Father. Yeshua is Aramaic for Jesus. And, Ruah is Hebrew for Spirit. The hymn is Trinitarian and the text I wrote a summary of much about which we were taught over the three years of diaconal formation.

Abba, Abba
May we be dwellings of your holy love,
The love which you grace all below, above.
May we be dwellings of your holy peace,
The peace for which all souls thirst and seek.
You loved so much that you sent your Son,
Only in you can we live as one.
Dwell in us, Abba, so that all may feel,
The touch of your love, and your peace-filled will.

Yeshua, Yeshua
May we be servants of your Eternal Word,
Servants of your compassionate Word.
O may we seek you among the very least,
Inviting all to the Abba’s feast.
You loved so much that you gave your life.
You conquered our death so that we may rise
O loving Jesus, may our bodies be
Your living body for all to see.

Ruah, Ruah
O Holy Spirit, come and make us whole,
Enflame our hearts, our minds, our souls.
Inspire our actions, our fears relieve
So we may give to others what we received.
Vessel of hope on our world outpoured,
Your healing breath our lives restore.
Infuse our lives now with your holy gifts
So in you, source of love, we may always live.
Abba, Yeshua, Ruah.

I began writing the text for the song early in June, composed the melody, and scored the song for choir and organ the rest of the month. I presented it to my class and they approved the song. The music director for our ordination Mass was Dan Westmoreland, in my opinion, the finest music director in the Archdiocese. The choir was comprised of singers of all our parish choirs. In one huge rehearsal, Dan put together the wonderful music chosen for the ordination Mass. The recording above was from that ordination Mass. I dedicated the hymn to Trish Flannigan, who at that time was the executive secretary for diaconal formation and the deacon community. My class always thought of Trish as a member of our diaconal class.

Years later, I composed an instrumental version of the song for piano.

BY AND ELLEN RUDOLPHI

This was one of the first piano songs I composed. By and Ellen were good friends. I remember Ellen being treated for cancer during formation. She had some very tough bouts of chemo during that time, and we all hoped she would be alive when we were ordained. Surpise, surprise, she outlived many of my diaconal class. She beat cancer and essentially died having lived a long and loving life. By died on February 3, 2013, and Ellen died September 2, 2020.

JOHN MANGAN

John was the only bachelor in our class. I learned from John that was when he was in the Navy, and was on one of the naval ships in the naval blockade of Cuba during the Cuban Missile Crises, the closest we had gotten to World War III. John had aspired to be a priest, but circumstances in life prevented that from happening. He ministered to many of the Veterans at the State Veterans Home in South Minneapolis. As he got older, he joined those he served as a resident of the Home and died there on March 13, 2017.

TOM AND LUCILLE COLEMAN

Tom and Lucille were very down to earth people. They were very hardworking people, devoted to each other, to their family and to their parish. The death of their only daughter was a heavy burden they carried. When eventually they moved to a nursing home, they roomed together. Tom died on January 1 and Lucille died on January 29.

TOM AND MARGE SEMLAK

Tom and Marge lived around Lake Elmo, a suburb to the east of St Paul. They both worked at 3M. One of their daughters was a hair stylist which meant that they both were always well coiffed. Like all the couples in our class, they were extremely devoted to one another and equally devoted to their service to Pius X parish. Tom passed away on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, December 8, 2015, and Marge died on February 1, 2018.

DICK AND SANDY PASHBY

Dick and Sandy lived in Cottage Grove, a southeast suburb of St Paul. I think of all my classmates, Dick was the healthiest of all of us. He was very physically active. Sandy worked for a company that leased both living and business spaces. One of their sons, was a music major and a jazz saxophonist. Dick was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor, but his treatment seems to have managed the tumor. The last time I saw Dick and Sandy was at the funeral of Tom Semlak. Dick was vested as a deacon and in a wheelchair. We use to exchange Christmas cards every year. I haven’t heard from them in a couple of years.

BILL AND MARY BECKFELD

I believe that the one couple that Ruth and I were very close to was Bill and Mary. Both were very spiritual, progressive, and opinionated, just like me. Initially, Bill was very involved with those who were developmentally challenged. One of their sons had been developmentally disabled and died early in life. Their youngest son, Joe, came out as Gay, at which point Bill and Mary got involved in ministry to the LGBTQ+ community. Sadly, Joe later died from HIV.

Bill was a bit of bull in a China Shop. Mary use to regale us with stories about Bill. I believe he is still a wanted man by the Lord Mayor of London for damage done to a rental car while he was doing business there. He, apparently, had difficulty driving on the left side of the road, and returned the car minus all four doors. This was just one of many stories about Bill. He and Mary both spoke their minds. There was no pretense about either of them. Bill was the first person from my class to die after ordination. He died suddenly on February 27, 2001. We were all in shock by his death. Mary is still alive and I think living with one of her kids. The last time I saw Mary was at Marge Semlak’s funeral. Ruthie saw her at the wake of her oldest son, Tom. Bill requested that I play the song I composed for them at his first Mass. It was a great honor to do so.

DOMINIC AND HELEN EHRMANTRAUT

Dom and Helen were such a wonderful couple. I think they had twelve kids. They were both incredibly spiritual people but were also grounded in reality. Dom was such a gentle, kind, man. He is one of those deacons who would bend over backward to assist people. One of his specialties was a homemade distillery of cherry brandy, very tasty and powerful. Dom worked for the Star Tribune and later was an entrepeneur. Helen died on May 27, 2005. Ruthie and I were not aware of her death until long afterward. We both felt badly that we were not at her funeral. Dominic died on March 9, 2017. His kids told me that in his last year, his kindness and gentleness never left him even in dementia. I think the song I composed for them fit the kind of people they were, loving and gentle.

JERRY AND BARB CIRESI

Ruthie and I were close to Jerry and Barb. Both Ruthie and Barb were RNs and they both worked full time night shifts. Jerry was a successful lawyer and I guess he and I shared a similar cynical attitude toward institutions, whether they are legal or religious. As my good friend, Fr Kevin Clinton has pointed out, when you work a long time in the Church, you discover that there are 8 not 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit. The 8th gift is sarcasm. Both Barb and Jerry were strongly opinionated and forthright in speaking their minds. Jerry was deeply in love and devoted to his wife, Barb. He was a hardship for him when, in her dementia, she did not recognize him anymore. Barb died on December 31, 2018. Because Jerry was also a chaplain for the St Paul Police Department, many of those who belonged to the St Paul Police Department and Ramsey County Sheriff Department were present at Barb’s funeral. I made sure I was present at her funeral, too, and be a support for Jerry. The year following was hard for Jerry. Jerry was a big fan of Shania Twain, and one of the big things on his bucket list was to go to one of her concerts. His boys saw to it that Jerry was outfitted in Western gear and attended one of her shows. Jerry died on November 22, 2020. Because we were still under the pandemic lockdown, and vaccines were still being developed for Covid, I was unable to be at his funeral.

DR DOLORE ROCKERS OSF

I had a number of powerful professors in diaconal formation. When I was asked by the Archbishop which one had the greatest impact on my life, I instantly told the Archbishop, Dr. Dolore Rockers OSF. A psychiatrist and a religious sister, Dolore, in her Human Growth and Relations class was the one who formed me the most as a deacon. She taught me how to 1) listen and upon doing that 2) taught me how to communicate with others. Ruthie and I recorded 20 minute conversations on all sorts of topics to hand in to Dolore to evaluate my progress in communication. As a psychiatrist, she knew how what “buttons to push” to get me and all the other males in the class to effectively listen and communicate. She could be tough as nails with us. I remember Bill Beckfeld tried to take her on and she brought him to his knees. Bill, from that moment on, was her undying, big defender. What Dolore did not reveal to us during class was her own vulnerability. That was something she revealed at the close of that year. My class had such great respect and love for her, we considered her, as we did Trish Flannigan, a member of our class. The song, abover, for Dolore, I composed for her a year later as she took time off to take care and minister to her dying mother.

BOB AND RUTH WAGNER

So where is my song for Ruthie and I? I didn’t compose one for us. I was so busy that summer, composing music for everybody else that I didn’t have time to compose a song for Ruthie and I. As for Ruthie, I have composed over ten songs for her since we dated way back in high school. As for me, I prefer to compose music for others. But were I to choose songs for Ruthie and I, it would be these two songs.

This song I composed for Ruthie as a gift on her birthday. It is in my favorite meter 5/4 time. I think it reflects the beauty that radiates from her to everyone she meets.

As for me, I would choose this song.

Lux Aeterna for the Conversion of Human Hearts is so in tune with the ministry of the deacon, to care for those broken and forgotten by society and religion. In loving service to those who are broken, the world finds healing little by little. This tune exudes hope that this healing of human hearts and the world is just around the corner if only we obey what Jesus taught us, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

I hope you have enjoyed these musical memories of a very transformative day in the life of Ruthie and I 29 years ago.

ON THE ORIGIN OF FEAST DAYS

In my liturgical principles class at the St Paul Seminary (in which I read so many rubrics I was seeing red … it’s an inside liturgical joke), Fr. Mike Joncas revealed to us the origin of the Feast Day.

The Christian Church initially celebrated three very solemn feasts, the primary feast was and remains Easter. The second most important solemn feast was Pentecost, the birth of the Christian Church. And the third most important solemn feast, celebrated largely to lure Christians away from the pagan Saturnalia festivals with all its drunken debauchery, Christmas.

It was in the Roman Catacombs during the height of Christian persecution by Imperial Rome that the feast day of deceased Christians, mostly martyrs, was celebrated. As Joncas related, these feast days, celebrated on the day of a person’s death and birth into heaven, was done primarily to appease the deceased and prevent the deceased from haunting the Christian community. Over time, the superstitious fear of being haunted was lost and replaced by honoring and remembering people who lived exceptional lives of faith.

Over time, an “official” calendar of saints in the Roman Catholic Church was established. A process of canonization was established and continues to evolve with different popes making alterations usually to squeeze their “favorite people” through the canonization process. The process, like so many other things in human institutions has become more and more political and also more expensive (it pays to have rich patrons help to financially push through candidates for sainthood). Like most things created by humans it is a flawed process with many, in my opinion, not deserving of sainthood being canonized, among whom I would number Pius IX, Pius X, and John Paul  II; and,  those most deserving of sainthood being ignored or discarded, for instance Dorothy Day, and until the pontificate of Pope Francis, John XIII and Oscar Romero. Of course, there are those rare individuals whom the faithful demand to be canonized, for example, Francis of Assisi and Mother Teresa of Calcutta.

While I observe and honor those whose major feasts are celebrated, e.g. Apostles, evangelists, and of course the major Solemn Feasts, I have established my own Canon of Saints of those people I have known and admired over the years. Among that number would be my dad and my mom, who lived exemplary lives, parishioners like Blanche Schutrop from St Hubert, Fr Pat Griffin from St Stephen’s, and so many more. The one criteria for sainthood for me is not how they have served a religious institution, but how they have lived the Gospel. They need not even be Catholic, or Christian, but how they understood and lived unconditional love in their own religious traditions and cultures. So it is easy for me to celebrate the feast day of Mahatma Ghandi, along with Martin Luther King Jr. and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

DENNY DEMPSEY 

And, so, I remember in a very special way, Denny Dempsey, on his feast day, today. Was Denny perfect? Of course, not. Denny was as human as you and me. He had his flaws and like all human beings struggled to live his faith and his vocation as a priest each and every day.

Did Denny ever have doubts about his faith? Just like you and me, he did. Everyone in church ministry will ask themselves the question, “Just what was I thinking when I became a priest, or a minister, or a permanent deacon?” I have told the story before, but one time during Lent, when we were praying Evening Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours, he asked me if our lives in church ministry was based on nothing. In other words, was the story of Christ, upon which we dedicated our ministry and our lives, largely fictional and just a story and nothing more. My reply was that if it were, then at least living lives meant to assist people through crises was a worthy way to live. We all have our “Jeremiah moments” when our voices join that of the prophet who cried out to God, “Lord, you duped me and I allowed myself to be duped!” And yet, like Jeremiah, filled with our own doubts and inadequacies, we persevere.

There are three people I know who were extremely close to Denny: 1) his spiritual director, 2) Fr Kevin Clinton, and 3) my wife, Ruthie, who was his confidant when Denny was associate pastor at St Wenceslaus. She, to this day, guards the conversations they had back then, very closely. And, I am relieved that he found that confidant in Ruth.

WHY DENNY IS IN MY COMMUNION OF SAINTS

What elevates Denny to sainthood for me is the way that he lived to the best of his ability the Gospel of Jesus. He poured himself out in so many ways to the people whom he served. Whether it was helping farmers bail hay, or fixing the bikes of the kids in town, leading canoe trips or bike trips for youth and young adults, comforting the sick, attending the dying and their families, fixing my washing machine on Easter Sunday, or celebrating the sacraments in church, Denny was 100 percent there for you.

Denny never had the dualism that we often equate with religious practice e.g. we do the ‘holy’ things at church on Sunday, and then everything done outside the church is not designated as sacred or holy. Many of us live in this false dichotomy in which our behavior in church is different from the way we behave outside of church, as if outside of church we can do things that God is unable to see. Not so with Denny. the Mass over which he presided in church was not set apart from the bikes he fixed, the hay he bailed, the cows he milked, and the meals he ate in people’s homes. It was all one and the same. All of the world was part of the grand sacred liturgy that just began in church and extended out into the greater world outside the church building.

My mother told me a story about Denny when he was leading a Lenten parish mission at her parish, St Rose of Lima, in Roseville, MN. In the middle of Denny’s talk, a woman in the congregation suffered a sudden stroke. People ran to assist the stricken woman and in their midst was Denny Dempsey who cradled the head of the woman on his lap and comforted her while they awaited the arrival of the paramedics. My mother was so struck by his love and compassion for the woman. I told my mom, that what she witnessed was genuine and authentic. That was who Denny really is. Denny personified for many people Christ’s love and compassion, especially for those who were most in need.

Denny lived very simply. Whatever he could not fit into the topper of his small Toyota pickup truck, he would leave behind. His only prized possessions were his guitar, his bike, and his canoe. Now over time, I am sure that rusted out Toyota truck was replaced with something more rusty and the canoe was replaced with a kayak. However, the Epiphone guitar and his bike were probably the same as those he had with him when he was assigned to St Wenceslaus in the 1980’s. He was frugal even with chewing gum, known to chew the same piece of gum for several days, and placing that gum on a “gum caddy” alongside his bed at night.

With the exception of liturgies, he dressed like the flock he shepherded, living to the fullest Pope Francis’ mandate that shepherds must smell like their sheep. He did not need cassocks, clerics, birettas and all the other clerical garb that many young priests and restorationist priests believe a priest must wear to gain the respect of their parishioners. Denny dismissed all the clerical trappings and earned the love and respect of his parishioners by simply being there with them and serving them.

He had a good sense of humor and did not put on airs. I remember when Denny did his Spanish immersion, in order to serve Venezuelan parishioners Jesu Cristo Resuscitado (Jesus Christ Resurrected) and later, the Latino community in this Archdiocese. He was asked by a group of Latinos how long he had been ordained a priest. He replied, “Tengo quince anos.” The people laughed and asked him again. Denny repeated, “Tengo quince anos.” They laughed all the more and asked him again. Again, Denny replied, “Tengo quince anos.” They laughed and laughed and asked him again how long he had been ordained a priest. By this time, Denny knew something was not quite right. He had been using the wrong word for year. The Spanish word for year is años. He had been using the Spanish word anos, which means anus. He had been telling the people not that he had been ordained fifteen years, but he had 15 anuses. His self-deprecating humor remained intact for the rest of his life. When he told me the story I replied that with 15 anuses, at the very least, he had many alternate ways of sitting down.

Denny was my spiritual mentor, my good friend, and I chose him as my advisor and director for my graduate school project at the St Paul Seminary.  I recognize that my life was just one of so many lives he impacted so positively during this life as a priest. Fr Kevin Clinton and Denny spent much of the weekend together prior to Denny’s death. Kevin told me that Denny had said to him, that when he (Denny) was ordained, he was in the middle of the road of the Catholic Church. However, Denny told Kevin that now he found himself in the left ditch that ran alongside that road. Denny, like Kevin, and myself, are one in that statement. In serving those on the margins of society and of the Church, we find ourselves in the company of Jesus who served those on the margins of his society and his religion.

It is a custom for many of us to often ask our friends to pray for us. I count myself among their number. And, people often ask me to pray for them. So every morning, I have my list of people for whom I will pray by name.

Along with those on earth, I ask my family and friends in heaven, the Communion of Saints, to pray for me. I have no idea about how long I will be walking, some days shuffling, along on this earth, and I continue to need their love, their prayers, and their guidance.

The one thing years of ministry have taught me is that death does not end our relationships of love and friendship with those who have died. On the contrary, death amplifies far greater our relationships of love and friendship. Just as nothing can separate us from the love of God, so too, nothing can separate us from our loved ones and friends.So, my good friend, Denny, from your place in the fullness of God’s love, I ask you to pray for me.

Happy feast day, Denny!

I have been reflecting on the Gospel for this past weekend, and Pope Francis’ Synod in Rome.

In the parable of the King’s wedding feast for his son, Matthew 22:1-10, Jesus tells the story of the King inviting guests to the wedding feast. Upon receiving the first invitation, the formally invited guests refuse to come to the feast. So, the King sends servants out with a second invitation. This invitation is either ignored by those invited, or they expressed their indignation at being invited by torturing and killing those whom the King had sent with the invitation. Angered at their refusal and the maltreatment and murder of his servants, the King sends his army to destroy all those who were invited. The King then orders his servants to go the highways and byways, the alleys and the streets and invite ALL, most of whom were poor and neglected, vulnerable and forgotten to the wedding feast. And ALL are welcomed by the King and enjoy the feast.

POPE FRANCIS’ WORLDWIDE SYNOD

What Pope Francis I is doing with the Synod in Rome is inviting all to this worldwide Synod, to hear the voices of not just the hierarchy of the Church but to listen and to empower, and encourage the laity, men and women, to speak openly and honestly about the state of the Church and how it meets and does not meet their spiritual needs. This is reminiscent of Pope John XXIII’s Ecumenical council, Vatican II, in which Pope John invited not just Roman Catholic bishops to the Council, but invited bishops of ALL Christian denominations to attend. Pope Francis’ Synod and Pope John’s Vatican II share one vital thing in common, both are INCLUSIVE, welcoming ALL to speak and confer.

OPPOSITION TO THE INCLUSIVITY OF POPE FRANCIS

Clearly, many bishops, mainly conservatives and those entrenched in the corrupted Roman Curia at the Vatican, were bitterly opposed to Pope John’s Vatican II. Similarly, there are bishops and priests in the United States and elsewhere, including five very vocal Cardinals, namely, Walter Brandmueller (Germany), Raymond Burke (United States), Robert Sarah (Guinea), Juan Sandoval (Mexico), and Joseph Zen (Hong Kong), who are bitterly opposed to everything Pope Francis is doing and are working to undermine his teachings and his desire for the Church to be inclusive.

These cardinals, bishops, and priests do not want the inclusive Church of Pope Francis, but rather the closed, exclusive Church of Pope John Paul II, and Pope Benedict XVI, who spoke of an exclusive, smaller and more faithful Church. This conservative ecclesiastical vision of the Church is in complete opposition to the teachings and the ministry of Jesus, who welcomed all to the Reign of God.

A PRE-DATED MODEL OF HOW THE SYNOD CAN WORK IN A CATHOLIC PARISH

As I reflected on this Gospel reading, I thought especially of the former St Stephen’s Catholic Church in South Minneapolis, whose parish mission stated that the Church was a large circus tent under which all were welcome. The vitality of St Stephen’s when I was assigned there was found in the diversity of people, from those who were developmentally disabled, to those in the LGBTQ+ community, to ex-offender, to former priests and religious, to the homeless, to the Latino community, and to disenfranchised from society and other faith traditions, in other words, the exact milieu of Jesus when he was doing his earthly ministry.

St Stephen’s at that time, predated the Synod of Pope Francis. Every year we would have a parish wide meeting at which parish leadership would listen to the concerns, the needs, and interests of ALL in the parish. This work at inclusion was the driving force that made this parish, at that time, so vital and so successful as a church and its outreach to the poor and disenfranchised of South Minneapolis. It was the vision of this community that created St Stephen’s Human Services (now a part of Agate) with all its services to the poor and the homeless of South Minneapolis. (Note: this model of how to do Church continues in the Spirit of St Stephen’s Community).

THE PARALLEL OF THE PARABLE WITH THE SYNOD IN ROME AND IN ALL DIOCESES

There is a direct parallel to this parable to what is happening in the Roman Catholic Church worldwide, and and what is suppose to be happening in the Roman Catholic Church in the United States.

Are our dioceses and our parishes inclusive in welcoming all to the Roman Catholic Church regardless of whether they are LGBTQ+, ex-offenders, other cultures and races, homeless or disenfranchised, and disabilities? Or do we find our diocese and parishes excluding those who don’t look like us, or worship like us, or whose sexual orientation is different from us, or whose culture and race differs from us, or those who are questioning their faith and are seriously searching for God in their spirituality? I am finding more and more of our parishes with the leadership of priests less inclusive of all, and more exclusive and non-welcoming.

For me, it is clear that those who oppose inclusion in the Roman Catholic Church, like Burke, Sarah, Brandmueller, Yen, and Sandoval, and clergy like them, are similar to those who were invited to the King’s feast, and either rejected the invitation altogether or ignored the invitation.

THE SYNOD IN THE ARCHDIOCESE

Is the synod being rolled out in this Archdiocese truly welcoming and empowering the baptized laity of this Archdiocese, giving them a voice in how our parishes are run? Or, is it all for show, paying lip service to the intent of Pope Francis? In other words, is the intent of the hierarchy of this Archdiocese to give people a real voice in the church, or just give the faithful an illusion of being inclusive and having a voice in our church, with the Archdiocese pursuing its own exclusive agenda, controlling, stymieing dialogue, and silencing all which it does not want to hear? Given the past history of this Archdiocese and by own personal experience, I think it is more the latter than the former.

As a former president of the Deacon Council, we spent a whole year of 2000 doing a self-study of the diaconate. We spent a lot of time in meetings with all the deacons and their wives at the bequest of Archbishop Flynn. When the conclusions of the deacons were given to Flynn, and Flynn found the conclusions did not match what he wanted, he squashed and basically condemned the self-study. Many deacons remember the meeting when the diaconal community presented the findings to the Archbishop Flynn and his chancery entourage, the night of Easter Monday, or what we later called Black Monday. Flynn’s rejection was vicious and brutal and all of our work condemned and suppressed.

This same thing has happened time and time again in this Archdiocese in other matters. As much as I wish this synod would be different, I cynically believe that an honest dialogue with the hierarchy of the Archdiocese will not happen, and the real spiritual needs of the people of this Archdiocese will either be ignored or dismissed by the hierarchy.

CONCLUSION

The hierarchy of the Church had better reflect on this parable. Jesus’ parable of the Wedding Feast clearly states that God’s Reign is not a closed, exclusive invitation, but the invitation to God’s Reign is open to all. Jesus clearly states that those who hold themselves exclusive and reject the invitation to the wedding feast, will similarly find themselves excluded from the Reign of God. Whom the hierarchy rejects, God accepts!

Since this past Saturday, when Hamas conducted its own “Tet Offensive” in the nation of Israel, I have thought of the great amount of violence and shedding of human blood that has been absorbed deeply into the soil of this land. So often, descriptive accounts of battle next to bodies of water, speak of rivers running red with the blood of those killed. When one digs into the soil of Palestine, it is a land saturated by thousands and thousands of years of human blood shed in war.

Over the past 60 years, archaeologists in their digs have dug deep into the history of this land. They have discovered all sorts of information, from the illnesses, the parasites, and diets of ancient peoples to finding no archaeological proof that King David ever existed. They have revealed falsehoods in the biblical texts for instance, the Israelites crossed the Reed Sea, not the Red Sea, manna is a natural occurring phenomena not just a miracle, and though the Israelites were a warrior nomadic tribe, they did not militarily overcome the populations of Canaan, but rather intermarried with the people of Canaan to such an extent that their culture overcame the native cultures of Canaan (the very thing the Egyptians feared and led to the Israelites being enslaved). However, the one brutal thing the archaeologists have uncovered has been thousands of years of warfare that has been linked to this land.

Many cities in this area, are built upon Tells, the ruined remains of cities destroyed by war. Upon the ruins of Jerusalem, and all other major populated areas, new cities have arisen, only to be destroyed by war again and again and again, and new cities built upon the destroyed bones, human and structural, of former civilizations.

This whole area is a vast graveyard of human beings, rather reminiscent of the vision that Ezekiel was given by God of a vast valley covered with the bleached bones of a destroyed army (Ezekiel 17:1-10).

The closest thing to this kind of phenomena happened in the American Civil War. Two battles (Bull Run) were fought in Manassas, Virginia, on the same battlefield, one year apart. The North lost both battles. Eyewitness accounts by those who fought in the second bitter, destructive battle, spoke of marching on and fighting upon the bleached bones of soldiers and horses that were killed during the first battle of Manassas. They literally fought on a vast graveyard of war and in the second battle, contributed their own bodies to those killed the year before. And so it is in all of Palestine.

What is it about this cursed land that the Babylonian armies of Nebuchadenezzar, the armies of Persia, the Greeks, the Egyptians, or the Romans, the Saracens, the Crusaders, the French, the English, to name just a few, were willing to sacrifice so much life to occupy this bleached, barren place? I cannot think of some vast mineral deposit, or carbon based energy that would make Palestine such a desired piece of property for people to exploit for wealth. We call it the “Holy Land”, I think it more the “Cursed Land.” If the “New Jerusalem”, about which is often sung in a lot of melodramatic hymns, is this place, I am not so sure I would wish to spend eternity there.

Now, there is war in Palestine. Another war added on top of thousands of years of countless war and destruction. Hamas and Hizballah plan is to destroy the state of Israel and all Israelis. They are willing to commit any level of atrocity against the populace of Israel. The brutality of violence and the heightened war crimes against the Israelites this past weekend is only matched by the Nazis in World War II.

Hamas intent to end the existence of the state of Israel will ironically put an end to Hamas, and tragically the Palestinians trapped in the Gaza Strip. Hammurabis’ ‘law of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth will be enacted upon by Israel. As the state of Israel hunted down and assassinated all involved in the massacre during the Olympic games in Munich, so they will be relentless in hunting down all involved in the attack that has butchered so many innocent Israelis. Israel will avenge the atrocities committed by Hamas and Hizballah. Whether it takes a year or many years, Israel will hunt the perpetrators down and destroy them.

Nobody believes Jesus when he taught that violence will only beget more violence. In the Gospels, Jesus abrogated Hammurabi and Moses’ laws of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. One of his last teachings to his disciples was that those who live by the sword will die by the sword. As Mahatma Ghandi once preached, “An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind.” Instead, both Jesus, and many years later, Ghandi, taught love your enemy, pray for those who persecute you. In simple terms, both Jesus and Ghandi tells us to “END THE CYCLE OF VIOLENCE!” The only way you can end the cycle of violence is to love!

I believe, especially for those who are disciples of Jesus, and those who are disciples of Ghandi, that it is up to us to end the cycle of violence by love. In our own way, we are called, as the prophet Ezekiel, to preach God’s word of love to the bleached, dried, dead bones that litter our societies. If you remember the story, Ezekiel started to prophesy to the dead bones. As he prophesized, the scattered bones began to take shape again as bodies, sinews started to grow upon the bones, and flesh began to form upon the bodies. But they remained lifeless. Then God commanded Ezekiel to prophesy to the four winds and as the winds blew through the valley, they breathed life into the dead bodies. As God’s breath filled the bodies, they arose and lived again. The message our lives must prophesy is the message of Jesus to love. Ghandi prophesied the same message with his life. Dr Martin Luther King Jr prophesied the same message with his life. Dag Hammarskjold prophesied the same message with his life. Mother Teresa prophesied the same message with her life. I believe, Pope Francis is prophesying the same message right now. This is the message we must be devoted to prophesy, too, in our lives.

Those involved in the massacre of innocent Israelis this past weekend will be hunted down like animals and will, in turn, be ruthlessly taken out. The cycle of violence will only continue. One of the very few things said by John Paul II with which I agree, are the words he uttered when the United States unilaterally declared war on Iraq. In condemning the invasion of the United States, John Paul II said, “All war is a defeat for humanity.” With this war being waged by Hamas, Hizballah, and Israel, the circle of violence will continue, And H.G. Wells words, above, will become true.

Prologue

It is a fact, that the game of football, in particular professional football, has an adverse effect upon most males.

I have written about this before, however, it bears repeating. Within each male, there are a X and a Y chromosome. This we know from biology class. However, there is also present within the nucleus of each male cell what I call the “dumb gene.” It reveals itself when professional football (read this as either American Football, World Football (soccer), and maybe Rugby) is played. Scan the crowd at the typical American football game. The most gaudy, outrageous, and ridiculously dressed and worse behaved among the spectators are generally male. I was once one inflicted with the effects of the gene, so much so, that it would raise within me most displeasing behavior and a tendency to use all the curse words the Benedictine monks taught me in high school (words I usually only used while working on the plumbing of my home).

The Cure for the Dumb Gene

Ashamed, I was at the point of seeking out a 12 step group for those afflicted by this gene. I came to regard Viking football games as a near occasion of sin that should be confessed to a priest (though, knowing a number of priests similarly afflicted, they would agree with my reaction and not regard my outburst as a sin.)

Over time, I found ways to try and thwart this sin. It was my lovely bride, Ruthie, who came up with a marvelous way of doing this for myself, and my sons, Andy and Luke (who are also recovering Viking fans). Food. In short, she found that good food eaten during a Viking game takes away the shame of poor play, poor coaching, and many defeats.

Over the years, my lovely bride, Ruth, use to make a smorgasbord of wonderful, delightful food to digest, while we were swallowing another miserable loss by the Vikings. Buffalo wings of various degrees of spice, cocktail wieners, cheese and crackers plates, vegetable trays with ranch and dill dip, chips etc have all been served. Frozen daiquiris use to assist in this endeavor until age and the heartburn effect of rum started to rear its ugly presence. Nowadays, water and the occasional Long Island Ice Tea are the likely beverages to help wash down the wonderful food to disguise the taste of bitter football defeat.

Chili

Yesterday, my beautiful bride once more surpassed her culinary skills in creating a wonderful batch of chili to be consumed as Kansas City was defeating the Vikings. Along with my 24 ounces of water, I made myself a brandy Manhattan (two cherries) to drink. Mexican wisdom states that water chases the fire created by spicy foods, hence the alcoholic drink … that’s my story and I am sticking to it.

Ruthie did not spare the spices. It was clear that red cayenne pepper was, indeed, very present. It was delicious, so much so, that I treated myself to a bowl and a half, with occasional sips from my brandy Manhattan. Even though the Vikings found a way to lose in the waning seconds of the game, the chili gave me that pleasant feeling of fulfillment.

Granted, after watching the Vikings fail time and time again, cynicism is a part of one’s constitution to such a degree that the constant defeats have a numbing effect and come no way near being as crushing as they once were because one totally expects the team to screw up and lose. When they actually win a game, it approaches something akin to winning the Super Bowl.

And yet in death, alive …

However, the particular hot spices of the Chili have a way, like food from McDonalds, to continue to make its presence known long after it has been eaten. It is reminiscent of a recitative sung in the PDQ Bach’s cantata, “Iphigenia In Brooklyn.” “And lo, she found herself within a market. and all around her, fish were dying. And yet, their stench did live on. Dying! Dying! Dying! And yet in death alive! Dying! Dying! Dying! And yet in death alive! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die. Dietee dietee dietee dietee dietee die! And yet, yet, and yet, and yet, and yet in death alive.”

And, so, Ruthie, Luke, and I settled ourselves in for an evening of Twins baseball, which, win or lose, never necessitates food or drink to enjoy. To aid in my digestive discomfort, I took my evening dose of omeprazole, which did take the edge off the chili a little bit for a little while. However, judging by the belching and passing of wind (as the British delicately phrase it), I felt a bit like one of the cowboys eating beans around the campfire and farting and belching in Mel Brooks classic comedy, Blazing Saddles.

Initially, I think the dog was rather impressed by my display of gaseous output, but she, along with the rest of the family soon tired of it. I chased down my night medications with a glass of milk, and settled in for what I believed would be a restless night of sleep.

I awakened six hours and thirty minutes later with my gut quoting dialogue from the movie comedy, Major Payne. In one of the beginning scenes, Major Payne holds a 45 revolver to the terrorist leader’s butt stating to all the terrorists around him, “I can clean your colon out quicker than…one of them burritos with extra guacamole sauce.” (Note: there are very memorable quotes from this movie, one other quote the response of Major Payne to one of the recruits who asks him to have some sympathy. Payne’s response is, “The only place you will find sympathy is between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.”)

Attending to my need, I remembered a similar Sunday Viking meal of buffalo wings, Ruthie prepared, with a spice pack she had never used before. Andy brought those buffalo wings to work for lunch the next day and shared them with his co-workers. One of whom remarked to Andy the following morning, “Damn, Andy! I thought they were hot going in! But, damn, they were hotter going out!” Truer words were never spoken.

Conclusion

I am sure that there may be some whose delicate constitution might find this reflection in bad taste. However, most who work in the medical profession (of which Ruth and both of my daughters are and who never had a filter when they shared work stories of bodily fluids etc during supper), many women married to men with the “dumb gene”, and most guys (as defined by Dave Barry in his classic, “Dave Barry’s Guide to Guys”.), will utterly agree with this reflection.

I find the chili eaten and its effects and epiphany, a grand gastronomical symbol of Viking football over four decades.

The lesson learned from this weekend’s Minnesotan sporting events. 1) The Gopher Football team is not very good. Fleck likes to inspire them to “row the boat.” Well, Fleck, row the boat faster and bail at the same time. The boat is sinking faster than the Titanic. 2) The Vikings, in the words of Butthead, “Suck like nothing has ever sucked before”(from the movie, Beavis and Butthead Do America.”). And, 3) the Twins rule! Oh, and 4) either refrain from a bowl and a half of very spicy chili, or eat far, far less of the stuff (even though it tastes really good going down). Or, 5) focus on women’s sports, like the Minnesota Gopher Volleyball team.

On Friday, Ruthie and I received our 6^th Covid vaccine. I remember in the early dark days of 2021, when the first vaccine came out. It was the first sign of hope for human life, at least in the United States. The failed administration of trump had been voted out of office, and a responsible administration oversaw the distribution of the vaccines from which we would eventually emerge from quarantine lock down and begin to re-socialize as a society.

Vaccine protected, we have been cautiously reentering into the world from our Covid hermitages from which we sheltered from the raging death around us. Covid in all its many manifestations and mutations is still killing people, 15,000 alone in Minnesota thus far this year. Two years later, many of us still bear the scars of that isolation, and spiritual and emotional wounds opened during that time, have yet to close for many of us. I am still hesitant to go to crowded events, the most crowded I will attend is Saturday evening Mass at our parish, Pax Christi in Eden Prairie.

Upon getting “stuck” a sixth time, for which I am extremely grateful, I remember some of the incredible hope and joy I experienced during those very dark days of death in 2020 and 2021.

THAT WAS THEN …

There was a time when the majority of Americans were united. We were cheering on the medical heroes and heroines in our medical facilities who were overwhelmed by the pandemic and all the exhaustion, hopelessness, and death they witnessed 24/7. Because of corporate greed and the shortsightedness and denial policies of trump’s administration, we faced an extreme shortage of ventilators and N-94 masks for our own medical personnel, who had to work in extremely dangerous situations with little needed equipment to protect them. Many of these heroes in assisting those gravely ill, ended up infected and dying from the pandemic. My daughter Meg, working at the Vets Home in South Minneapolis, my daughter Beth, working at Hennepin County Medical Center, were on the front lines of Covid and experienced the brunt of the pandemic. My sons, Luke and Andy, were considered necessary workers and worked all during the lock down.

2020-2021 were incredibly and tragically dark and fearful. I remember the visual images of refrigerator trucks lined up outside of hospitals as temporary morgues for all the victims of the pandemic. The mass common graves dug to handle all the dead in cities, e.g. Hart Island off the shore of New York City remain still very vivid.

I remember how our religious leaders, especially of Christian denominations, betrayed their church members. Many of these leaders preaching that God would never betray disciples of Jesus Christ  and infect them with Covid, and continued to hold services, often without masks, only to aid in spreading the Covid infection and destroying the lives of so many in their congregations. Whole families, parents and children, were wiped out because they believed their religious leaders. The stupidity of these leaders infuriated me. I wrote a very irate letter to the priest in charge of the Liturgical Commission in the Archdiocese about the Archbishop allowing communion on the tongue. He replied that the Archbishop was a Canon Lawyer and was within his power to allow it. I replied back that the Archbishop was not a medical doctor and that the reception of communion on the tongue was forbidden on the European continent, including Vatican City! I concluded the letter stating that when Jesus said, “Do this in memory of me,” he did not mean spreading Covid and death!” I am sure that did not endear me to that priest, nor the Archbishop.

Yet, even in those very dark times, when idiots denying Covid, mainly MAGA zombies and the irresponsible, who didn’t believe they would ever get sick and die, were running around, spreading the pandemic in our churches, on the beaches of Florida and other coastal States, and everywhere in Texas, there was still hope and a solidarity among many Americans.

THE HOLY SPIRIT AND THE LITURGY OF THE WORLD

I found that hope in the arts, many of which were presented on YouTube.

Shows like Josh Gad’s Reunited Apart, in which casts of the actors of many of our favorite movies, especially from the 80’s and 90’s, e.g. The Goonies, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Lord of the Ring Trilogy to name a few, gathered virtually to talk about the filming of their movies and where they were in their present lives.

John Krasinski aired episodes of Some Good News about people coping with life under lock down. One of the most entertaining of which was episode 7 in which a couple gets married virtually on the show, with Krasinski presiding and the cast of The Office virtually recreating the wedding procession dance from the wedding of Jim and Pam in the show.

Shelbie Rassier, a music graduate from the Berkley College of Music, orchestrated and directed a virtual orchestra and singers in the song, “What the World Needs Now.” What a creative, wonderful way to bring hope to people who felt hopeless.

Composer and musical director, Eric Whitacre, released a number of choral pieces he composed for choir on YouTube, sung by a virtual choir gathered from all over the world. This video, Sleep, that he created is nothing more than a gift of grace from God. With each viewing, I remain spiritually and emotionally uplifted.

In spending time watching and meditating on this incredible output of creativity, I could only think of how the Holy Spirit, using all these diverse people and the talents they have, was a sign and a gift of God’s grace in our world. This creative, artistic surge is what the Catholic theologian, Karl Rahner, had begun to develop when he wrote the theological concept of “The Liturgy of the World” in which the Holy Spirit uses the secular music and art of the world to create Divine liturgy in our lives.

… AND THIS IS NOW

We are once more entering into a very dark and bleak time in our nation. The failed insurrection of donald trump has not ended. trump, the political and religious right are still seeking to destroy democracy in the United States and replace it with a kind of fascist, Christian theocracy. The days ahead of us will continue to be fraught with anxiety. Tragically, the brief moment of solidarity of Americans has collapsed. I pray that the Holy Spirit may once more inspire our secular composers, our musicians, our artists and use their talents to create a Liturgy of Hope in the months ahead of us.

Lest we slip into despair, as many had during the early years of the pandemic, we can gain hope believe it or not in Psalm 22. Though the psalmist laments his present condition, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” at the conclusion of the song, the psalmist acknowledges that God will sustain him and be victorious. So may we cast our eyes beyond the dark present to the hope and victory that awaits us.

In the past six months, I have been ministering to a woman who has suffered and lived for 20+ years in a brutal, physical and emotionally abusive marriage. The perpetrator of abuse, at first, brought trumped up charges of assault against her, which were dismissed by the judge. And, now he is seeking to alienate her children from her and destroy her financially. The alarming thing about this is that it appears that not only is his lawyer, but to some degree her own lawyer, and the judge presiding over the divorce are engaging in a miscarriage of justice toward this woman. It is clear that neither the judge nor her own lawyer know much about the accumulative damage done to a victim of domestic violence over a long period of time; damage that is forever embedded into the psyche of the victim of domestic violence and never goes away.

This brought up to my mind the many case histories of clergy criminal sexual abuse of children I read perpetrated by a diocesan priest, and a Franciscan priest upon children in two rural parishes in our area from 1940 to 1960. With both the Archdiocese and the Franciscan religious order fighting to cover up the heinous sin of these priests, and in some cases threatening the parents of these children, who had been abused, with lawsuits, one almost cries out in despair to God for some kind of justice. All of the children sexually abused by these priests have been cruelly, emotionally, and physically scarred and destroyed; some dying by suicide later in life, others, losing faith in institutional religion and God altogether, and never, ever having any semblance of a “normal” life in their adult years.

SCRIPTURE READINGS

In the readings of this past weekend, the words of the prophet Jeremiah and Jesus fully cry out about the injustice that plagues humans in this life.

Jeremiah cries out:

“⁷ O Lord, you have enticed me, and I was enticed; you have overpowered me, and you have prevailed. I have become a laughingstock all day long; everyone mocks me. ⁸ For whenever I speak, I must cry out, I must shout, “Violence and destruction!” For the word of the Lord has become for me a reproach and derision all day long. ⁹ If I say, “I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,” then within me there is something like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot. ¹⁰ For I hear many whispering: “Terror is all around! Denounce him! Let us denounce him!” All my close friends are watching for me to stumble. “Perhaps he can be enticed, and we can prevail against him, and take our revenge on him.” (Jeremiah 20:7-9, NRSV)

This is how Jeremiah ends it:

“¹⁴ Cursed be the day on which I was born! The day when my mother bore me, let it not be blessed! ¹⁵ Cursed be the man who brought the news to my father, saying, “A child is born to you, a son,” making him very glad. ¹⁶ Let that man be like the cities that the Lord overthrew without pity; let him hear a cry in the morning and an alarm at noon, ¹⁷ because he did not kill me in the womb; so my mother would have been my grave, and her womb forever great. ¹⁸ Why did I come forth from the womb to see toil and sorrow, and spend my days in shame? (Jeremiah 20:14-18, NRSV)

Clearly, Jeremiah was at the point of despair. I find it neglectful on the part of the Roman Catholic Lectionary, that the Church did not allow the final passages of this chapter in the Sunday reading. Have we not all reached that breaking point in our lives at one time or another? Even Jesus cries out in despair during the Passions of Mark and Matthew, “My God, my God, what have you abandoned me?”

Which one of us has not echoed the words of Jeremiah when we have suffered betrayal, abuse, and injustice, especially from people and institutions we were taught to trust? We look for justice in this life and find none. We come away from these experiences refusing to trust even our religious authorities for even they have betrayed our trust as badly as those in other formerly trusted institutions whether it be places of work, local, state, and national government, and our court system. Is it any wonder that so many harbor anger and resentment toward the institutions and people we were taught as children to trust and obey? Is it any wonder that so many people have abandoned forever the mainstream religion in which they have been raised?

In the passage from Matthew’s Gospel, we hear Jesus addressing the reality of justice in our world:

“²¹ From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suff ering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. ²² And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” ²³ But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” ²⁴ Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ²⁵ For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. ²⁶ For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life? (Matthew 16:21-26, NRSV)

As much as the apostles want to deny the injustice of their world, Jesus is not as easily duped and reprimands them for their naivete. Jesus, already persecuted by the religious authorities of his own religion, knows full well the lengths to which they will go to silence him. Jesus, and the message he was sent to preach, is a tremendous threat to their way of life and their religious authority. He well knew that they wanted him dead. He then warns his disciples that those who follow him and live the message he preached would be marked for death as well. There would be no justice in this world for those who fully follow the life and the teachings of Jesus.

Jesus’ words were prophetic. Just as his own religious authorities colluded with the Romans to kill Jesus, so have religious leaders colluded with government (sometimes religion and government being one and the same) toward destroying the prophets who have arisen within the different religious traditions, whether they are Christian or non-Christian.

So where can we find justice in our world? Darned if I know. Justice is a very rare commodity in the United States, and far rarer in other nations in the world.

WHAT ARE OUR CHOICES?

Do we place our belief in a final Divine judgment of which Jesus speaks in Matthew 25? Or is that scene no more than what Karl Marx called “the opiate of the people” to dupe vulnerable people into thinking that the evil doers in this world will get their divine comeuppance all the while condemning those same vulnerable people to a miserable existence in this life? These are two very hard questions to ponder.

I remember a Sunday night in Lent many years ago, when my good friend and spiritual mentor, Fr Denny Dempsey was at my house praying Evening Prayer with me. At the conclusion of that prayer, he asked me, “Bob, what if all that we do and say and preach is based on nothing? Are our lives, work, and ministry meaningless?” These two questions were not foreign to me. I and so many others who have ministered in the Church have asked ourselves at one time or another, “What was I thinking when I got ordained?” My answer to Denny that night is one I still believe to this day. I answered Denny, “Our lives have been spent trying to help people through very difficult times in their lives. That, in itself, makes our ministry worthwhile, whether there is a God or not.”I do believe in an after-life. I do believe that there will be some kind of judgment on how well we learned and lived the commandment of love preached and lived by Jesus, or whatever prophet or spirituality we follow.

In reading accounts of Near Death experiences, there seems to be a consistent event of being judged on how well we have loved in this life. It did not matter as to what religion one was raised and lived, or whether one had any religion at all. The event happens to all. The way it is described is that of seeing a replay or rerun of all the relationships they have had in their lives  and experiencing the harm they have inflicted upon others. To experience firsthand the evil they perpetrated on others was extremely terrible, so much so, that those who have experienced this say they never ever want to experience that rerun again. What was also consistent about this event, was while they felt the harm and evil they caused others, there was a being of love who stood by them, expressing how much they are still loved. Those who have experienced this Near Death event dramatically live altered lives from that which they had lived prior to their Near Death experience.

EPILOGUE

It is accounted that though there were plots to kill Jeremiah, Jeremiah survived them all, later fleeing to Egypt and living the remainder of his days in exile. Now whether he took the Ark of the Covenant with him, and whether it was really found by Indiana Jones in the Temple of Souls, transported, and later buried in a massive warehouse in Area 51, Nevada, I will leave to the imaginative world of George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg. As for Jesus, those of us who profess to be disciples of Jesus, believe that ultimate justice was reached in Jesus being resurrected from the dead and ascending into Divine Life, a life he promised all who lived his commandment of love.

For the rest of us slogging through this world in search of justice I think we need to be content into living, as best as we can, lives of love and service to others, fighting for justice when we are called to do so, with the knowledge that real and full justice will never be realized in our world. As I said to Fr Denny Dempsey, “Our lives have been spent trying to help people through very difficult times in their lives. That, in itself, makes our ministry worthy, whether there is a God or not.” 

Over the past two years, the New Prague School Board has faced opposition from a small group of people of extremely conservative people. Their issues seem to be part of the playbook of DeSantis and his like in Florida, many of them based on white privilege fears of those different from them in culture, race, religion, and sexual gender. In the recent months, these parents, about 40 in number, have been attacking the New Prague School Board’s position of supporting the law, as dictated by the courts, concerning support of transgender students in the school system.

I have followed all these proceedings with great interest, and have reflected and prayed about them. In my reflection, I use as my mentor, Pope Francis I, who envisions a community of faith that welcomes inclusivity and diversity, as opposed to the repressive, exclusive Church of John Paul II and Benedict XVI. What I have copied below is my letter to the editor that is being published today in the New Prague Times. Of course, Pope Francis I uses as his mentor, Jesus Christ, who loved and embraced all rejected by his society and condemned by the rigidly conservative, religious authorities of his religion.

Here is my letter to the editor, which is being published today in the New Prague Times:

I am an ordained Catholic deacon, now retired after 42 years of active ministry. In my many years of ministry, I served many marginalized including the homeless, the LGBTQ+ community, the Latino community, and families trapped in dangerous domestic violence. I always felt welcomed and my life greatly enriched by those who live on the margins.

From the time I was a music major, I have known, and had many friends and colleagues who are LGBTQ+. I found that aside from a difference in sexual orientation, we all desired the same things in life: stable, loving relationships, financial security, affordable housing and healthcare. None of us choose our sexual orientation, it is how God created us.

There will be clerics and theologians who say they have the answers to everything. However, the real truth is that there are many things we really don’t know and are mysteries known only to God. What we do know definitively is that God creates only good, and that applies to all people regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity.

We all live in our own social ghettos, be they rural, small town, suburban, or urban. The ethos of our ghettos form our world view, and shape our fears and prejudices toward those whose race, culture, religion, and sexual orientation differs from ours. Ministerial assignments by the Archbishop compelled me to serve and to live in diversity. Ministry in a far greater diverse world, altered and transformed the world view I was taught as a kid. For this, I am eternally grateful.

The great gift of our Founding Fathers was to establish a nation in which plurality of religion, culture, race was welcomed, not persecuted. Diversity is good, not evil! We all need to break free from the singular world views that imprison us, and begin to engage with those different from us. When we do this, we find that many of our fears and prejudices taught us are unfounded or are lies. From my lived experience and knowledge, the fear of transgender classmates endangering our daughters and granddaughters are unfounded and baseless. As in past times, our daughters and granddaughters have far more to fear from their heterosexual male classmates. Jesus commanded his disciples to love one another as Jesus loved us, no exceptions. The time has come for those who call ourselves his disciples to actually live that commandment.

When I was a music major, while I was being classically trained on piano, I also listened to all sorts of music from blues to rock, folk music, piano rags and jazz . One of the albums I listened to over and over again was the Dave Brubeck Quartet’s album, Take Five. What made this album unique was the time signatures of the songs on the album. Duple meter (two beats to a measure … think fox trots, polkas, marches, in and most rock songs) and triple meter (three beats to a measure, waltzes being the most common example) is a main stay of most of our music, however, those meters were not found on this album.

Rather, this album was filled with music written in five beats to a measure, seven beats to a measure. The song, Take Five, composed by the quartet’s alto sax player, Paul Desmond, was a huge commercial hit (Google Take Five and listen to it).

I was studying music composed by classical composers, e.g. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Debussy, who never used meters like that which was heard on the Take Five album. Out of all that listening to Brubeck quartet albums, I developed a great fondness for unusual meter, never thinking that some day I would be composing music with five beats to a measure or seven beats to a measure.

Over all my years of composing, I have strived to compose music in quintuple time (e.g. 5/4 time) and septuple time (e.g. 7/4 time). Like all music, some of the songs have been successful and some has not.

One of the first songs I composed with five beats to a measure was an odd kind of Mazurka, I wrote for my five grandchildren. A Mazurka is a Polish dance with three beats to a measure with a distinctive dotted rhythm. Chopin was well known for the Mazurkas he composed. However, I decided to play with the usual form and composed it with five beats to a measure, or, as I explained it to a friend, it’s like dancing as if you had three legs, not two. Here is the song:

Over the years, I have found that my most special songs, usually composed for my wife, Ruth, have been composed in 5/4 time. This song, in my opinion, is one of the best I composed as a present for Ruth in 2018.

A more esoteric song in 5/4 time was composed in 2017 for the Victims of Racial Violence (the presidency of Donald Trump with all its racial violence and mysogyny compelled me to compose 9 songs for the victims of his policies

From the same collection of music is a song I composed in 7/4 time for the Victims of Those Denied Medical Care (my revolt against the republican opposition to the Affordable Care Act). What makes this song all the more unique is that instead of it being composed in normal scales we often hear in music, e.g. major and minor scales, it is composed in a whole tone scale in which half steps in the scale are eliminated (in the normal major scale there is a half step between “mi” and “fa”, “ti” and “do”.).

Another song I composed in 7/4 time was the song “In the Beginning Was the Word,” from the collection of Advent/Christmas Music, “Songs for the Refugee Christ at Christmas.” The number seven is significant in religious theology and symbology (in case you were just thinking it was only significant in gambling dice games like Craps). In Jewish thought, Seven is the perfect number, e.g. being in Seventh Heaven. When Jesus is asked how many times one must forgive another person he answers Seven time Seventy times. In Catholic theology there are seven sacraments, seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, seven capital virtues with their corresponding seven capital sins, and so on. What is unique in this song, based on the Prologue of John’s Gospel, is that the 7/4 is divided in 3 beats followed by 2 beats followed be 2 beats. It sounds like 123 45 67. Here is the song.

In the collection of songs, A Paschal Journey, I composed the song “Mystagogy – On the Shores of Lake Tiberias.” The song is meant to be representative of the post resurrection account in John’s Gospel, of the Risen Jesus on the shore of Lake Tiberias (Sea of Galilee in the other Gospels), while the apostles are trying to fish. It is in this account that Jesus asks Peter three times,”Do you love me?” I wanted reflected in the song a rhythmic motif representing waves lapping up on shore. Try as I could, all the normal meter signatures did not work. However, 5/4 meter did. Here is that song.

In the collection of music “Musical Reflections on a Pandemic,” there is one song I composed in 5/4 meter. It is entitled “The Feast of Fools – A Pandemic Danse Macabre”. This song was inspired by all the idiots in my town who decided to have unprotected, unmasked graduation open houses at the height of the Covid Pandemic. Of course, whole families were infected and deaths occurred among those families. At one time, the line up of cars filled with adults and children at the Mayo Clinic testing area stretched down the highway. The sight of all these people who foolishly ignored medical science inspired this song. I composed it in 5/4 meter with the idea that the listener would feel unbalanced in the hearing of it. Here is that song.

In the past year, I have composed two more songs in 5/4 meter. The first is a Berceuse, which literally means a lullaby in French. Most lullabies (think Rockabye Baby) are in 3/4 meter. This one, though, is in 5/4 meter. Here is that song.

The second song in the same collection (Songs of the Servant) is far more dramatic and powerful. It is entitled Fantasia in B major. The powerful chords and melody have a regal, kind of unsettling effect upon the listener. Here is that song.

While there are many other songs I have composed in unusual meter, I conclude with this last song, “Canticle in Praise of Her.” This is a song I dedicated to the Holy Spirit. The song begins in the meter of 7/4. What is different from the other songs listed here, is the song changes meter in the middle. It goes from 7/4, moves to 2/4 and then segues again to 7/4. Here is that song.

I hope this little listening exercise in “alternative meters” intrigues you to seek out more music composed in different meters. If you would like more examples of these meters, begin with the Bernstein musical, West Side Story. The Prologue and the song, America, are beautiful examples of alternative meters. The piano and orchestral music of the Hungarian composer, Bela Bartok are also a trip through the alternative meters of Hungarian folk music. As I have gotten older I have found that in my composing of music, I derive a very special fondness for these two alternative meters.