Journeying Into Mystery

I want to honor my son, Luke, a day early. Tomorrow he is celebrating his 42nd birthday, and, while he is celebrating that day, I will be having surgery on my left ankle … again. He and his older brother, Andy will be enjoying a Twin’s game and rightly so.

Luke was overdue by a month and a half. We tried to induce that kid twice but he was so comfortable within his mom he just didn’t want to come out. It was one of those blistering hot summers with temps around 104 degrees. Ruthie finally had the doctor break her water and scrape her cervix which prompted Luke to finally see the light of day.

He was born at a crises moment in our lives. My teaching position had been cut and I was looking for a new job. That search led me to St Wenceslaus and a career in church ministry. For the first 5 months of his life, we were essentially homeless, all our possessions sitting in a semi trailer on Ruth’s family farm. We lived out of our suitcases at either Ruthie’s parents or my parent’s. In the midst of all this, a heart condition showed up for me, something my mom had, and something I passed on to my daughter, Meg. I finally had the problem corrected in 1992.

It was within months after having finally settled in our home in New Prague that Luke’s doctor told us that he believed Luke was born blind. I have never seen Ruth so angry and defiant. She immediately set up an appointment with her family opthamologist (her mother had a congenital visual condition that had been passed on to Ruth’s brothers, called congenital nystagmus). After a thorough exam, the doctor told us that Luke was not blind. His optic nerve had not fully developed and he had the congenital nystagmus. I expressed that time in our life in this poem I addressed to Ruth, in a collection of poems I composed in her honor, The Book of Ruth.

NOT ENOUGH TO BE HOMELESS BORN

Not enough to be homeless born
shuffled from home to home
your arms his sole source of bearing
in an unknown world,
finding home  in your maternal embrace
An uncertain year of lost job,
lost home, lost health,
is nothing to the diagnosis
of the hidden blindness,
optic nerves,
gestational blood deprivation,
unable to focus,
unable to reveal
to infant’s hands
the world waiting to be explored.

Our son, our beautiful son
like the man in John’s gospel,
born blind.
Where is the miraculous mud
moistened by the saliva of Jesus?

You scoff at the white
lab coated Pharisees,
deriders of miracles,
blinded by medical science.
Scoffing at their unbelief,
From your mother’s heart
you see that to which
their eyes are blinded.
“Bullshitt!” Our son is
not blind, my womb,
my heart telling me
his sight is not limited
to the darkness of
shapeless shadows.”

Advanced in years,
eyes creased with
the smiles and wisdom
of age, the ancient
opthamologist,
undimmed by unbelief
peers into the eyes
of our Luke. “Your baby
sees, not perfectly,
but will see beyond
shadows and darkness,
living the life given him.”

Within, your mother’s heart
leaps, and raise his
small infant hand
in defiance and triumph!

© 2013. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

Luke has conquered many obstacles in his life. I am so proud of him. In spite of all the troubles he has had in his life he perseveres. He is very much loved by his nephews and nieces. He remains the quiet guy he has always been (we discovered when he was nineteen that he also has Aspergers). Smart, funny, he continues to amaze me. I have learned much from him as I encounter my own obstacles and challenges in my life.

Happy birthday, Lukie!

Here is a song I composed for him in 2016.

Last Wednesday was the feast day of Blanche Schutrop. I had wanted to post this in memoriam on July 7th, but was having trouble posting on Word Press.

One of the first people I met at St Hubert in Chanhassen was Blanche. In my opinion, she was one of the living saints I have known in my life. Blanche was a very simple, unassuming person who packed a powerful impact on the lives of people. Born and raised in Victoria, Minnesota, she never got beyond the 8th grade. Like many people of her generation, she quit school to help support her family. She met her husband, Ivo, and moved to Chanhassen. I think the house they lived in when I was at St Hubert was the house they lived the entirety of their lives as a couple.

Blanche lived a life of service to others. She tutored many of the children who passed through St Hubert grade school. Many of these children who were struggling in education went on to higher education, I think, because of Blanche’s great compassionate service to them.

Blanche was the ex officio pastoral minister of “old” St Hubert. People would call her first, before calling either Fr Barry or Fr Steve or I, when they needed pastoral care. she organized and trained all our home communion teams who brought communion to those who were homebound. She did this for many, many years.

She also was the sacristan par excellence of St Hubert. She kept everything orderly in the sacristy and the sanctuary.

There have been 3 church buildings in the history of St Hubert. There was the old, historic church, which was used until Chanhassen grew to the point a new building needed to be built in the 1970’s. Then, the third building was built across Highway 5 when the second building could no longer hold the number of people attending Mass on the weekend.

Blanche lived across the street from the second building. She would go to daily Mass, and then spend about an hour following Mass meditating in the Eucharistic chapel where the Blessed Sacrament was reposed.

One morning, I encountered Blanche in the sacristy. She asked me, “Do you know when the most dangerous time in a marriage is?” I replied, “I don’t know, Blanche, perhaps after the first 10 years.” She responded, “No. It is when your husband is retired and he gets underfoot every minute of the day!”

Blanche, then, told me the story of going home after Mass and her daily meditation, and trying to drink a cup of coffee and eat a piece of toast in the kitchen. Her husband Ivo came in at that time to vacuum the kitchen floor (for some reason they had carpeting in the kitchen). He made her get up from the kitchen table so that he could vacuum where she was sitting. She was very put out by this. I remember the words she used to describe this. “You would think that he could wait until I was done. But, no! He took out that damn vacuum cleaner and made me get up and move!” I kidded her about how the well the peace she received from Mass and meditation that morning, aided her in this situation, admittedly, a dangerous thing to do. She just looked at me and said, “Oh, shut up!”

On these summer nights, I remember many times as I was leaving church for home, seeing Blanche and Ivo sitting in their screened in porch, drinking beer and watching a Twin’s game on their small portable television.

I learned more about pastoral ministry and day to day diaconal ministry from Blanche than I did in diaconal formation at the seminary. There are certain women who are/were natural deacons and far better deacons than I could ever be. Blanche, my wife, Ruth, and Trish Flannigan are on the top of that list. All they lacked was ordination.

God bless you St Blanche. You may not be on the Roman calendar of saints, but I know, all of heaven celebrates your feast day on July 7th.

Here is a song I wrote for Blanche and Ivo as a Christmas present in 1990. I composed a series of songs for many in the music ministry of St Hubert. The music was inspired by the episodes of the Christmas story. This is song was inspired by the story of the 12 year old Jesus being found in the Temple by his parents.

Hello. I have been having trouble with WordPress that for reasons totally beyond my expertise did not publish the reflections on those readings. I believe I finally have the problem solved. If you wish to read them, go to deaconbob94.org .

I realize that the one drum I bang over and over is the command of Jesus to love one another as Jesus loved us. If we are to be true disciples of Jesus, we must put into action his commandment to love.

Jesus made it very clear to the Pharisees of his time that it was not enough to just follow Mosaic Law. A rote living of the Law was worthless. They were called to live beyond the letter of the Law, they must live the spirit of the Law. The same criticism that Jesus levels against the Pharisees is also leveled against those of us who are his disciples. We not only hear this in the Gospels, this same message is repeated over and over again in the pastoral letters of the Christian Testament. James is particularly critical of his Christian community in his letter. “What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?  If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,” but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it? So also faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” (James 2: 14-17*)

We may be tempted to think that this commandment to love is far too remote from our human nature  that has been altered by Sin, to far out of reach for us mere mortals. The author of Deuteronomy concludes otherwise.“For this command that I enjoin on you today is not too mysterious and remote for you.  it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out.” (Dt 30: 11, 14) This commandment to love was placed in our mouths and our hearts at the moment of our conception. We have the power to engage it in our lives. We, also, have the power to ignore it, or repress it in our lives.

Jesus illustrates this so brilliantly to his audience in the parable of the Good Samaritan. The one quality, the one virtue that presents itself in loving one another is the virtue of mercy. The mercy of the despised Samaritan toward the victim of the robbers, far surpasses that of the religious authorities of the Jewish people, namely the temple priest and the Levite. Love is expressed best in the mercy that we extend to others. “Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” (Luke 10: 37)

If we are to be disciples of Jesus, we must be people of mercy. To live the commandment of love does not absolve us of confronting those who live unmercifully. Indignation and confrontation is not inconsistent with the commandment to love. Jesus, the embodiment of love, at times with great indignation confronted the unmerciful of his time. As disciples of Jesus we cannot standby silent when confronted with the unmerciful behavior of others. Discrimination is a prime example of unmerciful behavior. Discrimination is a sin against the commandment to love. Behaviors or unjust laws that discriminate against people of color, culture, or sexual orientation cannot be excused or ignored by the disciple of Jesus. To remain silent is to be complicit in the sin of discrimination. We, as disciples of Jesus, must rise and confront with indignation those who discriminate, including our own religious leaders.

Mahatma Ghandi’s criticism of Christians focused on the fact that Christians have rarely believed and lived the commandments of Jesus. Our lack of faith, as James points out explicitly, is evidenced in our own lack of mercy. Whether it be immigrant children and families caged like animals on our southern borders, or laws and actions repressing the rights of peoples and nations, born and unborn, we must as disciples of Jesus confront our world and remind the world, by our own actions, the unlimited mercy of God expressed in the life of Jesus.

*All scriptural quotations are from the New American Bible.

Into whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this household.’ …Whatever town you enter and they welcome you, eat what is set before you, cure the sick in it and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God is at hand for you.’ Whatever town you enter and they do not receive you, go out into the streets and say, ‘The dust of your town that clings to our feet, even that we shake off against you.’ Yet know this: the kingdom of God is at hand. I tell you, it will be more tolerable for Sodom on that day than for that town.” (Luke 10: 5, 8-12, NAB)

The overriding focus of the readings for this weekend is “The Kingdom of God” or “The Reign of God” is NOW! Secondly, all disciples of Jesus are responsible for sowing the Kingdom of God in our world.

The first reading from Isaiah paints how the Kingdom of God is experienced when it is established in the world. In Paul’s letter to the Galatians, he informs the Galatians that the Kingdom of God comes at a price. It was Christ’s act of love, dying for all of creation on the cross, that God’s Reign was firmly established in our world. The only thing for which humankind can boast is the cross of Jesus, and those who call themselves must embrace that same cross in order to carry on the mission of Jesus. This segues into the message of the Gospel in which Jesus instructs his disciples that he cannot do this all by himself. Jesus initiates or breaks open the earth for the Kingdom of God to be sown. However, we, his disciples must be responsible for sowing the seeds of God’s Reign everywhere we go.

In order to be sowers of God’s Reign, we must:

1. Internalize the peace of God within our lives. We have to face our own dark side and allow the light of Christ to penetrate our own internal darkness. This will be a lifelong endeavor.
2. When we encounter others, the first words out of our mouths must be an expression of God’s peace. If they are open to receive God’s peace, then it will be reflected in the hospitality and healing that will take place within that community.
3. However, Jesus also acknowledges that that not all will be receptive to God’s Reign in their lives. No matter how much we may want to sow God’s Reign in that community, the soil of their hearts is so hard, that it will not be sown. It will be repelled. At that point, Jesus tells us to quit wasting our time with that community. The comedian, W.C. Fields had an interesting way of expressing this. Fields is quoted saying, “When at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”
4. Lastly, Jesus says to his disciples shake the dust of the place from our feet. We need not curse them, for in denying the Reign of God to be sown in their community, the community has chosen to be damned.

This Gospel reminds me of my assignment in 2004 to what once was St Stephen’s Catholic Church in the Whittier neighborhood of South Minneapolis. To the outsider, this parish seemed to be comprised of those who were the outcasts of our society and the Church. Among the parishioners were those who were former clergy and religious, former lay ministers of the Church, ex-offenders, many LGBTQ men and women, men and women who were developmentally disabled, the homeless, prostitutes, a Latino community, among whom were many who were documented and undocumented immigrants, and many others who felt disenfranchised from their former faith communities.

The soil of this very diverse parish was broken and receptive to the Reign of God because the soil of many of the lives of the parishioners were broken. The Divine paradox which the Gospels reveal is that God’s Reign takes root far better in the soil of the lives of broken people than it does in the hard soil of the self-righteous. The parish taught me that just being a member of the clergy does not mean that my own soil is receptive to God’s Reign. For me to participate in and assist in leading this community, I needed to break up the soil of my own life, confronting and acknowledging my own brokenness in order for the Reign of God to take root.

When I once asked a parishioner of St Stephen’s why he was a parishioner of St Stephen’s. He told me that when he first came to St Stephen’s, his self-esteem was so low he was contemplating suicide. He said, “When I came to St Stephen’s I discovered Jesus welcoming me, loving me, and embracing me just as I am, a gay man.”

The self-righteous would look upon those gathered at St Stephen’s celebrating Mass as the antithesis of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. There was one such self-righteous group, many from St Agnes parish (a parish known for its Latin Masses and very rigid ecclesiology), called “The Rosary for Truth” who would gather at St Stephen’s prior to the 11 am Mass to pray the rosary for all “the damned souls of St Stephen’s”. Many other communities would have been insulted and would have expelled this group. I was surprised at the reaction of the parishioners from St Stephen’s. They welcomed them instead and prayed the rosary with them prior to Mass. The unwritten mission statement of St Stephen’s at that time was “The Church is a big circus tent, and all are welcome, except those who think someone should not be here.” After some time had passed, I had to expell the Rosary for Truth group from the parish for disrupting the worship of my parish at the 11 am Mass. St Stephen parishioners had been willing to be “in communio” , in communion with the Rosary for Truth. The Rosary for Truth was adamant about NOT being in communion with the parishioners of St Stephen’s.

Why such a dramatic difference between two parish communities? St Stephen’s embraced the Social Justice teachings of Jesus and used those teachings as their way to be parish. St Stephen’s focused much of its resources in providing services to the poor in the Whittier neighborhood, which included a parish run homeless shelter in which 40 men sleep every night, assisting the poor with a food shelf, free store, helping the poor to find jobs, housing and many more other services. This eventually led to the creation of the non-profit, St Stephen Human Services who has continued all these services to the present day.

In contrast, The Rosary for Truth, like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time, rooted their lives in a rigid Pharisaic living out of the rules and regulations of the Church, ignoring the Social Justice doctrine of the Church. Their home parish, St Agnes, is located in a multi-cultural, poor neighborhood in the inner city of St Paul. At that time, the money raised by the parish was lavishly focused on the opulently decorated Baroque church building of the parish and its Latin Tridentine liturgies. To my knowledge, very little of the parish’s resources goes to serving the poor of its neighborhood. This reminds me of this verse from the first chapter of the prophet Isaiah:

“What do I care for the multitude of your sacrifices? says the LORD. I have had enough of whole-burnt rams and fat of fatlings; In the blood of calves, lambs, and goats I find no pleasure. When you come to appear before me, who asks these things of you? Trample my courts no more! To bring offerings is useless; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and sabbath, calling assemblies— festive convocations with wickedness— these I cannot bear. Your new moons and festivals I detest; they weigh me down, I tire of the load. When you spread out your hands, I will close my eyes to you; Though you pray the more, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood! Wash yourselves clean! Put away your misdeeds from before my eyes; cease doing evil; learn to do good. Make justice your aim: redress the wronged, hear the orphan’s plea, defend the widow. Come now, let us set things right.” (Isaiah 1: 11-18, NAB)

I ask you, in which of these two communities would the disciples of Jesus find welcome? Which of these two community would experience the disciples of Jesus shaking the dust of their community from their feet? To this very day, it remains very clear to me that of the two parish communities, St Stephen’s was far more open to the Reign of God. The likelihood of the dust of the  Rosary for Truth group being shaken off the feet of Jesus’ disciples was far greater.

In conclusion, the Reign of God is now and we all must be sowers of God’s reign. Having prepared the broken soil of our lives and internalizing the peace of Christ, we must bring his healing message to all the places in our world, knowing full well, that Christ’s peace will be welcome in some places and rejected in others.

The wonderful liturgical musician and composer, Marty Haugen, expressed this so well in the fourth verse of his hymn, “Gather Us In.” “Not in the dark of buildings confining. Not is some heaven light years away. But here in this place the new light is shining. Now is the Kingdom. Now is the day. Gather us in and hold us forever. Gather us in and make us your own. Gather us in all peoples together, fire of love in our flesh and our bone.” (© 1982, GIA  Publications Inc. All rights reserved.)

Postscript: In 2008, the parish community of St Stephen’s was expelled from its church home by the Archdiocese of St Paul and Minneapolis because it could not follow the strict liturgical norms of the Catholic Church. The community chose to become an Independent Catholic Community. Though independent of the Archdiocese of St Paul and Minneapolis, the Spirit of St Stephen’s maintains its Catholic culture and tradition. Over time, the parish moved to its present home, the former home of First Christian Church, where it continues its mission of Catholic social justice.

I was sitting in one of the exam rooms at Mayo Hospital New Prague last Friday, very despondent. I had just been told that I would be having surgery on my left ankle at 2:15 pm that very afternoon. This brought back a flood of bad memories of other past late Junes in my life. I concede that there have been many very enjoyable late Junes throughout my life, but as of the last nine years, the enjoyable ones are fewer, and the ones with nasty surprises more plentiful. This is a poem that encapsulates what I was feeling last Friday.

THE LATE OF JUNE

The Late of June
a time in the past
of anticipated vacations,
fourth of July fireworks,
grilled brats and hamburgers
with beer and sipped frozen daiquiris,
escapes from the heat and humidity
dipped into the frolic and laughter
of cool Minnesotan lakes.
Star gazing on the cool, cut lawn
of the farm, while the sound
of the National Anthem closed out
another day of television broadcasting.

The Late of June,
sitting on the front deck
with the dog.
a brandy manhattan
moths and mosquitoes,
watching and toasting
the brilliant flashing colors
of city fireworks,
their sound,
echoing and booming
off the buildings of Main Street,
as surrounding neighbors
play a duet with their
supermarket bought fireworks

The Late of June
has taken on the character
of the Ides of March,
about which Shakespeare
warns us of betrayal.
Assassins’ cries,
the gleam of light
too little, too late
the awareness raised
of flashing, descending blades
soon to be dyed blood brown
a prone, dying Julius
whispering, “Et tu, Brute?”

The late of June 2011,
the dream of brats and beer
and fireworks transformed
into a MRSA quarantined room,
yellow gowned nurses with gloved hands,
the sound of squeaky wheels at 6 a.m.,
my squinting eyes looking through
the sudden, blinding light,
a blood tech’s greeting,
tourniquet tight around my arm,
as a gloved finger vainly pokes
for a vein not already blown
and scarred by vancomycin,
as the needle held in the other gloved hand
eagerly awaits a target.
A Late of June introduction
into a nightmare of multiple surgeries,
failed antibiotics, near death,
hipless, walker-hopping months,
Shakespeare’s warning ringing
loudly in my ears.

The Late of June 2018,
my mother’s memory unity stay,
cut short by the snap of her left femur,
onset of pneumonia,
the weeklong vigil at her bedside
as the breath of God
filling her lungs, slowly
retreats from her body,
as she ever so gently, gradually, quietly
slips into the fullness of God’s reign.
Funeral home picture boards,
filled reminders of her former life,
of dreams fulfilled and unfulfilled,
surrounded by memories
and those who created those memories
buried with her in the earth,
alongside the life memories
of my father and my sister.

The Late of June 2019,
descending the steps of retirement,
a long life of service to others,
resulting in a painfilled wince
as ankle bones break
and separate from ligaments.
Sitting on cement steps,
then prone on an emergency room bed,
the surgical sentence postponed
for four days later,
the verdict delivered,
and the nightmares of 2011
flood and fill my dreams
as I slip into the sleep of anesthesia.

The Late of June,
harbinger of loss and disappointment?
I sit in my chair, my ankle elevated,
walker at hand for memory laden
hops to the bathroom, to chair, to bed.
A world seemingly upside down
filled with calamity, pain and more loss.
Is there a safe room, a safe house
into which to escape
these seven last days of June?
A full voiced shout to the Almighty,
“Now what?!”
Silence … it is always silence,
God’s usual answer to disciples.
I guess I will just have to
figure out on my own
the answer I seek.

My mom died on this day in 2018 and was born into Heaven. Some pictures and a song remembering her wonderful life.

Mom’s funeral was on July 3rd, 2018. I still miss her very much. Even when dementia started to set in, she remained the warm, compassionate person she had always been. I am so proud to be her son. Our parents shape our lives so very much. Mom and Dad prepared me to be a good man, a good husband, a good father, and a good grandfather. Happy feast day, Mom!

Here is the piano song I composed for her on her birthday in 1990. Mom had a fondness for Chinese art. She had a beautiful painting of a Chinese Mary holding the baby, Jesus.

Were it not for a fall down some stairs this past Monday, this is the final homily I would have given at St Wenceslaus Church in New Prague. Fittingly, the readings are all about being called to be disciples of Jesus. My full-time job as an ordained deacon may be ending officially on June 30th, however, following Jesus as his disciple will never end, but will carry on to the end of my life. Here is the homily I will never give.

God calls each and one of us to discipleship. Are we ready to hear the call? Are we ready to commit ourselves in being disciples of Jesus? The readings for this weekend are blunt as to what is expected of us as disciples. We need to say goodbye to who we once were and open ourselves to change, evolving into someone we never have been.

In the first reading, God tells Elijah to anoint Elisha to succeed him as prophet. Elijah finds Elisha, the farmer, plowing his fields. Elisha accepts but wants to go home first and tell his family. He is sharply rebuked by Elisha. In a dramatic gesture, Elisha effectively erases all evidence of the life he once led. He slaughters the oxen pulling the plow. He breaks up the plow into firewood upon which he cooks the dead oxen, and then feeds the cooked meat to his people. Then follows Elijah as his attendant. (1 Kings 19: 16b, 19-21)

In the second reading, Paul makes similar demands of the Galatians. He tells them to abandon their former lives, and to accept the freedom that Christ has given them. They must first embrace and commit themselves to the commandment of Jesus to “love one another as yourself.” Paul uses an interesting metaphor to warn them as to what will happen if they do not commit themselves to Christ’s commandment to love. “If you go on biting and devouring one another, beware that you are not consumed by one another.”  (Galatians 5:1, 13-18)

In the Gospel, Jesus is resolute about traveling to Jerusalem. A Samaritan town on the way would not put Jesus and the disciples up for the night. When asked by the apostles as to whether Jesus would call down fire and brimstone on the village, Jesus rebukes them. People come up to Jesus requesting to be his followers. However, they place conditions upon their discipleship, security for one, burying a dead  parent, the other, another, to say goodbye to family. Jesus answers these requests saying, “No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the kingdom of God.” To be a disciple of Jesus, we must, like Elisha, erase the life we once led and fully commit ourselves to following Jesus.

If we are truly in relationship with Jesus, the effect of this relationship will alter our lives utterly. If we continue to look to our past; if we are reluctant to leave behind who we once were; if we are unwilling to evolve and change, then we cannot be disciples of Jesus. Our discipleship must be the highest value we hold in our lives, otherwise, we are not ready to be a disciple of Jesus.

To be a follower of Jesus is more than just a one time commitment. It is not enough to say, “I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior.” once. We must make this commitment every day upon awakening. It is what the early Church called metanoia, a daily conversion, turning our lives over to Christ every day. We must be willing to change our values, how we are in relationship with others, how we are in relationship with our Church to be true disciples of Jesus.

It is no longer enough to just rotely say our prayers and follow Church rules. To be a disciple of Jesus requires to expand our understanding of discipleship. Jesus taught that he didn’t come to abolish the law but to fulfill the law. We must allow ourselves to grow prayerfully, and spiritually beyond the mere requirements and roles that the Church places upon us . We must always prayerfully discern as to what next level of discipleship we are called to by God. Our faith life cannot be frozen to just one stage of our lives.

What is true for us is also true for our institutional Church. There is movement within our own Catholic Church to forget Vatican II ever happened and return the Church to the past. There are those who believe if only we go back to “hearing Mass” in Latin, with the priest’s back turned to us, and have priests run around in old liturgical vestments, that somehow the Church will be “saved”. Jesus clearly stated that there is no putting new wine into old wine skins, for the new wine will split the old wine skins. Going back to the past will not fill our churches. On the contrary, our churches will empty out at even a faster pace. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that the Church is always in a state of evolution and change. There is no going back to what once was. As Jesus teaches today in the Gospel, “No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the kingdom of God.” As a Church, we cannot go back to what we once were. If we do then we are not fit for the kingdom of God and will fail.

As I look over my 42 years of ministry in the Church, I find that I am no longer the same person I was when I began ministry on August 31, 1977.  I discovered that discipleship is not synonymous with complacency or comfort. Rather, discipleship often makes life uncertain, complicated, uncomfortable and requires sacrifice. When I was ordained a deacon by the Archbishop, not only did my life change, but the lives of Ruth and our kids. Every time I was reassigned to another church community my life was changed by the community I was serving. I was required to grow, required to sacrifice security, salary (over $20,000 in salary from 2004 to the present … thank God, Ruth is an RN), and change the values I once held as important. The one consistent in all that change was that of being surprised by God. God is a God of surprises. Sr Joan Chittester once defined God as “changing changelessness.” While God is may never change, my understanding of God is always changes. I am always in the state of being surprised. God may never change, but the disciple of God is always in the process of change.

Come July 1st, I will be entering a new stage in my life. My greatest discernment will be in what way will I continue to change and evolve as a deacon, a husband, a father, a grandfather. My life is not being arrested at this point of retirement. I am not done growing as a disciple of Jesus. I  will continue to grow as a disciple, knowing full well that I will be saying goodbye to some of the roles and ministry I had while I was actively employed and continue to grow some roles and ministry way beyond that which I once did.

As I take my leave as your deacon, I would like to bestow upon you a blessing. I would like to do this in a song of blessing I composed back in 1979, when I was the music director of St Wenceslaus.

God of changing changelessness.
God of endless surprises,
confounding the confoundless.
You are the God of Paradox,
revealing to children, that,
which you hide from the learned.
Those mortals you touch,
utterly transformed, Divinely
refereeing matches between
angelic wrestlers and mere morals,
Jacob becoming the limping Israel,
Moses’ staff raining down plague,
terrorizing those who terrorized,
the vanquished becoming vanquishers.
The angel adorned ark, the
secret weapon of your Covenant,
the enslaved now the rulers.
Shepherd royalty, blossoming deserts,
lions at peace with the lambs,
children playing with cobras,
Angelic announcements
a Virgin conception of the
God/Human who serves
but refuses to be served,
creation murdering the Creator,
the Dead not remaining dead.
Divinely bestowed paradox,
abundantly planted in history,
who am I to question You
about a broken left ankle
on the Eve of my retirement?

(c) 2019, Robert Charles Wagner

On this Sunday in Catholic parishes throughout the world, we highlight in a very special way the real presence of Jesus in Holy Communion. Formally it is called the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, or, as others call it, Corpus Christi Sunday. The Constitution of the Sacred Liturgy from Vatican II teaches that all grace flows to and from the Eucharist celebrated on Sunday. If all we do this Sunday is worship the real presence of Christ in the consecrated bread and wine, and nothing more, then Holy Communion is nothing more than an inanimate sacred object. To illustrate this I would like to recall three Holy Communion stories from my life.

When I received Holy Communion for the first time, I was taught that Holy Communion was so sacred that to chew the host we received was a damnable offense against God. This was problematic for many of us, because we had to fast from food and water three hours before receiving Holy Communion. Often times our mouths were so dry it was hard to dissolve the host because we had no saliva with which to dissolve it. The host would stick to the roof of our mouth as we desperately tried to work up enough saliva to dissolve it.

We could never touch the consecrated host, that would damn us to Hell forever. Only a priest could touch a consecrated host. To receive Holy Communion unworthily would damn us as well. When I would go forward to receive Holy Communion as a child, I do so with great caution, with great fear, and with great reverence.

Story Number One: It was the year 1961, one year after I had received my first Holy Communion. At St Andrew’s Catholic School, we would go to Mass on Wednesday morning prior to the beginning of school classes. We were all hungry (we brought jelly sandwiches to eat after Mass), stomachs rumbling throughout Mass from hunger. One morning, I knelt at the communion rail to receive Holy Communion. As the priest came to me, I stuck out my tongue and he placed the Holy Communion on my tongue. To my great horror, the host fell off my tongue and on to my arm. The priest told me to stay where I was and NOT to move. He finished giving Holy Communion to the others, washed the sacred vessels (chalice and ciborium), ended Mass. All this time, I knelt frozen at that communion rail, barely breathing out of feat that if I moved or did anything to disturb the host precariously balanced on my arm, I would be sent to Hell forever. When the priest finally came back to me after Mass, he lifted the host from my arm, placed it in a ciborium than scrubbed my arm vigorously with steel wool to make sure that all sacred particles of the host were safely removed. It was with a great sigh of relief that I left the church that morning pulled back from I perceived was the dark chasm of perdition into which I thought for sure I would fall. It was very clear that my understanding of Eucharist was an object to be revered, feared, and adored.

In the summer of 1980, I began my study in the Masters in Pastoral Studies program (MAPS for short) at the College of St Thomas. My major focus of study was sacred liturgy. I had a class entitled, Music and Movement in Liturgy, with Fr Mike Joncas (the same Mike Joncas who composed “On Eagles Wings”). Mike had finished his Masters in Sacramental Theology from Notre Dame, and had begun his doctoral work in Rome in Sacramental Theology. He is incredibly intelligent, and a remarkable professor. He also demands much from his students. He gave us one huge project to do for the class. We were to attend the worship services of other churches and religions, Christian or non-Christian. We were to experience their liturgies and analyze the sacred actions taking place, and then write a thirty page paper with annotated footnotes about our liturgical experience.

One of the churches I chose to visit was the Baptist Church in New Prague. At the time, there were four churches in New Prague: St Wenceslaus Catholic Church, Holy Trinity Lutheran Church (ALC at that time), the Alliance Missionary Church, and, the Baptist Church.

I chose to go to the 7 pm Sunday night service at the Baptist Church. New Prague was so small enough at that time, that everyone pretty much knew everyone in town. My understanding was that the majority of Baptist services were strictly focused on sacred scripture and rarely had the reception of communion. As I entered the church that Sunday evening I was warmly greeted at the door. The men and women saw to my every need. I felt welcomed and they saw me to my place in the pew. Of course, being a small town, they knew where I lived and that I was the music director at St Wenceslaus Catholic Church. I explained to them that I was there to worship God with them that evening. And, truthfully, because of their warm welcome and friendliness, I felt one with them.

Wouldn’t you know it, that evening was the one evening they had a communion service. Their pastor gave a good sermon on the scripture for that evening, we sang hymns, and then, they brought out the tray with little glasses of grape juice, and communion in the form of small squares of bread. The minister explained very clearly that communion was a symbol and NOT a sign (in other words, it was not the real presence of Jesus in the bread and wine), then began to read the biblical passage from Paul’s 1st Letter to the Corinthians, chapter eleven. Looking at me directly, he read the passage that those who received the body of Christ and drank unworthily of the blood of Christ, ate and drank their own damnation. I nodded back at him, letting him know I got the hint, and as the tray of grape juice and the bread came to me, I passed it on to the person next to me, out of respect for their beliefs and their traditions about the Eucharist. What stood out for me so clearly in their worship is that while the Eucharist was not the wine and bread that people drank and ate, the Eucharist was found in the communio, the community of the people, gathered for worship.

My last story is Christmas 2011. From the time of my first hip replacement in mid June, 2011, I had not been able to get to Mass. Within a week of the hip replacement I got a MRSA infection that did not go away. I had to have that hip removed while the doctors tried to find an antibiotic that would kill MRSA but not kill me. It took them over 5 1/2 months to do that. In the meantime, I was confined to my home, hopping on one leg while using a walker to get from my bed to bathroom to my chair to bed … you get the picture. When I did venture out of the house, it was in a wheel chair to the car. All these long months from June through the end of February I was only able to go to church once and receive Holy Communion.

It was Christmas Eve. My wonderful wife, Ruthie, said, “Let’s go to the 6 pm Christmas Eve Mass. I will push you there in the wheelchair.” Fortunately, there was very little snow and the temperature was quite mild for our part of Minnesota. She pushed me in that wheelchair the two blocks to church. We sat in the wheelchair section of the church, up front. The music, the liturgy, was all very wonderful. At communion, the communion distributor came to me and gave me Holy Communion, the first time in over 6 months. As I received Holy Communion that night I felt in communio not only with the Body and Blood of Jesus that I received, but in communio with the Body of Christ gathered around me in the people at Mass, and especially in communio with my beloved Ruth who pushed me to Mass those two long blocks, and then, pushed me home, again. That Christmas was probably one of the most happy and most meaningful Christmases of my life. Holy Communion was not the static, inanimate sacred object of my childhood to be adored, received and feared. Holy Communion was not just present in the community gathered for worship. Holy Communion was the presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy Communion received by the community and then made present by the community in how they lived what they had received.

This Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ must be opportunity for all of us to expand our understanding of the words, Holy Communion. If the Eucharist is the font to which all grace flows and from which all grace flows, then it is paramount that the grace we receive in Holy Communion be poured out into world so that all the world can be in communio with Jesus Christ. To truly honor and celebrate the real presence of Jesus in the consecrated bread and wine, we cannot hoard it like some commodity or just deposit it in a sacred bank vault (the tabernacle) to be adored. We must share the grace we receive with all! In this way, it is not only in church that we give honor and respect toward the tabernacle in which Holy Communion is reserved. We will honor and respect the sacred presence of Christ in the people we encounter in the world.