The Communion of Saints at Triduum – a reflection

Luke's baptism 5The Triduum, the three days, in which one liturgy is celebrated, is the most powerful liturgy of the liturgical year. Every aspect of human life is celebrated, from birth to death to resurrection, and joined to that of Jesus’ own Paschal journey. From the sharing in the Divine Covenant at the institution of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday, the triumphal death of Jesus on the cross, in which the cross no longer symbolizes defeat, but rather victory, to the resurrection, the ultimate healing and sealing of humanity’s relationship with God in Jesus Christ. This year as I celebrated these three days in the entirety of the parish of St. Wenceslaus, I experienced most profoundly the Communion of the Saints.

As I stood by the baptismal font during the singing of John Becker’s beautiful musical setting of the Litany of the Saints, I saw in my mind’s eye all my loved ones who have died, standing with me around the font. My dad was there, my sister, Mary Ruth, my Grandpa and Grandma Wojnar, Uncle Joe and Aunt Ruth Cunningham, Uncle Bob and Aunt Babe Jernstrom. My Uncle Joe Wojnar and my Uncle Ed Wojnar were there. Aunt Rose and Uncle Leo, Aunt Bell and Uncle Bill, my cousin-in-law Bob Murphy were there. Dr. Maurie Jones, Helen and Bernie Kerber, Blanche and Ivo Schutrop, Archbishop Roach and Bishop Welsh, the men and women from my diaconal class, Bill Beckfeld, By Rudolphi, Tom Semlak, Tom and Lucy Coleman, Helen Ehrmantraut, and others I knew and to whom I had served and ministered were all standing there with me as if they had never left. I felt so overwhelmed and choked up by their presence, I had trouble singing “pray for us” to the Litany, my “pray for us” reduced quite often to a whisper.

I realized in a very striking way that the presence of the saints in my life were not there just because they had been invoked by the living. The saints in my life were there with me on Holy Thursday, and Good Friday, and for that matter every day of my life from they moment they left this life and moved into the fullness of human life.

Intellectually I have known this for a long time. I remember my sister, Mary Ruth, on her death bed greeting all of our dead relatives in the room and turning to my mother and I saying, “They are playing my song, but I am not ready to hear it yet.” I remember a parishioner, comatose on the cusp of death, suddenly opening her eyes as I began the prayer for the dead, “Go forth, Christian Soul to the God who love you …”, looking directly at me, and passed me to the divine life that awaited her. Then, dying the moment the “Amen” at the end of the prayer was said by those gathered around her bed.

The power of Easter is to remind us that life does not end when our physical bodies wear out and quit working. Human life is not defined by weak hearts, aching joints, sickness, weakness, failing organs and failing minds. Rather that death is the entry into a far better life, a life yet to be experienced.  As St. Paul reminds us in his Second Letter to the Corinthians, “For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal. For we know that if our earthly dwelling, a tent, should be destroyed, we have a building from God, a dwelling not made with hands, eternal in heaven.” We recall, as we all gather around the baptismal font, with our communion of saints living and ever living, that this all began at our baptism, as the water was poured and we entered in death into the tomb with Jesus only to rise with him in the Resurrection on the third day.

Saint Judas – a poem by James Wright

Everytime I take part in the Passion of Jesus, I remember this poem by James Wright. I first encountered this poem in 1970 in Poetry class at the College of St. Thomas. It was in that class I developed a great love for poetry. I present here as a reflection for this Holy Week.

SAINT JUDAS

When I went out to kill myself, I caught

A pack of hoodlums beating up a man.

Running to spare his suffering,

forgot My name, my number, how my day began,

How soldiers milled around the garden stone

And sang amusing songs; how all that day

Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone

Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.

 

Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,

Stripped, kneed, and left to cry.

Dropping my rope

Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:

Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,

The kiss that ate my flesh.

Flayed without hope,

I held the man for nothing in my arms.

 

Wright, James (2011-03-01). Collected Poems (Wesleyan Poetry Series) (Kindle Locations 1303-1310). Wesleyan University Press. Kindle Edition.

Psalm Offering 2 Opus 6 (for the Order of Franciscan Secular)

StFrancis_partPsalm Offering 2, Opus 6 was originally conceived as an organ fanfare back in 1978. As a transplanted piano player, I always thought playing on the pipe organ was similar to wrestling a huge octopus. The unnatural way of playing pedals (hips were not designed to be turned that way), I have often thought led to the premature deterioration of both of my hip joints, not, as my Aunt Mary Jernstrom has postulated, me inheriting the family’s “Swedish hips.” All that aside, what I needed was a “fanfarish” piece of music to be used as a wedding recessional/postlude for liturgical celebrations. I composed this simple little tune that addressed specifically my needs as an transplanted piano/organist. In its original incarnation I entitled this, “A Fanfare for Brother Francis”. I have taken this simple music setting and have recomposed it to be played on my “King of Instruments”, the pianoforte.

I have dedicated this to the Order of Franciscan Secular. When St. Francis of Assisi was living, he established three Orders, namely, the Order of Friars Minor, the Poor Clares, and the Third Order. The First Order, Order of Friars Minor was created specifically for single men. The Second Order. the Poor Clares, was created for single women. And the Third Order, now known as the Order of Franciscan Secular, was created for lay men and women, married or unmarried, and secular clergy (diocesan priests and deacons). I feel that I was imbued with the Franciscan spirituality from birth. In May of 1980, I became a professed member of the Order of Franciscan  Secular. The rule, or way of life, of this Order has profoundly impacted my life. That rule stated simply is “from Gospel to Life”.

Musically, this music is in Rondo form. Rondo form has a primary melody that, like a refrain, recurs following a number of different melodies. In this piano music the form is A, A, B, A, C, D, E, A, A. Recomposing this for piano gave me the freedom to fully express and explore the potential of the music. By the time I finished recomposing this music, it was an entirely new composition. While the bones of the original organ composition were retained, it has become something much finer and festive now.

Faith – in earnest or mere bravado (a reflection on Peter in the Passion of Luke)

This past Saturday and Sunday, I had the chameleon role in the Passion, proclaiming lines from Peter, Pilate, the unrepentant thief, the repentant thief, and the centurion. Early on in the Passion, the one line I spoke that resonated with me was Peter’s response to Jesus’ telling the disciples of his impending arrest and death. Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you.” We all know how well that turned out for Peter. It was to be much later in his life that Peter would fulfill the words he spoke to Jesus that night.

Many would fault Peter for being a coward and denying Jesus in order to save his own skin. The question that arose in my mind as I read Peter’s response to Jesus at the Last Supper was would I be as full of the same bravado as Peter? When it comes to being true to my faith in Jesus, do I turn and abandon Jesus when I am forced to confront the injustices around me in the world and in the Church? Am I willing to sacrifice all in order to be faithful to Jesus? To I have the fortitude of the early Church martyrs, or, for that matter, the fortitude of Archbishop Oscar Romero who not only confronted the evils of the El Salvadoran government, but faced those evils with little or no support from Pope John Paul II and Cardinal Ratzinger?

In forty years of Church ministry, I have seen both the positive work that the Roman Catholic Church has done in the world as an institution. I have also seen and experienced the darkness of the institution’s underbelly. The institutional Church is not the whole and sole embodiment of Jesus Christ. The scandals and shortcomings of the Church as an institution only serves to support that the Church is as much in need of conversion as its human members, and the rest of humanity. The Church is, in itself, living proof of Jesus’ love and redemption for even the most crippled and imperfect of humanity.

What may be lacking in my faith in the Church as an institution, is not lacking in my faith in Jesus. While I might doubt the forthrightness of “holy Mother Church”, my faith in Jesus has never been in doubt. While I have experienced my share of hardships, in both health and life, my faith in Jesus has only been strengthened in those hardships.

However, if faced with imprisonment and possible death, would I back down and flee as did Peter, or would I stand my ground and face the consequences of being faithful to Jesus, to be willing, as Peter said with so much bravado, “to go to prison and to die with you (Jesus)!” I have searched my heart and reflected on this. Though the reality of such a thing occurring has not been part of my life’s journey nor may likely be a future part of my life’s journey, am I prepared to go to prison and die for Jesus? Given the current of the political situation in our nation right now, the mob rule that follows and receives tacit and vocal support from Donald Trump, would I be willing to confront the violent mob his candidacy attracts? I hope so.

I have discovered as I have aged that pain and suffering is a natural part of life. I have learned to accept the limitations that my injuries and illnesses has placed on me. There are some principles in life that are more important than comfort. There are some principles in life that are even more important than life itself. The one overarching principle has been that of the Gospel of Jesus, and doing my best to faithfully follow Jesus.

The time may come when I will hear Jesus say to me, “Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” (John 21:18) I hope and pray that if or when that day may come, my faith may not be the empty bravado of Peter from the Passion, but the resolute faith of the post-Pentecost Peter.

Death, the glory of God revealed: a homily for the 5th Sunday of Lent, Year A readings

From the moment Mary’s lips parted and said, “yes,” to the Angel Gabriel, God’s glory was made manifest in human history. The glory of God was revealed as a pregnant Mary approached her very pregnant cousin Elizabeth, and the baby in Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy. God’s glory was revealed by the angels to the shepherds at the birth of Jesus, and later to the Magi who traveled from distant lands to worship the Messiah of all humankind. The glory of God was revealed at the baptism of Jesus by his cousin, John, in the Jordan River, on the mountain top at his Transfiguration, in his conversation with the woman at the well, and his healing of the man born blind.  The glory of God was revealed as Jesus raises a very dead and decomposing Lazarus back to life. Next Sunday, Jesus will reveal God’s glory in his triumphal entrance into Jerusalem, and in his passion and death on the cross. And, then, on Easter Sunday, the greatest of all manifestations of God’s glory will be in the Resurrection of Jesus. The purpose of Jesus’ life, very simply, was the revelation of God’s glory for all to see.

You and I have been baptized into Christ Jesus. You and I are the living manifestation of Jesus in our world. We have been given the same mission as Jesus, to reveal the glory of God. How well have we done this?

Jesus reveals God’s glory in the joys, the confusion, the sorrows, and the tragedies of human life. In his own human condition and in the human condition of those Jesus met and touched, God’s glory is revealed. The death of someone we love reveals our human condition at its most raw and harshest level, our emotions and spirituality stretched to its utmost.

When someone we love dies, we may find ourselves closely akin to the people in this gospel story. We may find ourselves like Martha, not understanding the death of our loved one, but believing fervently in the power of Jesus to conquer all. Or we may be like Mary, who is so distraught by the death of her brother, she locks herself away in her room to grieve in isolation. We might find ourselves like the mourners who question why Jesus could cure the man born blind, but refuse to heal his best friend, Lazarus. Or we might find ourselves like Lazarus, emotionally and spiritually dead, awaiting to be raised by Jesus. Wounded by death, left in doubt, grief, confusion, and perhaps emotionally and spiritually dead, how can we reveal the glory of God within us?

My brother, my sister, and I never knew our maternal grandparents. Both our maternal grandmother and grandfather were dead by the time my mother got married. As we got older, my mom began to tell us the stories about her mother and father while they were alive. Though mom would reference their deaths, it really wasn’t until we were much older, specifically for myself, when I was 40 years old, that she began to talk in detail about their deaths.

When my mom was 12 years old, her mother and her 5 year old little sister died within two weeks of each other. Her mother died two weeks before Christmas. My mom’s little sister died on Christmas day. Days before she died, my 12 year old mother was summoned to my grandmother’s deathbed. On her deathbed, my grandmother told my 12 year old mother, “I named you Regina when you were born. Regina is another name of our Blessed Mother. The name means “Queen.” I am going to die.  I have asked our Blessed Mother to be your mother. She is your mother now. Go to her when you need her.”

At that time, when people died, their families would wake their dead loved ones in their own homes. The wakes lasted two days and two nights. I asked my mom how it felt to have her dead mother and her dead little sister waked in her home. My mom that she was kept busy cooking food for the guests who came by to pay their respects, and to clean up after the guests. She told me how great a comfort it was to have their bodies of her mother and little sister there. After all the guest left, she said that in the middle of the night she would go downstairs and sit next to the bodies of her mother and her sister. She said that the closeness of their presence felt like they were embracing her.

Where, in the midst of this horrible tragedy that befell my mother and her family, was the glory of God  revealed? My dying grandmother revealed God’s glory in handing over her daughter, Regina, to the loving care of our Blessed Mother, Mary. God’s glory was revealed in all of my mother’s Irish aunts and uncles who rallied around her, her remaining brothers and sister, and, her dad. God’s glory continued to be revealed following the funerals of her mother and her sister, in all the relatives, the nuns of her parish school of St. Rosalia, Fr. Coglin, her parish priest, who supported my mom and her family from that time forward. When my grandfather died when my mom was 25 years old, Fr. Coglin took on the responsibility of watching over my mom as a surrogate father. Many a young man had to run the gauntlet of Fr. Coglin before he could date my mother. Fr. Coglin was not just going to let any man date and/or marry Queenie, as Fr. Coglin called my mother. Fortunately, my dad passed the very exacting scrutiny of Fr. Coglin and married my mother.

Baptized into Christ Jesus, we are the living manifestation of Jesus in our world. Today’s gospel reveals to us that the glory of God can be made manifest in all the conditions of our human life. Let us open our lives to God so that God’s glory may be revealed in our joys and our sorrows, in our health and in our illnesses, and in our life and in our death. Ultimately, as with Jesus, the greatness of God’s glory will be revealed for all of us to see in our Resurrection.

Beyond Two dimensional living: Psalm Offering 1 Opus 6

As diametrically opposed as Religious Fundamentalism and Secularism are, they both share one thing in common. They are two dimensional ways of living.

Religious Fundamentalism doesn’t look beyond the rules. For Religious Fundamentalists living the rules is the end. The rule is Deified and becomes God. It is very ironic that by worshipping religious law, the Fundamentalist defies the 1st commandment, “Thou shalt not have strange gods before me.”

Secularism, on the other extreme, cannot see anything beyond what is offered in this world. The careers we have, the possessions we own, the material accoutrements, the self of a person becomes Deified because one cannot perceive anything else beyond the self.

Both ways of living are two dimensional ways of living. It is like looking at a blue sky on a sunny day and not seeing beyond the blue to the mystery and deepness of the universe that lies beyond what our eyes can perceive.

The mystics call us to be three dimensional people. We are called to see and to live beyond the blue skies of our two dimensional worlds of religious laws and secular materialism and enter into the deep mystery that created all things.

A symbol is not the end, but calls us to look beyond the concrete to what really is real. As. St. Paul writes in his 2nd letter to the Corinthians, that which we see and experience in this life is at best transitory. That which is real lays just beyond the realm of our five senses.

The music that I attached to this reflection is more than just a collection of pitches on a staff of different duration, pitch variation and articulation. It is more than just something composed in rudimentary Sonata-Allegro form. It is more than just the A melody in D minor expressed in Italian as fast and with great agitation. The B melody in F major and later in D major is more than just a pretty melody played a little slower.

Conflicts, challenges, tragedies in life are the allegro agitato parts of human life. There are times when our lives seem overwhelming and out of control. To hear this music two dimensionally is to hear a chronological progression of a fast minor key melody seguing into a slower more appealing melody, only to go back into the minor key melody that eventually segues once more into the second melody.

To hear this music three dimensionally requires us to hear deep within the conflicts and tragedies the presence of grace. We are called to open our eyes and all our other senses and to find the grace buried deep within the conflicts, the hurts and the tragedies of our lives. Though we may experience an oasis of calm and beauty from time to time in our lives, the manic and agitated pace of life hold within the mania and conflict, the core or seed of Divine peace and contentment.

Blinded by the light … a homily for the 2nd Sunday of Lent, Year C

Transfiguration_of_Christ_Icon_Sinai_12th_century

Photo: 12th century Icon from the Sinai.

We have entered our second week in our Lenten desert. As we do so, through the eyes of Peter, James, and John, God allows us a glimpse of the glorified Jesus.  We see Jesus as he truly is.

As we, with the apostles, behold the image of Jesus glorified, let these words of St. John’s 1st letter resonate within us. “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” Listen to that 2nd sentence once more. “We do know that when it is revealed, we shall be like him for we shall see him as he is.”

We shall be like him, transfigured. When you got up this morning and looked into the mirror, did you notice a certain glow about you? Was there some kind of aura of multiple colors of light surrounding the image looking back at you from the mirror? Bloodshot eyes don’t count, just in case you were wondering.

If we believe what St. John wrote, in beholding Jesus today, we also see that which will be for all those who faithfully follow Jesus. We, too, will assume the glory that the apostles saw in Jesus.

If we all have this ability to be transformed beyond who we are at this very moment, how on earth do to get to the state of being Transfigured? The “how” by which we may become transformed is clearly outlined by Jesus in all four gospels. However, there is one passage from Luke’s gospel in which Jesus indicates the path we must take in order to become Transfigured. It is a passage that many of us do not want to hear.

Jesus said in Luke’s gospel, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.”

This saying of Jesus is not widely embraced in our present age in which the glorification of the individuality of each person has taken on narcissistic qualities. This is best understood by the old light bulb joke. How many narcissists does it take to screw in a light bulb? The answer is one. He holds the bulb and the whole world revolves around him. Today, it seems that which holds importance for many people is only that which benefits their individual self. When the only criteria used to judge something is the question, “What’s in it for me?”; if the answer is negative, then it is rejected, no matter how much benefit it might hold for the common good of all people. Jesus is telling us that the glorification of the individual self by this means is a false glorification. It is a glorification that is baseless.

Jesus tells us that it is only in a loss of self that we gain knowledge of our true self, in which our glorified self can truly be revealed. To deny ourselves, is not to neglect our self-care, for self-care is a necessary part of discipleship. Jesus practiced good self-care. In order to do the work he did, he had to find time for recreation, nourishment, for rest, and for prayer. However, his principle focus in life was not on himself, but rather in doing the will of God his Father, and in serving others. He emptied himself in love for God his Father, and in love for the people he served.

To lose ourselves, is to let go of the selfishness and self-centeredness of our lives. When the prejudices that we harbor, the false gods of pride, power, and greed that were all a part of the temptations we heard in last Sunday’s gospel, get stripped away from our lives, we come to know that which is most important, that which is most vital for eternal happiness and life.

As our prayer life deepens, when we do more than just talk at God, but quiet ourselves and really listen to God, we enter the cloud that enveloped the apostles today. Rather than being frightened by the voice of God speaking to us in prayer, we are able to listen to the voice of God and enter into the mystery of God’s message to us.

As we model our lives after that of Jesus, and pour our lives out in loving service to others, we will find happiness that is eternal. True happiness is not in the acquiring and receiving of things, but rather in giving, especially the giving of ourselves to others. Those who give of themselves in loving service to others find that they receive more from those they serve, then that which they gave.

From our baptism we carry upon our foreheads the mark of the cross of Jesus. This mark was first signed on our foreheads by our parents, our godparents, and the priest or deacon. This cross holds the key to our destiny, to our own transfiguration. As we daily deny ourselves, and pick up our cross, whatever it may be, to follow Jesus, we know that when our cross becomes too burdensome, too oppressive, he will be there alongside us to help us. He knows firsthand what it means to carry a cross, and he will lift the cross from our shoulders and carry it for us. Jesus knew that the path to the Resurrection was only by taking up his cross first and carrying it. It is only in carrying our own cross that we can journey to the Resurrection and the Transfiguration that awaits us.

To be transfigured takes a lifetime. It is a gradual transformation. As we increasingly live a deepening prayer life, and a lifetime of service to others, we will find as we look into the mirror that gradually, the dark layers of the false self that cloak us is stripped away, and that which remains is the glorified light of who we truly are.

Welcome to the desert. A homily for the 1st Sunday of Lent, Year C

Jesus tempted 2

Every 1st Sunday of Lent we encounter the story of Jesus being tempted by Satan in the desert. Traditionally, our understanding of Jesus’ temptations underscores 3 of the vices greatly experienced by humanity:  gluttony (turning stones into bread), hubris or pride (throw yourself down from the pinnacle of the temple), and power (Jesus being shown all the kingdoms of the world).  Other theologians and biblical scholars including Pope Benedict XVI see the temptation of Jesus as having to choose between being the Political Military Messiah, leading a Jewish army to victory over the Roman army, or being the Pastoral Spiritual Messiah. The way that Pope Benedict states this is that when Satan tempts Jesus, the temptation Jesus faces is choosing either the path of Messianic love and self-sacrifice or a path of Messianic Power and Success.

Note that in the very first sentence of this gospel story, Jesus is LED by the Spirit into the desert.  Jesus does not seek out the desert. This is not something he chooses for himself. Deserts in most of the world are barren, nasty places. Against his better judgment Jesus feels this impulse to be pushed and dragged by the Holy Spirit out into the desert. I think it is safe to say, that like Jesus, very few of us willingly seek out the isolation and barrenness of the deserts in our lives. Yet, nonetheless, within our lifetimes we find ourselves in our own particular desert.  

What are the deserts in our lives? Like the desert in which Jesus was tempted, they are not very welcoming places. Our deserts often involve pain and sacrifice on our part. The deserts in our lives are so scary and unpleasant that we frequently want to avoid them at all costs. Our desert might be a significant illness, cancer, heart disease, diabetes, Alzheimer’s disease or some chronic illness. The desert might be the loss of a significant relationship. It might be a death or a divorce. Our desert might be the loss of a job, being unemployed for a long time, or some other crises that puts a tremendous financial burden upon us. Our desert might be an addiction of some kind.

While we are in the desert, we, like Jesus, are open and prone to temptation. The three temptations that Jesus faced are placed at our feet. We may feel tempted to believe that God is somehow against us, plotting our ruin. We may feel tempted to turn our back on God or to deny God altogether; to live as if only we are God and only we have power and the ability to control all aspects of our lives. We may succumb to our own base desires, getting drawn into whatever satisfies our senses for the moment, whatever sensual pleasure that might be. Or we might fall into the darkness of despair, believing that God no longer loves us and has abandoned us. Yes our deserts are real and filled with temptation.

However, being in the desert can also be a time of great growth and transformation. It was only in his time in the desert that Jesus was able to define who he was as the Messiah, and what his messianic mission was to be. In March of 2002, I was involved in a head-on collision that led me into the desert of the trauma unit at North Memorial Hospital. Following surgery, lying in a bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes, the priest for whom I was working at the time, came into my room and asked only one question, “Where is the grace in all of this?” Within our desert lies a tremendous amount of grace if only we allow ourselves to experience it. The desert has a way of emphasizing important beliefs and truths, and exposing the falsehoods or the misconceptions that are a part of our lives. In the desert, we learn to appreciate that which is truly important and essential to our lives and to jettison that which is not. The recovery from that accident took a long time. I spent a great deal of time in the desert, but discovered in so doing the abundance of grace that was present there.

As we are led into this new 40 days of our Lenten desert, let us pray to have the grace to see the potential to grow more authentically as Catholic Christians, and to grow more deeply and authentically in our relationship with Jesus.

The Cross, the common gathering place of all who follow Jesus

Celtic Cross

Photograph – A picture that I took of a Celtic cross in the cemetery of Drumcliff, County Sligo, Ireland.

“If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.
For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” (Luke 9:23-24)

The cross is the central gathering place for we who call ourselves Christian. The first symbolic gesture in Roman Catholic baptism is the tracing of the cross on the forehead of the one to be baptized. Just yesterday, many people had the cross signed on their foreheads with ashes.

The cross is the penultimate paradox as Paul expresses so clearly in his first letter the Corinthinians. “The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For since in the wisdom of God the world did not come to know God through wisdom, it was the will of God through the foolishness of the proclamation to save those who have faith. For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.” (1 Corinthians 1:18, 21-25)

It is an error as we gather at the foot of the cross, to perceive the cross as the end point of Christian life. As we gaze upon the cross, we must look through it to that which lies beyond the cross, which is eternal life. The cross, as it were, is nothing but a thin veil, through which we can see eternal Life. The carrying of our crosses is to pass through this veil to the Life which awaits us. It was through the carrying of his cross that Jesus journeyed ultimately to the Resurrection. It is the pathway to the Resurrection and Life with God for us as well.

When we pick up our cross, in whatever form that cross may take, Jesus reminds us that we do not do so in isolation. Rather, as we carry our cross, he who first carried the cross, knowing firsthand its weight, assists us in our burden, helping us to carry our cross when we feel crushed by its weight. Jesus will not allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by it, but rather will carry us and our cross into the Resurrection.

As St. Paul writes, “Or are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life. For if we have grown into union with him through a death like his, we shall also be united with him in the resurrection.” (Romans 6:3-5)

Psalm Offering 4 Opus 4

L'elisir_d'amore_posterPicture: A poster of Donizetti’s Opera “L’Elisir D’Amore”, “The Elixir of Love.”

I dedicated this Psalm Offering to my friend, and lyric opera tenor, David Waite. I met Dave, when I was in college. He had the lead role of Nemorino, in the opera seen to the left. I sang in the chorus, playing numerous roles, e.g. diplomat, peasant, soldier and so on (there was a lot of costume changes in the wings to say the least). Dave is one of those extraordinary personalities that one rarely encounters in life. He had tremendous confidence in his ability as an opera tenor, so much so, that he would sell his car to pay for a one way plane ticket to Sydney, Australia, to audition for a role in the Sydney Opera. He had the talent, and perhaps the moxie, that he would always get the role. He would sing, get paid, buy another car, and when the gig dried up, sell the car, and go somewhere else to audition. Later, when he would come and visit, he would regale Ruthie and I with all sorts of stories about singing at Mafia funerals in Little Italy, being involved in the Boston Opera, New York City Opera company and other opera companies around the world.  Though we believed that half of his stories were based on truth and the other half bullshit, they were, nonetheless, great stories and David was a great storyteller.  I still remember some of his stories to this day.

About the music: David originally requested that I write him a musical setting of a Psalm that he and his wife, another opera singer, could sing in concert. I sat down with my favorite psalm, Psalm 84, and wrote this music originally as an operatic duet. I gave the music to him and away he went to Zurich, Switzerland, where he and his wife were singing in the Zurich Opera Company. I wrote the music in 1978 and never knew whether he and his wife ever performed it in concert. The last time I saw Dave was when I was in graduate school at the St. Paul School of Divinity at the University of St. Thomas. Dave was getting a Masters in Business Administration at the University at the same time. It had been 10 years since we last saw each other and we caught up with each other over lunch. He had been divorced by his wife during that time, worked at the Boston Opera company, and decided that he was too old and tired to engage in “playing the director’s couch” in order to get singing gigs, hence deciding to focus on the business end, rather than the performance end, of the opera business. In 1988, I decided to take the setting of Psalm 84 that I had written for him ten years earlier and recompose it into the piano music that is heard here (by that time I had written different setting of the same Psalm for choir, as a present for Ruthie). The original 3 verse construction of the song has been retained with all of its operatic flourishes.