Category: Reflection

Reflection or thoughts on a particular religious topic or topic.

Rosemary Ahmann, my Words of Remembrance

 
Ruthie’s family: (kneeling) Teresa, (left to right standing) Gary, Ruth, Rosemary, Al, Jeannie, Mary Ann, Paul

A week ago, my brothers and sisters, and my father-in-law, entrusted to me the responsibility of writing and delivering the Words of Remembrance (commonly known as a eulogy) at the funeral of my mother-in-law, Rosemary Ahmann. The words posted below, are that which I said yesterday, at her funeral Mass. I hope I lived up to and honored the expectations of my other family.

ROSEMARY AHMANN

I came to know Rosemary through her daughter, Ruth. The funny thing was that I didn’t even know that Ruth had parents for over 9 months. I was a junior in high school and had transferred to St Bernard’s from another Benedictine run high school in Chicago, when my father’s company relocated him to St. Paul. Ruth was the first one from St. Bernard’s who welcomed me and talked to me. Dark-haired, beautiful with a radiant smile, I fell for Ruth the moment she greeted me. It took me quite a while to have the courage to ask her out on a date. After all, I was a junior and she was a senior. Ruthie told me that she and her sister, Annie, lived with her Aunt Evie and Uncle Harold on Marion St in St. Paul. I assumed they were orphans. It wasn’t until Ruth graduated from high school and I received an invitation to her graduation open house that I knew that Ruth had parents who were living. I always thought Ruth to be a street-smart, urban girl who lived in the rough and tumble world of Rice Street, St. Paul. And suddenly I discover that she is really a farmer’s daughter. It was at her open house that I first met her mom and dad, Paul, Gary, Jeannie, and Teresa, and, Babe the horse who greeted me by stepping on my right foot.

Over the months of that summer, I regularly made the drive up to the farm under the pretense of catching fish on Bone Lake which was just across the road from Ruth’s farm. Rose, who did grow up in the rough and tumble world of Rice Street, St. Paul, quickly saw through my fishing charade and knew that it was not fish in which I was interested, but, rather, it was her daughter, Ruth, I was hoping to catch. Over the next five years, as Ruthie and I continued to date, and then became engaged, my status changed gradually from outlaw to eventually in-law. Rose accepted me and loved me as one of her own, which meant I couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes any more than could Paul, Gary, Jeannie, Annie and Teresa. I don’t count Ruth among our motley crew, for she is and remains, after all, the perfect child.

All the anecdotes about Rose’s remarkable ability to use a wooden spoon to stir spaghetti sauce and simultaneously swat the buttocks of a misbehaving child, her annual week vacation with her best friends forever playing penny poker, and drinking frozen daiquiris whilst floating on inner tubes, welcoming and feeding the numerous people who stopped out at the farm, including many friends, nieces, nephews, neighbors, the friends of her children, and her grandchildren, and the cloud of methane that would linger over the farm from the consumption of enormous quantities of corn beef and cabbage at her famed St Patrick Day celebrations, I will leave to those better qualified than I to tell.

We read in the very beginning of the Book of Genesis, that God is in relationship with all that God created. Martin Buber, rabbi, poet, philosopher and theologian, restates the first line of Genesis in this way, “In the beginning, was in relation.” God has been in a special love relationship with all of humanity, with you and with me, and, the mission of our life is to not only welcome and embrace our relationship with God, but to model the same kind of love relationship with all those around us, family, friends, neighbors and strangers. Rosemary was exemplary in not only embracing her relationship with God but in sharing that love relationship with all she knew.

It is said that the hearth is the heart of the home. I think it safe to say that Rosemary is the heart of the Ahmann home. All of us gathered here have been recipients of Rose’s love, and know the depths of her love for us. Her relationship with us was primary over and above all things.

As we are doing today at this funeral Mass, we commune with our God at the celebration of the Eucharist. This is the place in which we meet God face to face over a meal of great Thanksgiving. Al and Rose have been faithful in making this community meal with God primary in their lives. And, Rose, having been fed at this Divine meal, made it a point to go home and recreate within her own household a similar eucharist, a similar meal of Great Thanksgiving, albeit her eucharist begins with a small “e”. Whether that meal consists of just coffee with neighbors, a shared apricot brandy or Irish Mist; whether that meal consists of hot dagos, German potato salad, that wonderful cold tuna fish salad, or hot buttered popcorn, those of us who have shared a meal with her know that that meal was a sacred one in which the God she loved so much was so very much present.

Less one think that I am painting a picture of Rose as another Mother Theresa of Calcutta, well, we all know better. She grew up on Rice Street, with her brothers, Austin, Bud, and Bill, whom my kids knew as Uncle Honeydumper, and her sister, Ev. This was a household that was not isolated from the world of Rice Street two blocks away, but was filled with the stories, and laughter, mischief, a few bawdy songs, and the raucous goings on of that famed street in St Paul. As Evie would frequently point out, her brothers, Austin, Bud and Bill did lose their marbles on Rice Street. Though a complete lady, Rose had an earthy sense of humor and the gritty side of her life growing up on Rice Street would show itself from time to time. No, Rosemary is not Mother Therese of Calcutta, I rather think of her as St Rosemary of Scandia.

It is common to think that when someone dies, the person dies with their body. Nothing could be further from the truth. Last Thursday, Rose’s body, sick and worn out, died, but Rose did not die. Rose is very much alive and probably feeling better than she has in years. The love she has for us has not died. Rather, her love for us is all the more present to us now that she is not confined by a body to being in one place at one time. I remember as my sister was dying in the hospice wing of St Joseph’s Hospital, my sister greeting all the 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.” She died two days later. Rosemary has not died, rather she remains every much present to us now as she had when her body was alive. And when the time comes for us to pass from this life to the fullness of God’s life, we will find her there welcoming us home.

I would like to end these words with an Irish song that I first heard on an old Clancy Brother and Tommy Makem album, many years ago. I understand it is usually sung at closing times in many a pub in Ireland. It is called The “Parting Glas”s.

Oh, all the money that e’er I spent,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that e’er I’ve done
Alas, it was to none but me.
And all I’ve done for want of wit
To memory now I can’t recall.
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all.

Oh all the comrades that e’er I’ve had
Are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e’er I’ve had
Would wish me one more day to stay.
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not

I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all.

Grief

from left to right: Ruthie, baby Alyssa, Rosemary (Ruth’s mom)

Early last Thursday morning, January 4, Ruthie’s mom, Rosemary, died. She died unexpectedly, the suddenness making it very hard for all of us.  We all grieve losses in different ways.  I posted what is below, earlier today on Facebook, in an attempt to understand my own pattern of grieving. I offer it here for your consideration and reflection.

We all grieve in different ways. These past days have been very hard for Ruthie as she grieves the death of her mother. I, on the other hand, grieve differently.

Perhaps it is a result of being involved in countless numbers of funerals over 41 years of ministry, that I find myself rather stoic and business like prior to and through the funeral, even when my sister and my father died. It was following the funeral that the grief would hit me. So it will also be for Ruthie’s mom, Rose. I am all business until her mom is buried, and then the world will come crashing down upon me.

Perhaps it is the fact that I know that life does not end when the body dies, rather it is only then that a person really begins to live, that influences my demeanor.
Perhaps, as St Paul writes in his 2nd letter to the Corinthians, that death is not but a “momentary light affliction that produces for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” that I feel comfort and consolation rather than devastation.

Perhaps I am affected or infected by the optimism of Julian of Norwich when she writes, “All well be well, all will be well, and all matter of things will be well,” even though as she wrote these words the Black Plague was wiping out a third of the population of Europe.

Perhaps it is the words of St Paul in his 1st letter to the Corinthians that stirs within me victory rather than despair, “Death is swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? …But thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

My manner of grieving is not one where head has primacy over heart. I have come to believe that it is an assimilation of the two, where the feelings of my heart inform my head, and the knowledge of my head informs my heart. I will grieve the loss of my other mother while simultaneously rejoicing in her victory over death.

THE FEAST OF THE HOLY FAMILY, A CELBRATION OF THE ENTIRE HOLY FAMILY OF GOD

NOTE: This reflection on the Holy Family of God arose out of my pastoral experience of 41 years of ministry in many diverse parish communities.

J.M.J.
When I was a kid attending Catholic School in the 1950’s, it was taught that the first thing to be handwritten at the top of each page were the letters J.M.J., initials for Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Of all families, the penultimate family was not those portrayed in TV sitcoms of the time, namely, the Andersons of “Father Knows Best”, or the Nelsons of “Ozzie and Harriet”, nor the Cleavers of “Leave It To Beaver.” The penultimate family, was the “Holy Family” consisting of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The fact that the evangelist Mark, Matthew, and Luke brought up the “other” brothers and sisters of Jesus in their Gospel accounts was not the immediate concern of the religious Sisters who taught me. That was an issue left to the pervue of Biblical scholars and Christian denominations over which to argue and resolve. As far as far as the Sisters were concerned the most important point to impart was that the family unit of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph was the perfect family. Hence, the constant reminder of inscribing J.M.J. at the top of all handwritten pages.

I am sure that many homilies given this past weekend painted a picture of a family so perfect that the aura of holiness around them protected them like an invisible force shield from all the violence, all the injustices, and all hunger and poverty of their real world in first century Palestine and Judea. One of the homilies I heard gave me the image of “real life” bouncing off this sacred force field that surrounded them as they went about their daily business. The primary difficulty of this image is that the Holy Family becomes no more than a fairy tale that has nothing in common with the real life daily struggles of the typical human family. It is so totally “other” that the Holy Family is nothing more than a just stain glass window. There is no “common” ground of humanity that is shared with real families from which to learn or to emulate.

The other primary difficulty is that the gospels paint a different picture of this Holy Family. The Holy Family was a family living in destitution, their child born in a barn. They were political refugees who had to flee the violence of a cruel, despotic king and live for a while in a foreign land until that despot died. The Holy Family was a family in which things were anything but idyllic and where they had to ponder and think about the meaning of what had happened to them. We all struggle to figure out where God is in the good and the bad that happen to us in life. So it was the same with the Holy Family. Even Jesus did not have all the answers to this struggle of finding God in the tragedies of life. We hear Jesus questioning up to his last breath, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

For me the ultimate reality of the Feast of the Holy Family is revealed in the first chapter of Genesis, in which it is stated that all of humanity is made in the image and the likeness of God. Within each and every human being, male and female, of every race, of every religious or non-religious tradition, heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual or transgender is the DNA of God. Each and every one of us, are daughters and sons of God. And as Christians we believe that Jesus is the Word Incarnate, the Son of God, we are sisters and brothers of Jesus. It matters not whether we are Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist, Agnostic, Atheist, Christian or whatever, we are sisters and brothers of Jesus. In short, we ALL share the DNA of God and are members of the Holy Family of God.

The greatest heresy that humanity has perpetuated and continues to perpetuate is that there are some of humanity who are NOT sons and daughters of God. That some are NOT members of the Holy Family of God. As we examine the religious wars, tribal wars, nation against nation throughout world history, and the history of our own nation, the Mexican War, the Civil War, the Indian Wars, the enslavement of African, Asian, Latino, and indigenous peoples of the United States, we find this insidious heresy that people not made in our skin color or espousing our religion or culture are NOT sons and daughters of God. Racial and religious genocide thrives on this heresy.

We presently have an administration and many in the Congress who believe wholeheartedly that only some people, generally defined as white, wealthy, heterosexual, and Christian, are made in the image and likeness of God. It is evident in the immigration policies, the religious prejudice, the tax law that was just passed, the attempt to take away healthcare from the poor, the elderly, and the middle class of our nation. Is it any wonder that I may rant about the injustice of the present administration, especially the one who occupies the Oval Office, and the political party that dominates Congress? They perpetuate the sin of Cain! They are spreading a heresy that attacks the Holy Family of God. Is it any wonder that Pope Francis 1 is quoted as saying that there will be many Atheists who will experience Heaven and many Christians who will not?

The Feast of the Holy Family of God is not just about the nuclear family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This is a Feast about the entire human Holy Family of God created in the image and the likeness of God. The Gospel message of Jesus was God’s love and compassion extends to the entire Human Family, not just certain groups, nationalities, races, or cultures. Imagine for a moment what the world would be like if, when we see another person, we see the image and likeness of our God. We must not only see the initials of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but the initials of every human being on the top of our handwritten, or, in this case, typed page.

Celebrating New Year’s Eve, 2018

New Year’s Eve 1974. From left to right (Ruthie, Rob DuCharme, and Cheri DuCharme.

Celebrating New Year’s Eve has never been a high priority in my life. There is no great gain to be had from getting drunk, other than to see the room spin, puke out your guts, and feel like you head is about to blast off into space. My illegal substance of choice as a music major undergraduate had been weed. You got just as goofy, but without all the ill side effects of overdosing on alcohol. And, even then, I would only smoke a joint or two only after having taken my college finals at the end of each semester. When Ruthie and I got married, and I began teaching, my pot smoking days were over. I reasoned that it would set a poor example for the educator to come stoned to a classroom full of students, no matter that many of the students had come to class stoned. It would get you fired very quickly and in a jail cell very quickly.

Generally, Ruthie is working the night shift as an RN on New Year’s Eve and I am going to bed early because I have Masses to be at on New Year’s Day morning. A quick digression from the narrative … why as Catholics do we celebrate Mass on New Year’s Day? For many years it was the feast of the Circumcision. Why anyone would celebrate the snipping of a baby boy’s foreskin is beyond me, with the exception of King David, who killed 1000 Philistines and presented the foreskins of those he slew as a present to King Saul, who then allowed David to marry his daughter. In the 1970’s, Pope Paul VI, changed the name of the feast from celebrating the circumcision of Jesus, to a Mass praying for World Peace. Then John Paul II changed the name of the feast again, to the feast of Mary, Mother of God. I remember an old retired priest celebrating Mass New Year’s morning at St Hubert, stating in his homily that when he was a newly ordained young priest, he thought that if he ever was made Pope, the first thing he would do would be to abrogate (end) the Holy Day obligation on New Year’s Day. His primary reasoning was that he did not like getting up early in the morning to celebrate the Mass on a typical freezing cold winter’s day in Minnesota. His secondary reason, was that for even those who do show up for the Mass, many are still hungover from the festivities of the night before and weren’t quite into celebrating anything much less Mass. It wasn’t quite the homily message I was expecting on the feast of Mary, Mother of God. Though, I believe 90% of the people who were in church, were probably in agreement with the priest. End of digression … now back to New Year’s Eve.

I only remember 3 memorable New Year’s Eve.

The first was when I accompanied my brother to the home of one of his friends who lived on Mississippi River Blvd in St. Paul. We played poker with some of my brother’s buddies. I won big, lost big, and then broke even and got out of the game. I ended up watching an old W.C. Fields comedy on television, and listening to the newly released album of a group called Buffalo Springfield, that everyone was saying would be America’s Beatles (no, they never became America’s Beatles, though two members of that group would go on to great fame, namely Steven Stills and Neal Young).

The second was New Year’s Eve, 1974, 3 days after Ruthie and I got married. We hosted a New Year’s Eve 500 game for Rob and Cheri DuCharme. Cheri had been Ruthie’s maiden of honor at our wedding. Because Rob is blind, we played with braille cards. At one point that night, he turned off the lights and declared, “Now, let’s really play cards.” We drank some champagne, and a lot of rum and coke. Rob and I lost our shirts to Ruthie and Cheri, both of whom learned the game from Ruthie’s dad. I remember Ruthie calling in sick to St. Joe’s Hospital because she was hungover. I, on the other hand, managed a couple hours of sleep and played the 8 am New Year’s Day Mass (It was celebrated then as a Mass for World Peace). And, no, I wasn’t hungover …

The third was New Year’s Eve, 2002. 2002 had been a horrendous year. In March, our beloved Great Pyr, FloydRMoose, died. The evening of that same day, I was involved in a head on collision on Highway 21. The result of that accident was a high femur break of the my left leg, that took about 18 months from which to recover, and losing 40% of the use of my right hand, which ended my career as a professional pianist. In December, I was just getting fully back into work. Fortunately, I had transitioned from director of music and liturgy to director of pastoral ministry a couple of years earlier so that my ability to work was not severely impacted. So that December, the kids got Ruthie and I a new Great Pyr puppy, which I named Henri, after the character on the television sitcom “Cheers”. At 11:55 pm, December 31st, 2002, I had been watching the John Wayne movie “Donovan’s Reef”. I looked at the puppy and said, “Kid, instead of taking you out for your 3 am dump, I am taking you out now.” I had to be at the 8 am Mass at St Hubert in Chanhassen on New Year’s Day. As I let the puppy out into the yard, the bells of St Wenceslaus were ringing out 2002 and ringing in 2003. At that very moment, the puppy was laying a big dump on the frozen surface of our yard. I praised the puppy for his accomplishment and then said, “That dump pretty much summed up the whole of the year 2002 for me.” I took him inside to his crate, and I went to bed.

The way I celebrated New Year’s Eve last night was to see Ruth drive off to South Minneapolis to work the night shift at the Vet’s Home. I then watched a little television, wrote a bulletin article on the “epiphanies” in our lives, while sipping a brandy manhattan (an epiphany experience unto itself), and waiting for Luke to return from the Corner Bar in New Prague. … One quick anecdote about the Corner Bar in New Prague. When I was working at St Hubert, there was another co-worker from New Prague who also worked there. One Monday morning we were conversing with the baby priest (newly ordained priest) at the parish. The priest remarked that he was feeling “whimsical” that morning. My co-worker turned to me and said, “What the hell does whimsical mean?” I explained to him the meaning of the word and how it is often used in sentences, e.g., “I am full of whimsy today.” My co-worker then stated, “If you said that down at the Corner Bar, they would beat the shit out of you!” … but I digress. When Luke got home around 1:15 am, I got ready for bed, prayed Night Prayer, pulled the covers over me and fell asleep. Around 2:30/3 in the morning, I awakened by the dog barking. This was followed by the sound of clothes being discarded in my bedroom, and the dog rushed in all excited. There was Ruthie undressing and getting into bed. I was surprised for I wasn’t expecting her to get home from work until 8 am. I asked her, “Ruthie, did you get sick.” She said, “No. I got there and found out I didn’t have to work.” She then explained that she went to check up on a co-worker who was going to have a hip replacement and she was worried that the co-worker did not have sick time saved up for the surgery and recovery, much less any disability insurance. After talking with the co-worker she did a few things on the floor and headed home.

Hearing Ruthie’s voice and feeling her warmth beside me in bed last night is probably the best New Year’s Eve (though technically early New Year’s Day) we have had since we were first married. I told her, I was thinking of our first New Year’s Eve together as a married couple. And that at that moment, I felt like a new husband in bed with his bride. With Ruthie working full time night shifts the past 30 years, we have very few nights in which we both are in bed side by side. After the horrendous events of this past 2017 which has impacted not only our nation but the entire world and will take years to undo, I finally felt some hope for 2018 the moment I felt Ruthie’s body next to mine.

On a less gloomy, dystopic note … IT’S GAUDETE SUNDAY! And a little Christmas pageant advertisement.

It is Gaudete Sunday, “Rejoice Sunday”!

In most Advent seasons, Gaudete Sunday marks the halfway point in Advent. This year with Advent lasting 3 weeks and about 10 hours, we are almost to Christmas Day. This is the time when little children begin to salivate at the thought of all the Christmas cookies, candy, and other Christmas treats they will be eating. And, yes, the presents, the little kids will salivate at the thought of those. While all of the food, the treats, and presents are good reasons to cause one to rejoice, the bottom line is that the food and treats will be eaten and disappear. The toys and other gifts received may break, or be played with and laid aside, or returned. The readings for today, however, give us the true reason to rejoice on this Sunday.

From Isaiah we hear, “The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, to announce a year of favor from the LORD.” These words, though spoken thousands of years ago, have never gotten stale or moldy like food, nor have they ever been cast aside due to boredom. These words from the prophet Isaiah still excite us, still give us cause to rejoice, because we know that they have been fulfilled in the birth of Jesus. And, though Jesus has risen and ascended to the Father, we know that these words will be fulfilled again, when Jesus returns at the end of time.

To breathe in the excitement and the wonder of that first coming when the whole world had a cause to rejoice, I invite you to join our students from the Disciples of Christ formation program at our Christmas pageant at 7 pm this coming Wednesday evening, December 20th, at St. John the Evangelist Church in Union Hill. The Christmas pageant will be celebrated within a Word and Communion service, in which we will not only see the words of the Christmas story enacted, but at which we will also receive the risen Lord in Holy Communion. Refreshments will follow the pageant in Koenig Hall on the lower level of St. John’s School.

“All is well,” Julian of Norwich and chaos at Christmas

The 13th century Anchoress, Julian of Norwich, said at one of the darkest times in European history, “All will be well and all will be well, and every kind of thing shall be well.” At the time she uttered this statement, the Black Death (Bubonic plague) was wiping out close to a third of the human population throughout all of Europe. Nations were at war. Death reigned. Yet, she made this statement all the same. This statement of hers is not overstated sentimentality of simplistic optimism. Rather, it acknowledges that in the midst of the blunders caused by humanity in which death, destruction and darkness seemingly overwhelms us, an alternative reality is really present.

I was watching Ken Burns documentary on World War II. Franklin Delano Roosevelt is heard stating to the citizens of the United States at about the time of the Battle of the Bulge, that it was hard for him to greet the nation with the words, “Merry Christmas.” This was especially so when all the world was encased in darkness, war, and horrible death. Yet, he persisted to say, that while it seemed almost impossible to say the word “merry” in relation to Christmas, it was needed to be stated, especially for all the soldiers who were in the midst of the fighting and destruction. The whole notion of a “Merry Christmas” is the hope to which they cling.

We are presently living in a world that is topsy-turvy. We have a president, an administration and a Congress that is very comfortable about issuing lies one after another. There are so many lies uttered by all involved that we do not know who to believe or what to believe. The world is on the brink of nuclear annihilation, so much so, that we are almost at the point of the Cuban Missile Crisis of the early ’60’s. The Congress is about to make into law a tax bill that will impoverish most of the middle class, destitute the elderly, and annihilate the poor, taking away, health care and all the other safety nets provided by the government, in order to please and enrich those who are already incredibly wealthy and who wish to control everything. All the protections put in place to remove the poisons in the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the land in which we plant our crops, has been stripped away by presidential decree or by presidential dupes. Not one living thing is safe anymore, anywhere.

It is tough enough for people to tolerate this time of natural darkness, at least in the northern hemisphere. To add on top of the personal losses suffered by people, these governmental assaults on humanity by the very people who were elected to serve us and protect us, can push people to the very brink of the abyss of despair. How can one believe the words that Julian of Norwich uttered so many, many years ago? It is very tempting instead to follow the advice of the 1960’s drug guru, Dr. Timothy Leary, to “turn on, tune in, and drop out.”

In the scriptural reading from the prophet Isaiah (41: 13-20) from this past Thursday’s Mass, God speaks at the very beginning of the reading, ‘” I am the LORD, your God, who grasp your right hand; I is I who say to you, “Fear not, I will help you.”‘ This is the true reality of which Julian of Norwich experienced. This is the true reality the soldiers sensed as the Battle of the Bulge raged around them. The bottom line is this, trump, mcconnell, ryan, and all the other destructive forces that are presently in Washington D.C. and the rest of the world will not prevail. They are not the ones who are truly in charge. Ultimately, they will have to answer to the LORD God, who IS in charge, for all the sins of greed they are exacting upon our nation at this time. They will have to answer to the LORD God for all the lies they are spreading, and all the false creeds they espouse.

It is in the LORD God that our trust is anchored. If our trust remains anchored in the LORD God, the present powers will be vanquished and God’s justice will prevail. “All IS well, and all IS well, and every kind of thing SHALL be well!”

 

The Church an entryway into Mystery

I have posted this before. The Church acts as an entry way to Divine Mystery, NOT as a black & white place for answers to things that happen in human life. Only divine mandates like the Decalogue, & the Great Commandment of Jesus are absolute. All other teachings are guides to living a good life.

When I was studying to be a spiritual director, I had the delightful opportunity to talk to a religious sister from Italy, who was a member of my class. Her name was Sr. Sophia. She was puzzled at how much importance Americans place on following the letter of the law. As she explained, when driving in Italy, if there is a red light, if no one is coming you run the light. If late at night, there is no one on the road, you do not have to follow the speed limit. She explained that in Italy, the same applied to Church law. It was an important guide to living a good human life, but did not always apply to life in all of its circumstances. Church law was not the end unto itself, as we in America might think. Rather, Church law was there as an aid to the ultimate end of life which is God. If Church law hinders a person’s pathway to God, it must not be followed.

She did not say that Church law was not important. But she said that once must be self-aware of one’s faith and in deep communication with God. If, in that communication, Church law hinders the person’s relationship with God, it must not be applied in that instance.

The world of black and white answers, like Catholic Answers, is for people who lack the ability or are simply too lazy to struggle with the contradictions and challenges that are a part of our life and the lives of those we love. It is the struggle that builds up one’s faith. It is diving into the mystery of these challenges in human life in which one eventually finds the way to God. The law of the Church is a guide to help us understand these challenges for All of life is a Mystery. The law of the Church gives us a framework by which we can meditate and contemplate the mystery of our relationship with God. but NEVER solves that mystery.

I have found personally and in my work with others, that very little in life is absolutely black and white. It is important to have the law of the Church as our guide. It is vitally important, however, to NOT deify the law of the Church. The law of the Church is NOT  God, but simply a tool by which we are guided to a deeper relationship with God. Our relationship is WITH God, and NOT with the law of the Church.

So, I get a little frustrated with the black & white world of sites like Catholic Answers. As a very faithful & very Catholic priest once advised me years ago, the Church teaches to the general & not to the particular. There are times when what the Church teaches may be harmful in particular circumstances. This is why the Church holds very high the teaching of the Internal Forum, when the person sorts things out with God. The mark of a faith that is healthy & vibrant is one NOT of blind obedience, but one that questions, ponders, & then owns one faith in the mystery that is God.

The Challenge of Keeping Holy the Sabbath for Those in Church Ministry

INTRODUCTION: I began this reflection briefly this morning on Facebook and decided to fully flesh it out. Obeying the commandment to keep holy the Lord’s Day is one of the hardest commandments to keep for someone in church ministry. To truly keep holy the Lord’s Day requires more than just to be present in church. This is especially true for those who are ordained and “doing” the services on the Lord’s Day. I acknowledge that all who are ordained may not see honoring this commandment through the same lens that I have. Nonetheless, I believe that keeping holy the Lord’s Day is an ongoing challenge for all in church ministry.

While my work week really begins on Saturday, Monday still feels like the beginning of the week. One of the topics for the next Archdiocesan clergy day is how the ordained can keep holy the Sabbath. When you are working the Sabbath, you don’t celebrate it. Working in the Church can often make one weary of religion. After a load of weekend Masses, baptisms, & pastoral visits the last thing I seek is more religion.

Being essentially an introvert, it takes a great deal of energy to be present and celebrate Mass well. Unlike extroverts who are energized by large groups of people, I find that large groups of people suck the energy from me. So when I am done with Sunday rituals & visits, I need time to just be away to replenish my energy. Sabbath is synonymous with rest. How does one keep holy the Sabbath when in celebrating it, one is exhausted by it? When the Sabbath is anything but a day of rest?

Rabbi Harold Kushner addresses the important need for the Sabbath as a time to rest one’s soul in his book, “The Lord Is My Shepherd: Healing Wisdom of the Twenty-third Psalm.” He writes: “I read once of a group of tourists on safari in Africa. They had hired several native porters to carry their supplies while they trekked. After three days, the porters told them that they would have to stop and rest for a day. They were not tired, they explained, but “we have walked too far too fast and now we must wait for our souls to catch up to us.” We too can be so busy taking care of things that we neglect our souls. What shall we say about the men and women who invest so much time and energy in their jobs that they have neither time nor energy left for their families when they arrive home? Do they need to pause to let their souls catch up to them?

” … The world asks so much of us. We give ourselves so totally to our work, to the task of raising our family and running a home, to our volunteer commitments that we often forget to take time to nourish our souls, forgetting that we need to rely on the wisdom of the soul to guide our working and our living hours. Our bodies are more active when we are awake than when we are sleeping, sometimes frantically so. But our souls may be as absent during the day as they are at night. We lack the wisdom of those native porters, the wisdom to know that we have left our souls behind and we need to stop and let our souls catch up to us. The psalmist would remind us that God has given us ways to reclaim our humanity when pressures of time and obligation have caused us to misplace it, and that part of God’s role as faithful guardian of the flock is to urge us to remember to be human. Our task is to stop long enough to hear that message.

” … When our souls are on the verge of giving in to compassion fatigue, when we know what the right thing to do is but we are tired of being charitable and helpful, that is when we need God to restore our souls, to replenish our ability to act like human beings, to understand that what is asked of us is not to make the world perfect but to make one person’s life better. When events challenge our faith so that we find it hard to believe that this world is God’s world, that is when we need God to restore our souls, to reinforce our ability to believe in ourselves and in our ability to do good things. Even as a faithful shepherd gives his flock the food and water they need to be sheep, God, our faithful shepherd, gives us the strength of soul we need to be human.”*

Now beginning my 41st year of ministry, in being busy about “doing” the Sabbath for 40 years, I have realized that I have been cheating the Sabbath. It has taken its toll on me. While I have not lost my soul, it takes quite a while for my soul  to “catch up with me.”  And I confess, that some weeks and even some months, particularly the high holy seasons of Advent/Christmas and Lent/Easter,  my soul may never catch up with me.

I find it ironic that the one thing that those of us in ministry “doing religion” share with those that never darken the door of any church, synagogue, mosque or temple, is distraction from God. Many who do not go to church, synagogue, mosque or temple are distracted from God by all the things of life. Many of us in ministry may be distracted from God by being busy “doing religious things.” Having been busy about “doing religion” for over 40 years, I have come to see that “doing religion” is not being faithful. “Doing religion” is about being busy. It is about work obligations. Rather than building faith, “doing religion” is distracting me from faith, preventing me from being fully faithful.

While many people get excited about Relevant Radio, EWTN, and other religious programming and media, I eschew it all. In ministry, one is immersed in religion, rest does not come from drowning in the glut of religious radio, television, and print media, much of it painfully trite, self-righteous,  filled with religious schmaltz and sentimentality, and, a near occasion of sin (EWTN especially so for me).

I love the Bible, however, I do not find rest in the Bible. Why? Reading the Bible is more about doing than resting for me. Having been thoroughly schooled in Biblical Exegesis in graduate school and the seminary, the Bible has a task oriented focus. It is hard to pray the Bible when one’s mindset has been focused on “studying” the Bible. The Liturgy of the Hours, or breviary, as church neo-cons call it, is pretty much the same. I do faithfully pray it every day. However, its focus is again task oriented. In praying the Liturgy of the Hours, we join our prayer with that of Christ to the Father, praying for the whole world. Noble? Yes! Necessary? Absolutely! Restful? No!

So, how can someone stay in ministry, keep holy the Sabbath, and truly rest in the Sabbath? This question has become my major focus for my 41st year of ministry. With only one day off a week, and that day often spent in doing the necessary things about the house and being present to my family, the day is too task oriented to truly keep holy the Sabbath, to rest as God has commanded us to rest.

I am convinced that the only way for me, as a church minister, to keep holy the Sabbath is to escape doing religion. To clarify, this does not mean to divest myself of Catholicism, to skip Sunday Masses, or to escape God. Rather, by escaping doing religion the quest is to find God.  It is basically doing that which Jesus did during his ministry among us on earth. He went away, literally escaped from the religious demands placed upon him, in order to be faithful to his heavenly Father. Jesus went away by himself to some lonely place so that he could replenish his energy by being in communion with the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses. This is especially true for myself, an introvert.

If the demands of ministry prevent me from escaping and resting a whole day of Sabbath, I have found that I need to insert a small time of the Sabbath into every day. This small time of Sabbath excludes those “holy things” I am obligated to do as an ordained deacon. To keep holy the tiniest piece of Sabbath every day is to escape doing of religion and fully resting in silence in the presence of God that is all around me. It means finding a quiet place, most often not a church, but a place where I can rest, free from all distraction, and sit in quiet before God.

While it is helpful that this place of respite is a quiet place far from noise, truth be told, the place of respite for which I long is more interior.  Rabbi Martin Buber’s “third threshold” (See Buber’s epic book, I and Thou, for a full examination of the three thresholds in which God and humanity meet) is the place where upon our souls meet face to face with the Divine Presence of our loving God. The journey to that third threshold is an ongoing pilgrimage for me, one in which I have experienced only very briefly. It is the place, the ultimate place of Sabbath, where my soul finally catches up with me, and as one, I rest with the God who created me and loves me.

*Kushner, Harold S.. The Lord Is My Shepherd: Healing Wisdom of the Twenty-third Psalm (pp. 60-62, 72). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

 

An essay/reflection on an ancient poem.

SAILING NOWHERE

I was placed in my boat of reed,
And placed in a river run smoothed.
I drifted past Moses’ landing place,
Nestled amongst the rushes,
past Peter’s boat and fishing nets,
past reformed basilicas and black minarets,
and factories of manufactured creeds and needs;
all, whose only purpose is to clean the streets,
tattoo feet, and recycle old shoes and dirt.
I sailed, past them all,
into the unknown of the ocean.

I came across this poem I wrote as a sophomore in college. In the grand scheme of Fowler’s stages of faith development I was in stage four, in which I, as a 19 year old person, was questioning everything I had been taught by my parents, my Church, and my government. Every value I had been taught was up for grabs. Every value I had been taught was severely examined for lies and fabrication.

What I discovered was that the values my parents taught me were solid. My dad and mom lived authentically that which they believed. While I might not always hold to their politics, I was even a liberal then, I knew they were trustworthy.

On the other hand, while my Church preached the Good News, I found that my Church didn’t always live authentically the Good News. For a Church in which the Great Commandment of Jesus was central, to love one another as Jesus loved us, had been very poorly followed by many in the Church, including some revered saints. From the Crusades, through the Borgia Popes, the evils of the Spanish Inquisition, the slaughter and enslavement of indigenous people, the slaughter of many Christians, all in the name of God, was as bitter a betrayal of Jesus as that of Judas Iscariot. Could my Church, or for that matter, any institutionalized religion could be trusted? My 19 year old self said emphatically, “No!.”

Then there was the United States government. Like Ron Kovic (Born On the Fourth Of July), I had been taught to never question my government. Right or wrong, the government was never to be questioned. And, as Kovic discovered, the United States government was not to be trusted. It had lied about the Vietnam War. The sins of our politicians and our military descended upon us like a plague. Many men and women had their lives destroyed in this horrific war based on lies. The nation was torn in half. Those who had believed their government and fought honorably were despised by many opposed to the war. Even the American Legion would not accept them because they had not won the war. Those who opposed the war and either went to Canada to avoid the draft, or were imprisoned by refusing to be drafted were equally despised for having shirked their duties. All that followed by Nixon’s criminal behavior and those of his administration utterly shook the faith of the nation in the government. We all came away from this suspicious of all government, never entrusting our faith again in our political system.

It was from all of this that this poem was written. All these broken beliefs and trusts lay around me like shards of broken glass. However, out of this pile of broken debris arose, like a Phoenix, something incredibly wonderful. I began to embrace and welcome the truth of Mystery in my life.

I found that while religious and/or government creeds could not be trusted because much of it was of human construction, the concept of “Mystery” could be trusted. Mystery’s origin lay in the Divine. The one thing I could trust is that I am unable to understand Mystery. I can’t construct or control Mystery. Mystery is something to be experienced, something in which to be immersed. While some insight may be gained in the experience of Mystery, Mystery will never be fully understood. From the time of the burning bush, God can only be addressed as Mystery. The name God gave of God’s self to Moses is the ultimate Mystery, a Divine riddle that puzzles all who hear it. This mystery is aptly reflected in Sister Joan Chittester OSB definition of God as “changing changelessness.”

That 19 year old undergraduate of the College of St. Thomas is now a 65 year old Roman Catholic ordained deacon. How does this poem, written 46 years ago stand with me today? I find it still very spot on. The questioning never stops.

A faith that complacently accepts all that is taught is dead. True faith is life lived in the crucible. Faith is life lived in contradiction struggling to understand Mystery. Mystery is filled with paradox. There is a reorientation in our lives that is in direct opposition to what we have learned in our world. Jesus refers to this reorientation when he states that salvation is obtainable only by denying oneself and carrying one’s cross and following him, especially when this does not seem to make any rational sense. The word salvation is couched in mystery. Exactly what is salvation?

For all the stories of near death survivors, for all the soothsaying of mystics and mediums, no one truly knows with any certainty exactly that which awaits us as we leave this life for the next. In his song/poem, “Visions of Johanna,” (from the album “Blonde On Blonde”), Bob Dylan writes, “Inside the museum, infinity goes up on trial. Voices echo back, ‘This is what salvation must be like after a while.’” The then, agnostic Dylan (this was prior to his ‘religious conversion’) was trying to desperately understand the Mystery of salvation. I have come to think that perhaps his acknowledgement of not knowing was probably more a product of faith, than a lack of faith.

In the Gospels, Jesus uses mysterious metaphors in speaking of salvation. He often references wedding feasts to describe the elusive concept of heaven. During the time of Jesus, wedding feasts were occasions of joy, in which food, drink, warmth, happiness, and acceptance were provided for all who attended. Using this metaphor to describe salvation, Jesus is saying that it is that in which all human senses are sated and fulfilled.

All St. Paul can say on the subject is that what we see and believe to be real in this life is all transitory and empty. That which is truly real lays beyond the comprehension of our senses. In his not knowing, St. Paul was resolute in sacrificing everything, including his life, in order to embrace the Mystery which lay beyond his comprehension and senses. Within the Mystery of salvation lies a glory that is incomprehensible to our human minds. It must be experienced within Mystery.

As one who is beginning his 41st year of ministry in the Church, I am still on that boat of reed floating out into the unknown of the ocean. Being immersed in Mystery for all these years, I have come to know that not all creeds and beliefs, religious or political, may be true. I have come to accept that I will never fully understand that which I say and have promised to believe. In the Kevin Smith religious parody film, “Dogma”, a film that is at times extremely offensive and far off base, and at other times an honest, comedic critique of Catholicism, Rufus, the “13th Apostle”, says to the “last scion” that the words “I believe” means “we have a good idea about what we are saying.” That is a fairly accurate statement.

Living in and with Mystery has taught me that the grace and the goodness that flows out of the Church is of Divine origin. Grace and goodness does not originate in the bewilderment of our confused humanity. My trust in the Christian creedal statements lay not in the words expressed, but in the Mystery that lay beyond the words.

The DNA of God among us – a homily for the 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

In the Fall of 1980, I had the great opportunity of taking an independent study on scriptural exegesis with Fr. Mike Joncas. Scriptural exegesis is a very involved and exact process of studying scripture to better understand what a scripture passage is saying. When he wasn’t composing hymns like “On Eagles Wings”, Mike is a professor of theology at the University of St. Thomas.

Mike had given me today’s Gospel as an assignment. After doing all the exegetical work on this Gospel, I handed Mike my paper on it. After reading the paper, he asked me two questions. Did Jesus initially refuse to heal the woman’s daughter because in being raised Jewish he had learned from his culture not to associate with people who were not Jewish? Or, did Jesus initially refuse to heal the woman’s daughter to test the woman’s faith? I told Mike, that Jesus was probably testing the woman’s faith.

Mike replied that many scripture scholars believe that because Jesus was raised in the Jewish culture of his time, and as a good practicing Jew, he was following the teachings of his religion to avoid people who were not Jewish. This is evident in the behavior of the apostles advising Jesus not to engage with this pagan woman. And, initially, Jesus ignores the pleas of the woman. The pagan woman’s faith challenged this bias that Jesus had learned from his religion. As he listened to her and discovered her deep faith, he realized that what he was taught by his religion was wrong and he cured the woman’s daughter. Jesus had to unlearn the cultural bias taught to him by his Jewish culture. From that moment onward Jesus began to widen his mission to include both Jewish and non-Jewish people.

In reflecting on what I heard from Mike Joncas that day, I began to examine my own prejudices and biases. I remembered a time when, as a college student riding the Snelling Bus to St. Thomas College, how uncomfortable and uneasy I became when at the intersection of University Ave and Snelling Ave the color of the bus changed from primarily white to primarily black. Where I had I learned this prejudice against people of color?

I was not taught this prejudice from my parents. My parents would not tolerate any religious or racial prejudice at home because they themselves had experienced religious prejudice as Catholics. My father was a mechanical engineer, but many United States businesses would not offer him a job precisely because he was Polish and Catholic. My grandfather told my dad to change his last name to something more Protestant sounding. So, my dad legally changed his last name from the Polish Catholic Wojnar to the more Protestant German sounding Wagner, and, was subsequently hired by Westinghouse Air Brake Company as a mechanical engineer. My mother, a highly degreed home economics teacher lost her job teaching poor children in the inner city Pittsburgh public schools for the reason of being Catholic.

Where I had learned to be racially prejudice? It was from my culture. In high school, it was made very clear that when a person drove in the Selby-Dale area of St. Paul, you rolled up your windows and locked the doors. Why? because that neighborhood was populated only by black people and was considered dangerous. It was a load of hogwash. It was just as dangerous to ride through German neighborhood on Rice Street in St. Paul, where Ruthie lived, as it was to drive through Selby-Dale. It took that uneasiness I experienced riding the Snelling bus for me to become self-aware of my own racism and to begin to “unlearn” the lies I had been taught at school.

Today’s Gospel forces us to examine the racial and religious prejudices we have been taught and have accepted. It forces us to engage, as Jesus did, with those we have been taught to fear and to hate by our culture and perhaps by our family. This Gospel forces us to acknowledge that to God there is no such thing as different races or cultures. God’s mercy and God’s love is extended to all people. Whether we are black, white, Asian, Native American, Latino; whether our names are Ole and Lena, George and Gracie, Emil and Ludmilla, Ezechial and Sophie, Maria y Jose, we are all made in the image and likeness of God. We all have God’s DNA in us. We belong to only one race and that is the human race.

To overcome our prejudices and biases we must, as Jesus did, listen and talk with one another. We will find that we all possess the same heartache, the same love, the same joys and the same sorrows. There was a time when Germans from Union Hill or Heidelberg would never marry a Czechs from New Prague. There was a time when the Irish from St. Patrick, St. Catherine or St. Thomas would never consider marrying a German or a Czech. Somewhere along time our grandparents discovered that national prejudices were false and ridiculous.

Unlike the movies, and many television mini-series that portray Jesus as a Northern European man with long brown hair, blue eyes, and a British accent, Jesus was a brown skinned, dark haired, brown eyed Palestinian Jewish man who spoke Aramaic. Jesus mission as St. Paul vividly points out in the second reading was not just to the Jewish people but to all people. Jesus’ death and resurrection brought salvation to not just a select few, but to all people of the world, who are sons and daughters of God. May we, who possess the DNA of God, who are the Body of Christ made flesh in our world, continue his salvific mission by serving the image and the likeness of God in all people.