Category: Reflection

My first day as a second grader at St. Andrew’s Catholic School in St. Paul, I, and approximately 29 other classmates were told by Sister Angeline that ten of my classmates were going to go to Hell when we died. That came as no great surprise to me. I personally knew the unfortunate ten, though I must add that my list might not have been consistent with the lists of my other classmates. And there was a distinct possibility that I might be on the “hell bound” list of others in my class.

In the world of a Catholic school second grader in 1959, religious sisters were a kind of human anomaly. Because the religious sisters were covered head to toe, with only their faces and hands showing, I thought there were three different sexes, namely: men, women, and nuns. Because of this anomaly, I believed nuns had special powers not attributed to other human beings, and, the words they spoke carried a lot of weight that was generally reinforced by the 12 inch rulers secretly placed up their sleeves.

Sister Angeline was a kind and compassionate nun, however,  she held to a firm belief that the quickest path to heaven was through the use of fear. If we were not going to heaven willingly, she would do all in her power to scare us there. Hence, we had a full year of stories about Hell, demons, demonic possession, and other paranormal horrors to insure that we would be “good Catholic” boys and girls. What was pounded home time and time again was that we were in desperate need of conversion. I didn’t know that Jesus was loving, kind, and merciful until I took beginning theology courses as an undergraduate in college. Incidentally, this belief was confirmed when the Doobie Brothers made it official in their song, “Jesus Is Just Alright.”

Admittedly, over the years I have had a love/hate relationship of sorts with the memory of Sister Angeline. Her over emphasis on sin and Hell I greatly resent in so much that it prevented me from seeing the tremendous love, compassion and mercy of Jesus. This explains my negative visceral reaction to the heavy handedness of any cleric, particularly Pope John Paul II, and then, Cardinal Ratzinger, who choose to err on the more Pharisaic side of rigidity to rules and a judgmental God rather than focusing on the love and compassion of Jesus.  All that being said, there is no denying that all of us are in need of conversion.

In a world that denies the need for conversion and boasts that there is no such thing as sin, all we need to do is pick up a newspaper, watch the news, and find that sin is very prevalent and is very much alive all around us in the horrible things that people do to one another every day. From mass shootings, to corporate greed, to racist and religious prejudice and persecution, to withholding food and shelter from the poor, oh, yes the world is in much need of conversion.

It is easy to think that of all the human institutions that abound, the only one that is NOT in need of conversion is that of the Catholic Church. One couldn’t be more wrong. The Catholic Church, in so much as it is made up of human beings, is very much in need of conversion, too. Remarkably, the Catholic Church says as much.

In the Introduction to the Rite of Penance¸#3, under the heading “The Church Both Holy and Always in Need of Purification, we find the words, “Whereas Christ, ‘holy, harmless, undefiled’ (Hebrews 7:26), knew no sin but came solely to seek pardon for the sins of his people, the Church, having sinners in its midst, is at the same time holy and in need of cleansing, and so is unceasingly intent on repentance and reform.”

This is an important statement by the Catholic Church. For countless centuries, the Catholic Church taught that the Church was the “Perfect Sinless Society” without flaw. For many of us who have ministered within the Church, we know how flawed an institution it is.

In our Archdiocese for the past 3 years, we have undergone an exposure to the sin perpetuated upon the innocent and the vulnerable, mainly children and adolescents, by ordained clergy, mainly from the past when the Church still considered itself “the Perfect Sinless Society.” Countless number of people were sexually preyed upon by priests and religious in the 1940’s and 1950’s, and now as a Church, we must do penance and compensate those so grievously harmed by not only the sexual predators, but also by a hierarchy who ignored the cries of those victimized, and threatened the victims to remain silent, in order to preserve this illusion of being a “Perfect Sinless Society.”

When I began my ministry in the Church 41 years ago, I had to come to grips with the sinfulness of the Church as a human institution. All the flaws we see in any human organization are present within the institutional Catholic Church. As in any business, there are those attempting to climb the corporate ladder, often priests seeking higher clerical office within the institution. As there is in any human institution those actively seeking higher office have no scruples as to who they step on or destroy in order to attain that higher office. Some of these fail, and others succeed to become bishops, archbishops, and cardinals. The politics of the chancery can rival that of many monarchial dynasty. “Holy Mother Church” as a human institution can be a cold hearted, evil step-mother who uses people and casts them aside as refuse when no longer needed.

On the other hand, I also was exposed to the many men and women, some clerical, some religious, some lay ministers, and some lay volunteers who do remarkable ministry in the Church without seeking any recognition or personal gain. Motivated by the Gospel life of Jesus, they seek to serve rather than be served and work tirelessly to build the Reign of God in our world. I found that there are many more of these selfless people within the Church then the self-seeking religious plutocrats seeking self-advancement.

Very early on, I had to develop a coping mechanism to continue working in the Institutional Church. I did this by using a rather graphic metaphor to separate out the sinfulness of the Institution from the grace-filled Church that Christ intended. The cruel and awful things the Church as an institution did to people went into the “shit” pile. The wonderful ministries to the poor, to the disenfranchised, to those mourning, to those most in need spiritually and temporally, went into the “grace” pile. That which the Church does that builds up the People of God and advances the Reign of God in our world goes into the “grace” pile. That which separates and destroys community goes into the “shit” pile. I continue to use this graphic metaphor today.

When I read the opening statement for the Sacrament of Penance, above,  for the first time, I realized that my observation as a church minister on the sinfulness of the institution was spot on. Comprised of its human membership, all of the Catholic Church, hierarchy, religious and laity are in need of conversion. Only Jesus, the head of the Church, is without sin. All of the institutional Church is in need of metanoi, ongoing, daily conversion, so that we might more ably reflect the love of Jesus, the sinless One, to those we have been called by God to serve. It is only through ongoing conversion to the Gospel of Jesus that the good fruit of the Church can happen in the world. It is only through ongoing conversion to the Gospel of Jesus that the lives of those most in need of love can be healed from their brokenness.

I have been told by people that they no longer go to church anymore because of all the hypocrites sitting in the pews. The people in the pews put on a good show of “holiness and righteousness” within the four walls of the church, but outside the church their values are in direct contradiction to the teachings of Jesus. This is a valid observation and one that has been made for as long as I can remember. My father, prior to the reforms of Vatican II, talked about “Sunday Catholics” who performed their Sunday obligation but were hell-bent on getting out of the parking lot of the church as soon as Mass was over. The only time they were “Catholic” was the 40 minutes or less when they were in church. Outside that time, they got drunk, cheated on their spouses, stole, and lived contrary to the rules of the Church. The hypocrisy of church members was no different then as it is now, the only difference being the Mass was in Latin.

The truth be told, the Catholic Church, and for that matter, all Christian churches, and non-Christian religions can be labeled “hypocritical.” Each and everyone of us, whether we be a Pope, a Bishop, a Iman, a Rabbi, the Dalai Lama, and so on, are hypocrites. We are hypocritical in that we fail to live out the faith, the religious tenets to which we are called and profess. Whether it be the Gospels of the Christian religions, the Torah, the Talmud and Mishna of the Jewish religion, the Koran of the Islamic religion, the Tripitaka and Mahayan Sutras of the Buddhist religion, the four Vedas of the Hindu religion, or any other sacred teachings of any religion, no member of any of these religions faithfully and completely live that which is taught in their sacred texts. So, yes, we are hypocrites. However, this only proves that no matter what religion we profess, we are equally hypocritical.

If those who profess a religious faith are hypocrites, what is the point of worshipping God in community? For Christians and speaking specifically for Catholics, the answer is in the first part of what was said in that Introduction to the Sacrament of Penance. All of the Church is in need of conversion/purification except for one, Jesus, who is sinless and is the head of the Church.

We gather as a miserable, broken, hypocritical bunch of human beings to receive the grace from the One who has not sinned but bore the brokenness of our miserable human condition in his own body. Our brokenness needs healing. We do not possess the ability to heal ourselves. Only Jesus can heal the brokenness in our lives. We need to be made self-aware of our own hypocrisy and to begin to live lives that bring harmony to the world, not disharmony. Whether I am at Mass as an ordained deacon, whether I am at Mass as a liturgical musician, whether I am at Mass as one among many in the pews, I come to receive the grace I need from God to be made whole again for another week. I come to be renewed when my faith is challenged. I come to receive forgiveness for the brokenness I have caused others during the week, and to forgive those who have caused brokenness in my life. I come to Mass to acknowledge that I am one with everyone in the church and in equal need of conversion in my life.

There is no place for an attitude of “holier than thou” in the Catholic Church. To use Jesus’ parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee who went to the Temple to pray, rather than boast with the Pharisee about how self-righteous we are, we must adopt the attitude of the tax collector who bows his head, strikes his breast, and says, “Have mercy on me, Lord. a sinner.”

Sister Angeline was correct on insisting that us Second graders needed to learn the lesson of conversion. Her methodology to reinforce that particular lesson could have been better. It is important that we acknowledge as a community our need for conversion in our lives. It is important that we gather as a community to mutually seek the healing for the brokenness in our lives. We can learn much from the wisdom of 12 step groups that by ourselves, we cannot bring about the conversion that we need in our lives. We need to rely on the love and the grace that we can receive only from Jesus. Why gather to worship at Mass? Why not? It is the only place where we, hypocritical as we are as a community, can receive the grace we so desperately need.

 

THE FUNERAL OF MY UNCLE, OSCAR JERNSTROM: A time of self-revelation and retrospection.

As Catholics, it is ingrained into us at an early age to do a daily self-examination of our soul, our state of being with God, with our neighbor, and with ourselves. We do not always do this consciously, but rather on a subconscious level be it rumination or an examination of conscience.

The death of someone we love and/or admire triggers within our human hearts a discernment of what life is all about. I have a bumper sticker that says, “What if the Hokey Pokey IS what it is all about?”, an existential question, indeed! Is life only about self-gathering around us those things we want in life, including our relationships with others? Or, is there some other purpose to life than just procreating a new generation of human beings and occupying time and space for a number of decades?

I have come to think of life as a vast school curriculum for the human soul; a time of deep and experiential learning. Our lives are not about acquiring, but about learning how to love as God loves. Our lives are about how to become human in the manner that God intended humanity to be when God created us. I am not an expert in world religions, though I must confess that the Eastern religions notion of reincarnation can be a comforting thought. If one fails in one lifetime, one is held back a grade, so to speak, to try again. Our Christian notion of life is a bit more drastic and grim, for it holds a pass/fail outcome at the end of life. If we pass, we go on to eternal life heaven. If we fail, we go to spend eternity in everlasting torment in hell. (AN ASIDE: There was once a Far Side Cartoon with two panels. The first was of an individual entering heaven and being given a harp, with the caption, “Welcome to heaven. Here is your harp.” The other panel depicted an individual entering hell. As he entered, a devil hands him an accordion with the caption, “Welcome to hell, here is your accordion.”) As Christians, early on in life we learn to get serious about what our lives are all about for there will be significant consequences at the end of our lives. (As Sr. Angeline once told my 2nd grade class. “Ten of you will be going to hell when you die.” A sobering thought for a 2nd grader, even though we knew which 10 individuals would be eternally damned.) We use the life of Jesus in the Gospels and the wisdom found in the letters of Paul, Peter, James, and John as our guide in living our lives with purpose and love. The following is not so much a reflection on my uncle, Oscar Jernstrom, but more about how his death has impacted my life. It is ultimately about how well I am learning the lifelong curriculum of love in my own life.

It should be noted that what follows is taken from the quick thoughts I wrote on Facebook in the wee hours of the night and early in the morning, while the thoughts and feelings were fresh and still a bit raw.

The last two days were spent en route to Pittsburgh, to be at my Uncle Oscar’s wake, his funeral, the funeral luncheon, and en route home again. These days were significant, as most days surrounding a funeral are. The death of a loved one is a significant rite of passage that not just impacts the one who is deceased, but impacts the lives of all whom the deceased has touched while alive. It causes the survivors to wrestle with the age old question of what lies “beyond the pale”. It tests the faith of survivors. Is there really a God, a heaven and a hell? What will I experience when I see God face to face? (This reminds me of the old Henny Youngman joke, “What do you say to God when God sneezes?”) Has my relationship with the deceased ended permanently, or does it continue long after the body of the deceased has been buried? It also makes us reflect on our own death and our own fear of death. Woody Allen expressed this succinctly in a joke he composed during his days of doing stand-up comedy. “I’m not afraid of death. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” Or for those more existentially minded individuals out there, the joke that Steven Wright once told, “Last night I was playing solitaire with tarot cards. Five people died.”

 

Anxiety

Traveling to Pittsburgh, PA for my uncle’s funeral and being with my Pittsburgh family triggered all sorts of thoughts and emotions for me. Emotionally, it was a time filled with anxiety, sorrow, joy, discomfort, fatigue, connectedness, and ultimately, self-affirmation. Hard to imagine 48 hours filled with all of that.

The anxiety arose out of not having traveled very much since the first of the three hip surgeries. Because of the MRSA infection that made me hipless for 6 months, following that first hip replacement and the multiple surgeries to drain the infection, my left leg has never fully regained all the muscle tissue that had atrophied. This led to being so reliant on the right leg, that that leg had to have the hip replaced, and, then this past Fall, the knee replaced. The anxiety arose out of knowing that with all the walking through airports, I would be working those artificial joints like they have never been worked before! Then there was the TSA, but as I posted earlier, I haven’t been that intimately touched in a long while so it was, in its own way, more a pleasurable experience than a disturbing experience.

Some anxiety also arose from being separated from Ruthie. Back in 2005, I did 3 weeks of Spanish immersion in San Antonio. It was mind-lifting and educational in many different ways (I found it fascinating is that the priests and seminarians with whom I studied knew all the $2.00 Margarita bars in the barrio). It was also torture being away from my bride, Ruth.

In theological terms, the word ontological is used to describe the subtle but very real transformation that occurs in a sacrament. I discovered how much being married to Ruth had utterly changed me, not in the sense that we are codependent on one another, but in the sense that after all these years (41 married, 49 since we started to date) we truly had become one heart and one flesh. To be separated for any length of time from Ruth is spiritually and emtionally painful. That 3 weeks in San Antonio were incredibly torturous for the both of us. When I had finally gotten back to the airport after that very long 3 weeks, I expected my daughter, Beth, to pick me up from the airport because Ruthie had to work that night. Imagine my great surprise and overwhelming joy to see my lovely bride walk up to me at the baggage claim! She had called in sick, so she could meet me at the airport, and, unbeknownst to me, had arranged a welcome home party for me. From that time onward to go somewhere without Ruth is difficult for me, for she is such a part of who I am. So, there was some “separation anxiety” in my mix of emotions. We, of course, talked multiple times by phone on Tuesday, and three times on Wednesday, twice by phone and once home, in person when she arose to go to work.

So with all this anxiety why go at all? Easily answered, my Uncle Ozzie. My Uncle Ozzie and Aunt Mary are like second parents to me. Judging by what has been said by many, I am not the only one who feels thus connected to the both of them. Though I can count on one hand the number of times we have been in the same room over the past 20 years or so, the connectedness to these two very special people has remained rock solid intact. It was not a matter of having to go, it was a necessity for me to go and honor the man I loved and valued almost as much as my own father.

Sorrow

In forty years of church ministry, I have been at, presided at, and played music for many, many funerals. As stated earilier funerals are a pivotal part in people’s lives. We celebrate their lives touching our own. We celebrate their relationship with the God who created them. Ozzie’s life had touched so many lives, and I believe that it was a result of his life being so intimately connected to the God who created him.

The Jewish philosopher, theologian and Rabbi, Martin Buber in his theological masterpiece, I And Thou, expressed three places or thresholds in which we encounter God. The first, is in nature and the wonders  of God around us. The second, is in our inner personal relationships with others which Buber describes as windows through which we gaze on the face of God. The third, is that interior place known only to the individual in which the individual and God meet and interact.

It is that second threshold in which we encounter God that is the most operative at the death of a loved one. In our love relationship with another, we see and experience the presence of God.

I have often expressed that my greatest experience of God has been in my married relationship to Ruth. While Ozzie probably never quite expressed his relationship to my Aunt Mary in similar terms, I am quite sure he would acknowledge that to be true, too. It was extremely sorrowful to know that Ozzie would not be occupying that familiar corporal form he inhabited for over 91 years. To not hear his voice, hear the stories he would tell, to experience him in person, is a tremendous loss.

That is a hole in one’s life that can never be filled. The Lutheran theologian and pastor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer expresses this so well. “There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us, and one should not even attempt to do so. One must simply hold out and endure it. At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort. For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled one remains connected to the other person through it. It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness. God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve — even in pain — the authentic relationship.”

Sorrow is an important emotion to acknowledge and experience. It means that something very important is missing in our lives. The sorrow expressed at the loss of a person is in its own way the ultimate compliment, the penultimate affirmation, for it means that that person we have lost had enriched and added so much value to our own lives. It was this sorrow I felt deeply at both Ozzie’s wake and funeral.

Joy

I would like to express something about the joy I have experienced in my two days in Pittsburgh.

In many ways, my family has been part of a family “diaspora” over all these years, separated by a long distance from all my cousins on both sides of the family. Because my father’s work placed him and us in the upper Midwest with a part of that time in Chicago and a longer span of time spent in Minnesota, the chance to connect to my East coast family was limited often to the two week vacations we would spend in the Pittsburgh area when we would stay either with our Aunt Ruth and Uncle Joe, or, as Bill and I experienced, with our Uncle Ozzie and Aunt Mary. Going to Pirate games at old Forbes Field with our 2nd cousin Regie Walsh, playing with our cousins Jerry, Mary Greta, and Reg Jernstrom and visiting my Uncle Bob and Aunt Babe and their children Ann, Bob, Tommy, Linnea, Mary Grace, and, of course my mom’s cousin Jill, and her husband, Big Jim and, of course their son, little Jimmy Ertzman (I can’t recall whether I am spelling their last name correctly), and Jill’s mom, my mother’s Aunt Sarah.

Sadly, as Bill, Mary, and I began high school, the trips out East every Summer began to get fewer and fewer. After my ordination to the diaconate, I remember Ruthie and I driving out to Pittsburgh with our daughters Meg and Beth to visit all my cousins. It was important to me that Ruth and half of our children (Andy and Luke were busy working) get to meet these wonderful people who were so important to me as I was growing up.

On that trip, I observed how close all my cousins were to one another. They were one another’s best friends. While it sounds a bit idyllic, there appeared to be no inner family resentments, but rather a blessed harmony. I was so graced by what I observed and grieved what I had been missing all the time I was away. It reminded me of the closeness of Ruthie’s family and I remember being envious of the closeness they have with one another and how I (nicknamed Wag) was adopted into the sibling relationship Ruthie shares with her brothers and sisters.

The joy I felt on Tuesday and Wednesday, as sad as the occasion was, was that reconnection to my Pittsburgh family. To be with them, to grieve the loss of Ozzie with them, was in a sense a joy to me. I was one with them again. We have all grown up since those days in the 50’s and 60’s. We have all married and had our own families, and yet, the solidarity of the past returned as if it never had passed. I wasthe only one present with a Minnesotan accent, (NOTE: In contradiction to that wretched Cohen Brother movie, “Fargo”, only a very few Minnesotans, generally with surnames like Christiansen [chris-JOHN-son] or Johannsen [yo-HAHN-son] say ufta [OOF-tah], youbetcha [u-BETCH-ah], and donchaknow [doh-chah-NO]. Incidentally, Fargo is in North Dakota and not Minnesota. Minnesota has lakes and trees. North Dakota’s state tree is a telephone pole and the State’s topography is flatter than a pancake.), the cultural oddity immersed in Pittsburgh culture and surrounded by that remarkable Pittsburgh manner of speaking. However, everyone immediately made me feel entirely at home. There is a hospitality inherent to Pittsburgh which is a bit different from what we call in Minnesota, “Minnesota Nice”. (NOTE: Minnesota Nice is not genuinely nice. Minnesota Nice is just a way of saying “passive aggressive” behavior.) Even the folks at the hotel treated me with a friendship that is not always present in Minnesota (provincialism is a trademark of the multiple cultures of Minnesota).

I want to thank my Pittsburgh cousins for being so wonderfully gracious to me. You are very special to me. Though we live so far apart, you are never far from my thoughts and never have been over these long years of separation. My sister, Mary Ruth, while she was alive, was very good about keeping connected to our PIttsburgh family, our Cleveland family (Bobby, Maryjo, and Kelly) and our Virginia family (we haven’t forgotten about you Kathy and Cheryl. I hope the chance to visit you comes soon, too!). Thank you for being in my life. You bring so much joy to my life.

Fatigue and Self-affirmation

Lastly, the emotions of fatigue, discomfort, and self-affirmation. The fatigue was largely related to doing so much in very short span of time. Church ministry doesn’t allow much in the way of time away, because of the demands ministry makes in one’s life. While my life is not the 24/7 lives of the dairy farmers around New Prague, my life is usually 24/6 (that is if a funeral doesn’t take away my one day off a week). While it was imperative for me to be at my Uncle’s funeral, it was also imperative that I fly in on Tuesday and leave Wednesday afternoon to get back to my church responsibilities.

I was up at 4 am on Tuesday and out of the house by 5:30 am, to get to the park and ride, shuttle to the airport, check in with the airline and the TSA, and then fly to Pittsburgh, find where the baggage is, find where the car rental is, drive in a new city, find where the hotel is, find the funeral home, be present at the wake, and, crash sometime around 8 pm. So much for Day 1.

Day 2, up at 6 am, pack everything, eat breakfast, check out, go to the church, look over the intercessions, funeral, burial, funeral luncheon, back on the road to the airport, check in the rental car, check in luggage with the airline, get frisked by the TSA, find the terminal, fly back to the Twin Cities, find luggage, find shuttle to the Park and Ride, drive home, and get there by 8:30 pm. Almost the end of Day 2.

When I pulled into the driveway at 8:30 pm, I received a call from my cousin Regie Jernstrom who wanted to make sure I got home safe. (Thank you Regie, you are so thoughtful!) Then I noticed I received a call from Bruzek Funeral home alerting me to the death of a parishioner. At 8:45 pm I called the funeral home, arranged a time to meet the grieving family on Thursday to plan the funeral being held on Saturday, and then realized I had not eaten since the luncheon.

The day ended with me popping some popcorn, which the dog insisted that I share with her, until it was time for Ruth to get up and go to work. I waved goodbye to Ruthie as she drove off to work at 9:30 pm, opened the refrigerator and saw the Brandy Manhattan she made for me on a shelf. I got a couple of ice cubes, sat down, and sipped the drink. My intention was to watch the news and then the first part of Colbert before unpacking the suitcase and going to bed. I never made it to the sports. Fatigue combined with brandy, sweet vermouth, and three maraschino cherries makes a sleeping potion that is hard to resist. When I awakened, the TV still on, it was 12:30 am and I had to reorient myself to time and place. I then unpacked the suitcase, set up my CPAP, crawled into my pajamas and crashed. Four hours later, I was up and at it again, greeting Ruth when she got home from work at 8 am, eating my toast and banana and 16 ounces of Dunkin Donut coffee, and off to church by 9:30 am.

I am still feeling a bit of the fatigue as I type this out. But it is a good kind of fatigue. Is there discomfort? Of course, I demanded a lot from all my artificial joints (As they say in agrarian society, I feel a bit held together by bailing wire and bubble gum). But the artificial joints held up and did what they were required to do. They are a bit sore, but that is why there is aspirin and Tylenol. The pain and soreness will pass. I will return to Anytime Fitness tomorrow (today that is) and walk a couple of miles on the treadmill, increasing my distance and endurance.

And, finally, self-affirmation. This is related to the anxiety about which I first wrote. The major question that brought on anxiety was whether I could make the trip after having had 6 years of surgery with all the recovery that accompanies surgery (In 2011 alone I had 5 surgeries. From 2012 to 2016, 4 more surgeries.). It is easy to possess some self-doubt after all of that. The death of my Uncle forced me to face my fears, my anxiety, and compelled me to take chances. I did all of it, and not only survived, but thrived, albeit with my limitations still being what they are.

To be back home embraced by my beloved, Ruth, is heaven. To have been to Pittsburgh in the welcome embrace of my Aunt Mary and all of my cousins was also heaven. If the embraces of those we love are heaven on earth, imagine the divine embrace of God that Ozzie is now feeling.

At Ozzie’s funeral we sang a couple of hymns that Minnesota liturgical music composer, David Haas wrote years ago (“The Lord Is My Light And My Salvation”, and “You Are Mine.”). David also set new words to an old Irish/Scott folksong melody named “Marie’s Wedding.” I would like to conclude with the text he wrote for that melody.

Onward to the Kingdom

Refrain: Sing we now, and on we go; God above and God below; Arm is arm, in love we go Onward to the kingdom.

1. Star above to show the way, Through the night and in today, With the light we won’t delay Onward to the kingdom. (refrain)
2. Come now sisters, brother all, Time to heed the Lord’s call, We will travel standing tall Onward to the kingdom. (refrain)
3. In the promised land we’ll be, One with God, where all are free, The deaf will hear, the blind will see When we reach the kingdom. (refrain)

At the Transfiguration of Jesus, the apostles see Jesus transformed. Gone was the former carpenter, now itinerant rabbi. Before them was Jesus clothed in the glory of his full nature, human and divine. Today, Jesus holds out to us the promise of our own Transfiguration when we will become as he is. While the fullness of our own Transfiguration will happen when Jesus comes again, the time to begin our Transfiguration is now, this very day. To become Transfigured requires us to change.

Human beings fear change. We always want things to remain the same. I remember the time I visited a 90 year old man in the hospital. When I asked how things were going, he replied, “It’s hell getting old, kid!” We all fear getting old and the limitations it places into our lives. We grieve the losses of what once had been. The last 17 years have been pretty tough on me. Physically I have undergone a lot of change, so much so, that I joke about walking down the street only to find one of my arms has fallen off. I call out to my son, Luke, “Quick! Pick my arm up before the dog begins to play with it!”  The physical limitations which are a part of my life possess a hidden blessing. These limitations have placed more spiritual focus into my life, transforming me into a better person and opening my eyes and my heart to the wonders God has worked in my life.

To become Transfigured requires us to let go of past things, and, while grieving the losses of what once had been, look forward to what we will become. Our pathway to the Transfiguration is through the Paschal Mystery of Jesus. To experience the fullness of what he would become, Jesus had to embrace the losses of his passion and death first, before he could experience the glory of his Resurrection.

Beginning today, we start our journey to our Transfiguration. Let us take the time to appreciate what God has done in our lives. Let us be prepared to let go of who we once were so that we can become who God calls us to be. Let us grieve the losses we experience along the way, but keep our eyes focused on the time when we stand on the mountain top alongside Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, at our own Transfiguration.

Can a mother forget her infant,

be without tenderness for the child of her womb?

Even should she forget,

I will never forget you. (Isaiah 49:15)

“Look at the birds in the sky;
they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns,
yet your heavenly Father feeds them.
Are not you more important than they?
Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?
Why are you anxious about clothes?
Learn from the way the wild flowers grow.
They do not work or spin.
But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor
was clothed like one of them.
If God so clothes the grass of the field,
which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow,
will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith?
So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’
or ‘What are we to drink?’or ‘What are we to wear?’
All these things the pagans seek.
Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.” (Matthew 6: 26-32)

OUR TRANSGENDER GOD – A Reflection on Isaiah 49, Matthew 6, and John 1

The title of this reflection is rather provocative isn’t it? Calling God “transgender” seems a bit radical, but is it? These two scripture readings, used on the 8^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, clearly indicate a female and a male image of God. Clearly Isaiah’s reference to God is as the Divine Mother. Jesus’ reference is clearly a Divine Father image. Which is it? It is both/and.

Referring to God as transgender is a misnomer, for God transcends our human notion of male and female. God is made only in the image of God’s self. However, as females and males, we are both made in the image and the likeness of God. This is an important distinction. It is we who are creatures of God, not the other way around. God is not made in either a female or male image. It is we, female and male, who are made in God’s image. As these two scripture passages clearly illustrate, God cannot be confined to our finite human images. God transcends all of that.

To muddy these waters of gender all the more, while Mary is the Theotokus, the mother of God, Jesus, the Logos, the Word of God, is the mother of Mary. How can this be? In the beautiful Prologue to the Gospel of John we read these words.

“In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

He was in the beginning with God.

All things came to be through him,

and without him nothing came to be.

What came to be through him was life,

and this life was the light of the human race;

the light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:1-5)

It is clear that all things came to be, were created, through the Logos, the Word of God. Jesus is the Word of God. John’s Gospel makes it clear that it was through Jesus that his mother, Mary, was created. And it was through her that Jesus was born into our world. This is somewhat reminiscent of the question, “What came first? The chicken? Or the egg?” The One through whom Mary was created, was created through Mary. Welcome to the mystery and the paradox of God.

What can we conclude from this musing?

When we encounter God, we encounter the One who defies all human knowledge. God is a vast mystery filled with wonder. We are unable to wrap our minds around God. Human comprehension and understanding of God is not quantifiable. Instead we enter into mystery of God and experience the wonder and love of God as both the Divine Mother who birthed us into life and nurtures us, and the Divine Father who provides for us, watches over us, and protects us.

Our inability to understand God will enable us to be content and at peace with all the other mysteries we encounter in our lives. There are plenty of mysteries. The mystery of adolescence, the mystery of growing older, the mystery of our own God given gifts, the mystery of love, the mystery of  relationships, the mystery of our spouses, the mystery of sexuality and all of its components, the mystery of illness, the mystery of death, and, the mystery of that which lies beyond death.

And through all these encounters with the mysteries in our lives, we will know that we can always fall back on God as our Divine Mother and our Divine Father, whose tremendous love for us is the greatest mystery of all.

ENCOUNTERING LOVE: A reflection of Buber’s “I and Thou.”

While in graduate school, the one book I read that has altered the way I see God in the world was Martin Buber’s theological masterpiece, I And Thou. Within that slim but difficult volume, is one distinct message. God is in love with us. The first sentence of the book said it all. “In the beginning was relation.” This is a restatement of the very first sentence of the Bible, “In the beginning was creation.” (Genesis 1:1) Within that very simple declarative sentence is infused the great love of God for all that God has created. Buber then reveals the ways in which we are able to encounter God’s love. Buber calls these meeting places with God, thresholds.

The first of these thresholds is nature. The delicate petals of a flower, the hymn of praise heard in birdsong, the lush green of a forest, the magnificent colors of a sunrise and sunset, the light display of the Aurora Borealis, the immensity of the ocean, the majestic height of mountains, and the awe striking display of power within a thunderstorm are all meeting places in which we encounter God.

There is something that is stirred within us when the “self of God” is revealed in nature. We are utterly changed. We no longer take for granted the petal of a flower. We hear God sing to us in the joy of a bird greeting the dawn. Our vision is expanded as the array of color of a sunrise or sunset passes through the retinas of our eyes into our souls. The dance of light displayed in the Aurora Borealis fills our hearts with wonder. The immensity of the ocean or the height of a mountain reveals to us our own insignificance. The great power of the thunderstorm strips from us the superficiality of our own power, displaying to ourselves our own naked helplessness. Encountering the great love of God in nature utterly alters us.

The second of these thresholds is our interpersonal relationships. Buber calls these interpersonal relationships windows, through which we look upon the face of God.

The first of these interpersonal relationships is that which is shared between a mother and her baby. Think of the mother cradling her baby in her arms, pressing the baby to her breast and nursing her baby. Think of the attentive, loving care of the mother for her baby’s every need. Is it any wonder that scripture speaks of our relationship with God as one of an infant nursing at the breast of God our Mother?

The second of these interpersonal relationships is that of the love expressed between two lovers. The loving caress, the touch of a kiss, the full and loving embrace of two lovers, the lilting, musical play of a lover’s voice, the joy upon seeing one’s lover, the way our lover’s smile makes our own heart smile, are all ways of encountering the loving presence of God.

I have said and will continue to say to the time that I die, that my greatest experience of God has been in my wife, Ruth. In her arms I feel God embrace me. In her gentle touch, God caresses me. From her lips I hear God say, “I love you,” and, “I forgive you.” As I gaze into her deep, brown eyes, I look upon the face of God.

The third of these interpersonal relationships is that which we share with others. In the companionship between two good friends, in the helping hand to those who are in need, in the laughter and the tears we share with others, in all the loving interactions we have with others, we encounter the love of God.

The third threshold is that place within ourselves in which we encounter the mystery of God. Imprinted into our very DNA is the DNA of our God who knew us, even before we were conceived in our mother’s womb. Of all the three thresholds of Buber, this is the one that is the least concrete and objective, and the most abstract and subjective.

This threshold is as unique to each individual as each snowflake is individual. The experience of God at this level is not something that can be replicated and passed on to others. It is something that is so intimate and so beyond human expression that words will never capture its full significance.

I encountered this threshold very powerfully at the birth of my son, Andy. Standing behind the doctor and in watching my son, my baby, emerge from Ruthie’s womb is best described as standing in the Holy of Holies. It was my Moses’ experience of encountering the flaming bush. It was my witnessing the creation of the universe and the resurrection of Jesus. The presence of God so filled that delivery room that I reached out into the air around me and physically touch God’s face. It was so powerful that I was unable to sleep the remainder of that night, pondering, contemplating what I had just experienced.

I encountered this threshold again in a single chord. I was driving home from the St. Paul Seminary in which I had an evening class. As I drove along Mississippi Boulevard, I listened to a recording of Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring Suite.” In this musical suite of the major melodies from Copland’s ballet, “Appalachian Spring,” just following the vibrant variations on the Shaker Hymn, “Simple Gifts,” the tempo of the music slows and the dynamics grow quieter. At that point, one simple chord is sounded. I had listened to this musical piece countless times, however, this night, driving along Mississippi Boulevard in St. Paul, within that one simple chord played by the orchestra, I heard God’s voice, and I wept. I wept so hard that I began to sob and had to pull over to the side of the road until I quit sobbing and could safely continue my journey home. All the way home, I contemplated the sound of God’s voice in that simple chord, and, like my experience of God in the delivery room, could not sleep the rest of the night.

I encountered this threshold another time, sitting at the death bed of a parishioner. She was comatose and in the long process of dying. The head of her bed was raised so that she could breathe easier. Her family gathered around her bed, as I sat down next to her, took her left hand into my left hand, and began the prayers of the Commendation of the Dying. As I began the words of the closing prayer, “Go forth, Christian soul, from this world in the name of God the Father who created you,” her eyes suddenly opened and she looked directly at my eyes, but it was not me she was seeing. She was looking through me to the presence of God directly behind me. I continued the prayer, “ in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, who suffered for you, in the name of the Holy Spirit, who was poured out upon you, go forth faithful Christian. May you live in peace this day, may your home be with God in Zion, with Mary, the virgin Mother of God, with Joseph and all the angels and saints.” and as I concluded the prayer with an “Amen,” she closed her eyes and died. There was the sound of a collective intake of air from her family as they realized what had just happened, and a murmur from one to the other of “did you see what just happened?” After a little while, I took leave of the family, went back to my parish office and sat in silence for about three hours contemplating the experience of God I had had.

One other powerful experience of this threshold was in a hospital in the middle of the night in mid-October of 2011. I had just had my 5^th surgery in as many months, the incision on my left leg opened again to release the poison of the MRSA infection I got from a hip replacement in June. I was in pain, and despairing as to if I would ever be cured of this infection that had left me without a hip for such a long time. I prayed the same prayer I had prayed the moment I was told I had MRSA, to be cured of this infection, wondering whether God heard my prayer at all. Unable to sleep, I picked up my iPod, put on my earphones and played the James Chepponis setting of Mary’s “Magnificat” from the Gospel of Luke. As the woman on the recording began to sing, “Proclaim the greatness of God; rejoice in God, my Savior! Rejoice in God, my Savior!” the pain lessened, and a calm settled within my spirit. I knew at that moment my prayer had been answered. Two and a half months later, the MRSA was killed and I was able to finally get an artificial hip.

I mention these four examples of Buber’s third threshold because of an encounter I had with God at Mass two weeks ago. I was playing the music for the 10 am Mass at St. John the Evangelist, one of the three church sites in the parish of St. Wenceslaus. I was doing what I call “liturgical cocktail music” that is, playing the keyboard and cantoring at the same time. (For some reason that elicits for me an image of the piano/singer in cocktail bars.) This encounter happened immediately following the consecration of the bread and wine in the Eucharistic prayer, and the singing of the Memorial Acclamation. As Fr. Dave Barrett continued the Eucharistic Prayer, the words he was praying came alive for me. I heard them in ways I had never heard them before. It was God proclaiming Divine friendship and love for all people. It was God declaring the inclusive expression of love to all creation at the beginning of time. It was a declaration that all of humanity and all of creation is swept up into this magnificent gesture and expression of love.

Since 1977, I can safely say that I have celebrated over 8,300 Masses. This is just the Sunday Masses and does not include the weekday Masses, funerals, weddings, Confirmation Masses and other Masses celebrated for various reasons. Why has it taken me so long? One would think that in the countless number of Masses at which I have been since I was born, the countless number of Masses at which I have played and directed choirs, the countless number of Masses at which I have assisted as a deacon, I would have heard this epiphany from God long before this one particular Sunday. There was nothing different in the inflection of Dave’s voice as he prayed the Eucharistic Prayer, nor anything remarkable about the playing or the singing of the Memorial Acclamation. However, at this one time, seemingly, just for me, the “self of God” was revealed to me again. When I left St. John’s, I drove to Memorial Park and  on that cold, winter day, parked in an isolated area and meditated upon that which I had just experienced. This reflection is the cumulative expression of that which I encountered that Sunday morning at Mass.

Buber is so correct. The encounters we have with God are numerous and often leave us unable to express in any adequate terms that which we have experienced. Each and every one of these encounters are personal, precious, and life-altering. They are those gifts that God gives to us to remind us that we are dearly loved and we are never, ever alone. For a moment, just a moment, the revelation of that which awaits beyond death is made known to us, and leaves us speechless and in awe.

For all of us in the “church business”, it is important that we keep our sense of humor intact as the Solemnity of Christmas nears. The Christmas expectations that people bring with them to church on that Solemn Feast are as great as those portrayed in the comedy film, “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.” Those expectations are generally dashed as badly as that of the Griswald’s in the same film. So it is vitally important for us in the business of the Spirit to keep our own spirits high as we prepare to serve those whose spirits are easily hurt or disappointed. These are some of the memes that have shown up on Facebook this year and the past. Enjoy!