January 2018 – Journeying Into Mystery

It is asking the correct question that is important, not the answer.

There is a saying, “keep it simple, stupid.” This saying is directed to those who like to throw around all sorts of information, so much so that it muddies the point they are trying to make. The mark of a really intelligent person is the ability to take a very complicated and complex issue and reduce it to its simplest form, making it understandable to others.

I have been recently having Facebook conversations, if one can actually call them conversations, with the ultra neo-orthodox Catholic right. It is quite evident that the base of most of their information is mostly hearsay. To attempt to prove they are right, they tend to throw around sanctimonious platitudes and biblical pericopes like simplistic bumper sticker soundbytes, generally out of context. Any of the biblical disciplines used in proper biblical exegesis by any true scholar or student of scripture are totally absent. They have no apparent desire to explore the complexities or the depths of the subject about which they feel so self-righteous. Their ability to think critically about very complex questions in human life is not apparent. When their arguments or sentiments are questioned or countered, they are unable to respond, some resorting to sputtering out insults, name calling, and aghast accusations of excommunication. I have been called a “demon”, a fat piece of sh*t”, told to get “f*cked”, and so on. It is akin to attempting to reason with a young child who covers his/her ears and shouts repeatedly, “I know you are, but what am I.”

I suppose one could simply ignore them and let them drown in their own self-righteousness, their ignorance like a millstone around their neck dragging them down into the depths. As frustrating and as irritable as it is in trying to expand their minds to consider the wider complexities of life, the educator in me prods me to not leave them in their small, dank, miserable world of fear.

Fear is the dominant characteristic of many of the religious right, regardless of the Christian denomination, or for that matter, any world religion. They live in a world of fear, and the only thing that can protect them from the scariness around them is the perceived palisade of half-truths they build up around themselves. Not thoroughly understanding the fullness of the truth their religion provides, they tend to crouch in darkness behind this palisade clutching their perceived truth of their religion like knife, blindly and erractically swinging the blade around them. They hope their blade will cut the Evil they think is attacking them, but in the end the only thing the blade cuts is emptiness. The irony is that the Evil they are trying to fend off is not outside the palisade. That Evil has already breached the palisade and is sitting comfortably and safely next to them.

When I was in graduate school in the seminary, Fr Mike Joncas briefly interrupted one of his lectures to pose this question to my class. “What is the purpose of graduate school?” The summation of our response to him boiled down to “coming to know the answers.” Mike looked at us and said, “No. The purpose of graduate school is not to know the answers. The purpose is to know the correct question to ask.”

God gave humanity a brain so that we might be able to ask the key questions that are necessary in order to become fully human. Jesus, fully human and fully divine, didn’t so much give answers, but instead posed questions for his disciples. Many of his parables were not simplistic stories, but challenged the listener to really think and explore what the parable meant. In Mark’s Gospel, the apostles are particularly portrayed as rather dense, and seemed always puzzled as to what a parable meant, often to Jesus’ own consternation. A true follower of Jesus does not live in comfortable complacency seeking simplistic answers to the complexities of human life. A true follower of Jesus, rather, lives in the crucible, always trying to discover where God is within the complexities of human life.

For the true disciple of Jesus, it is not having the answers that is important. Rather, it is the journey to the fullness of the Reign of God that is ultimately most important. Consider for a moment, Mary and Joseph’s journey as parents of Jesus. Scripture repeatedly tells us that they did not have a full understanding of what the mission of their special child was all about. All they were capable of doing was pondering and reflecting upon the events of life as they unfolded. They had no answers. Mary continued questioning and pondering her way as a faithful disciple of her son all the way to Calvary, never fully understanding the will of God but trying to understand it as it unfolded in her life.

In the end, it is not answers that we seek. We seek to ask the correct question, which is always, “Where is God in all of this?” That question will ultimately lead us to that which we seek, God.

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.

Songs for my grandchildren, Psalm Offering 6 Opus 8

Since I do not have a picture of our grandchild who miscarried, I present this ultrasound of my daughter, Beth, in its stead.

Psalm Offering 6: Unlike the previous 5 Psalm Offerings of this Opus, this is specifically dedicated to “Baby Wagner”. Between the births of Aidan and Ollie, my daughter-in-law, Oliva, was pregnant with another child. Sadly, that pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. This Psalm Offering is dedicated to that beautiful baby I never got the opportunity to know. I found myself overwhelmed emotionally as I composed this Psalm Offering. I believe I finally allowed myself to grieve this lovely unborn child I never got to know. I like to think of this song as a lullaby to my unborn grandchild. When Ruthie first heard it, she found it emotionally moving. She said it was so beautiful, yet, it was also sad. I must confess that when I finished the composition of this piece, I wept. The music is composed in 3/4 meter. Similar to the 4th Psalm Offering there is a recurring harmonic and rhythmic ostinato pattern in the left hand throughout the entire piece. It is composed in Rondo form: melody 1, melody2, melody 1, melody3, melody1, Coda.

Songs for my grandchildren, Psalm Offering 5 Opus 8

Sydney serving her great grandmother, Rosemary and her Aunt Teresa, tea.

Psalm Offering 5: This is a Mazurka (a Polish dance). Frederick Chopin was the master composer of Mazurkas. Unlike most Mazurkas written in 3/4 meter, this is written in 5/4 meter. The uneven meter of 5/4 time is a hard meter in which to dance. It would be akin to dancing with an extra leg. All that being said, this piano piece retains the vigorous exuberance of more classical Mazurkas.

Songs for my grandchildren, Psalm Offering 4 Opus 8

Sydney, dancing at her cousin, Joan’s wedding.

Psalm Offering 4: This song is in 5/4 time. Of all the 6 songs, this is the most challenging in terms of piano technique and rhythm. It is composed as a Nocturne, meant to evoke peace and tranquility.

There is a harmonic ostinato pattern (a repeated pattern of rhythm and harmony) in the left hand. The right hand plays variations of the melody above that ostinato pattern. It is written in Rondo form, melody 1, melody 2, melody 1, melody 3, melody 1, Coda (ending).

Songs for my grandchildren, Psalm Offering 3 Opus 8

(from left to right): Owen, Alyssa, Aidan, and Sydney after the wedding rehearsal for their cousin, Joan Wagner.

Psalm Offering 3: This is where the Psalm Offerings begin to be more challenging to play. The first challenge is the changing meter from 6/8 meter to 3/4 meter, back to 6/8 meter. The second challenge is the subdivision of beats in the 6/8 meter. The song begins in a fast 6/8 time with measures alternating between a measure of 6/8 with the 1^st and 4^th beats accented, followed by a measure with the 1^st, 3^rd, and 5^th beats accented, e.g. 123456/123456 This segues into a middle section of slower 3/4 time. Melody 1 returns in the faster 6/8 time.

Songs for my grandchildren, Psalm Offering 2 Opus 8

(from left to right): Owen, Alyssa, Andy, Aidan

Psalm Offering 2: This song is a little more complicated, but still fairly simple. The “Alberti Bass”, a left hand accompaniment pattern used frequently by the Classical period composers, e.g. Mozart and Haydn, is very repetitive and played with ease. The song is written in Rondo form: melody 1, melody 2, melody 1, melody 3, melody 1.

Songs for my grandchildren, Psalm Offering 1, Opus 8

My grandchildren (from left to right): Cody (a cousin), Alyssa, Sydney, Owen, Aidan (missing, Oliver)

My grandchildren are my delight and my joy! For Christmas, I composed six songs for piano for my grandchildren: Alyssa, Owen, Aidan, Sydney, and Oliver. I have been giving piano lessons to Owen and Aidan and my initial intent was to compose piano music they could play at their level of competence. The first two songs fit into that category, and then, I got carried away composing music that was beyond their present playing level. The excuse I give is that eventually if they practiced, they will be able to play at this level of competence.

With the exception of the last song, all of the songs are dedicated to all my grandchildren. I figure that way they are not stuck with a song dedicated to them that they might not like.

Psalm Offering 1: This is the most rudimentary of the 6 piano compositions. For those of us who remember beginning band, this would be the “Hot Cross Buns” piece of the 6. This both Owen and Aidan can play with ease. It is in simple 3 part A-B-A form.

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.

Epiphany a time of “a-HA” moments in life

In common usage, having an “epiphany” is one of those “a-HA!” moments when a person has a sudden insight or revelation. On this Solemnity of the Epiphany we celebrate the insight of the wise men who bestow the presence of the Christ, the anointed One of God, in a most unlikely place, a barn, and in the form of a baby boy. The shepherds had a similar experience when they went to the same barn the night of Jesus’ birth. How as the recurring story of these epiphanies of the shepherds and Magi reveal the epiphanies in our lives? Epiphanies, like those of the shepherds and the Magi, often come as a surprise to us. They are suddenly there. We recognize them for what they are. And, just as we begin to wrap our minds around what has happened to us, they quickly leave us pondering about what they mean, just like Mary.

Who has led us to these epiphanies? The angels led the shepherds to the Christ. The Star led the Magi. Who has led us? In my life, it has been my children. I have encountered the presence, the mystery, and the wonder of God in the birth of my children. I have encountered the same at the deathbed of my sister, Mary, and the deathbeds of those to whom I have ministered over 41 years. I have heard the epiphany in a single chord in an orchestral piece, and recently in a piano piece I composed in memory of my unborn grandchild who died as a result of a miscarriage.

How have we in what we have said, or done, or lived our lives led others to a real encounter with the mystery of God? On this feat of the Epiphany, these are good questions for us to ponder, just like Mary did 2000 years ago.

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