Great literature is filled with the quests of people. These quests sometimes thrust unwelcomed upon humans who seek only the bland and mundane, or the unwilling who flee from quests as if they were the bubonic plague. And, there are those who eagerly seek out adventure, quests merely a way of life.
You, my love, are among the latter, your fate sealed fifty years ago today, when you reached out took my arm in your arm and we set out into that cold, driving rain on that 29th of May.
We were a couple driven by a single purpose, the life fulfilling quest of growing our lives together, a quest of mythological dimensions. With the tenacity of Odysseus, nothing could stop us in our quest. Poverty, homelessness, and illness, modern times’ Sirens, Hydra, and Cyclops tried … and failed.
We grew our lives together and in doing so, grew four more lives as beautiful and as mysterious as our own.
So here we are, fifty years later, our bodies no longer as nimble as our younger selves of yore. My body, pieced together with spare parts like an old beater of a car that teens drive until it falls apart. Your body, hampered by fractures waiting to heal.
As with Odysseus, this is just a mere pause, a respite from our adventure, in which bodies heal, and rest provided until once more, we venture forth into the greater quest that still beckons to us that still waits to be fulfilled.
You remain as vibrant and beautiful as the girl with whom I fell in love fifty years ago. And, I, marvel at how Fortune has blessed me. I thank God every time you reach out and willingly take my arm as together we walk into the future that awaits us.
This reflection is not an endorsement of the HBO series, The Game of Thrones. There is much within the series the viewer will find objectionable. There is a lot of explicit violence, salacious nudity, cursing, and behavior that will shock the viewer. I am not to be numbered among the ardent fans who have followed this series over a period of 8 years, for precisely the reasons stated in the third sentence of this paragraph. However, as difficult as it may be to view this series, there is much to be gained by viewing it if you watch it as an allegory of human society, not only in the fantasy world of Westeros, but presently in our own nation and in our own world.The following is my reflection on what stood our for me as I watched the series.
I have spent much of my early life reading the literary legends of human history, e.g. The Canterbury Tales, The Decameron, The Tales of Beowulf, Homer’s Iliad and The Odyssey, The Peloponessian War, the Divine Comedy of Dante (Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso), Paradise Lost. Many of these are brutal in detail about the inhumanity and folly of the human race. I have been a great fan of the fantasy worlds of Tolkien, and C.S. Lewis, Ursula LeGuin, Anne McCaffrey’s dragon world of Pern, the Mars series by Edgar Rice Burroughs, and many more. Having studied human history and the religious history of the Dark Ages through the Renaissance, read Machiavelli’s “The Prince” (in high school much less), and the horror that the Borgia family, Caesar and Lucretia, and the popes of that family perpetrated upon their world, in addition to the political and religious violence of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England, entering into George RR Martin’s fictional world of Westeros was not much of a stretch.
Ruthie and I finished watching Games of Throne last night.
Unlike others, I was not disappointed with the ending. What will be more
interesting is how George R R Martin will conclude his series of books upon
which the television series is based.
As one who has studied world history, the violent brutality of the series is hardly farfetched. The true reality of intrigue and politics of the royal courts of real human history make the brutal exihibition of violence in the series seem like child’s play.
The portrayal of rival religions inflicting untold horror upon
non-believers is nothing to the real history of world religions torturing,
burning at the stake, slow dismemberment of humans (e.g. The Spanish
Inquisition) all in the name of God. The Faithful Militant is nothing compared
to the English Oliver Cromwell who butchered and killed many innocents in the
name of Jesus Christ. The red witch’s burning people alive to purify them for
the god of light, is nothing compared the the Christian Churches penchant for
burning people at the stake, including St Joan of Arc, to purify the world for
God. We are still butchering people in the name of God, whether it be in a mosque
in New Zealand, a aynagogue in San Diego, or Christian Orthodox churches in
Syria.
Much has been made of the salacious treatment of women as sex objects in the series (could there be any more brothel scenes?). However, we have only to be attentive of the disparaging and patronizing treatment of women in our present culture, from the evidence of the Me Too movement to the recent slate of legislation against women passed by male dominated legislatures, and the role of women in world religions, to see that women are still only meant to be seen, preyed upon, used sexually and discarded, rather than be heard and have an influence impacting our culture, our religions, and our world. The series treatment of women as commodities reveals in cold, brutal truth the reality in which women are held in our world today.
What I enjoyed the most in the series was the portrayal of strong women characters (I am likely to get their names misspelled here). Brutal and failed as a person Cirsei was, she was up against many threats from the many powerful males and one particular female around her and persevered. There was a little bit of the real Queen Elizabeth I in the way she schemed her way in life. Daenerys, as shamefully treated as she was, overcame great odds and rose to be a powerful ruler. It’s just too bad she descended into madness, though, that was projected as likely to happen early on in the series. Sansa went from a frightened wall flower raped by men in body, mind and soul to a woman of great strength and wisdom. Arya, a little child, who through adversity became a most formidable face changing assassin. Brienne, a woman of integrity and skill besting the best of men on their own terms. Melisandre, the red witch, flawed as she was, ultimately gave of herself for the common good. Yara Greyjoy, fierce in loyalty and battle, and the list goes on and on.
The only two male characters I found as fascinating as the women were Tyrion, the dwarf, and Varys, the eunuch. Like the female characters mentioned above, these two men, had the odds stacked against them, and used their gifts of intelligence to rise to prominence. Though they made many mistakes, somehow, they were able to admit the mistakes and maintain their personal integrity.
Ultimately for me, the series ended up being a lens through which to reflect on the world in which I live. We may have sanitized our killing, chemical weapons to lethal injections, out bloodletting not as visceral as slitting throats, and chopping off heads. However, the brutality of human nature has not changed much from that of our ancestors in the distant past and in our present time.
The golden rule present in all world religions continues to be ignored and dismissed by many who belong to those religions. As a Christian, we have yet to live Jesus’ command to “love one another as I have loved you.” As brutal and difficult to watch, the Game of Thrones is an allegory of our present day human society and reveals, that for all our boasts of how human society has improved, human society has not evolved much at all. Amidst the dim flickering of goodness in the human psyche, the darkness of the human heart still prevails.
Ruth’s high school graduation photograph. Life was very controlled at St Bernard High School on Rice Street, St Paul back in 1969. Graduation photos were taken only by approved photographers. Note Ruthie’s hair length. The hair code at St Bernard’s dictated the length of hair for both females and males. In some ways it was a very repressive learning environment. On the other hand, with few choices, life was quite simple. So, while at school the girls wore their uniform skirts at a certain length, the minute they hit Rice Street, they would roll and pin the skirts way above the knee.
The 50th anniversary about which this post is about is NOT our wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of our first date, May 29, 1969. During the school week, Ruthie lived with her Uncle Harold and Aunt Ev on Marion Street, about 3 blocks from St Bernard’s. Every now and again, on the weekend, she would go home to the family farm in Scandia, Minnesota.
The weather that May 29th was very rainy and cool, much like the weather we have been experiencing of late. There were no real shopping malls at that time (the only one I knew was Har Mar Mall by my house). If you wanted to see a movie, you drove downtown St Paul.
I remember knocking on the door of her Aunt and Uncle’s house. She opened it and I was so taken by how beautiful she was. Her hair smelled of Herbal Essence. We drove downtown St Paul and went to see the movie, Charly, starring Cliff Robertson (previous to this film, he played John F Kennedy in the movie, PT 109). It was a good film, a bit bittersweet. And, no, I didn’t kiss her on the first date. I was just ecstatic taking her out on a date. After all, I was merely a junior in high school and she was a senior. I could not believe the incredible fortune I had in her saying yes to going out on a date with me. I didn’t want to do anything that would prevent future dates. I, also, had and to this day have only the greatest respect for her.
The poster for the movie. It was based on the book, “Flowers For Algernon.”
Here is the poem I wrote about that night.
FIRST DATE
Pouring down rain drenching the night as I climb the steps to your home. With one knock, light from within greets me, and there you stand, the scent of herbal essence from your hair, your brown eyes looking deep into my soul. You bid farewell to your Aunt and Uncle, open the screen door and step outdoors. The drenching rain suddenly frozen in time as your hand touches mine and you laugh, aware of the secret I have hidden deep within.
Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid. (John 14:27)
FEAR. Of all the weapons in the world, fear is the greatest
of them all. Throughout human history, fear has been used to inflict horrific
atrocities on groups of people. Wars and the genocide of peoples are all
products of fear. Unscrupulous politicians manipulate and prey on the fears of
people to get votes. It matters not what
political ideology or party to which they belong.
There are healthy fears, for example, look both ways before
crossing a street to avoid getting hit by a car. Or, don’t accept rides from
strangers. Each and everyone of us has something we fear, be it spiders, snakes,
heights, enclosed spaces to name just a few. The Church has used the fear of
Hell to prod us into being good. It was a favorite teaching tool of my 2nd
grade teacher, Sr. Angeline, who believed that if we were not willing to go to
heaven voluntarily, she would scare us into heaven.
However, fears can paralyze us. I remember, shortly after
911, attempting to assist a woman paralyzed by her fear of terrorists. She
refused to leave her home for fear that a terrorist would kill her. It mattered
not explaining that it was highly unlikely a terrorist would target a
southwestern suburb of Minneapolis, much less her as a victim. She was so
consumed by fear that she eventually needed hospitalization.
Jesus tells his disciples and us that if we are
one with him and the One who sent him, we
have nothing to fear. If we truly believe in him and love as he loves, our
fears will neither possess nor paralyze us. Paul expresses this in his letter
to the Romans. “What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or
distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword? No,
in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us. For I
am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor
present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any
other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus
our Lord.” (Romans 8: 35-39). Jesus’
message is clear. Be not afraid.
I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have
loved you, so you also should love one another. Jn 13:34
These words of Jesus to his disciples are from the Last
Supper discourse (chapters 13 through 17) of John’s Gospel. Having just washed
the feet of the disciples, Jesus teaches them one last time before he goes to
be arrested, tortured, and executed. I urge all to read and reflect on the
teaching that Jesus presents in these chapters. Jesus doesn’t instruct his
disciples to revenge his death. He orders them to love. If they love him, they
MUST love one another as he has loved them.
Jesus commandment to love one another is not just isolated
to John’s Gospel. Paul writes in his 1st letter to the Corinthians
(chapter 13) that we can be the most gifted of speakers; we can prophesy and
possess the knowledge of the universe; we can have faith that will move
mountains, but, if we do not have love, we are worthless. In his 1st letter, John writes
that we must love not just in word but in action. “Beloved, if God so loved us (that he sent us his Son), we also
must love one another.”
Our lives have
only one purpose, to love as Jesus loved.
Our home and family, our community, our places of work are nothing more than
one grand classroom in which we learn to love. This assignment is not for
sissies or the weak. For Jesus calls us to love not only when it’s easy and
convenient, but to love when it is hard to love. We must love our enemies and
pray for those who persecute us.
Even though we
will never love as perfectly as Jesus loved; even though we may fail to love
time and time again, we must continue to persevere and never quit practicing
how to love. Every morning offers us another opportunity to love as Jesus
loved.
Fr Richard Rohr
states that Christianity must be more than just another organized religion. IT
MUST BE A WAY OF LIFE. In a world filled with such great suffering there is no place
for those who say they believe in Jesus as their own personal savior but are
warlike, greedy, racist, selfish and vain. We will only be known as Christians in
the way we love.
Ruth and our firstborn, Andy, in our little home on the Southern Minnesotan Prairie.
In the Spring of 2011, it was time to get my left hip replaced. Genetics (I was told by an Irish Aunt that I inherited the Swedish genes for bad joints), along with a horrific head-on collision in 2002 greatly accelerated the replacement of that hip. In April of 2011, I had to have the femur nail removed from my left hip (a souvenir of the car accident). That was a complicated recovery. Finally, in mid June of 2011 I had the hip replaced only to find within a week I had a MRSA infection. Long story short, the infection never went away and in the beginning of August I had to have the artificial hip removed. Since, I was allergic to the majority of antibiotics that kill MRSA (Vankamycin shut down my kidneys), it took the contagious disease doctor a while to find a combination of antibiotics that would kill the MRSA infection. In the meantime, I would have to go in for more surgery to drain the infection, a total of 4 surgeries on the same spot. Since I had no hip during this time, with the aid of a walker, I hopped around the house, from bed to bathroom, bathroom to my chair, chair to bathroom, and so on. I was without a hip from the beginning of August to the end of January 2012, when I received the second hip.
It was Christmas 2012, I was on medical leave from church ministry, and I didn’t know what I could give my beloved Ruth for a Christmas present. I ended up doing two things: 1) shaved my mustache (she always hated that mustache), and 2) I began writing poems about our courtship, our wedding, and the family we created together. I called that first installment of poems, “The Book Of Ruth”. I combined those early poems with some photos of Ruth and I and our kids, made a PDF of it and sent it to my daughter-in-law, Olivia to print and put into a binder to give to Ruth for Christmas. Since that Christmas in 2011, I have continued to compose poems for Ruthie and add them to the collection.
Two of the poems I have placed here cover the early part of our marriage. The first is about the time in which my teaching position had been cut, and we were homeless with a 1 1/2 year old son, and a newly born son. The second about how we coped with little money, and still managed to court one another. The third from a more recent time. Ruthie is an RN and has worked the night shift as a nurse from the time our fourth child was born. That way she could be home with the kids during the day, and I would be home with the kids throughout the night and get them off to school. Many times, as she would be walking in the door, I would be going off to work. And, when I would be coming home at night after a 12 hour day (church work goes from morning to evening), she would be leaving to go to work.
Ruth and our second born son, Luke, dancing at her brother’s wedding.
AT HOME WITHOUT A HOME
The semi-trailer sits at the farm, a gift from your dad, holding everything we own, except some of our clothes, and that of our sons, and Pampers. Homeless, my pride beaten down, humility or is it humiliation, it’s master. Your pride is not a self-consuming passion, the first of an ever-growing realization that I’m not the educator of our family but a merely a student learning at your feet. Your pride is measured in our sons, in our marriage, our homelessness not a defeat, but a mere fact. Your own family’s past, family falling upon family during times of difficulty and duress, defines what is important. Shuffling between families’ homes an inconvenience of love, not acts of desperation. As long as we and our sons are together no longer is home narrowly defined to structures above or below ground, but only defined by relationship. You are at home in our homelessness.
(c) 2012, “The Book Of Ruth”, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
Ruth and our third born daughter, Meg.
THE COURTING NEVER ENDS
Two weeks before we share our vows, in my Miller Hospital x-ray scrubs, I sit, a lull in the activity of the morning exams with Helen, a fellow wheel chair jockey. Closely she examines me, “Do you want to have a happy marriage?” I nod in affirmation. “Do you know the secret?” “No,” slips quietly from my lips, “Do you want to know?” “Yes, of course.” Her eyes flash behind her glasses, accentuating her words, “The courting never ends. The courting never ends.”
She reads the puzzlement that paints my face, with exclamation points behind each word she emphasizes, “You must never stop dating your wife.” Stories of Friday night steak dinners, with her deceased lover of many years, during a shared lifetime peppered with want and plenty. Her words repeated until locked in my subconscious, our brief, intense encounter interrupted by the needs of another hospital patient.
I sit here with you on our date night, our baby in a high chair, our two very young sons at their places around the small rectangular table in our kitchen. Two Dairy Bar pizzas, a pepperoni for the boys, the supreme for you and me, Gerbers for the baby, a poor substitute for steak on a Friday night, but one meal you will not cook, just enjoy. Date night is not what it once was, but our love requires some small gesture, even in poverty, of just being with each other, two lovers with the evidence of their love around them, enjoying a piece of locally made pizza, with the words of an old German x-ray aide echoing from long before, “The courting never ends. The courting never ends.”
(c) 2015,”The Book Of Ruth”, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
Ruth and our fourth born daughter, Beth.
AT 2 AM – A POEM FOR RUTH
Quietly you enter, and with feline stealth, pick your way through the darkness of our bedroom. My senses, honed over the years like radar to hear the pings of children’s cries, pukey wretching, and troubled hearts and spirits detects you as you silently remove your clothing, the wisp of your nightgown falls with a slight breeze over your outstretched arms, you slip within the sheets. “Are you sick?” I quietly ask, as I turn my warm body to embrace the coolness of yours. “They were overstaffed,” you softly reply, and I slip contentedly back to sleep, our marriage bed complete.
(c) 2015, “The Book Of Ruth”, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
Ruthie, 2016, Photograph by Olivia Wagner
Last but not least, I have composed much music dedicated to this incredible woman. For our wedding, I composed a song. Over the years, the song got lost, but I remembered the melody vividly. In the Spring of 2016 as the anniversary of our first date drew near (May 29th), I reset that melody into a new piano composition and then gave it to Ruth. I would like to say that she remembered that song from our wedding. However, many years had passed since our wedding, a little over 41 years at that time, and it sounded brand new to her. Granted, I did add a middle section to the song that wasn’t there in the original.
The primary melody retains
the great passion I feel toward Ruth. It starts simply in the lower register
like one lover expressing his love to his intended. It is restated in the
higher register, his lover reciprocating his affection than moves to a middle
section where the couples love for each grows until the primary melody returns
in chordal octaves, a passionate expression of love consummated, then peace as
the lovers begin life together.
The middle section is the
dance of the couple as they work, have children, raise their children, and the
demands of life attempts to pull them in all directions. However, in the midst
of the hustle and bustle of that dance, the love and the passion the couple
have for one another does not fade as the primary melody is joined into the
dance.
The song concludes to a simple restatement of the love that began many years before, intact, and filled with nothing but gratitude of a life together. Here is the song.
A Song For Ruth, Psalm Offering 3 Opus 6 (c) 2016, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.Our children: Luke, Andy, Meg, and Beth, 2013. Photograph by Olivia Wagner.
The fourth Sunday of Easter is usually designated “Good
Shepherd” Sunday. Over the three year cycle of readings during Easter, we often
hear Jesus speak about his role as the Good Shepherd of humanity. He is the one
who will leave his flock to go look for the lost sheep. He is the one ready to
lay down his life for his sheep. He identifies those qualities that make a good
shepherd and warns us not to follow those shepherds who would abandon their
sheep to the wolves.
Universally for Christians, Jesus is the Shepherd of all humanity. Roman Catholic Christians will assign the Pope the role of Shepherd of the Church. Cross denominationally, most Christians will see the pastors of their parishes as their shepherds. It is a mistake to isolate only the ordained as being shepherds. Historically in the Christian Church, and recently within our own Archdiocese, there are some we assumed to be our Good Shepherds who have been revealed instead to be wolves dressed in shepherd’s clothing.
Baptized into Christ, we were intimately joined to Jesus,
the Good Shepherd. The DNA of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is a major part of our
own DNA. St Paul writes that when we put on Christ at our baptism, our bodies were
absorbed within the Body of Jesus. Our bodies are His Body. It is the breath of
Jesus we breath. His blood flows within our veins. As the living and breathing
Body of Christ on this earth, we are all called to be Good Shepherds to one
another. As Good Shepherds, we are to love, to support, to guide, to protect,
and to provide for the needs of all humanity, who are the flock of Jesus.
Under this umbrella of Jesus the Good Shepherd, parents, be
Good Shepherds to your children. Children, be Good Shepherds to your parents,
and, brothers and sisters. Within our parish, priests, deacons, parish staff be
Good Shepherds to your parishioners. Parishioners, be Good Shepherds to your
priests, deacons and parish staff. Within our community, neighbors, be Good
Shepherds to those in your neighborhood. For our mayor, and all occupying
responsibilities within our city (council members, employees, police,
firefighters, EMTs) be Good Shepherds to those you are called to serve.
Citizens be Good Shepherds and fulfill your civic responsibilities to those who
serve you. This is what we do as Good Shepherds.
Over the past two weeks, we have had 2 more shootings of students at American schools, one at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte, and another at Stem Schools in Colorado. Just prior to that gun violence, a Jewish synagogue was attacked by another gunman. In all three attacks, 3 people died by throwing themselves in the line of gunfire to save the lives of those around around them. The time for strict licensing for gun ownership and gun control is now, before many other innocents get massacred.
A threnody is a song of lament. I began composing the music heard here on February 15, 2018, the day after the horrific slaughter of students at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. It is meant to be a prayer of lamentation for the many men, women, and children who have been massacred by assault weapons in the United States. The little to no response from the manufacturers of those weapons or the NRA other than to arm more people with the same weapons, in my opinion, make these groups complicit in the murders of these innocent people.
This scriptural passage from the Book of Wisdom is what I used as an inspiration for the music I composed here.
But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died and their departure was thought to be a disaster, and their going from us to be their destruction; but they are at peace. For though in the sight of others they were punished, their hope is full of immortality. Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good, because God tested them and found them worthy of himself; like gold in the furnace he tried them, and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them. In the time of their visitation they will shine forth, and will run like sparks through the stubble. They will govern nations and rule over peoples, and the Lord will reign over them forever. Those who trust in him will understand truth and the faithful will abide with him in love, because grace and mercy are upon his holy ones, and he watches over his elect. (Wisdom 3)
Four images were prominent in my mind as I composed this music and reflected in the four sections of this song.
The first image is that of the many feet walking in cemeteries, over these many years of gun violence, to bring their dead loved ones to be buried. The countless children from the wee ones to college students, girlfriends and boyfriends, fiancés, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers indiscriminately slaughtered at school, universities, movie theaters, shopping malls, places of businesses, even Fort Hood.
The second image is that of the relentless chaos of the shooting. People scattering everywhere to escape the hail of bullets, bodies slaughtered left and right by the gunfire. The look of disbelief and horror on the faces of the dead, the dying, and the wounded as they lie where they have been slaughtered.
The third image is that of the victims’ loved ones visiting
the graves of those they lost. The utter senselessness of their deaths. The
cutting off of their lives before they could even begin to live.
The fourth image is that of the heavenly peace of the victims, held in the loving arms of the God who created them.
The form of the song is ABAC.
A Threnody For Those Massacred By Gun Fire, Psalm Offering 3 Opus 9. (c) 2018 by Robert C Wagner. All rights reserved.
Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger,
you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted;
but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands,
and someone else will dress you
and lead you where you do not want to go.”
He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God.
And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.” (John
21:18-19)
These words of Jesus to Peter in the Gospel this weekend
spoke volumes to me as I reflected on my 42 years of church ministry. In many
ways, doing church ministry often required me to go where I never intended on
going, and doing ministry I never thought I would ever do. I expressed this in
the following bulletin article announcing my retirement from active ministry on
June 30th this year.
“On August 31, 1977, I began ministry in the Archdiocese of St Paul
and Minneapolis at St Wenceslaus. Mondays through Fridays I taught K-8 music,
and Saturdays and Sundays I led the music for all the liturgies. God moves in
mysterious ways, and he took me with him on the journey. As I reflected over
these 42 years, much has happened in my life. I
graduated with a Masters Degree in Pastoral Studies (St Paul Seminary, 1989). I
was ordained a permanent deacon (September, 1994). I studied and became a
certified spiritual director (2005), did Spanish immersion (summer, 2006). I
have served in small town/rural churches, large suburban parishes, and urban
parishes. I was assigned the parish life administrator in an inner city
pastor-less parish in South Minneapolis. I have baptized many babies, witnessed
many marriages, and have done many funerals and burials in both English and
Spanish. I have ministered to many in prison, ate with and provided assistance
and spiritual support to the homeless, to families of the gay community, to
many Mexican and Ecuadorian families, to former felons, to families who have
experienced divorce and suicide, and to women and children who have been
physically, sexually and emotionally abused, and, they, in turn, have
ministered to me. I have been the liturgist and liturgical musician for major
bishops’ meetings and regional and national conferences, and formed a wonderful
friendship with a future saint, Sr Theo Bowman (presently in the process of
canonization). I have served on Archdiocesan commissions and led the
Archdiocesan Deacon Council. God has a way of leading us to places we would
otherwise not go and doing things we would otherwise not do. Little did I know
in 1977, the adventures, the joys, the wonders, the sorrows, the frustrations,
the disappointments, and the tragedies I would experience in ministry. Now,
after much soul searching and consultation with my family, my spiritual
director, and our pastor, Fr Kevin, I made the hard decision to retire this
past Holy Thursday. At the 7pm celebration of the Lord’s Passion at St
Wenceslaus, all the experiences, feelings, and burdens of church ministry of
the past 42 years I laid at the foot of the cross of Jesus as I venerated the
cross. On his 60th birthday, Fr Henri Nouwen observed that the number of years
he had left to live were far fewer than the years he had lived. A new chapter
in my life will begin on July 1, 2019 in which I will come to know what other
surprises God has planned for me.”
A life of following Jesus is one of surrendering yourself to God. I remember my dad asking me after the first 4 years of church ministry, “When are you going to get yourself a real job?” It was not a criticism on the part of my dad. He was worried that Ruth, our two kids and I were living below the poverty line, requiring us to sell our jewelry and get food stamps to get by week to week. Churches are notorious for not paying a living wage. When our fourth child was born, Ruth had to go back to work as nurse in order for us to make ends meet. Even when things were economically bleak, we trusted in God to help us get by, to find me scholarships to pay for graduate school, to provide me a car when the old beaters I drove died on bitterly cold Minnesotan nights in winter.
At one time or another in our lives, we will be required to be like Peter and the other disciples and let God lead us where we are needed the most. And, so, as I enter into retirement I think of Jesus’ last words in the Passion of Luke, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” This is more than just a sentiment for those of us who are Christian, it is a way of life.
