Worth Doing

“If a thing's worth doing it's worth doing badly.” ~~G.K. Chesterton

Today they buried my friends, Rose and Dave. In spite of how violently they died, how much publicity the crime has received, and how packed the church was, it was a solemn, beautiful Mass of Christian burial followed by full military honors for Dave who retired from the Air Force after 24 years. The Freedom Riders turned out in large numbers to line the street with flags and stand at attention for the salute and playing of Taps.

The weather also cooperated. It’s a perfect spring day here in Oklahoma—the sun’s shining, there’s a crisp breeze and yet it’s still not too hot.

So why the quote?

The funeral was lovely, a fitting tribute to my unforgettable friend, Rose and her devoted husband—all anyone could have asked for and more.

This morning as I was getting ready to go, I felt so strangely at peace, more so than I’ve been since I first heard the awful news. I knew without a doubt I was supposed to be a Communion minister today. I’ve never been a Communion minister at a funeral before; very often they don’t need extraordinary ministers, especially not when you have two priests and a deacon presiding as was the case today. When one is required, usually it’s the Mass Coordinator. But somehow, it just seemed right. Rose was the one who told me I could bring Holy Communion to the homebound years ago when I couldn’t fathom such an honor.

“But what if I mess it up?” I think I probably asked her back then.

“How will they know?!” She probably answered. I can just imagine her thinking, “Silly rabbit! Stop worrying and just bring them Communion! These sick people need your help. Perfectionists! Yeesh!”

She gave me a pyx, a book of prayers, a bunch of holy cards and sent me on my way. I was hung up on doing things “right”. Rose didn’t worry about that so much. Oh sure she tried to follow the big rules so far as they went. But she was more about visiting the person, seeing that each sick friend—and anyone in a hospital bed was her friend, whether she knew them or not—had Communion if they were Catholic, and magazines, candy, fast food or whatever else she could smuggle into the hospital, if they weren't.

Today I was the only lay extraordinary minister at my friend’s funeral. This morning, I told her that if it was God's Will, I'd really like to do it. I guess it was. Anyway, like so many other things I know I’ve done, it was worth doing—however I did it—because it wasn’t about me. None of it is about us, which is why it doesn’t matter so much how well we do it, but the love we put into it. Rose—and God—know how much her gifts meant to me over the years. Oh sweet Lord, let me be a ‘Rose’ for others.

And now she gave me another gift by helping me discover the courage to do something else I’ve never done. Thank you dear friend. One of the most beautiful things about getting older and losing dear ones is that it makes your own death less scary. Each time I can count one more soul ‘over there’ to welcome me when it’s my turn. Not such a bad thing when you think about it.

Thank you God for letting me be Catholic. Help me keep on ‘doing it’...however badly.

For Rose

Today I am staying home and remembering a friend who died Wednesday night at the hands of her sixteen year old grandson. She was 57, just a few years older than me. I‘ve known Rose almost since we arrived here in Oklahoma in 1998 when my husband was still on active duty in the Air Force and we were members of the Tinker Catholic Parish of St. Francis of Assisi.

Rose got me started in the hospital ministry, visiting and bringing Holy Communion to the sick and dying. I was in a lot pain myself at the time—my psoriatic arthritis was years away from diagnosis and treatment—and Rose helped me find the inner confidence to minister to those more ill than myself.

Rose always ran circles around me in terms of what she could do. She was brash and sometimes loud. Although she rubbed some people the wrong way, she had a heart of gold and would help anyone in need. After my husband retired and we switched to an off-base parish, I saw Rose less but got to know her best friend, who later became my oldest daughter’s Religious Education teacher and Confirmation Sponsor. I kept up with Rose though her. We often got together as a group and went out to dinner after Saturday evening Mass.

The last time I really visited with Rose was at my daughter’s Graduation party. Rose never missed an opportunity to celebrate ‘family’. She believed in God, love and family. She believed in the young grandson¹ who brutally took her and her husband’s² lives two nights ago. This isn’t easy for me to get my mind much less my heart around today.

I think it’s going to take awhile ... to say the least. I have been crying off and on ever since I heard the news.

I have heard and in fact already know all the truisms about such tragedies.

“She’s in a better place.” Yes, I believe she is.

“She isn’t hurting anymore.” Yes, thank God!

“It doesn’t help to dwell on how she died.” No, it never helps to dwell on violence.

“Prayer is a great healer.” It truly is and I have been and am praying.

“You will see her again someday.” Yes, the best thing about our faith is that certainty of eternity with our God.

I'm not looking for answers or quick fixes or even anything to ease the pain. I don’t need to have everything fixed today. I don't need any answers, because anything easy I can think to say just sounds trite. Maybe I just need to remember my friend—as she was—with humble gratitude for the gift of her life and all she gave me; remember her and grieve.

Here’s to Rose ... and Dave

May you live forever with Him Whom you served.

With much love,




¹The grandson is in custody where hopefully he will stay. He needs our prayers more than anyone; however, he also needs to be physically restrained so that he cannot do anyone any more harm.

² I don’t mean to ignore Dave, Rose’s husband, in this post. It’s just that I didn’t know him as well as I did her. But I do know he was a very quiet, gentle man who loved her.

Now That You've Gone Home

The hand of God is usually unexpected—that’s how you know it’s His Hand. Well that’s been my experience anyway.

His trademark is quiet surprise: the friend who is standing in front of you just when you desperately need her; finding something you weren’t looking for but have been missing for months; the package arriving in the mail from someone you barely know.

Such was the case with this book and another sent by Julie Cragon over at Hand Me Down Heaven. One day I came home from work to discover I had two books from a ‘friend’ I didn’t know I had. Julie had gone to a book convention and she bought me this book and The Four Teresas, which I’ve loaned to another friend and have yet to read.

Now That You’ve Gone Home is a sweet, gentle book. It enfolds the grieving spirit like a warm comforter in a bright sunny room. I imagine myself reading it at a friend’s house who lives out in the country with floor-to-ceiling picture windows on both sides and a fire dancing before me. A white winter sky flecked with the bright color of birds flocking to the feeder. Snow drifted outside, yet I am cozy and snug, drinking a mug of something delicious, further soothed by the words of the kindest of spirit guides, Joyce Hutchison and Joyce Rupp.

Both authors have experienced profound tragedies in their own lives but it is from the anguish of their losses that their deep compassion blooms.

It is the book I wish I'd had when my brother died 19 years ago. It’s the book I will recommend to anyone now who loses someone dear. It begins with short chapters relating Joyce Hutchinson’s journey through the dark days after her husband’s death. Reading it brought out tenderness toward my own dear spouse I wish I practiced every minute of every day. It was a reminder of the brevity and preciousness of this life—ours and those we love.

After Joyce’s stories, the book moves on to a collection of other stories from parents, children, siblings, persons married and single, from all walks of life and how each dealt with the death of loved ones. There was every kind of death imaginable from old age to suicide to illness to horrible accident, as well as many different responses and coping methods on the part of those grieving. Each story chapter concluded with a meditation, prayer and affirmation for the day.

I can hardly imagine a better resource to give someone struggling with the aftermath of personal loss except—of course—a devoted friend and constant prayer.

Thank you Julie for your generous gifts! You blessed my life; may yours be blessed as well.

Pray for the Dead ... and the Living

The longer you work in or with a church—whether paid or volunteer —the more you come to realize the many sorrows everyone bears. The friend across from me laments a son with a drinking and drug problem, a husband who doesn’t believe in God all the while mourning the loss of the woman who was her mother figure. Another woman never married but cares for her dying brother; she was also there to see to all the needs of both parents in their last hours. A man lost his wife over ten years ago and yet still loves her and misses her as if it were yesterday. An elderly mother has buried three of her five children, a husband, all but two of her eight siblings and outlived most of her friends. Another woman lost her husband when he tried to stop a crime in progress and one of her two sons to an accident; she also lost five babies to still births and always dreamed of having a large family. Her only surviving son lives over in Europe and is approaching 40; she quietly accepts that she will never have grandchildren of her own and lavishes her love on the parish children.

Death. It’s all around us. So is sorrow and grieving. We aren’t supposed to be a grieving society. We are affluent America. We’re supposed to be happy. It’s what American parents reportedly desire for their children and for themselves—happiness. And we want it in this life; we even expect it. Our own Constitution tells us it’s our God-given ‘right’, or the pursuit of it is anyway. I’ve never had much luck with ‘pursuing’ happiness myself, but that’s another story.

Interestingly, those same people who have – and are – suffering so much are often the most joyful people I know. They aren’t always ‘happy’, but they are usually full of His Joy.

Last night I discovered another such soul, a woman I’ve seen and known by sight around my parish for years. And she asked an interesting question, a question I’ve given some thought to myself.

She wanted to know why we as Catholics pray for the dead. Her husband has been dead for years now and their six children apparently are offended by the fact that she still prays for him. Like their mother, they loved their Dad very much and believe he was a very good man. Their reasoning is, if ‘Dad’ was such a good man, isn’t it an insult to his memory to pray for him? Why not have faith in his good life—or if not in him, then in God’s all powerful mercy—that this good man will go straight to Heaven?

Well of course I did think of the Biblical argument that there is ‘no one good but God alone’ but decided not to go down that path. Scriptural debates are all well good in their place. This was a matter of the heart. And anyway, I knew why this woman was still praying for her husband and it had nothing to do with her beliefs about her husband’s soul or God’s mercy and it had everything to do with her undying love for him.

You see if you really love someone, that love doesn’t stop with death. It doesn’t end; it can’t. It goes on just as that person’s life goes on in eternity. So whether or not we may be aware of it, it’s our need to reach out to our loved one which is met through our prayer for that person. Of course this isn’t the Church’s theological reasons for prayers for the dead and those are certainly worth studying too. But in this case, I think my friend will have more success explaining to her children that she prays for her deceased husband because she loves him. She loved him so much and for so long, she couldn’t—can’t—just stop because he’s died. So now praying for him allows her to express those deep feelings.

And what about the prayers?

What about them? Well, they are surely from her heart, so they are good prayers. In fact, they are probably the very best kind of prayers in the entire world knowing the sweetness of this dear woman.

So, if in fact, her husband does need her prayers, so much the better.

And if he doesn’t? Doesn’t this world need prayer?

Is there any doubt?

Are prayers wasted? If you believe in an all-merciful and all-loving God, as I do, I think you know the answer to that question. He has plenty of use for such prayer.

Is there anyone you are grieving? Anyone you miss more than your own life? Pray for them and be consoled. If they need your prayers, you may bring them to the arms of God. If not, you will still bring YOU—and perhaps some of your hurting brothers and sisters here on this earth—there with you.

Pray. Pray. And Pray some more.

Sisters

“Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply...” ~Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, 1814

Recently I hugged a young woman at the funeral of her only sibling, a handsome sixteen year old cut down in the very prime of life. It was one of those funerals you hate to go to but you know you can’t miss. I hugged her harder and longer than I usually hug anyone. I told her about losing my only brother eighteen years ago when he was only 29. Although it wasn’t the same, it was the most devastating loss I’d ever experienced; I know what it is to lose a brother.

She asked me one question, “Was he your only sibling?” No, I had to admit honestly. He was my only brother, but I still have two sisters.

She was now an only child. I was wealthy by comparison.

Funny how difficult it is to see one’s family as a ‘treasure’ when you’re growing up; then siblings are rivals for finite resources, such as mom’s time, the favorite chair, or extra food, etc. Still I do remember a few lights shining through the fog where I saw—really saw—what a wonderful thing it is to have other souls who share the same parents and similar childhood memories.

But something that I value even more than the collective conscious is the sense of belonging that I share with my sisters. When we were younger we had our rivalries and jealousies. Especially intense were our competitions over grades and scholastic achievements. Both of my sisters made higher grades than I did and earned more awards and scholarships—much to my chagrin.

However, my one sister who never married struggled to overcome her own desires for family life and children. And my other sister who has two autistic sons had to learn not to blame herself for the boys’ disabilities. Both sisters suspected my life a little bit too perfect until our girls became teenagers and I recounted some of the trials inherent in mothering young women today. Is anyone’s life without bumps, pitfalls and obstacles? Isn’t it the challenges we face which make us who we are? Doesn’t character develop over the long term?

“Sisters is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship.” ~Margaret Mead

We just returned from a wonderful visit home where I was able to see both sisters and the rest of our family. The days of petty childhood differences are long gone. My single sister babysits for our autistic nephews. My youngest sister, Julie opened her beautiful home to us for the holiday and even waited up for us when we arrived late Tuesday night. My family is on one schedule due to college age kids; her family is on another time clock due to her boys’ special needs, but we worked it out.

Both of my sisters are amazing women. Patti recently finished her Masters in Pastoral Administration. She’s also a Master Gardener and she does triathlons. Julie has decorated her entire home herself—done the painting, wallpaper, curtains, made quilts and pillows for her son’s beds, does scrapbooking and lately has taken up miniatures as well! Pictured at the top is her entry for an upcoming competition. Hasn’t she done a nice job on this Jewelry Boutique?! I couldn't be more proud of my sisters' accomplishments if I'd actually done all of those things myself. I love them immeasurably. They are my dearest friends.

God bless you both!

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving. It was our best visit ‘home’ ever!

Thanks to everyone! We love you all so much!

“Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister.” ~Katherine Mansfield

"AND GOD SAID...."

I said, "God, I hurt."
And God said, I know."

I said, "God, I cry a lot."
And God said, "That is why I gave you tears."

I said, "God, I am so depressed."
And God said, "That is why I gave you Sunshine."

I said, "God, life is so hard."
And God said, "That is why I gave you loved ones."

I said, "God, my loved one died."
And God said, "So did mine."

I said, "God, it is such a loss."
And God said, I saw mine nailed to a cross."

I said, "God, but your loved one lives."
And God said, "So does yours."

I said, "God, where are they now?"
And God said, "Mine is on My right and yours is in the Light."

I said, "God, it hurts."
And God said, I know."

Posted on the wall at the
Oklahoma City bombing site
by K. C. and Myke Kuzmic
Stockton, CA

Cosmas or the Love of God

Usually the best books come from writers writing from their own personal experience. Usually religious vocations manifest themselves; if they don’t, the presumption is there never was one.

But what about the layman—grandfather and businessman—who writes a flawless classic on the monastic life? If I hadn’t just spilled the beans and you’d read Pierre De Calan’s Cosmas or the Love of God without reading my review or the book’s introduction, I promise, you’d think it had been written by someone who’d devoted his life to the Cistercian tradition. That the author was neither a Trappist, nor a priest, nor even a member of any religious order will surprise most readers, when you think about it—which you won’t do often as you're reading the book, I suspect.

So incredible books can come from those writing about subjects which presumably they have not experienced. Cosmas or the Love of God is a retrospective story about a young man who feels called to the Trappist way of life, enters the abbey and immediately begins to encounter problems. However, unlike most cases where pride or some other obvious sin or character defect make it easy for his superiors to send Cosmas on his way with the assurances that he was wrong, he does not in fact have a vocation, this case defies simple disposition. There's something else going on here, but what?

If books can be written under unusual circumstances by those we don’t normally expect to write on certain subjects, can’t vocations manifest themselves in ways not seen before? With God as Author, isn’t the realm of possibility bigger than we may have suspected?

Here is how the wise Father Abbot, Dom Philippe puts it near the end of the book:

“The vocation of a Bach or a Mozart seems to be beyond all question because of the wonderful music they produced. But in the sight of God, have they any more value than that of any other musician, without their talent and grace, who has heard the inner call and tried to answer it until death? Those who suffer from this gap between their aspirations and their attainments—and whom we cruelly call failures—are perhaps less deceived about their talent than we imagine. But in their eyes the sense of inadequacy, of getting nowhere, and their failures, do not relieve them of the responsibility to keep on trying, unweariedly though in vain ... Has not this kind of fidelity, sustained neither by dispositions nor success, an altogether special value—provided it really is fidelity to an inner voice and is not merely the result of pride or obstinacy? . . . Once more God reminds us that he knows infinitely more than we do … that he knows better than we do the way by which each one of us can find peace.” (pp.224-227)

A thoughtful and thought-provoking read—Cosmas or the Love of God is a quiet afternoon’s meditation on life and how to live well. A good gift for a young person discerning vocation!

The Edge of Sadness

My second installment in this trilogy devoted to Books About Priests, is Edwin O'Connor's, The Edge of Sadness. Even the title should warn you that this book is not for everyone. But if you are the type of reader who enjoys psychological mysteries, then I think you will find this study of the priesthood fascinating.

The Edge of Sadness is 646 pages of mostly thought and dialogue which spans the relatively brief time span of six months, occasionally taking retrospective forays back into the lifetime friendship of two middle-aged priests who grew up together.

The main character, Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, is the pastor of the down-and-out—and going nowhere—Old St. Paul's, a conglomerate parish which has seen better days and probably won't see them again. Father John Carmody, son of the infamous Charlie Carmody, one of the most hated Irish business shysters of his generation is the type-A pastor of a type-A parish, St. Raymond's, a place which functioned much like a hospital emergency room—as did many a big Eastern city Catholic parish of the 1960's era—that is, always running, often at top speed, and never closing its doors.

But the parishes only provide a backdrop for the story which really centers on Father Hugh and his relationship with the Carmody family: Charlie, the formidable patriarch; Hugh's best friend, John; Helen, his married sister and her family; Dan, the other brother who never could get his act together and Mary, Charlie’s caretaker and housekeeper.

The overarching mystery of the novel is why does Charlie—who never does anything to no avail—suddenly decide to start calling on Father Hugh, reminiscing about his so-called friendship with Hugh's long-dead father, who in fact knew Charlie for exactly what he was, a shrewd and self-motivated businessman who never did an unselfish act in his life? What is Charlie's game now? Even his own children are at a loss to explain his seemingly motiveless nostalgia. But as the story unfolds and we go deeper and deeper into the Carmody family, we sense the damage old Charlie has been wreaking, not only on his four adult children but on ‘friends’, clients, business associates and the city as a whole.

Not that I did it, but if you’re one of those who do, even reading the last page and/or chapter won’t ‘solve’ the mystery, although it is solved, I promise. For all its length and leisurely pace, The Edge of Sadness is one of the most satisfying books I have read in a long time, also one of the most insightful and thought-provoking. The vocation of the priesthood is viewed from the inside, without glamour or sentiment but as Real Life, sometimes happy and enjoyable, other times as living on ‘the edge of sadness’. But then what life isn’t?

Here are some additional links to book reviews I've written during this Year For Priests: The Diary of a Country Priest, Silence, Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau, and Love In A Fearful Land. They are all books about priests; the first two are fiction and the last two are biographies.

Three Books About Priests

With the Catholic priesthood under attack—yet again—I am going to devote my next three posts to three classic stories about priests. The first two deal with priests living in the world, so to speak. The last will address the monastic life and the whole issue/question of ‘vocation’, i.e., whether or not a person is called to a life of celibacy, poverty and obedience.

In the canonization process of the Roman Catholic Church, the ‘Promoter of the Faith’ popularly known as the ‘Devil’s Advocate’ is the priest whose job it is to argue against whoever has been proposed for sainthood. Morris West’s The Devil's Advocate takes place in late 1950’s or pre-Vatican II era, Calabria, Italy, the ‘toe of the boot’ for those not so familiar with Italian geography. During this time of apparent calm in Church history—the uneasy quiet before the storm unleashed by the many misunderstandings which grew out of the Second Vatican Council—the tiny hamlet town of Gemello Minore a-top a twin peaked mountain in one of the poorest areas of Southern Italy seems an unlikely place for a saint or miracles, but then God has a habit of using the most ordinary people and places to do the most extraordinary things.

Our devil’s advocate is dying and has been summoned by Rome for one last assignment. In the 1977 West German film version of the book—which I’ve only been able to read about but haven’t been able to obtain—the British actor, John Mills plays the terminal padre. In fact, Monsignor Blaise Meredith is a British Roman Catholic priest living in Rome and working as auditor to the Sacred Congregation of Rites, personal assistant to the prefect himself. Here West describes very poignantly how his protagonist, Meredith learns and reacts, in true stoic Anglo fashion, the news of his impending death: ‘He had been twenty years a priest, vowed to the affirmation that life was transient imperfection, the earth a pale symbol of the maker, the soul an immortal in mortal clay beating itself weary for release into the ambient arms of the Almighty. Now that his own release was promised, the date of deliverance set, why could he not accept it—if not with joy, at least with confidence?’ (pp.7-8)

From the Monsignor, we move to the village of Gemello Minore and its cast of characters: the dead martyr himself, the bishop who has proposed his ‘cause’, the local priest and his ‘housekeeper’, the Jewish doctor who has struggled for acceptance and understanding, the “saint’s” mistress and bastard teenage son, the aging heiress and her uneasy alliance with a rogue artist.

As Meredith proceeds with his investigation, each person must come to terms with secrets or disclosures which he or she might rather not—some like wounds long in need of dressing, others more like being led from darkness into bright sunshine—initially painful, but ultimately healing.

An engrossing read from start to finish both in terms of characterizations as well as a snapshot in time. I wouldn’t classify this as an exciting book, but rather as a thoughtful one; the plot is negligible and yet almost non-essential. However, what The Devil’s Advocate lacks in speed, it more than compensates for in depth and beauty.

Highly recommended as a fitting tribute to the priesthood for this Year For Priests.

forgetting what lies behind

Have you ever had a conversation with someone which was so good you were torn between hanging on every word and wanting to grab a pen or a tape recorder so that you could capture every word?

I just had such a conversation. I don’t want to forget it, but already so much of it is slipping away from memory. It was more than the meeting of minds or hearts—although it certainly was that—it was the communion of two souls. After Mass today I very much wanted to tell a lady from our parish who I know and like, but don’t know as well as I’d like to know, that I really appreciated her rendering of the Second Reading from Philippians. It’s a difficult selection and she is a superb lector, but today I could hear the Holy Spirit speaking through St. Paul’s words and her voice. It was a God moment.

Before I had a chance to tell her what I thought about her lectoring, we started talking about women, our need to give, the importance and gift of being able to receive, and special women we both know. Then in a very natural way, the conversation turned to the loss of her husband four years ago and her subsequent walk with grief.

This was not one of those conversations with a woman looking for sympathy. Rather it was the shared insight from a truly Wise Woman.

The husband she described sounded very much like my own husband—a wonderful man, loving, considerate, generous, hard-working, always thinking of others before himself. He used to take care of everything around the house, from doing the grocery shopping to scrubbing the bathroom floors. After he died, she would find herself on her knees scrubbing the floors crying ... thinking ... remembering. There are some things in the past which shouldn’t be forgotten.

But when he died she found her real spiritual work began. She needed to learn to develop in areas which she didn’t even know existed, where he’d been strong for her. It was this inner strength, this holy wisdom, this deep spirituality which I heard when she lectored. I drank it in.

I thought too about my own dear husband and felt a moment of panic, sheer terror actually, as I thought of my own potentially impending future, a time to come without him. What would I do? How could I go on?

She spoke of kind people—dear friends—wanting so desperately to help her in her bereavement and how she helped them in allowing them to help her. We both had tears in our eyes and few spilled over as well. She apologized to me! I felt privileged and honored that she would share her story with me.

We talked about judgments and she said how we are all taught to judge everything, from the weather, to people, to situations. But what a different perspective if instead of judging we choose to look at everything as an opportunity from God to grow. “What do you want me to gain from this O LORD?” And she said oh so much more…

Finally I did get to tell her how much I enjoyed and benefited from hearing her lector today, but by the time I did, I had already gained so much more, well … anyway, it made her happy. And for that LORD, I am truly grateful!

‘Remember not the events of the past,
the things of long ago consider not;
see, I am doing something new!’

Atticus

Atticus is both the book’s title and the name of the main character. Given the name’s connection to a famous novel, we are supposed to associate the ideal father in To Kill a Mockingbird with this father of two grown sons. Atticus is the modern day retelling of one of Jesus’ most beloved parables, The Prodigal Son, or as it is known in some circles today, The Loving Father. The focus of the first title being on the sins of younger son, whereas by changing the title the locus of the story shifts to that of the mercy shown by the all-compassionate father.

Without giving too much of the story away, Atticus is a widower with two sons. The older son, Frank, has obligingly remained close to his father, married, and produced grandchildren. The younger son, Scott, is a rebel. He comes home for a brief – but happy – visit at Christmas and then returns to Mexico where he lives his dissolute life. The next thing Atticus learns, Scott has committed suicide. Atticus flies south of the border to attend to his son’s personal affects and arrange to have his body returned to the United States. What he finds is nothing like what he expected.

I first encountered the author, Ron Hansen, in Mariette in Ecstasy and I was amazed by his insight and story-telling ability. Once again, he has produced a fine work of modern Christian fiction. Unfortunately it will fail to make many Christian book-of-the-month club selections due to some of the more unsavory aspects of human life which Mr. Hansen has chosen to portray. This is a loss, but only for those who refuse to read books because they are easily offended. I can assure sensitive readers that Mr. Hansen never goes out of his way to shock through excess, which is what I take exception to in so much of what masquerades as literature these days.

Although it could just be the locale, Atticus occasionally reminded me of Graham Greene’s 1940 novel, The Power and the Glory. I think it was a bit more than the sun-baked Mexican landscape that had me thinking of Greene’s whiskey priest, however. No doubt the younger son, Scott and his unsavory lifestyle, especially his unwillingness to give up his mistress, was reminiscent of Greene's character. Hansen’s writing, although not yet on par with Greene’s, is exquisite. His book goes down like a cool drink on a hot day.

I’ve always loved the Parable of the Prodigal Son, but then I expect most people do. It’s easy to see oneself and God in it, which is the purpose of all of Scripture. We are called to locate our sinful selves in the place of every sinner in the Bible. This parable has the redeeming quality of a visible, tangible, all-forgiving God who rushes out to meet us—despite what we actually deserve. In Hansen’s book, the father persists in loving his son despite circumstances and actions which seem to render him all but impossible to love. Oh but for such a father when we are similarly unlovable!

Here is a passage from Atticus which says it all:

‘She told him, "When I was in college I read a folktale about a father pursuing a son who'd run far away, from one world to the next. The father called to him, 'Please come back!' But his son looked across the great gulf between them and shouted to him, 'I can't go that far!' So his father yelled to his son, 'Then just come back halfway!' But his boy replied, I can't go back halfway!' And finally his father shouted, 'Walk back as far as you can! I'll go the rest of the way!'"’

Yes Lord, I’m walking … and looking for You! Please come the rest of the way!

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The Story of a Soul

As I’m writing this the State of Oklahoma could be executing Julius Young.

Tonight I went to my first ever execution vigil. No, it wasn’t down at the state capital. It was in our little Daily Mass Chapel at my parish. The prayer vigil was scheduled to begin at 5:30 which would bring things to a conclusion at 6 p.m. – just around when the execution was supposed to take place.

Everyone took turns reading from Scripture: the story of Cain and Abel, an eye for an eye, how many times must I forgive my brother? The lone candle in the center of the room was extinguished; there was one less light of Christ in the world. We concluded by singing “Amazing Grace”. Although we were a small group, one man had the most incredible voice. His could have been the voice we silenced, I mused.

Afterwards our little group lingered ... as if we didn’t want to leave the comfort of each other’s companionship. We all complimented the man with the incredible voice. Another man spoke up about his experience as the spiritual director for someone on Death Row. He and his wife had literally lived there for the last few months of a man’s life. We listened and learned about that person’s final few minutes on this earth; he was praying.

As I left the chapel I recalled a gift I’d received earlier in the day from my Confirmation saint, St. Thérèse. It’s been awhile since I’ve asked her for a rose but I needed one today and she gave me one, a very special and beautiful rose. I wasn’t expecting two.

Our book club is currently reading her autobiography, The Story of a Soul. In Chapter 5 of Story, Thérèse relates an incident about an impenitent murderer who she prayed for, begging God’s mercy in response to Jesus’ cry from the Cross, “I thirst” for souls. In response, the man gave a sign at the last moment which allowed her to know he had repented his sins. This increased Thérèse’s desire to bring more souls to her Jesus.

I saw her hand in my being at the prayer vigil. Please St. Thérèse, continue to rain your shower of roses down on us. And beg God’s mercy on us all! We are so much in need of it.

Sisters-in-Faith

Once upon a time many years ago a little girl was trying to select a Confirmation saint from among the many famous ... and infamous ... Catholic saints. She finally lighted on St. Thérèse de Lisieux or Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus because of her ‘Little Way’. Fast forward many years and that little girl gives birth to her own first child, a girl, on the Feast Day of The Little Flower of Jesus, as Thérèse is also known. Eighteen more years pass quickly by. The first little girl is middle-aged; her daughter on the threshold of womanhood. The mother thinks she has outgrown her childhood patron saint, so she has adopted a saint she feels suits her age and maturity, Thérèse's senior Carmelite sister, Santa Teresa de Jesus. But saints aren't so fickle as we silly humans. They don't abandon their spiritual children so easily.

I know. I'm that silly little girl who thought she outgrew Thérèse, as if anyone, no matter how old, could ever outgrow the ‘Little Way’.

Two weeks ago I embarked on a new job, more of a career actually. It was a job I'd been offered several times but kept turning down, first because I was still homeschooling my daughters and later because I still wasn't ready for full-time employment. Finally, I was asked a third time to consider this job. I did. It started on the 1st of October, the Feast day of St. Thérèse. That was my first rose. Every day since has been another rose from her ... no not all happiness, but Beauty. To walk the ‘Little Way’ doesn't mean you will travel in peace or comfort or without trouble; it only means you walk with Truth in the Light.

Today is the Feast day of St. Teresa of Ávila or Santa Teresa de Jesus, a doctor of the Church, sixteenth century reformer, who along with St. John of the Cross, was co-founder of the Discalced Carmelites. This was also my first day on my own in my new job. And yet, I knew I wasn't on my own. My two senior sisters-in-faith were there, watching over me. As I've said many times, I believe in the Communion of Saints. We are not alone. Death is not the end.

'Responding to your message'

Yesterday I got a message from my Senator who wrote—again—in reply to one of the many surveys, polls, letters, etc. I've sent expressing my commitment to Life from conception to natural death. Here is what he wrote:

'Dear Ms. Booklady:

Thank you for contacting me regarding abortion services in the debate on health care reform. As your voice in Washington, I appreciate being made aware of your concerns.

Throughout my service in public office, I have taken an ardent stand protecting the life of the unborn. I will continue to oppose all legislation supporting unrestricted abortion. Legalized abortion takes the lives of more than one million unborn children each year, robbing this nation of vast potential. Moreover, it destroys some of our nation's most cherished values: family, responsibility, and commitment.

As you know, the issue of federal and taxpayer funds being used to provide abortions has been raised during the current debate on health care reform. There is no explicit guarantee in any current proposals that public funds will not be used to pay for abortions or abortion-related services.

I am adamantly against the use of taxpayers' dollars for abortion or abortion referral services. The taxpayers should not be forced to subsidize abortion or programs that promote them. As the Supreme Court ruled in 1980 (Harris v. McRae), "Abortion is inherently different from other medical procedures because no other procedure involves the purposeful termination of a potential life." Clearly, the government should not be required to fund programs that explicitly encourage the destruction of human life.

The Declaration of Independence affirms all people are "endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." The right to life is a foundational right, fundamental to the strength and vitality of this great nation. I believe in the value and dignity of human life at all stages of life.

As your Senator, I will join you in speaking up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I will continue to be a supporter of pro-life legislation as it is brought before the Senate for consideration and will work to defeat pro-abortion legislation, such as the Freedom of Choice Act. Our government has both a moral and constitutional obligation to protect the sanctity of human life.

Thank you again for your correspondence. Be assured that I will continue to work to transform health care for Oklahomans and all Americans to ensure that affordable health care is available to all in a fiscally responsible manner with the most choices available while upholding the sanctity of human life.'

God bless you Senator Inhofe, and all those who speak up on behalf of the unborn, the voiceless, and helpless, those who only want a chance to live. Thank you for all you do and please know how much I admire and support you and politicians of principal and integrity!

New Regulations on Indulgences

Let’s be up-front about things: when you say the word, ‘indulgence’ or ‘indulgences’ to most people—including most Catholics—some grotesque system of medieval fraud and abuses is often the first thing to come to mind. Sadly, this misconception persists in spite of the deep-seated psychological need within most human beings to do something to ‘put things right’ after becoming aware of lingering guilt from past sins and transgressions, never mind the Biblical basis for this most ancient of Church traditions.

This little gem of a book defines¹ clearly and simply what an indulgence – with a small “I” – is and then gives the two types: partial and plenary. There is no more ‘determination of days or years as regards partial indulgences, only the words “partial indulgence” are used. This does away with the need of trying to explain what is meant by so many days or years. How much (temporal punishment) will be remitted depends upon the “the degree to which the charity of the one performing the act is greater, and in proportion to the degree to which the act itself is performed in a more perfect way.”’ (page 22)

What I found most enlightening about this book was when I recognized the three general ‘concessions’ under which partial indulgences are given. The first I learned is prayer or, raising the mind and heart to God in frequent invocation. After that, the text of the book gives reference after reference from Holy Writ reminding us of the importance of constantly calling on – and out to – the Almighty: Matthew 7:7-8, Matthew 26:41, Luke 21:34-36, Acts 2:42, Romans 12:12, 1 Corinthians 10:31, Ephesians 6-18, Colossians 4:2, and 1 Thessalonians 5:17-18, “Pray without ceasing. In all things give thanks.”

And what is the second general concession? Have you guessed it? It’s the giving of oneself or one’s goods in the service of those who are in need, i.e., in more quaint terms, almsgiving. So I don’t have to tell you, do I, what the third concession is … it’s fasting, or when one (in a penitential spirit) of one's own accord abstains from something permitted and pleasing.

According to St. Peter Chrysologus, 5th century bishop of Ravenna, Italy, and Doctor of the Church,

“There are three things, my brethren, by which faith stands firm, devotion remains constant, and virtue endures. They are prayer, fasting and mercy. Prayer knocks at the door, fasting obtains, mercy receives. Prayer, mercy and fasting: these three are one, and they give life to each other.”

But going back even earlier in The Book of Matthew, Chapter 6, Our Lord also tied these three disciplines together, teaching us to fast cheerfully, give alms secretly and pray privately.

A very affirming quick read. Indulgences have gotten a bad name and one they don’t deserve. We need them, along with every other help God and His Church can offer us.



¹ "An indulgence is the remission before God of the temporal punishment due to sins whose guilt has already been forgiven, a remission which one of the faithful, properly disposed and under certain definite conditions, can acquire through the Church which as a minister of the redemption authoritatively dispenses and applies the treasure of the satisfactions of Christ and the saints."

days like today

Today my oldest nephew starts high school.

Today is also my brother's 47Th birthday. Funny how things like that work out. My daughter, Michelle, is named after Michael. And she even looks a little like him too.

He would have loved her so much I know. He would have been a wonderful uncle but he never knew any of his nieces or nephews.
I don't mourn him for myself anymore, but every so often I can't help mourning all that my children and their cousins missed out on. Perhaps especially my two nephews, locked in worlds of their own by the strange and complex family of disorders known as Aspergers and autism.

Michael was always an introvert, quiet but good at making things. What would his relationship have been with Eric and Luke? And Meg and Michelle, too, for that matter? I suppose it doesn't matter now, but still I wonder ... on days like today.

And yet, this isn't a sad post but a happy one, because as I said, my nephew, Eric, is starting high school today. After almost eight years at private and/or special schools, my sister and her husband are mainstreaming him in a public school nearer their home. This will mean less driving for my sister who will still need to get Luke to his special school. Eric is considered a highly functional child with Aspergers. With Luke, the situation is more difficult. He is more typically autistic in most ways, although interestingly, more affectionate than his brother. Please remember my dear sister and her family in your prayers. Still, this is an exciting day, a milestone, and a day made extra-special because Eric starts high school on his Uncle Mike's birthday.

One other important event happened today: yours truly submitted her first ever real, professional job resume. I won't know the outcome for almost a month, but I've done my best, so I turned it all over to Him. And I can't help feeling good about whatever happens knowing that I applied for this job on my brother's birthday.

May your day be blessed by the love of God, family and many friends!



P.S. My sister let us know Eric had a pretty good first day of high school. He found all his classes (he said he had to ask for directions a few times), he sat with someone for lunch (and could even remember the boy's name!), he had homework in two subjects but found time to do it during classes and overall came home in a great mood. Apparently, he was happiest because he saw a fire drill schedule and there isn't one of those until the 27th. ☺ Thanks in advance for prayers!

Thank You Father Rother!

Yesterday, the 28th of July, my in-laws and I headed out on the Northwest Expressway going – you guessed it – northwest to the little town of Okarche, birthplace of Father Stanley Rother. It was a hot, windy day on the Oklahoma plains, a good day for a pilgrimage.

Our destination was Holy Trinity Catholic Church, in Okarche, where we arrived a little before noon. For those who don’t know, a pilgrimage is a journey to a sacred place or shrine; it can cover a long distance, or be a search for some exalted purpose or moral significance. In my case, this was a personal spiritual pilgrimage undertaken in honor of the 28th anniversary of Father Rother’s martyrdom. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve long wanted to tour this town, worship inside the church and perhaps even visit the grave of this inspirational priest. Several times, I planned to take my children, but something always came up. We had called our family homeschool, Father Stanley Rother Academy. We said the prayer for his canonization every morning as a part of our daily prayers … but somehow we never made the short trip to Okarche. I felt a little sad as I arrived and saw just how close the town was to us.

When we drove up, Channel 4 News¹ was interviewing a woman in front of Holy Trinity Church about why she had come today. She had tears in her eyes when she spoke about her admiration for Father. Was it my imagination, or did the questions coming from the interviewer and the camerawoman sound hostile? I handed the woman a tissue when the interview concluded.

Holy Trinity is a beautiful Gothic-style, stone and brick church, which is a well-known historical landmark in the area. Built in 1903, it is older than our state, and its outer magnificence is only surpassed by its interior serene beauty. I had come to do an hour of Adoration before the Blessed Sacrament in response to the write-up in our diocesan newspaper, The Sooner Catholic. (See page 15 of the July 12, 2009 edition for the article.) Even though my in-laws aren’t Catholic, “Mom” and “Dad” joined me for Holy Hour. It was their first experience of this particular Catholic tradition, but they were very used to attending other Catholic events with me, beginning almost twenty-five years ago when they attended our wedding in the chapel at RAF Mildenhall, UK.

After Adoration, we admired the small collection of memorabilia at the back of the church devoted to Father Rother, including some of his vestments. Then we photographed the outside of the church, including the statue pictured above, and went to lunch at the local Tower Café. Just as our food was set down before us, a nice-looking gentleman came up and said, “Didn’t I just see you over at the church a little while ago?” He was specifically addressing my father-in-law who said that yes, we’d just come from there.

With the warmest possible voice and manner and a smile as wide as an Oklahoma plain, he said, “I thought I recognized your bald head! Hi! I’m Tom Rother², Stan’s youngest brother.”

You could have picked me up off the floor … if Tom hadn’t sat down right next to me and blocked me into my booth seat! He proceeded to stay for the next twenty minutes—or so—and ‘shoot the breeze’ with us about “Stan”, their family, Oklahoma and Indiana—where my in-laws are from, farming, families in general, and just general ‘down home’ folk’s talk which just showed that farming and farming folk don’t know anything ‘bout state lines. Tom Rother, I discovered, was just a bit younger than my in-laws and they had a world in common. I reveled in just being the ‘fly on the wall’ for most of the conversation.

Tom had us laughing and feeling like we’d known him all our lives. As he was getting ready to leave, he said, “You are coming to Mass later at 5?” as if it wasn’t so much a question as a statement, and Dad said, “We should be coming back through just about then.”

We did some other sightseeing but we were back at Holy Trinity in time for Mass, after which Tom, and his lovely wife Marty, took us out to the graveyard. There we learned more family history, saw the family plot and gravestones and even encountered a representative and source for copies of The Shepherd Cannot Run ($10) and DVD, No Greater Love… The Story of Father Stanley Rother ($10), both of which I was looking for and will be reviewing in the not too distant future.

As we drove home, my own heart and spirit were soaring with gratitude and love. I have no doubt that Father Rother arranged everything, through Our Lord Jesus Christ. I believe in the Communion of Saints!

Father Rother, your brother and his wife are such warm and wonderful people. I look forward to meeting you too someday! Thank you!





¹ I was told by a friend at work today that she saw me on the news last night. Ah! My three or four seconds of fame and I missed it! We didn't get home until almost nine and then we had a whopper of an Oklahoma hail and wind storm come through which left us without power for two hours, split our pear tree down the middle and knocked over the freestanding basketball hoop blowing out the rear windscreen of one of our old cars. Guess I was just a little bit busy... ☺

² The second picture is yours truly with Tom Rother standing behind Father Rother's grave.

Love In A Fearful Land

"We diocesan priests have lost our historical sense. If Stan* had been a Jesuit, twenty books would have been written about him by now."

~~Fr. John Vesey to his fellow priests during a Tulsa-Oklahoma City clergy week 5 June 1984

*(Fr. Rother)

Although not what I was expecting – a straight biography of the martyred Father Stanley Rother – Love In A Fearful Land is an interesting and worthwhile book, especially during this Year For Priests because it brings together in one book three incredible priests who never had the chance to meet all together in one place, although two were both friends of Fr. John Vesey.

The author, Fr. Henri Nouwen, the best known of the three, has written over forty spiritual books and yet he was in the middle of a writing slump at the time Fr. Vesey asked him to tell the story of a quiet Oklahoma farm boy who became a priest, traveled to Guatemala in the late 1960s and fell in love with the people there. Writing this book brought Fr. Nouwen out of his slump.

Love In A Fearful Land is agonizingly brief, as was the life of Fr. Stan, this gentle yet strong priest, beloved by his parish. You will probably want to study the all too few surviving pictures of him; I know I did. He is always smiling and so is everyone who is with him. Despite the constant danger he lived in, Fr. Rother was not seeking martyrdom; he just believed a shepherd’s place was with his flock.

On the night of July 28th shortly after midnight, three men broke in to the rectory and attempted to kidnap Fr. Rother as was the practice of the time. There was a civil war in Guatemala in 1981 and the government was powerless – or claimed it was anyway – to stop roving bands of terrorists from kidnapping anyone perceived as a threat. Once kidnapped, the individuals were brutally tortured, killed and their bodies left by the side of the road or worse yet, never found. It was considered far better not to be taken alive. Father Rother, apparently put up quite a fight before he was shot twice in the head. The room where he died is now used as a chapel by his ‘flock’ who has already proclaimed him a saint.

Here is the prayer for canonization the Archdiocese of Oklahoma has written in his honor.

A week from today, on the 28th of this month, I'm going on pilgrimage to Holy Trinity Church, Father Stanley Rother's home parish, in Okarche, Oklahoma. It's the 28th anniversary of his death in Guatemala. We've been praying for his canonization for many years now, but I've yet to visit his town or parish and ... always wanted to. If you feel so called, please join us in praying for a very special intention that day.

Theology For Beginners

This is my second reading of Theology For Beginners -- mostly because I can barely remember the first. What I do remember was at the time (probably sometime between '02-'04) it didn't seem a book 'for beginners'. This time, perhaps due to the reading I've done in the interim, it was much easier to understand. It's still very theoretical. Theology, after all, being 'the study of' God -- the most impenetrable mystery of all time -- it now amazes me Mr. Sheed has made this book as accessible as he has.

There were many things I liked about this book including the explanation of spirit/soul/body and their relationship(s) to each other. The whole spirit-soul 'thing' actually made sense after reading this explanation, spirit being not only a key word, but the key word. It 'is the element in us by which we know and love, by which we therefore decide.' Souls, on the other hand are marvellous and they animate the bodies, the life-principles, of all living things including plants and animals. So my cat has soul, but not a spirit, if I understand Mr. Sheed correctly. However, the human soul not only animates the body, it has powers of its own, powers utterly outside the possibilities of matter. (p. 62)

And then there were other pearls of Wisdom scattered throughout which I tried to collect (highlight) and add to memory, such as:

- . . . evolution and creation. These are answers to two totally different questions. Creation answers the question why does anything exist, why isn't there nothing? Evolution is a theory as to how the universe did develop once it existed. Upon how it came to exist, evolution sheds no light whatever. (p. 58)

- We are born without sanctifying grace. That is what is meant by being born in original sin, which is not to be thought of as a stain on the soul, but as the absence of that grace without which we cannot . . . reach the goal for which God destined man. (p. 80)

- It is by the saints, and not by the mediocre . . . that the Church is to be judged. A medicine must be judged not by those who buy it but by those who actually take it. (p. 116)

Theology For Beginners is really very basic theology. For some it will just whet the appetite. For others, it will saturate. Whichever is the case, as Mr Sheed says in his Foreword, 'you cannot love someone you do not know. You cannot love God well if you know Him poorly.'

"While it is obvious that an ignorant man can be virtuous, it is equally obvious that ignorance is no virtue." ~~Frank Sheed

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Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau

"This was but a prelude; where books are burnt human-beings will be burnt in the end." ~~the German poet Heinrich Heine in 1820

Although I visited Dachau years ago¹ and I've read many books--both fiction² and non-fiction³--dealing with life in concentration camps, I don't recall ever reading any individual accounts specifically about this particular camp, until I encountered this poignant diary by Father Jean Bernard from Luxembourg. Nor do I recall reading about the internment tortures reserved for priests and other Christian ministers.

As I was reading Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau it was hard not to recall the eerie silence of Dachau's vast empty spaces marking off where derelict huts had once housed skeletons. But for the Grace of God, Father Bernard, too, would have joined the many souls who died there. His memoir is unique in several respects and worth reading, no matter how many books you may have read about the Holocaust.

First, it is about what happened to Christian, both Catholic and Protestant, clergy at the hands of the Nazis. For those who may have thought the Jewish nation alone suffered during those terrible times, they need look no further. In fact, there were punishments vindictive guards delighted in reserving just for priests on special feasts and other holy days.

And yet the strength of the story comes from the author’s intelligence, compassion for his fellows, and lack of self-pity or belaboring the horrors. The suffering endured by these men is beyond imagining; that is sufficient.

However, for me, it was Father Bernard’s unwavering faith in Christ through it all which speaks louder than anything and is the most important reason to read this book.

Worth reading and rereading—a reminder of how blessed we all are...perhaps most especially in our priests!

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¹ 1985 to be precise, just after my husband and I were married. We went together; it was a trip we never forgot!

² The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, I am Bonhoeffer, The Book Thief, The Valley of Light and Angel Girl being some of the fiction I've reviewed here on my blog and on Goodreads.

³ Night, Man's Search for Meaning and Concentration camp Dachau, 1933-1945 are a few of the many non-fiction books on the Third Reich which I've read and reviewed; most of rest I've not gotten around to reviewing yet.