A Holy Week memory

7 years ago (Thanks to Lily, who is 6 years old now, I can pinpoint the year), I was driving Mom home from LA on Tuesday the week before Easter.  I was really tired and my mind was starting to wander. Mom asked me if I would say the Divine Mercy chaplet with her, as it was the 3 O’clock hour. I said yes with a sigh, thinking, “OK, I’ll do it out of respect for Mom, but I really don’t feel like it. I’m soooo tired.” And so we began—“In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Then we recited the Our Father, a Hail Mary, and the Apostle’s Creed. Mom began the first Praise—“Eternal Father, I offer you the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Your Dearly Beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ…” To which I was to have replied “In atonement for our sins and those of the whole world.” But just as Mom had said “Our Lord Jesus Christ” we drove by a meadow where there were several sheep grazing with small lambs in attendance, and I immediately thought of the Lamb of God. Here we were, offering the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of the Lamb of God to the Father, and I get a visual! I was so taken aback by the revelation that I stumbled on my response to Mom and she had to remind me what it should be! I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. But at the same time, I felt rejuvenated and committed to reciting the chaplet with as much love for our Lord as I could muster. It also reminded me that I should get to confession as soon as possible and apologize to God for sinning through my own fault, in what I had done and in what I had failed to do.

The 4 days immediately preceding this drive with Mom, Marilyn the girls and I had been in New York for a short sightseeing trip and to see a couple of Broadway plays.  As we were walking along 5th Avenue in the morning on the way to Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, we passed by a young man who was obviously cold. I thought, “Dear God, if this guy is still out here when we pass this way again, I’m going to give him my gloves.” Talk is cheap. Strike one. Not only that, but by the time Mass was over, I had already forgotten to look for him on the way back. Strike two. Later on in the day, we were walking back to the hotel for the evening after a long day of sightseeing, and I saw a woman bundled up against the cold, looking almost dead lying on the sidewalk.  Many people were walking by very quickly, appearing not to notice her. It was like she was just part of the landscape. But did I do anything? For a fleeting moment, I thought I should see if she was all right and maybe buy her a cup of soup or something. But did I? No, I picked up my pace to try to catch up to the girls, who were crossing the street about 50 feet in front of me. Strike three. From this point on in the trip, I really felt bad about my obvious lack of compassion.  For all of my noble thoughts of loving my neighbor as myself, I showed a complete disdain for what Christ called the Greatest Commandment.  I think that both of these unfortunate people were placed in my path for me to recognize as Jesus, and I failed our Lord’s test.

So on that Tuesday I was praying with Mom, when I saw those lambs in the meadow, I was so sorry for having failed Christ that I almost cried and didn’t feel worthy enough to be speaking to Him. At the same time I felt so overwhelmed with gratitude because even though I had denied Him (3 times!... Coincidence?) earlier that week, He was letting me know that He loves me and will afford me His perfect mercy if I just ask. In fact, I feel like crying now just writing about it. 

Stressed out? Something to ponder

“In my distress I called upon the Lord, and he heard my voice.”  (Psalm 18:7)

This psalm is a reminder to let go of stress before it becomes distress.  As many of us know, stress from our job, relationships, the larger community or life in general can weigh on us and cause us to worry and fret.  Stress generally makes most of us uncomfortable, unhappy and in some cases physically and emotionally ill.  If left unresolved, or if ignored, over time stress can lead to “distress” and manifest itself in feelings of pain and suffering.

So it’s good for the psalmist to remind us that the Lord will hear our voices when we call out in distress.  Does the Lord make the stress go away?  Not really.  If you are stressed because of a job, or financial issues, or a rocky relationship, or if you feel stressed because of poverty, or immigration, or the death penalty, or the threat of war or terror, the Lord doesn’t remove those stresses from your life.

  

So what does the psalmist mean by saying the Lord hears our voices?  Is God a sounding board, absorbing all the prayers of humankind, cataloging them in an unimaginably large data bank?  We share our woes with the Lord – how does that help relieve stress?

One way, I think, is that knowing the Lord hears enables us to have perspective.  Our stresses seem pretty large to us as individuals, but are not terribly significant in the grand creation of the universe.  Knowing the Lord listens can provide us with a calming sense of the true insignificance of our current worries.

The Lord also listens by sending us examples of how to handle stresses.  Jesus is perhaps the greatest example.  He has reminded us of the need to let go of worry – the parable of the birds singing without a care in the world is a beautiful reminder of the grace of detachment from worries and cares (Matthew 6: 25-34).  Note also what He does in John’s gospel (John 10: 31-42), challenging the accusers to evaluate the works done in the Lord’s name.  Jesus rhetorically asks – “How can I not be who I say I am and still perform the miracles that I do?”  This causes us to think – what actions do I take and how do people understand who I am by those actions?  What can I DO in reaction to the stresses in my life, and how can I make a difference in reducing these concerns?  The old saying “God helps those who help themselves” is a reminder that we can reduce stress by acting in concert with God.

The Lord also listens by inviting us to let go of our stresses – to turn them over to the Lord, our rock of refuge.  To do this requires us to give up control of our stresses and to let the Lord “own” them.  It requires us to have the faith to let go, to believe that the worries of our everyday lives are insignificant in God’s wonderful design.  Recall a time when a stress was removed from your life, and the relief you felt.  Isn’t that what God calls us to do through the psalmist?

So, Lent can be a time when we are reminded of these things – when through our prayer and fasting and good works and repentance we identify the stresses in our lives, when our faith grows so we can turn them to the Lord.  Lent reminds us of our dependence on the Lord for all the truly meaningful succor and sustenance of our lives – the peace that comes from reunion with our Creator God by our conscious and faithful surrender to our call from our Lord. 

Memories of Grandpa Batty

Because I have hope eternal in the mercies of God through His Son Jesus Christ, I tend to think of the dates that my loved ones pass on as their "feast days."  Tomorrow is my grandfather's "feast day", as he was called home to Christ on the Solemnity of St. Joseph the Worker in 1970.

 

The Catholic Church assigns one date out of the year for each and every canonized saint — known as the saint’s feast day. The saints are remembered on their individual feast days with special mention, prayers, and possibly a scripture reading.

A saint’s feast day can be the day of their actual death or a day assigned by the Church.  Typically, the Church only assigns a day when the day of death is unknown or if several other saints are already assigned to that day. The number of canonized saints, however, is greater than the number of days in a calendar year; therefore two or more saints often share the same feast day. Because overlap often occurs, and the Church isn’t sure of the date of death of some saints, other calendar dates are sometimes chosen — such as the day that the saint was canonized.

An example is St. Joseph the Worker’s Day, March 19.  This day is a full solemnity—a full blown liturgical feast, or a pretty big occasion in the Catholic Church.  The reason should be obvious due to the belief about Joseph’s role in the early life of Jesus: As the husband of Mary and foster father of Jesus, he took care of Mary and Jesus.  He’s the patron of the universal Church and the head of the holy family, which refers to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph during the first 30 years of Jesus’ life.  How fitting that my grandfather should be called home to Heaven on this day!

I was only 16 years old when Clarence L (no name, just the initial) Batty died.  Even though Mom and Dad took us to Compton to visit them often, my memories of going to Grandma and Grandpa's house are sketchy at best.

  

There is one thing in particular that I remember every time I think of Grandpa.   He is the one who introduced me to the "funny papers" in the Sunday newspaper.  Since most of our visits were on Sunday (or so it seemed, anyway), I can see in my mind's eye Grandpa sitting on his sofa as we entered his house reading the Sunday paper.  When he saw me come through the door, he would say “Hi!” and hand me the “funnies”.  That was what he called them.  I don’t think I ever heard him call them anything else.  They were the funnies.  He told me once that he always read the funnies first, because the rest of the newspaper was sure to depress him.  He was a wise and funny man.  Pun intended.

As a matter of fact, most memories that come to me about my visits to Grandpa's house involve reading.  I don't know if it was Grandma or Grandpa who bought them, but I remember reading a lot of comic books at their house.  Not Superman or Batman or any of the "cool" comics I collected at home, but "Classic Comics"--comics that were condensed, illustrated versions of classic novels.  I read "Last of the Mohicans", "Moby Dick", and several other "novels" for the first time in this format, all while sitting or lying prone on the floor at my grandfather's feet while he and my parents held their conversations in the living room.  I think Grandpa must have had a subscription to them or something, because there was always a new one whenever I visited, and he would let me take them home.  I lost track of them a long time ago, but they opened my eyes to some of the greatest literature of all time.  Thanks, Grandpa!

I remember my grandpa as a quiet, gentle man who showed nothing but love and respect for everyone he came in contact with. I never heard him raise his voice or speak with anger. He was a great role model.  I hope I can live up to his expectations. 

I thought I would post a few links to some memories my mom put on her blog a couple of years ago that should give you all some more insight into my Grandpa’s life.
My father

Today's feast day

More on Dad on St. Joseph Day 

Life was sure a lot more interesting back then, I think.  Interesting, but harder.  But that's a topic for another day.

Side note:  I’m sure I have a picture of Grandpa somewhere at the house, but I’m writing this in the company apartment, some 300 miles from home.  If one of you out there has a picture to post, be my guest.  Otherwise, I’ll post something on his birthday, which doesn’t immediately come to mind, but I will remember (or look it up)! Lol.

Great Examples of Love and Humility

One of the things about having parents who both are from large families is the number of aunts and uncles one gets to enjoy and learn from growing up.  I love(d) all of them, and I cherish the lessons each one has taught me over the years in faith, hope, and love.

My cousin Margaret posted a picture of her mom and dad on Facebook today that got me nostalgic for their presence so much that I decided to be late for work today (the boss is out of town anyway) and write a little bit about each of them and what their influence on my life was.

Aunt “Gennie" was always there when anyone needed her. In a family of 10 kids, Mom was born 1st, then Aunt Genevieve.   I can't tell you how many times Aunt Gennie came over to take us all to Mass.  Or to come and get my brother Tom and I and let us spend the day with her while Mom and Dad were busy with something else.  Many, many times she simply came over to visit Mom and keep her company.   

Since Mom didn’t drive until we moved to Lodi, Aunt Gennie was Mom’s “chauffeur” when Dad was at work.  She took my mom to the cemetery every day for the first couple of weeks after Dad died, until Mom told her she was OK with his passing and that they both needed to move on.  After the first Northridge earthquake in 1971, Mom and I took Tom over to her house because it just seemed safer to us than an upstairs apartment.  

Eventually, she and my Uncle Phil moved into the apartment across the parking lot from Mom in Lodi and continued to help Mom and Grandma get to church, go grocery shopping and provide support, until they both passed away.  She was so kind and generous and giving.

 

January 3 is the feast day of St. Genevieve.  Anyone who really knows me knows of my devotion and reliance on the Saints of the Church to help me through life’s experiences.  When I was researching Saint Genevieve this last January 3^rd, I came across her icon (a story of her life in a sacred picture using symbols instead of words).   I could just as well as been looking at an icon for Aunt Gennie!

 

The symbols associated with Saint Genevieve are:

A loaf of bread because she was generous to those in need. (Just like my aunt!)

A coin suspended around her neck symbolizing her consecration to God.  (Aunt Gennie’s devotion to God was second to none)

A candle which it said she used as she walked to church at night and which stayed lit despite the devil’s attempts to extinguish it.  (Like Mom, nothing shook Aunt Gen’s faith)

The clothing of a shepherdess because she grew up tending to flocks.  (As busy as she was with her own family, she always made time to help Mom and Dad with their family as well)

St. Genevieve’s  tomb is at the church of  Saint Etienne du Mon in Paris, France.  I don't believe in coincidences.  Etienne is French for Stephen.  No wonder I feel so blessed.  It seems like every time I research something, the Holy Spirit sends me to resources to remind me that we are all called to be saints, and that He has surrounded us with contemporary saints, as well.

The descriptions I tend to use when thinking of Uncle Phil are “quiet”, “brilliant”, “loving”, “humble” and, at times, “humorous.”

I never heard Uncle Phil raise his voice.  Come to think of it, I never think of Uncle Phil as a conversationalist in any sense of the word.  In conversations around the dinner table and at other family functions I remember Uncle Phil as the “listener”.  This doesn’t mean he had nothing to say.  Rather, he chose to humble himself and listen to others first and give his input when asked.   At least that’s the way I saw it.

 

As a result of his humility, I didn’t learn much about Uncle Phil until after my dad passed away and I spent some time with him during my grieving process.    I learned that he had been in the Army and served with honor, and that he had been with the Forestry Department for some time when he and Aunt Gennie were first married.  I also knew that like my dad, he worked for Rocketdyne as they were developing the Atlas rockets that would lead to the moon landings.  What I didn’t know was that Uncle Phil was a chemist!  As a teenager, that impressed me beyond all get-out!  I am ashamed to admit that because Uncle Phil was always a listener, I thought he had nothing of interest to say.  Boy, was I wrong!  As we grew closer at Dad’s passing, I found out all I had to do was ask.  He was a veritable treasure trove of knowledge; not just the sciences but history, current events, and math!  He also knew how to impart that knowledge without talking down to me, as a lot of grown-ups tended to do with youngsters.

And, like Aunt Gennie he was generous to a fault.  Whatever he had was yours.  If you needed it more, he would give it all to you.  One of my favorite memories of Uncle Phil was when I considered throwing out a favorite lamp I use to have at my bedroom desk that I would turn on when doing my homework.  I told my mom I didn’t have enough money to buy a new one just like it.  She suggested I asked Uncle Phil to take a look at it.  I left it with him and went to school.  When I got home that afternoon, there was my lamp with a brand new power cord and all shined up, looking like new!  I don’t know why that impressed me so much, but I remember thinking “He’s a chemist AND he can fix things!”

 

His faith life was also an inspiration to me.  He taught me through example that one doesn’t need to shout from the rooftops their belief in God and faith in His providence, but only live a faith-filled life and follow Christ’s commandments to love one another.

The Prodigal Son

Gospel means “Good News.” The bible is one big book of “good news”.  But also accounts of sadness, betrayal, pain, suffering, and eventually a very horrifying death.  It’s hard for me to admit that I, through my sins, have a share in the reason why Jesus had to suffer and die.

This is the time of the year when they show the television epic “Jesus of Nazareth”.  While the movie has some flaws and takes a few liberties for the sake of entertainment, it has some moments that really make me reflect on my faith. I especially like the way it presents the parable of the prodigal son. Aside from the Nativity and Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, this is my favorite passage in the Scriptures. 

In case you haven’t heard the story before (gasp!), the “righteous” Jews (the disciples) would not mingle with the friends and relatives of the tax collector, Matthew. Those closest to Jesus even tried to dissuade Him from consorting with them because of their questionable character.  Jesus said to Peter (and this is the message that seemed to drown out all of the other dialogue for me), “I have not come to save the righteous, but those who are lost to the Father”.  His disciples (including Peter) remained outside, because they still didn’t seem to get the message. Then Jesus told the parable of the prodigal son.  At the end of the parable, Peter finally understood the message and entered the house of Matthew and embraced him as a long lost brother. I still cry when I watch that scene.

What I love most about the parable is that I can place myself in the position of all 3 characters—the father, the wayward (prodigal) son and the faithful son.

I think I understand the boundless love the father has for both of his children, even when one of them disowns him and squanders his inheritance.  I love my family more than anything.  I don’t think there is anything they could do lessen my love for them.   If they should ever disappointed me, I would easily forgive and just as easily forget.   This is not just sentiment.  I have meditated long hours on this scenario.  I know my love for my children is this strong.

I definitely identify with the wayward son.  I am a sinner.  And I too have realized that I need to go back to my Father again and again and confess that I have sinned and ask for forgiveness.  There is no greater release of stress for me than when I avail myself of the Sacrament of Confession.  Of course the fact that I have to keep going back shows me just how much of a sinner I am!

And I can identify with the faithful son who feels jealous of his father’s attention towards his brother.  He tells his father that he never got so much as a goat to share with his friends.  I go to Mass.  I try to be faithful.  I write a few things now and then to help spread His word.  Why don’t things always go my way?  Perhaps I just haven’t asked sincerely, with the faith of a child, and with a love of God and my neighbor as the motivation. 

Hello. I Am A Judge

I got to Bakersfield about 4:30 pm and got a good parking spot close to the stairs of the apartment so I wouldn’t have to carry my bags so far to get settled in.  The spot also allowed me to keep an eye on my car, since the area is not very safe.  Most days I have to move my car closer to the store so the cameras will pick up any shenanigans should they occur during the night.  But today I was lucky.  The other guys who share the apartment came in later and there was also a spot for them.  This is unusual, but I was thankful we all had good spots.

 

At about 7:00 I decided to get some dinner.  When I came back, the other guys were hogging the space I had intended to reclaim!  My immediate thought was “You inconsiderate SOBs!  You probably couldn’t wait to hog both spaces!”

As I hit the stairwell after parking my car much further away than I wanted to, one of the other guys was at the top.  He said “Do you have enough room to park?  They (the assistant Manager of the store and his team) asked me to move my van over so they could park a truck where we were.  It looks like a tight squeeze for you to park where you were.  Did you want me to move?”  I said “No, thanks.  I’m good.”  

But am I?  I was seething from the time I discovered my parking space was taken until Rudy explained why he had moved his car.  Why??  Because I’m judgmental; I see that now.  The question I’m going to have to ask myself more often is “Who am I to judge?”   It’s funny (Providential?) that this incident ties into today’s Gospel reading:

LK 6:36-38

Jesus said to his disciples: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

“Stop judging and you will not be judged.

Stop condemning and you will not be condemned.

Forgive and you will be forgiven.

Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap.

For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.”

Pope Francis had a beautiful homily on this reading today.  It can be found here.