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.  

Life Lesson

When a man becomes a father for the first time, his heart expands in unanticipated ways.  He learns that he really does love babies.  He loves feeding her, bathing her, talking to her, and yes—even changing her when she needs it.  He loves watching her learn to walk and fall and get up again and finally master it.  He loves her when she calls out for him in the middle of the night because she is scared.  He shares her pride when she tells him of her achievements.  He loves it when she comes to him for advice and makes her own decisions.  He heart grieves for her when she grieves. His heart soars with happiness when she is happy and he knows he had a small part to play in raising a beautiful, smart, courageous and loving mother to her own child.  He also gets a small glimpse at the infinite and complete love and mercy that God has for each of His children.

I didn’t know any of this before God blessed me with Alicia.

 

Happy Birthday, Alicia.  I love you.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

February 21 is Mom’s birthday.  She would have been 96 today!  I was looking for a good picture to use for this post and of course I have a lot of them from her 90^th “birthday bash” in Lodi.  Among those pictures was a home-made birthday greeting from my family and me.  It was made up of verses taken from various books of the Bible that were arranged so that the names of the books made up the word “MOTHER”. 

What made me think to do it?  As I wrote on the birthday card that day, “Mom, your constant prayers on our behalf and your lifelong example of Christian charity mean more to us than you can ever imagine.”

As I think of her today, the same sentiment keeps going through my mind. 

So I again write these words of hope and promise inspired by the Holy Spirit and presented to us through Scripture.

Happy Birthday, Mom!   

Matthew 28: 19,20

Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.  And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

Obadiah 1: 21

And deliverers will ascend Mount Zion to rule Mount Esau, and the kingship shall be the LORD’s.

Titus 3: 4-7

But when the kindness and generous love of God our savior appeared, not because of any righteous deeds we had done but because of his mercy, he saved us through the bath of rebirth and renewal by the holy Spirit, whom he richly poured out on us through Jesus Christ our savior, so that we might be justified by his grace and become heirs in hope of eternal life.

Hebrews 13: 20-21

May the God of peace, who brought up from the dead the great shepherd of the sheep by the blood of the eternal covenant, Jesus our Lord, furnish you with all that is good, that you may do his will. May he carry out in you what is pleasing to him through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever [and ever]. Amen.

Ephesians 6: 2,3

“Honor your father and mother.”  This is the first commandment with a promise, “that it may go well with you and that you may have a long life on earth.”

Ruth 1: 16

But Ruth said, “Do not press me to go back and abandon you! Wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God, my God.

Going on a Journey with Mary

Have you ever fallen asleep while reciting the Rosary? I try not to, but it happens to me more than I care to admit after an unusually taxing day, or if I find other (more important?) things to do and wait until I’m bone tired to start the prayer.

Then there are those times that I am reflecting on a particular “mystery” of the Rosary and it feels like I am there!  Suddenly I realize that my head is not bowing at the name of Jesus, but falling down onto my chest and I awaken with a “snort”! I have heard of others who fall asleep, but I hope they have the good sense to awaken more quietly—and in private. Several times I have fallen asleep while in Adoration! Not for long, mind you, but long enough to chastise myself as Christ chastised Peter, James and John when he said, "Could you not watch one hour with me?" (Mt 24:40)

I love the rosary.  It doesn’t matter what else is happening in my life, when I pray the rosary as it is meant to be prayed it has a way of clearing my thoughts and putting my focus on what (Who) is important above all else. 

Mom used to gather all of us kids into the living room most nights to say the rosary as a family.  I remember I didn’t appreciate it as much as I do now.  I really hated it that Mom made us kneel down to say it, too, while she was able to sit in the chair.  I’m older and wiser (?) now and realize that she couldn’t keep as close an eye on us if she were kneeling.  I also remember mumbling the responses at times and Mom would simply say, “Stephen!” and I would know I’d been caught.  One time in particular it must have struck me as funny to emphasize the ess sound while praying—“Hail Mary full of Gracccccccce the Lord isssssss with thee.  Blesssssssed art thou among women and blessssssssed isssss the fruit of thy womb, Jessssssussssss!  Holy Mary, mother of God pray for ussssss sssssssinnersssss now and at the hour of our death, amen.”   It must have really bugged Mom, because along with the usual “Stephen!” she also said we were going to repeat the whole previous decade of the rosary and I was going to say it right, by God!  Part of my problem with the rosary was that I thought of it as just a repetition of the same prayers over and over again.  It didn’t “make sense” to me.  That wouldn’t come until years later.

Our nightly rosary routine changed after Dad died.  My older brothers were married and it was just Tom and I and Mom and I don’t think Mom wanted to fight the battle that came every night with trying to get the 3 of us together at the same time.  So I drifted away from the practice of saying the rosary on a regular basis, although it has always been my “go to” prayer in times of crisis or distress, even though in my early years I didn’t know about what the rosary is intended to be—that is, a meditative prayer.

I think one of the gifts God has given me is that I am able to interpret my own dreams.  I can’t, and wouldn’t even presume to interpret anyone else’s, but I can interpret my own for the most part. One of my dreams years ago was one in which Our Blessed Mother reached out, and took my hand. Then she said, “Come on a journey with me, child.” As we walked along a path of roses, she began telling me a story.

It started with the Angel Gabriel appearing to a young woman to announce the birth of a Savior to all nations. Then the pregnant young girl visited her cousin, Elizabeth, whose own expected child "leaps in the womb" because he recognizes the presence of God Incarnate. You know the rest of the story. It continued with the Blessed Mother telling me the rest of the Joyful Mysteries, then the Luminous, the Sorrowful (where the path of roses turns to thorns), and the Glorious, ending with the “young woman” mentioned at the beginning of the story being crowned as Queen of Heaven and Earth. What an image, huh? Wouldn’t it be something to hear the story we all know so well from Mary’s own perspective and voice? I believe that if we are in the right frame of mind when we recite the Rosary, that's exactly what is happening.

While I believe the dream was meant to teach me to be more diligent and attentive in my prayers, I was surprised when I came across many, many other meditations on line that were remarkably similar and stated more eloquently than I have.

For example, one of the first articles to come up on a Yahoo.com search was the Apostolic Letter, ROSARIUM VIRGINIS MARIAE, written by Pope John Paul II when he “introduced” the Luminous Mysteries (or “Mysteries of Light”) in 2003.

In his letter, the Holy Father said, “The Blessed Rosary of Mary, a sweet chain linking us to God, in a way similar to what takes place in the Liturgy, the Christian week, centered on Sunday, the day of Resurrection, becomes a journey through the mysteries of the life of Christ, and he is revealed in the lives of his disciples as the Lord of time and of history. To recite the Rosary is nothing other than to contemplate with Mary the face of Christ.” He also wrote, “Mary lived with her eyes fixed on Christ, treasuring his every word: “She kept all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Lk 2:19; cf. 2:51). The memories of Jesus, impressed upon her heart, were always with her, leading her to reflect on the various moments of her life at her Son's side. In a way those memories were to be the “rosary” which she recited uninterruptedly throughout her earthly life.” The man sure could turn a phrase. Of course love and devotion can do that to someone.

I realized that the Holy Father’s impression of the Rosary was very similar to the one I had dreamed of.  At least I’m in good company.  My question now is “Won’t you join us on our journey?”

Out of the Mouth of Babes

It’s funny how a simple conversation with a child can make me meditate most of the day on my lack of faith. 

Lily and I volunteered to go to Peet’s this morning to get Marilyn a cup of iced mocha (and of course to get Lily her iced chocolate milk).  Before heading there though, I had to stop at the local hardware store to get a part so I could repair the plug on an iron that Marilyn asked me to fix.  When Lily and I walked into the store, it must have had some sort of odor Lily didn’t like because she immediately plugged her nose.  Of course the guy who was helping me find my part noticed her pinching her nose and asked her if something was wrong and she replied “It stinks in here!”  He gave a laugh and said “Oh?  I don’t smell anything!”  I didn’t either, but in retrospect I have to admit that a hardware store does have a certain smell unlike any other store.  I guess it’s all of the different materials, cleaners, and other sundries in such a small store that create a unique odor.  It’s not as unpleasant as Lily was making it out to be, but she’s a sensitive girl.  I’ll leave it at that.

After we left the hardware store, she started talking to me while still holding her nose.  She thought the nasal sound was funny (so did I), so we started carrying on a conversation while holding our noses and giggling at the absurdity of it all.   Holding our noses led to Lily talking about how to calm down when we’re anxious about something. She said that she learned to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth.  When I told her that was a good idea, she asked me how she could do it if her nose was plugged.  I told her then she could just breathe in and out just through her mouth, or if she was sleeping and her mouth was closed, she could breathe just through her nose.   I told her the reason we have to breathe is to get oxygen into our bodies because oxygen is what gives our heart the strength it needs to keep pumping blood.  Hey, I was never good at biology or anatomy and she’s only 6 years old anyway.  It was a close enough answer to satisfy her. 

Anyway, out of the blue she says “If we stop breathing, we go to Heaven.”  What simple faith she has!  At her age she doesn’t worry IF she’ll go to Heaven, she simply has enough confidence in the love of God the Father for her that she believes she will go to Heaven when she dies.

It’s made me think all day long about the gospel of Matthew 18, the first couple of verses where Jesus pulls a child close to him and tells the disciples that unless they become like children, they will not see the kingdom of God.  The child is held up as a model for the disciples not because of any supposed innocence of children but because of their complete dependence on, and trust in, their parents. So must the disciples (we) be, in respect to God.

I know I have a lot of work ahead of me in this regard.  I’m glad I have Lily to remind me to keep trying.   

St. Angela

I'm thinking about my Mom a lot today, probably because it's the feast day of St. Angela Merici—founder of the Ursuline nuns, renowned for their teaching charisms. Reading St. Angela's bio, I was disturbed that the problems in her day were a lot like today's struggles in some of the Islamic countries today; women and girls who are not allowed to learn (even severely punished for trying to) and considered 2^nd class citizens at best.

Here is one of the better biographies about St. Angela that I've read:

St. Angela MericiFeastday: January 27, 1540

When she was 56, Angela Merici said "No" to the Pope. She was aware that Clement VII was offering her a great honor and a great opportunity to serve when he asked her to take charge of a religious order of nursing sisters. But Angela knew that nursing was not what God had called her to do with her life.

She had just returned from a trip to the Holy Land. On the way there she had fallen ill and become blind. Nevertheless, she insisted on continuing her pilgrimage and toured the holy sites with the devotion of her heart rather than her eyes. On the way back she had recovered her sight. But this must have been a reminder to her not to shut her eyes to the needs she saw around her, not to shut her heart to God's call.

All around her hometown she saw poor girls with no education and no hope. In the fifteenth and sixteenth century that Angela lived in, education for women was for the rich or for nuns. Angela herself had learned everything on her own. Her parents had died when she was ten and she had gone to live with an uncle. She was deeply disturbed when her sister died without receiving the sacraments. A vision reassured her that her sister was safe in God's care -- and also prompted her to dedicate her life to God.

When her uncle died, she returned to her hometown and began to notice how little education the girls had. But who would teach them? Times were much different then. Women weren't allowed to be teachers and unmarried women were not supposed to go out by themselves -- even to serve others. Nuns were the best educated women but they weren't allowed to leave their cloisters. There were no teaching orders of sisters like we have today.

But in the meantime, these girls grew up without education in religion or anything at all.
These girls weren't being helped by the old ways, so Angela invented a new way. She brought together a group of unmarried women, fellow Franciscan tertiaries and other friends, who went out into the streets to gather up the girls they saw and teach them. These women had little money and no power, but were bound together by their dedication to education and commitment to Christ. Living in their own homes, they met for prayer and classes where Angela reminded them, " Reflect that in reality you have a greater need to serve [the poor] than they have of your service." They were so successful in their service that Angela was asked to bring her innovative approach to education to other cities, and impressed many people, including the pope.

Though she turned him down, perhaps the pope's request gave her the inspiration or the push to make her little group more formal. Although it was never a religious order in her lifetime, Angela's Company of Saint Ursula, or the Ursulines, was the first group of women religious to work outside the cloister and the first teaching order of women.

It took many years of frustration before Angela's radical ideas of education for all and unmarried women in service were accepted. They are commonplace to us now because people like Angela wanted to help others no matter what the cost. Angela reminds us of her approach to change: "Beware of trying to accomplish anything by force, for God has given every single person free will and desires to constrain none; he merely shows them the way, invites them and counsels them."

Saint Angela Merici reassured her Sisters who were afraid to lose her in death: "I shall continue to be more alive than I was in this life, and I shall see you better and shall love more the good deeds which I shall see you doing continually, and I shall be able to help you more." She died in 1540, at about seventy years old.

Here's a few things to think about today in honor of St. Angela AND my mom:

Take a look around you. Instead of just driving or walking without paying attention today, open your eyes to the needs you see along the way. What people do you notice who need help but who are not being helped? What are their true needs? Make a commitment to help them in some way.

Prayer:
Saint Angela, you were not afraid of change. You did not let stereotypes keep you from serving. Help us to overcome our fear of change in order to follow God's call and allow others to follow theirs. Amen

A Love Letter to Timothy

A love letter from St. Paul to St.Timothy (and from a proud uncle to his nephew)

Looking at the Saint of the Day for tomorrow, I was delighted to see it is St. Timothy, since my nephew is named for him.  Tim and his beautiful bride Rosarie (I LOVE that name, BTW) got married last week in a very beautiful church with a lot of family and friends in attendance.  It was clear to all who attended that faith in and love for Jesus Christ has been and will continue to be at the center of their marriage.

If you don’t know my nephew Tim, you only need to read the first eight verses of the first chapter of Paul’s 2^nd letter to Timothy to get acquainted.  I say this because as I was reading it again today, my only thought was “This sounds like a letter my brother Bob would write to his son, his ‘dear child’” if such letters could be written from Heaven.  Of course, I wouldn’t dare to change a word of Holy Scripture, so I put asterisks next to certain lines and will footnote them after the passage.

Paul, an Apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God for the promise of life in Christ Jesus, to Timothy, my dear child:  grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.

I am grateful to God, whom I worship with a clear conscience as my ancestors did, as I remember you constantly in my prayers, night and day.

I yearn to see you again, recalling your tears, so that I may be filled with joy, as I recall your sincere faith that first lived in your grandmother Lois  and in your mother Eunice  and that I am confident lives also in you.*

For this reason, I remind you to stir into flame the gift of God that you have through the imposition of my hands. **   For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather of power and love and self-control.

So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord, nor of me, a prisoner for his sake; but bear your share of hardship for the Gospel with the strength that comes from God.  ***

================================================================

*When reading this line, you could substitute the names Angela and Marilyn for Lois and Eunice.

**While Paul is probably (Traditionally) speaking of the ordination of Timothy as a bishop, there are gifts of God that Tim has received through the Sacraments of Baptism, Communion, Reconciliation, Confirmation and Matrimony that are every bit as powerful as that of Ordination.

 

*** God knows Tim has borne his share of hardship in this life—and usually with the silent confidence in Christ’s mercy that comes with faith.

Afraid to die? NO! Ready to die? Not yet!

As I have been pretty sleepless the last few nights due to illness and especially since Dick passed away, I pulled up the ever-calming Bible in my iPhone’s Laudete app and asked the Holy Spirit to guide me to a soothing passage to help me through my grief.  One of the Gospel passages that I found right off was Mt 8:23-27.

As Jesus got into a boat, his disciples followed him. Suddenly a violent storm came up on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by waves; but he was asleep. They came and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” He said to them, “Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?” Then he got up, rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was great calm. The men were amazed and said, “What sort of man is this, whom even the winds and the sea obey?”

It brought back some very early childhood memories for me.  At about 5 or 6 years old, I remember crying to my mom and asking, “Does everybody die?” I wasn’t prepared for her answer.  She told me the truth—that is everybody dies, but nobody knows when, except God, so I didn’t need to worry about it.  But I did.  Unless I could fall asleep or be busy with something else. The thought of death occupied my thoughts on a daily basis, especially since Mom made us pray the Rosary every night.  The last line of the Hail Mary prayer is "Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."  To my overactive but naive mind, this meant two things:  I had been a bad kid and death was imminent.  Of course, since then I have come to know and love our Blessed Mother and the prayer she gave us.  It has helped me through countless times of worry and grief.

We used to visit Grandma and Grandpa pretty regularly. We had to drive past Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery to get there.  Looking at the headstones and mausoleums would get me thinking about my mortality every time!  I got pretty good at recognizing landmarks and knew when we were getting close, so I would always hide my head and try to think of something else or fall asleep because the thought of dying terrified me.

Eventually, though, I stopped being preoccupied with the thoughts and only occasionally would think about my own death.  I think that’s because when my reasoning kicked in about 7 or 8 (arguably) I figured IF I kept out of trouble and IF I didn’t get hit by a car or some other tragedy didn’t befall me, I still had another 60 or 70 years and that was a long time.  They might find a cure for death by then. I think another reason I stopped worrying about dying was that I started Catechism classes and found out that God created us because He loved us and He loved us because He created us and that death in this life is just the beginning of our intended life with Him in Heaven.

While meditating on the Gospel the Holy Spirit was so right in guiding me to, I realized that even these men who were in the boat with someone whom they believed to be the Messiah, they were still afraid of death. The lesson He taught them is the same lesson we can learn today. If we truly have faith in His love and mercy, we have nothing to fear. It’s interesting to me that these men who were afraid of death in the boat are the same men who later gladly gave up their lives to preserve the faith (except John, who we know died a natural death—although he did have his share of suffering).  I can only hope to be as brave when my time comes. What I can say is that I no longer fear death. But I'm not sure I welcome it, either. There is a lot more I can do for the Lord before I am called to my rest. I think I’m like my mom in that regard.   I think I still have lots and lots of prayers to say.  And much more penance to do. 

Finding Jesus

Most of the time when I "meditate" on the Mysteries of the Holy Rosary, I find myself just recalling the Scripture passages relating to that "mystery".  Because through faith I just KNOW these mysteries to be true, my meditations are more often just recollections of fact.  Some of my better, more insightful and more meaningful (at least to me) meditations come to me when I just ask the Holy Spirit to guide my thoughts when praying the rosary. 

He waited until the 5th Mystery yesterday to turn my thoughts to an "angle" I had never thought of before.  For those of you who don't know, the 5th Mystery is a reflection on Mary and Joseph finding the 12 year-old Jesus in the Temple after fearing Him lost.   When they finally find Him, He says, "Why were you worried?  Didn't you know I must be in my Father's house?"

I started wondering how could Mary and Joseph just "lose" their son?  It's not like they forgot He was the Son of God.  Rather, they might have been just so comfortable in their family life that they thought He must be with one of the other families (possibly even relatives) traveling with them and so didn't worry until a couple of days had passed.  But when they did notice His absence they were distraught. 

Sometimes I get distraught that I'm not giving Jesus enough attention, and conclude that I've "lost" Him.  When that happens it's good to remember that I know where to "find" Him---He'll be in His Father's house, in the Tabernacle. If you know someone who has "lost" Jesus or is simply just looking for Him, direct them to the Father's house.  I guarantee that they will find Him there, in the Tabernacle.  You can't miss it.  It's right next to the flickering red lamp that keeps vigil for us when we can't be there.

A "solitary tradition"

A little girl was born October 18th, 1893 in Preston, Wisconsin to Joseph and Mary Rabideau.  They named her Sylveen Idella.  She was the 13th child and the youngest of the family. Sylveen had four brothers and eight sisters.  I know her as "Grandma".

As a child Sylveen lived in Minnesota  before coming West with her parents at the age of 12 to Coeur D'Alene, Idaho.  As the years passed she went to the community college in Coeur D'Alene and received her teaching degree.  She taught school in Washington and Oregon.

Sylveen met a nice young man, Clarence Batty, in Wawawai, Washington--a small farming community on the Snake River about 20 miles from Pullman.  Clarence told everyone that when the new "school marm" was due to arrive at the depot, his brothers and sisters had it all arranged that he was to meet the train.  Clarence's family was always trying to "match him up".   This time it worked and Sylveen and Clarence were married on March 30, 1918 in Colfax, Washington.

And they lived happily ever after!   (At least I think so!)

Grandpa passed away in 1970 at the age of 82 (just months before my dad passed away) and Grandma went to her eternal rest on April 28th, 1992 at the age of 98!

I remember Grandma's birthday every year with a special rosary said for her intentions. It's one of my "solitary traditions".  Please join me wherever you are today and just say "Happy Birthday, Grandma!"

Mom was a sower

"Ah, Lord GOD!" I said,

"I know not how to speak; I am too young." (Jeremiah 1:6)

"But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit, a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold. Whoever has ears ought to hear." (Matthew 13: 1-9)

I like both of these readings very much, and they are pretty appropriate for today, as our life-long family friend (and the priest who baptized me over 60 years ago) celebrates a Mass for the repose of the soul of my mom and the intentions of her children.  My intention is that Mom’s evangelism continues through her prayers for us and our memories of her.

The call of Jeremiah is very helpful. Jeremiah's first response is very familiar. He said, in essence, "I can't do it." We make excuses, too. We say we are too young; too inexperienced: or too busy. In general, we are really too afraid or simply are not free enough to respond to what might involve sacrifice.

It’s wonderful to be reminded that the Lord can use us, even when we are reluctant or even resistant. He puts words in our mouths. He touches us to free us and to give us whatever we need to be His instruments. That includes being a prophet where a prophet is needed. It includes being a leader where a leader is needed. It includes being a loving spouse or parent in the challenging situations in which we find ourselves.  I can’t tell you how many times Mom spoke out to her children in a loving way (even after we were grown men and women) to remind us of our duty to God first when we seemed to have forgotten, or lost our way.

 

And the parable of the sower is terrific for any of us who have tried these things and realize that the response is not always what we had hoped. Some of our precious efforts fall on deaf ears or on unresponsive hearts. Sometimes we are in a culture determined to "choke" our efforts at greater love and care for the common good, especially for those on the margins of our society. Sometimes, the wounds that have hurt the hearts of loved ones need deep healing first.

The good news of this parable is the assurance that there is some good soil out there. Our efforts to act with love in His name will bear great fruit. It will. The outcome of our efforts will be fruitful. So, the message is, "Sow boldly. Keep sowing. Trust the master of the harvest."  Or, as Mom said often—especially the last few years of her life—“I’m putting my prayers out there to Christ.  I trust He knows what to do with them.”

Each of us can reflect upon the power of this message for our individual calls today.

Looking for Simon, or being Simon? Both are good!

What is Jesus telling us when he tells us to take up our cross and follow him? He doesn’t mean it literally nor does he expect us to go looking for crosses to bear. There are plenty that come our way as a part of life, some small (like the 110-degree heat today) and others that wound us to the core (like Mom’s passing, as well as Bobby’s two weeks ago and David’s last week).

Jesus wants us to carry our crosses as He carried His, keeping in mind that He asked His father to “take this cup away” but ultimately accepted His Father’s will.  We also can ask the Father for relief from suffering for ourselves and for others while being open to His will.

As Jesus struggled with carrying the cross, He fell under its weight three times and understands that at times our burdens will be too much for us also. His mother was there to strengthen Him with her love and compassion; so also can we derive strength from her as well as the love of friends and family. He needed and accepted assistance from Simon of Cyrene and the comfort offered by the women of Jerusalem and Veronica.

For some of us it may be difficult to accept help and comfort from others especially strangers, but Jesus shows us the way. It is not just His example of suffering that He offers us, but He also shows us how to accept the love, assistance and comfort offered by others so that we might be worthy of Him.

Rest easy, Mom

With my crazy work schedule, I never know where I'm going to go to mass on any day of the week.  Today, since I had to work and I am in Fresno, I went to St. Helen's parish on Belmont Ave. because they offered an 8AM service that I could attend before starting my shift.  There was an earlier mass at the Cathedral, but 6:30 masses don't usually have the singing or the sense of "community" that I enjoy.

Today was one of those days that I couldn't keep focused at mass. It was like sensory overload!

First, I thought about the irony of a church dedicated to the woman (Saint Helen) who is best known for (allegedly) finding the Cross of Christ that does not have a traditional crucifix behind the altar, but rather a sculpture of the risen Christ.  Make no mistake, it is a beautiful sculpture, mounted on a fabulous painting of what I assume is the Holy Land.  It actually is quite moving and conducive to meditation, but the irony still struck me.

Then, after finally getting refocused on what I was looking at, I realized that the depiction of the Ascension was reminding me of Mom, who died on the feast day of the Ascension.  Tears started flowing.  And mass hadn't even started yet!  Here's the funny thing about my tears; I don't think they were from my lingering sadness at losing Mom--rather they were tears of grateful thanksgiving to God that Mom is in Jesus' merciful arms and no longer in pain or stress.

The Liturgy was very prayerful with great hymn selections that fit my vocal range, and my taste.  The two hymns that stick out in my mind as I write this are "Jesus, I Know You Are Near" and "America the Beautiful".  I was surprised to find that I still know the lyrics to both of these by heart, even though I don't hear them that often.

The deacon proclaimed the Gospel and delivered the homily. It was very touching and spoke directly to my thoughts of Mom (again).  In case you didn't get to mass today, the Gospel was from Matthew, which ends with the lines “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

Rest easy, Mom.

Birthday wishes

Frank Calvelli, (my father-in-law) or Papa, as his grandchildren called him, was born on June 14, 1914.  He passed away on October 23, 1995.  Today is his 100^th birthday! 

He was very proud of the fact that he was born on Flag Day in the United States.  He was also very proud of his Italian heritage. His parents migrated here from Calabria, Italy at the turn of the century, which made him a first generation Italian. 

He was not a particularly religious man. Still, he was a very good man and patriotic American.  He served in Patton’s tank corps in Northern Africa during WWII.  He saw some heavy action that he rarely liked to talk about, but he would if pressed.  He said he had nightmares sometimes about the war, so we rarely did press him.

    

I knew him as a father longer than I knew even my own father.  He accepted me into his family and treated me like his own son without any reservations whatsoever.  When I asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage (yes, we still did things like that back then), he held up his index finger, and said only one word. That word described what he considered the most important trait a marriage needs for longevity.  “Respect” he said, as he held up that finger, then he repeated it—for effect—“Respect”.  He went on to explain that he would expect nothing more and would accept nothing less from the man who married his daughter.  I humbly submit that the longevity of my and Marilyn’s marriage and our continuously growing love is due in large part to his advice.

When his grandchildren came along, he loved them unconditionally and totally.  He acted gruff sometimes, but anyone who really knew him saw right through that, including his grandchildren. 

I often think of Papa and miss him terribly-- as much as I miss my own Dad.  I hope that I will see them again someday.  In the meantime, I hope and pray that I can continue to live my life in a way that would make them both proud.

Happy Birthday, Frank!  Happy Father’s Day to both of my fathers!

Anger Management

I came back to work yesterday after my nearly 2 week funeral leave.  I was confronted by a couple of managers lamenting about the animosity they perceive to be directed towards them by some of the other supervisors I work with.  While the wording of some of the emails they received does in fact sound demeaning and angry, I know both sides of the issues at hand and I think I was able to defuse a potentially damaging situation and save a few jobs through mediation.  Mom’s death and the ensuing meditations inspired by it seem to have given me (at least for now) a certain need for peaceful relationships in my everyday life.

It seems like we live in an age of anger.  We hear the phrase and maybe even feel “road rage” as well as read about celebrities and other offenders who need “anger management.”  So many situations today are causes or effects of anger: partisan politics, computer crashes, Boko Haram, airport security, inequality, umpires, Vladimir Putin, school shootings.  Wouldn’t it be great if all of us could, as the gospel recommends, let go of our anger and be reconciled with each other?  We need to be peacemakers—on the personal and global level.  We must release our rage or our need to win and embrace compromise, forgiveness, and mercy.  We must think of others with love and not think of them as Raqa, which in Aramaic means “imbecile.”  (Matthew 5:20-26)

As always, the way to God–the way to follow the supreme commandment of loving God—is through one another and the second greatest commandment.  In some respects, it is easier to love God, who isn’t trampling our petunias or invading our nation, than it is to love our neighbor.  It seems simpler and less messy to approach His altar than it is to have a meal or negotiate a peace treaty with those who have offended us or whom we’ve offended.  But Jesus is adamant.  We must settle with our opponents before going to God.  His allusions to the scribes and Pharisees, who were very big on the letter of the law and correct behavior, remind us that the spirit of the law is even more important.   Our actions should be infused with a sense of love; our hearts should not be hardened.  We must always aim for reconciliation because love of God and love of neighbor are inextricable.

The etymology of the word reconcile is from the Latin and means “to bring together again.”  As we consider this day, let’s look for opportunities to forgo anger, mend wounds, and get back together with those at odds with us.   

Feed My Sheep. Are we trying?

One of the benefits (if one can say that word in the context of grief) of taking the time off for Mom’s funeral has been the opportunity to go to several daily masses and offer them up for Mom, and to have my sister-in-law Marilyn around to discuss spiritual matters.  I used to have these discussions with Mom on Sundays when I brought her the Sacrament.  I really miss our Sunday talks.  I had no idea how thirsty I was for these “mini-bible studies”.  They helped me stay on my prayer regimen, and as my visit with Marilyn did today, they gave me inspiration to meditate on the Scriptures and write those thoughts in my blog.  I feel this blog is my attempt—however feeble—to evangelize.   I’m sorry I haven’t written regularly.  I guess I miss Mom and our weekly spiritual discussions more than I was willing to admit to myself.

   

Today, the first Friday of June, the Gospel was about the time just before the Ascension when Jesus and the Apostles were on the beach having a meal (or as Mark Hart says, “having a barbecue”.)  Jesus asks Peter 3 times “Do you love me?” (John 21:15-19)

 Many people suppose that when Jesus asks His question of Peter three times it is to balance out the three times that Peter denied Him, but maybe it is more a matter of Jesus driving home His point?  

My own reading is that if we really love Christ, and not just in words, we need to care for the members of His flock in all their variety --- the ewes, the lambs, and even the rams --- and in taking care of their needs, whatever they might be.  We must care for those who think they are poor and those who think they are rich, for those who believe themselves strong and those who are sure they are weak.  And we must care for those who are satisfied that they are serving God and those who don't care.  

We must go into their loneliness, their self-condemnation, their sin, their poverty in religious matters as well as physical ones, and their ignorance of God's absolute and unfailing love and forgiveness, and we must there touch their lives and heal them, nourish them, and be the Good News that Christ calls us to proclaim.  

As the hymn of the same title says, "They will know we are Christians by our love," an idea straight out of John 13:34-35.   Do we in fact love any and all of God's children?  In every circumstance?  Of course not.  

But are we trying?

Rest in Peace, Mom

Angela Marie (Batty) Farnsworth

February 21, 1919 to May 29, 2014

A priest was preaching one Sunday on the theme of “Love your enemies.” After a long sermon, he asked how many parishioners were willing to forgive their enemies. About half held up their hands. Not satisfied with this response, he preached for another 20 minutes and repeated his question. This time he received a response of about 80%. Still unsatisfied, he went on for another 15 minutes and repeated his question. With all thoughts now on Sunday dinner, everyone raised their hand except one elderly lady in the front row. “Mrs. Jones, are you not willing to forgive your enemies?” the priest asked. “I don't have any,” she said. Surprised, the priest said, “Ma’am, that is very unusual. How old are you?” “Ninety-two,” she responded. “Mrs. Jones, please tell me, how can you have lived to be 92 years old, and not have an enemy in the world.” The sweet little lady, smiled, and said simply. “Oh, Father, I’ve had plenty of enemies. It’s just that, at 92, I’ve outlived them all!”  Sounds a little like my Mom.

”What a special gift Jesus gave us when from the cross He said to John, “Behold your Mother.”! (Jn 19:26-27).

Mothers always seem to know what you need and when you need it. I have a lot of very fond memories of times spent in my childhood when it was just Mom and me, which you would think would be difficult in a house with 4 brothers. I can’t begin to write down all of those memories, because A) There are too many, and B) I don’t have enough words in my vocabulary to express what those moments have meant to me. But I will share a few that I think about a lot.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I got caught stealing a candy bar from Dale’s market, directly across the street from our house (I should probably be on that television show, “America’s Dumbest Criminals!) The manager called Mom and she came over to get me. She pulled me home by my ear, really angry that I would betray her trust in me and embarrass her to the neighbors. She kept saying, “You’re going to confession! Today!” and “Your father’s going to punish you when he gets home!” When we got home, Mom sent me to my room and said, “Wait right here! When your father gets home, we’ll decide what to do with you!” 

All kinds of thoughts were running around in my head, not the least of which was “Man, this spanking is going to hurt!” Anyway, Dad came home and I got really scared. He was all for spanking me, but just as he was about to let loose on my behind, the phone rang, Dad said “Saved by the bell for the moment!” and he went out with Mom to see who it was, forgetting about me for the time being. It was Aunt Jenny. Mom told her what was going on and Aunt Jenny offered to come by and take the both of us to confession right then—me for stealing and Mom for losing her temper with me. By this time, Mom had pretty much cooled down anyway and was having second thoughts about spanking me. She could see that I was sorry. And I was. Truly sorry. Not because of the punishment I might and ought to receive, but because I had offended her and Dad, by not obeying them and staying out of trouble. I said as much to them and evidently Mom was satisfied enough with my contrition to talk Dad out of spanking me. 

But our trip to the confessional was still made—it was the occasion for me to learn yet another lesson. Sin is sin. Mom spent as much time in the “box” confessing her anger that day as I did for stealing a candy bar!

 

Mom loved Lawrence Welk! She watched his old shows almost as much as she watched EWTN. I think there were two reason for this. She and Dad watched it together back when the shows were first broadcast and it was often that Dad would take Mom by the hand and lead her to the middle of the living room floor and they would dance. Imagine that! In front of the kids and everything! Eww! Watching Lawrence Welk kept that memory of Dad's loving spontaneity alive for Mom. It also provided another excuse for her to share (yet again) that she was taught piano by Lawrence Welk's niece, Hildegard Braun. As many times as I heard that story—and Mom told it each time as if it were the first time I heard it—I only listened to her actually play on our old organ once. From what I remember of that recital, either Mom forgot most of what she was taught, or Lawrence Welk's niece was not much of a teacher!

Speaking of her stories; in her final weeks in the hospital, all of the doctors and nurses and therapists and care-givers remarked how keen and sharp-witted Mom was at 95. She certainly was gifted that way. One thing you could count on with Mom was that she would tell the same stories over and over and over again, but the facts of the stories never changed.

Mom once told me "I wish I could have made you all millionaires or something”. That reminds me of a story I once read:

There was a very rich man who had everything he had ever wanted and was so proud of himself he went riding on his horse one morning out to the countryside to survey his lands and congratulate himself for being so rich and successful.

He came upon an old man, Hans, who was known as a vagrant and prophet of God sitting under an old oak tree and eating his simple lunch of a piece of cheese and some stale water. "God bless you, sir!" the old man said to the rich man. "Harrumph!", said the rich man with a snort, "It was by my own hard work and diligence that I am the richest man in this country. Your God had nothing to do with it!"

"Nevertheless", said Hans, "I had a dream last night that the richest man in the country is going to die tonight, so I will continue to pray for you."

"Harrumph!" he replied again, saying under his breath "What a crazy old man!"

As the day wore on though, the rich man started to wonder if the old man could possibly be right so he sent for his doctor. After a thorough examination, he was given a clean bill of health and a chide from his doctor for believing in "fairy tales told by old men". He went to bed that night feeling as proud of himself as he always did.

The next morning, his neighbor visited and asked, "Did you hear the news? The old man, Hans, died last night!"

Mom, by sharing your faith with us, you have made us millionaires. There is no greater wealth than a faith in our Creator.  God bless you.

The most spiritually profound memory I will keep of Mom and one that is shared by everyone here without question is her complete devotion to the rosary and the Divine Mercy chaplet. 

I have often thought, and I confess to everyone here and now that I know God exists because of Mom's unwavering faith and prayers. Faith is a gift given to us by God. But it is taught to us and nurtured by our parents. Mom’s example of uncompromising faith and prayers are the “insulin shot” I need at those times when my own faith grows weak. I can only aspire to be for my children and grandchildren the example of faith my Mom has been for me.

You could set your clocks to Mom’s prayers. At noon each day she would stop whatever else she was doing and recite one of her many daily rosaries. She said a different rosary for each intention (and for each one of us). Sometimes she would say it quietly to herself and sometimes she would use some form of media—television or radio or cassette or DVD to “help” her along.  And there were a lot of times we said multiple rosaries together during our trips down here to Simi from Lodi.   

At 3pm each day (the hour Christ died on the cross) she would recite the Divine Mercy. That devotion is a relatively new one that was promulgated by Pope (Saint) John Paul II when he canonized St. Faustina in 2000. But the rosary devotion was hers since she could speak. I never knew her to miss a rosary in my entire life. She truly was the epitome of what is known as a “prayer warrior”. How gracious was it that Jesus called her home on the Feast of His Ascension at noon? Praised be Jesus Christ!

I also have memories about our discussions on faith, life, and yes—even death and the new life that death on Earth brings us to. But those are pretty deep and I think Mom would like to keep her remembrance on the lighter side.

As a lot of the saints do, Mom had such a great sense of humor! Oftentimes I would tell a joke that would be so mangled I would screw up the punchline. Mom would laugh anyway and then say SHE had already heard the joke before, then she would retell it to me the right way!

While in the car a few days ago, Janie related a funny story about Mom and her sisters. Aunt Barbara, Aunt Theresa and Mom were all traveling somewhere when one of them remarked “If we were to have an accident right now and die, I'm ready.” The other agreed and said “Me, too! I'm ready whenever the Lord wants me!” From the back seat Mom piped in, “Then pull over at the next corner and let me out!”

I wrote a prayer for Mom on her birthday about 3 years ago. I’d like to share that now:

Lord Jesus, You have known Your Mother’s love and tender care so please hear our prayer for our own mother, Your devoted daughter, on this day we remember her.

Just as she gave life to her children and has given her best to protect us these many years, please protect her now and let her feel safe in the Light of Life that flows through You.

Take from her all her anxieties and fears and fulfill all of her wishes. If Your will is to refuse her any of those wishes, let even the refusals bring her comfort, as she has comforted her children even in her occasional refusals for our own good.

Though we, her children, can never repay her for all she has given us we have confidence that You will repay her for us one day when she rests in the sweet embrace of Your own Mother.  Amen.

I’m sure that each of my brothers and our wives has a “special” memory of Mom that shows what a powerful effect a mother’s love can have on any one of us, and how she can protect us from pain and suffering, just as I’m sure Jesus has similar stories to tell about His special moments with His mother that were never written down in the Bible. How great His love is to share His Mother with us, so we can build similar memories with her. 

And just as Mom was able to intercede for me to Dad so that he stayed his hand on my bottom that day I stole the candy bar, so our Blessed Mother does for us with her Son.

I would like to conclude with Mom’s all-time favorite prayer:

Hail, Mary, full of grace! The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and Blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death. Amen