A Ministry of Presen[ce][ts] – Stations of the Cross for Children

I was blessed to lead the Stations of the Cross for Children this evening at our Church.  I gave a spontaneous homily, so here’s a summary of what I said:

                The Stations of the Cross is an ancient and beautiful tradition in our Church, but it seems a little strange to celebrate Stations of the Cross for Children.  Jesus’ passion and death is a difficult story; it’s sad and even scary, so we have to ask ourselves why we have a children’s version of the Stations of the Cross.  Well, I’ll try to explain with a story from Winnie the Pooh.

                Do you remember when Winnie the Pooh went to visit Rabbit’s “Howse”?  He helped himself to so much of Rabbit’s honey that his belly grew really big – so big that when he tried to leave, he got stuck in the rabbit hole.  Rabbit had a back entrance, so he ran outside to try to pull Pooh Bear out, but that didn’t work.  He ran back inside and tried to push him through, but that didn’t work either.  Winnie the Pooh was stuck.  Rabbit, of course, made the best out of the situation by using Winnie the Pooh’s backside as a decoration for his living room – he drew a smiley face and stuck some antlers on Winnie the Pooh’s bottom and balanced a mantle across his legs where he placed a candelabra and some knick knacks.  As for Winnie the Pooh, he’d just have to wait until he burned off some of that honey to get free. 

                That’s when something very special happened:  Christopher Robin came to read a book to Winnie the Pooh while they waited for his belly to shrink.  When there was nothing else he could do, Christopher Robin spent time with Winnie the Pooh.  That’s one way of looking at the Stations of the Cross.  The most important thing we can do is to spend time with Jesus and with each other.  Walking the Stations with Jesus is spending time with him in his suffering.  It’s our way of letting him know that we're with him, and we care. 

Now, spending time with Jesus and with each other is something that everyone can do.  No matter how old or how young we may be, each one of us can give our time to be with Jesus and with each other.  We call this a “ministry of presence.”  Now the older folks here probably understood what I meant when I said “presence” – staying with someone.  But you may have thought that I meant “presents” like Christmas or birthday presents.  Well, in this case, they’re really the same thing because our presence is the best present we can give to Jesus and to each other, especially when there’s nothing we can do to ease someone’s pain or suffering.

          Thank you for walking the Stations of the Cross with us this evening.  Your presence was the best present of all.

A Write of Passage

                Earlier today, I came across a Catholic World Report interview of James V. Schall, S.J., my erstwhile political philosophy professor at Georgetown.  Father Schall is a brilliant thinker and a gifted writer, so his interview, entitled “The Creative Catholic: Fr. James V. Schall S.J. on the Art and Vocation of Writing,” quickly caught my eye and my interest.  Thought-provoking as always, Father Schall got me a-thinkin’ about my own writing.  Why do I write?  How do I write?  For me, you could say it’s a “write of passage.”

                Why do I write?  I discovered my love for words and language in second grade in a little book called Maundala.  It was written entirely in an African language (I don’t know which) and it had no translation.  I never knew exactly what it said; I simply discerned its meaning through pictures and patterns of speech.  And I loved it – so much so that once my name filled the library card, my teacher banned me from borrowing it ever again.  Little did she know that I would concentrate my studies on foreign languages in high school and college, where my love for words and languages would grow exponentially through the classic beauty of French, the expressive rhythm of Spanish and the enigmatic strata of Japanese.

Above all, I credit my love of writing to my mother, who read to me and always corrected my grammar, and to three teachers of my native tongue:  Mrs. Gagliano, who taught me to appreciate good grammar; Mrs. Young, who taught me precision in writing and attention to detail; and Mrs. Nadler, who taught me to read what I like and to write what I think.  Together, they taught me that words are powerful, and that I had something worth saying.[1] 

   

How do I write?  Writing, for me, always starts with reading.  Books, news, articles, essays, fiction, non-fiction, I read a lot.  My problem is that I’m a very slow reader because my mind swirls with questions, thoughts, memories and ideas while I read.  As a result, I never read as much as I’d like, but I get lots of ideas of things to write about. 

Once I have an idea, I let it percolate; I tease it out; I research it; I hone my message; and I try to find ways to express what I really want to say.  If it’s a good idea (at least in my mind), it won’t go away, it keeps coming back to me.  Sometimes this process can take a matter of minutes, sometimes days.  If I allow the process to run its due course, putting my ideas to paper usually turns out to be relatively quick and easy.  If not, not so much.  That said, it normally takes me 12 to 15 hours to prepare a homily and 2 to 3 hours to write a blog post (like this one).  I’m a slow writer, too, largely because I agonize over every word and sentence.  The upside to my agony is that I tend to have few edits when I’m finished.

          The greatest challenge for me in writing is the vulnerability of it.  As Father Schall so aptly admits in his interview, “Writing is an act of blind faith that out there, somewhere, someone will read and enjoy, understand, what an author wants to say.”  Every time I put something out there, I’m vulnerable; I open myself to criticism – or worse yet, to silence.  For sensitive types like me, delivering a homily or publishing a blog post can be pretty unnerving.  But they’re also opportunities for me to learn and to grow.  I grow from my mistakes and from the questions, comments and criticism that my writing may provoke.  Writing challenges me to grow.  In that respect, you could say that writing, for me, is a “write of passage.”

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[1] I’ve long fretted that one of my English teachers would read this blog and be disappointed with my decidedly-colloquial writing style.  For the record, I write my homilies and blog postings colloquially because I want to engage my (few) listeners/readers conversationally.  That said, I never use contractions, begin sentences with conjunctions or end sentences with prepositions in my professional or formal writing, I swear!  

Just What I Needed

I confess:  I wasn’t all that thrilled about having to go to my daughter’s Confirmation retreat today.  Being a Deacon doesn’t give me special benefits or dispensations (OK, I have a key to the bell tower, which is pretty cool, but that’s it), so like every other eighth grade parent, I had to attend the Confirmation retreat with my daughter this afternoon.  Today, I just wasn’t in the mood.  It was the last thing I needed, and I wasn’t thrilled.  Then I met Colleen Rayner.

An enthusiastic, funny, motivational speaker, Colleen Rayner is the new evangelizer par excellence who led today’s 3-hour retreat.  Her love for God is palpable, and her powerful message is aflame with the Holy Spirit.  Indeed, that’s Colleen’s powerful message in a nutshell – Each of us, empowered by the gifts of the Holy Spirit, can change the world.  Boy, did she change mine.

You see, ministry, like all earthly endeavors, has its ups and downs:  good days and bad days; days when I feel like I’ve done some good, and days when I feel like I should hang up the stole.  For some reason, I’ve allowed the “downs” to take center stage in the recesses of my mind for the past few weeks.  As Colleen would say, I’ve been stuck in Good Friday.  With that frame of mind, I really wasn’t in the mood for a touchy feely, Kumbaya lecture about how God loves me.  “Prove it,” I say.  Well, he did. 

As I listened to her speak, I realized that Colleen was putting into words the very truths that led me to ministry in the first place.  Colleen pointed out that no matter what we do, no matter what we want to be, we will always be one thing for the rest of our lives:  children of God.  She told us that as children of God, we have the power to “light up the world” for the good, so we need to put the time and effort into being the best children of God we can be.  She confirmed that our joy is in God alone – if we want joy in our lives, we need God in our lives. 

One comment in particular really hit home with me, though.  Colleen noted that if we want to criticize the choir for singing off-key or the priest for a boring homily, we’d better be willing to get up there and do it ourselves.  At that point, she pointed to me and jokingly said, “Do you think people really wanted that guy to be a Deacon?  He’s the only one who was willing to step up!”  I laughed so hard I cried.  Colleen’s words brought me back to the time when I was discerning my call to the diaconate, when I had a profound feeling that I should become a deacon because I could.  I remembered the steadfast conviction that God had given me certain talents that I needed to use to build up his Kingdom here on earth.  I remembered being aflame with the Holy Spirit, so much so that I just had to share it with others.  Those feelings came rushing back to me today as I listened to Colleen, and I was thrilled.  I’m certain that God sent Colleen to me today to rekindle that flame in me. 

Colleen Rayner could have picked another career.  She could have passed up the opportunity to speak at our parish today, or she could have called in sick.  She didn’t.  She answered God’s call to spread his Word, and the Holy Spirit worked through her to reach me at that Confirmation retreat today.  That’s how I know that God loves me.  He gave me just what I needed.

Take the Plunge

          One of the many benefits of being a lifeguard as a teen was the opportunity to teach swimming lessons.  I really enjoyed helping the kids overcome their fears and develop confidence as their swimming skills improved.  One of the big milestones for every child in swimming lessons was jumping off the diving board for the first time.  At the end of each week, we’d take our classes to the “deep end” to see who wanted to give it try.  Some kids faced the challenge with indomitable courage, some needed reassurance and a little help.  In most cases, they went from frightened toe-dippers to happy cannonballers after just one jump.  All they had to do was take the plunge.  And that’s our invitation from today’s readings.

          This morning’s readings are overflowing with aquatic symbolism.  (“Overflowing” – get it?)  In our first reading and our psalm, we hear of how God slaked the thirst of the grumbling Israelites by miraculously producing water from the rock.  In his letter to the Romans, Saint Paul reminds us that “the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.”  (Romans 5:5)  And in our Gospel, Jesus meets the woman at the well, offering her the living water that will become a spring welling up to eternal life.  

          So what’s with all the water?  Well (pun intended), “water is the primordial element of life.”[1]  Without it, we die.  The same can be said of God.  Without God, we wouldn’t exist.  That’s why the Jews “often spoke of the thirst of the soul for God; and . . .  of quenching that thirst with living water.”[2]  So when Jesus offers us his living water, he’s talking about the Holy Spirit, the one and only life-force that quenches our deepest thirst and gives us the fullness of life that we’re waiting for.[3]  It’s no surprise, then, that water figures so prominently in the sacramental life of the Church.  We’re buried with Christ in the living waters of Baptism only to rise with him to new life in the Spirit.  Did you know that the preferred method of baptism is total immersion?  While a sprinkle or a pour will do, the Church really wants us to take the plunge right from the start of our Christian initiation, so our thirst for God will be eternally quenched.

It’s human nature to thirst for God.  “The desire for God is written in the human heart, because man is created by God and for God; and God never ceases to draw man to himself.”[4]  So we’re not the only ones who thirst.  Think of the first words Jesus says to the woman at the well: “Give me a drink.” (John 4: 7)  Jesus thirsts for our faith, a thirst that “will reach its climax in the final moments of his life, when from the Cross he cries out, ‘I thirst!’”[5]  Jesus’ thirst arises from the depths of God’s desire for us.  Just like with the woman at the well, God seeks us first, asks us for a drink and offers us his living water in return.  Our thirst for God starts with God’s thirst for us. 

Our thirst for God manifests itself in our never-ending desire for something more out of life, something that can only be fulfilled in God.  But instead of turning to God to find it, we look elsewhere:  we seek happiness in a bigger house or the newest smartphone; we base truth on the latest Facebook post or the cleverest tweet; we look for love in all the wrong places; and we’re never satisfied.  We’re a stubborn lot who think we can do everything on our own, so we cling to our misguided self-sufficiency and to the things of this world and continue to live frightened, unhappy and dissatisfied lives.  

          Our challenge, then, is to recognize that what we’re really looking for, what we thirst for, is God.  I’ll bet that if each one of us were to plumb the depths of our hearts’ desire, casting aside our surface wants and needs and focusing on what we really want out of life, we’ll all arrive at the same things – truth, happiness, love, justice, peace.  All of these things can only be found in their fullness in God.  What we really want, then, is eternal life with God right now.  Well (pun intended again), “the woman at the well is a story about opening the well of eternal life [right] now.”[6]  It’s about a choice:  Will we be toe-dippers, or cannonballers?  There’s no middle ground.  It’s time to heed the words of our Psalmist: “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”  (Psalm 95: 7)  It’s time to meet Christ at the well, to immerse ourselves in the mystery of the Eucharist, to draw from the wellspring of Scripture and to wade into the deep waters of faith, hope and love.  It’s time to accept Christ’s offer of living waters and quench our thirst.  It’s time to take the plunge.

          Ajim was a toe-dipper for good reason – he tended to sink.  While he was strong enough to overcome that tendency, he didn’t believe it, so he spent most of his time in swimming lessons screaming at the top of his lungs for his mother to save him.  One fine day, Ajim’s mother insisted that he jump off of the diving board.  He was terrified.  So was I.  While a lifeguard colleague guided him to the end of the diving board, I treaded water in the diving well with my hands raised overhead, ready to catch him.  He refused to jump, so at his mother’s insistence, my colleague lowered him down to me.  As he squirmed to get free, he slipped through her hands, and his feet landed squarely on my shoulders, driving us both to the bottom of the diving well, twelve feet below.  As soon as the bubbles cleared enough for me to see, I grabbed him and rushed him to the surface, bracing for his blood-curdling scream.  Ajim sputtered a bit, and then his face broke out into the most joy-filled smile I’ve ever seen.  He did it.  He wasn’t afraid anymore.  Ajim was a happy cannonballer from that day forward.  Take the plunge.

Readings:  Exodus 17: 3-7; Psalm 95; Romans 5: 1-2, 5-8; John 4: 5-42

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[1] Pope Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth (New York, Doubleday, 2007) at 238.

[2] William Barclay, The Gospel of John, vol. 1 (Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2001) at 178-179.

[3] See Pope Benedict XVI at 241.

[4] Catechism of the Catholic Church 27 (emphasis added).

[5] Homiletic Directory (Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2014) at 37.

[6] John Shea, The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels for Christian Preachers and Teachers, Matthew, Year A (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2004) at 116.

Color Blind

Check out this inspiring news story about Reddy and Jaxson, two color-blind boys in Kentucky.  When did we forget that our only difference is our hairstyle?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dGlJ4LRS1E

Everyone Makes Mistakes, Oh Yes They Do

                I couldn’t help but think of Sesame Street’s Big Bird this morning when I read the umpteenth headline about Envelope-Gate – the Best Picture Oscar mix-up at last Sunday’s Academy Awards.  Yesterday’s news announced that two PricewaterhouseCoopers accountants will be forever banned from the Oscars for the screw up, while today’s news reports that Oscar’s Producer Michael De Luca may be passed over for a Paramount gig because of the flub.  One article goes so far as to claim that “The epic envelope snafu that rocked the Oscars is still sending aftershocks through Hollywood.”  Epic?  Aftershocks?  Really?  It was a mistake.  Didn’t Big Bird teach us that everyone makes mistakes?

                I’m not sure why, but we’ve become so hyper-critical these days that the simplest of mistakes become earth-shattering news.  We pounce on others’ failures at the drop of a hat (or at the spill of milk, as the saying goes).  Human nature offers us three possible reactions to the mistakes of others:  indifference; sympathy/empathy; and outrage.  While outrage may be an appropriate response to willful negligence that actually hurts people, it’s not the right response to simple, harmless errors.  Yet, bombastic, high-grounded outrage seems to be the response du jour.  Interestingly, psychologists see feigned moral outrage as an attempt to focus attention on others' flaws while deflecting attention away from our own.  Hmm, perhaps there are a lot of guilty consciences out there these days.

                We would all do well to focus on our own foibles, rather than on the mistakes of others.  Christ admonishes us to “remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from your brother’s eye.”  (Matthew 5:7)  When others make harmless mistakes, a little sympathy or empathy can go a long way toward healing and forgiveness.  It’s time to give each other a break, assume positive intent, forgive and move on.  Remember, we could be next.  As Big Bird so wisely said, “Everyone makes mistakes, oh yes they do!”

Click here to listen to Everyone Makes Mistakes, by Big Bird

Rising from the Ashes

We’ve received our ashes.  We’ve sported them around all day proudly (perhaps some a bit sheepishly, which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing).  We’ve taken care not to smudge them when our foreheads itched – why do foreheads itch more on Ash Wednesday than on any other day?  We’ve compared them at the water cooler, admiring the work of some ministers while deriding the clumsiness of others.  Now what? 

Now’s the time to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off (yes, you can wash off the ashes), and get to work on our Lenten disciplines.   Now’s the time to rise above the challenges in our lives and thank God for our many blessings.  Now’s the time to put down the mobile devices, lift our heads and look each other in the eyes.  Now’s the time to break from our daily routines, find what we really love to do and step up to do it for the benefit of others.  Now’s the time to rise from the ashes!