God Talk and Tea

Revealing the human person is an act of love

When I was young I developed a fascination for archeology.

I’m sure it had much to do with my father’s library of books which included a large number of volumes on ancient ruins. Nothing fascinated me more than the prospect of unearthing the buried treasure of a forgotten or unknown civilization! But as life would have it, I moved in a different direction. As a mother of six sons the most unusual thing I would unearth would be my cutlery in the flower boxes or Matchbox cars in a Jello mold.

 

However, my fascination with things old never left me and, so, some of my favorite jaunts are to antique stores –not the upscale kind, of course, but the ones that advertise “trash and treasure.”

During one of my trips to just such a place in Pennsylvania, I discovered a very old and worn copy of a painting of the Holy Family. The baby Jesus is resting in a wicker basket, his arms outstretched to Mary who is leaning over him, gazing upon him lovingly.

 

Because we know Mary as the devoted mother she was, we know that this child who reaches out in trust will find a mother who responds in surrender to the need. But what would have happened if Mary had rejected Christ when he extended his arms to her or flew to her with some need?

 

If she had at any time rejected him, would Jesus have had the powerful sense of self, sense of value, which enabled him to embrace his cross? Would he have possessed the strength to allow himself to be vulnerable or the courage to stay the course? Would he have loved with the fullness of Divine love? How would he have dealt with the powerful rejections in his adulthood, most especially the rejection of those he loved most, like Peter who denied even knowing him?

 

Mother Teresa, who saw the face of rejection daily, wrote poignantly of the power of rejection to wound the human heart and soul: “Hungry not only for bread - but hungry for love. Naked not only for clothing - but naked for human dignity and respect. Homeless not only for want of a room of bricks - but homeless because of rejection.”

 

Mother Teresa was not an archaeologist per se, but, like so many in ministry, she spent her time unearthing the greatest of all treasures – the human person. For her, the divine child was often buried in a body covered by abscesses or so malnourished that they appeared as a skeleton with a mere painting of skin.

 

Those who minister in a culture of abundance often find themselves digging away at layers of emotional wounds and the poverty of spirit that comes with feeling rejected and subsequently believing oneself unlovable. God often provides many opportunities to uncover the treasure that lies buried in so many human hearts. It is a joy to uncover such an ancient and divine gift, but it carries with it a great responsibility and the need for one special tool – love.

 

How fortunate we are to have Mary, the great nurturer of Love, to show us how.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes we have to get out of our own way

During the past 15 years I have written about dozens of topics on things my father taught me when I was growing up, and continues to teach me now that I am an adult. Recently, remembering the advice of a good friend who said many people appreciate bulleted lists for easy reading, I decided to create a list of two word phrases capturing the essence of the many lessons I learned from my dad. Since many publishers are interested in an author’s ideas for marketing, I considered that such short phrases would serve as great bumper stickers.

Heading the list was the phrase "Do Good." I went to a great Internet site that I have used before, where a customer can design their own bumper stickers, and within a few weeks I had a small supply of magnetic bumper stickers and the satisfaction of knowing I had created my own traveling work of art.

A more challenging result is that I now also have a constant reminder on the back of my car to "Do Good," a print version of my conscience following me like shadow.

So, with those two words prominent in my mind for the last month or so our pastor’s homily this past Sunday resonated strongly with me, reminding me of the many ways we either do good, or do harm, to the life of our parish. High at the top of that list is our willingness, or refusal, to build community.

Community is essential to a people who professes belief in the Trinity; who profess belief in a savior born within the communion of love that is family. As individuals, and as a people, we were born to be in community; our Baptism makes us members of one Body of Christ, and every member of the community has a responsibility for the health of the Body.

Community is nourished by something as ancient and ordinary as hospitality—a smile, a welcome, a pleasant voice on the phone, clean and orderly gathering places, personal presence during times of need, fellowship, and simple respect for people. But even the best attempt at hospitality is not enough to nurture healthy community if we are not truly walking the talk of our faith, especially those of us who are leaders in the Church, whether we lead in a parish, school, diocese, service organization, or simply in our families.

Too often, when we accept the role of leader, our human inclination toward pride takes over and humility flies out the window. And there is nothing more damaging to community than arrogance because it pigeon-holes people into a hierarchy of importance, with "me" on top, and everyone else somewhere on the ladder going down.

If we forget the "servant" part of servant leadership, putting what we want before all else, we erect obstacles to forming community, and have, ourselves, become obstacles to the sacramentality of the Church.

In his book, The Apostles, Pope Benedict XVI writes about Peter, who serves as an example for all leaders, saying that Peter had strong expectations of what he wanted in terms of a powerful Messiah, and when Jesus presented himself as a servant of God who would dash Peter’s expectations to the ground, Peter responded with great arrogance. Pope Benedict writes, "Peter, implusive as he was, did not hesitate to take Jesus aside and rebuke him. Jesus’ answer demolished all his false expectations, calling him to conversion and to follow him. ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are not on the side of God, but of men.’ It is not for you to show me the way; I take my own way and you should follow me. Peter thus learned what following Jesus truly mean."

"Follow me." There is no advice more difficult, or more effective, for Christian leadership.

My column, Things My Father Taught Me, appears in The Monitor, the official newspaper of the Diocese of Trenton, NJ; The Catholic Spirit, the official newspaper for the Diocese of Metuchen, NJ, and, on occasion, in The North Texas Catholic.

Laughter is like a cup of tea for the soul

Working as part of a writing and editorial team means, of course, paying close attention to how things are worded. Our antennae are geared to catch mistakes. So, it is no surprise that we often find ourselves sharing the bloopers we’ve seen or heard during the week.

 

One day, a co-worker shared some commentary he had heard during a news story.

The reporter, commenting on the scene of an accident, stated seriously, “The emergency crews have been here since they arrived.”

 

Wearing our editor’s hats, we had a good laugh at someone not only stating the obvious but getting paid for it, as well. It immediately brought to mind the now famous sayings of Yogi Berra, whose classics include, “It's like deja-vu, all over again,” or “If you ask me anything I don't know, I'm not going to answer.”

 

Early the next morning, I had to drop some letters in the mail bin downstairs next to another co-worker’s desk. I asked her in all seriousness, “Do you think the post office will return this to me if I don’t put a return address on it?”

 

My co-worker looked at me with a dead pan expression and after a few seconds of well-pointed silence asked, “How would they send it back to you if you don’t put a return address on it?”

There it was, the big, “DUH!”; the dead quiet filled up with my own unspoken thought, “How could you say anything so stupid?!”

 

Feeling duly chastised, I remembered yesterday’s laugh fest after hearing the reporter’s comments. “Who’s laughing now?” I chided myself. But when I was done feeling stupid, following yet another lesson in humility, I joined my co-worker in a hearty laugh at my expense.

 

Laughter and a good sleep, said my Irish father, are the best cures for any ill. He was a wise man; one who taught me the value of laughter and the value of learning to laugh at one’s self when necessary. This skill, he said, encourages us to not take ourselves so seriously, which can result in our becoming so “full of ourselves” that there is little room for anything else.

 

As a student of life, my father’s antenna was raised to the incongruities inherent in being human, and he was fond of pointing out that no amount of education, authority or power will prevent a person from making a fool of him or herself at some point in time. And while he admitted sometimes appreciating being there to see it happen, he was careful not to gloat too obviously because he knew his time was coming. And when it did, he was always ready with a laugh.

 

When I think back on the most memorable times and people of my life there is always laughter involved. Sharing and making memories with family around the kitchen table, friends at work whose humor relieved stressful situations, laughter in a hospital room or even in a funeral parlor which, if even for a brief moment, eased the pain of loss and offered a glimmer of life’s hope, beauty and the promises of God.  “A joyful heart is the health of the body,” says the psalmist, and certainly that has been true in my own life.

 

But on those days when even a smile seems hard to muster, I try to remember the words of another wise, but unknown, author: “Even if there is nothing to laugh about, laugh on credit

As my father used to say, it really gets my goat!

I would assume that most people have an issue that really raises their blood pressure.

For me, it's cell towers. For the past few years we have been fighting against a cell tower being built within 200 ft. of our home in the middle of a densely populated residential area. There are three schools within 2 miles of us. We lost the fight. Now we are seeing company after company add their antennas to the pole, greatly increasing the levels of electromagnetic radiation emanating from a poor excuse of a "tree." In our research we discovered that health issues can not be presented as a reason to block towers from being built in a community. Industry leaders deny any connection between electromagnetic radiation and health risks, saying there are no definitive studies. One could say they have their head buried seriously in the sand, or, more appropriately, they are protecting their financial windfall at the expense of a nation's citizens, including those who cannot or choose not to use wireless technology. And what are our leaders doing about the situation?

It is interesting to note that on April 2, 2009, in Brussels, the European Parliament passed a resolution on health concerns associated with electromagnetic fields. The text is too long to post here, but the significance is remarkable considering the European Parliament is the directly elected parliamentary institution of the European Union, and the European Union includes 27 states including: Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France,Germany, Greece, Hungary, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, and the United Kingdom.

The research is there. If one of the most powerful legislatures in the world is suggesting transparency and real attention to the research, why are we lagging so far behind? And one small point of interest: European insurance companies are "tending to exclude coverage for the risks associated with EMFs from the scope of liability insurance policies, the implication clearly being that European insurers are already enforcing their version of the precautionary principle ..."

Always keep your eyes on the conductor

One of the promises I made to myself several years ago was to embrace any new opportunities that might come along – to move beyond my comfort zone so I could relish new learning experiences and forge new friendships with the many unique and wonderful people I've yet to meet.

For some of us, this is not always an easy thing to do because our hearts and minds are often entangled with an awful four letter word – fear. Certainly, it is no stranger to me!

But my antidote to fear is prayer, so with lots of that and with great determination, I forged ahead to find an ample supply of opportunities.

One of the most challenging, to date, has been singing with a choir under the direction of Maestro Dimitrios M. Fousteris, music director and conductor of the Hellenic American Music Conservatory. Most of the music was written in Greek. For myself and four friends who joined in on this adventure, there was new meaning in the phrase, "It’s all Greek to me!"

The choir was preparing for an impressive production celebrating Greek Independence Day, and included both a symphony orchestra and members of the Metropolitan Opera. Talk about fear!

Being on the same stage with that many highly trained professionals could strike fear in the bravest of hearts!

Fortunately, I found that an endearing quality of Maestro Fousteris was his ability to dispel fear. You could leave a grueling rehearsal actually believing that there is nothing strange about the fact that, as a simple parish choir member, you will be singing behind international stars, led by an orchestra conductor with 500 concerts throughout Europe and America to his credit.

The key is clear, stressed the Maestro in his delightful Greek accent, "Focus, focus, focus!!" Waving his arms in pure conductor form, he was emphatic, "Do not take your eyes off me!"

He gave us an exercise to sing, "A, E, I, O, U!" We were told to follow his hands and we began, "A, E…." His hands stopped. We didn’t -- barreling along in full voice, "I, O, U!"

The exercise was repeated four or five times and each time the choir missed the cue and forged ahead like a train unable to stop on the tracks.

Finally, the Maestro reminded us loudly, "Focus!!! You must focus on me!!"

The next time we got it right, and he smiled.

I smiled, too, at the image of God that suddenly occurred to me -- the Great Conductor, trying diligently to get us to "Focus!" while we race ahead with our own way of doing things.

In the years since then, in addition to Maestro Fousteris, I have been privileged to sing with an incredibly talented and diverse group of music directors and conductors – Chris, Thom, Eliza and Tim. Though unique in their styles, they have all provided invaluable lessons, including the importance of being able to take your eyes off the musical score. It requires knowledge of the music and complete faith in the conductor – and focus!

Their lessons remind me of the words of one of my favorite composers, Robert Schumann. "When you play {or sing!}, never mind who listens to you. Play always as if in the presence of a master."
For us, as Christians, that would be Master – with a capital M.

A swing is good for the soul

While taking a break from writing I decided to drive over to a lovely spot on the bay with parking and benches, and most important for me, trees for shade. While I was sitting there decompressing, I noticed the children playing at the playground nearby. I found myself totally engaged in the joy of the children on the swings. Squealing, jumping, laughing, wanting to go higher and highter. I remembered days when the need for  a prayerful space and time would overtake me, and I would search out a swing at a nearby park. Then there were memories of joyful abandonment, freedom, trust and a glorious experience of space and time. I often wondered if that was the way a soul felt when lost in God. I guess I have misplaced a little bit of my child's heart. Today, I would feel conspicuous on a child's swing. That's sad, at least for me. It signifies that I need to do some soul work and regain the sense of joy in myself. Maybe the two-seater swing in the backyard would be a good place to start.

Pets, prayers and grief

Today, on the way to a funeral Mass, a friend told me the story of an acquaintance who had been very ill, and very attached to her dog, and her dog devoted to her. She worried what would happen to her furry friend when she died and asked family members to please take care of him. Almost immediately after the woman died, her little friend had a freak accident and died also. It was easy for family members to believe that neither friend wanted to be without the other, that's how close they were.

 

There is no doubt that the bond between people and their pets is a strong one. And it's not surprising,  given that they were created with the breath of God just as we were, though they are infinitely more patient and less judgemental than we are! We share our love with them, and they love us back, in the way they are able. My beautiful 14 year old beagle,Taffy, died in February,not long after my year and half old dachshund, Dickens, wiggled out of the backyard and was hit by a car. It hurts, but loving put us at risk.

 

I often hear from friends who are grieving the loss of a beloved pet, but who are hesitant to ask for prayers to help them and their family with the grief they are experiencing. We hesitate because we feel that the death of an animal can in no way compare with the death, or sufferin, of a human being. But grief should not be quantified or categorized to judge the need for prayer. Certainly, some losses are more profound than others; some pain more unbearable, but all grief signifies a woundedness that needs healing. And Jesus never denied those who needed healing.

 

So, today I include in my prayers all those who have lost their pets, and share this prose written by Rudyard Kipling:

 

 

   

 A DOG FOR JESUS
I wish someone had given Jesus a dog
As loyal and loving as mine
To sleep by His manger and gaze in His eyes
And adore Him for being divine. 

As our Lord grew to manhood His faithful dog
Would have followed Him all through the day
While He preached to the crowds and made the sick well
And knelt in the garden to pray.

It is sad to remember that Christ went away
To face death alone and apart
With no tender dog following close behind
To comfort its Master's Heart.

And when Jesus rose on that Easter morn    
How happy He would have been
As His dog kissed His hands and barked its delight
For The One who died for all men.

Well, the Lord has a dog now, I just sent Him mine
The old pal so dear to me
And I smile through my tears on this first day alone
Knowing they're in eternity.

Day after day, the whole day through
Wherever my road inclined
Four feet said, "I am coming with you!"
And trotted along behind.

Remembering is a path to healing

Today, as I make plans to attend yet another wake for a friend, I do what most of us do in times like this—remember what was.

The meeting of friends and family at the funeral parlor, the familiar routine of the wake service and Mass, the images and symbols of the cemetery are certain to evoke memories of loved ones lost and grief experienced.For me, at this moment, the prospect has brought to mind the burial of my very dear Uncle Stan so many years ago, someone much loved and cherished—and missed.

That morning, as we stood silently by the grave side, waiting for the priest to begin the last prayers, I noticed a small child toying with the baskets of flowers that led to the canvas tent.The bright pink and purples of her dainty clothes were in stark contrast to the somber hues of the adults nearby. In a world of her own, as if unaware of the soft drizzle of fall rain or what was taking place around her, she hummed a quiet tune and touched the silken pedals of fresh cut roses.

Though my heart ached at the painful thought of my dear Uncle Stan being laid to rest, I had to smile at the little girl who reminded me that life goes on. Then I was the grieving niece, the anguished daughter, having recently lost both parents. At some tomorrow I will be the deceased, as will we all.

While death, for most of us, is a thought we try to push aside and a fate we try to avoid as long as possible, it is not a bad thing to live life with an awareness that our days are numbered. It is a powerful reminder to live and love fully.

As the prayers concluded that morning, I followed the child’s lead and pulled several sweet-smelling flowers from the baskets, walking timidly around neighboring graves, trying to undo the familiar tightening in my throat as I came upon the graves of my parents.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I placed the flowers across the dark, moist earth that seemed to resist the spreading grass. Behind me my cousins, after saying their final goodbyes to their devoted father, brought baskets of flowers to my parents’ graves. I was touched and thought about how much I loved my family.

The smile that accompanied their gesture turned to laughter as someone remarked that, even after a year, there was no grass growing on my mother’s grave, remembering her oft quoted desire to rest in a mausoleum.

Not your ordinary "drawer in a wall" mausoleum, mind you, where she would share space with other families’ loved ones, but a private mausoleum of grandiose proportions!

"She’s not going to let the grass grow over HER!" someone quipped.

"I hope my father doesn’t have to hear about it for all eternity," I had chuckled, remembering the good-natured darts that would often fly between them.

Reflecting on the number of family members who were "resting" nearby, my cousins and I had considered the possibility of a family picnic.The remembering is so often painful, especially when we are alone. But shared with people who knew our loved ones or who love us in our pain, it can be powerfully healing.

Now, as I remember times past with my parents, I continue to remember a favorite uncle who made me laugh, who beat us to Lyons Lake on summer Saturdays to cook breakfast over an open grill, who served us Syrian bread and olives when we visited after church, whose nonchalant approach to driving evoked spontaneous prayer from anyone who drove with him, who opened his heart and his home to everyone and who loved his children and grandchildren with unabashed openness.

Sitting here today, as my father’s birthday nears, another thought enters my mind. I remember vividly my cousin’s wedding when the D.J. played Sister Sledge’s song, "We Are Family!"

"Get up everybody and sing!" blasted from the speakers. And we did, all of us, together.

We sang together and danced together, as we laugh together, cry together and grieve together.

There is a time to dance—and to remember.

"There is an appointed time for everything … a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance."  Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

Is it God or is it Columbo?

At this point in my life God has begun to remind me more and more of Columbo, the disheveled, trench coat wearing detective who didn't seem to have much on the ball. He would get hold of a suspect and wear him down with a barrage of questions and just when Columbo would walk away and the suspect would think, "Finally! He's done," Columbo would slow down, turn around with his finger resting pensively on his forehead and say, "Uh, just one more thing."  If that's not God I don't know what is! It seems he is never done with us, and it is easy to get weary with so much honing, and sculpting and molding going on, especially when we sometimes wonder if God really knows what God is doing. But I guess that's what faith is - trusting that God knows the plan even when we can't see it, and trusting, also, that it's not God who is wearing us away with trials but, rather, making us strong enough to bear them.

With people, what you see isn't always what you get

Recently some friends from the parish choir stopped by for a summer get together. At one point, we
moved into the family room to gather around the piano and sing, because that's what we do. They have been here many times before, in a variety of seasons, and at every gathering someone comments about how beautiful the room is, especially in winter with the fireplace burning and a 10-foot Christmas tree in front of the window.

I am always grateful for the compliment but, personally, hide the sense of being a fraud because I am aware of all they can’t see -- all of the cleaning that hasn't been done and all of the mess that is stored inconspicuously behind cabinets and closet doors.

The truth is that when you are aware of what really lies beneath, or behind, surface beauty quickly loses its charm.

Thoreau made the same discovery when he lived intimately with nature: "White Pond and Walden are great crystals on the surface of the earth, Lakes of Light.... They are too pure to have a market value; they contain no muck. How much more beautiful than our lives, how much more transparent than our characters are they! We never learned meanness of them."

How good it would be to have the purity and transparency of a Lake of Light, but it is the truth of human existence that our character is formed not solely by the hand of God but within the realm of free choice and the decisions we make to live with or without integrity. And that reality makes integrity and authenticity an on-going challenge.

Mother Teresa spoke wisely when she said, "Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway."

It was the integrity of the man Nathanael that Jesus affirmed in saying, "Here is a true child of Israel. There is no duplicity in him" – and this in spite of the fact that Nathanael basically insulted Jesus by saying, "What good can come out of Nazareth?"

But Jesus saw into Nathanael’s heart, as he sees into ours, and what he saw was not a man who smiled and bowed or offered his hand in friendship only to sling insults and barbs when Jesus turned his back, but, rather, a man who lived with integrity and honesty, who had "no guile in him."

Nathanael was like the blessed servant of whom St. Francis spoke:

"Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service to him. And blessed is he who loves his brother as well when he is afar off as when he is by his side, and who would say nothing behind his back he might not, in love, say before his face."

Personally, I often wonder what God sees when he looks into my heart because another painful truth is that the easiest person to fool about our lapses in integrity is ourselves.

We seem to live in a world where deceit is the norm and honesty is rare. We are encouraged to be and to do whatever it takes to get our own way, to be successful, to be noticed, to be admired, to feel loved. These are shallow victories. As French author Andre Gide wrote, "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not."