White Smoke

OK, I know I am a little late with this blog post, but I have been cloistered in a Jesuit retreat center with no contact to the outside world — sort of.  Although seemingly silent, I was very much aware of what was happening within the Catholic church.  Those of us at the retreat center were able to stay abreast of current events, even when choosing to remain silent to our loved ones.  And, so . . .

Changes are brewing within the Roman Catholic church.  Pope Benedict XVI chose to live out his remaining years in prayerful seclusion at a monastery near the Vatican.  He was known as “the reluctant Pope,” never wanting to lead the worldwide 1.2 billion Catholics.  Joseph Ratzinger is a scholar, most happy with his books — the books he reads and the books he writes.  I greatly admire his decision to retire, to pass the baton to a man who is a little younger and who has more energy to lead the Church.

I have seen changes in the Church — beginning with the Second Vatican Council when I was a teenager.  Suddenly, Mass was said in the vernacular, the priest faced his congregation, and there was no more fish on Friday.  Of course, there were many other changes, but these were the changes most people, Catholic and non-Catholic alike, remember.  I have memories of each Pope who has led my Church during my lifetime.  Most significant were the changes of Vatican II, under the leadership of Pope John XXIII at its opening, and Pope Paul VI, at its closing.  I was a seminarian during the very brief time of Pope John Paul I, who died just 33 days after becoming Pope.  And, then, there was Pope John Paul II.  As part of my studies, I spent summers in Rome.  I was truly honored to be blessed by His Holiness on more than one  occasion.  Still early in his time as Pope, he was young and vivacious and full of the Holy Spirit.  It was with great sadness that the world watched as his health declined.  And, so, Pope Benedict XVI chose to retire at the age of 85 to live out his remaining years in quiet solitude.

Whether factual or not, word is that Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Buenos Aires, Argentina, was the conclave’s second choice eight years ago, when Joseph Ratzinger was elected pope and took the name Benedict XVI.  With the election of Pope Francis, there are many firsts — the first pope from the Western Hemisphere, the first pope from the Southern Hemisphere, the first pope from the Americas, the first pope from South America, the first pope who is a Jesuit — one of God’s Marines.

Pride — one of the 7 Deadly Sins.  Is it sinful to be proud that “one of our own” has been elected Pope?  With the announcement that Pope Francis had been elected, the jubilation among those in residence at the Manresa Retreat Center was — prideful?  Happy.  Joy.  Peace.  Humility.  Pride.  Yes, we are proud that one of our own is now Pope.  Jesuits not only take solemn vows of Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience, and a fourth solemn vow of Obedience to the Pope in regard to Missions, but five simple vows that, essentially, state that we will live by the Constitution of the Jesuits and we will not seek higher office, either within the Jesuit order or as a bishop.  For a Jesuit to become bishop is rare, to become pope is unprecedented.  So, yes, we are proud of our new pope — for many reasons.  He is a very humble man, who works arduously to help the poor.  He is a warrior for social justice.  By what we are learning in his first few weeks as pope, Pope Francis will be a pope of the people and for the people.  To the chagrin of his security detail, he has ventured out in an open vehicle so he can touch his public.  He has met with Pope Benedict XVI to pray together.  The Church is in good hands.

As Pope Francis leads the Roman Catholic Church into a new era, let us all keep His Holiness in our prayers.  The Church has been under scrutiny for two decades and there is much healing that must still take place.  We are a conservative church, with beliefs and traditions that date to 2000 years ago, to the time of Christ.  Many of our adherents would like to see changes — changes that would seemingly bring the Church into the 21st Century.  Change can be slow — painfully slow — but it does sometimes take place.  We must be patient and know that if it is God’s Will, changes will be made.  We must remember that everything happens in God’s time, not ours.  We must also remember that, because of our interpretation of Holy Scripture, some of the “modern, secular” changes will never happen.

And, so . . .

O God, the Shepherd and Ruler of all Your faithful people, mercifully look upon Your servant Francis, whom You have chosen as the chief Shepherd to preside over Your Church.  We beg You to help him edify, both by word and example, those over whom he has charge, that he may reach everlasting life together with the flock entrusted to him. Through Christ our Lord.  ~~Amen.

Ireland

Ah, the ancestral home of my family!  Although an American, I know I have come home when I visit Ireland.  So green.  So lush.  So beautiful.  So peaceful.  So Catholic!!  And, if not for my annual Lenten fast, so much Guinness!  Imagine being in Ireland and not being able to drink Guinness.

I am 100% Irish — both of my parents were born in this incredible country.  I love everything about being here, most of all seeing family.  Yep, I have first cousins in Ireland.  Because my parents were the youngest of their families, my first cousins, once removed, are closer to my age.  I will be spending part of my visit with my cousin, Meghan, her husband, Ronan, and their family.  We will reminisce about our childhood antics during my family’s visits to the ancestral home or when her family visited us in the USA.

Ireland is in my blood — I have joked that my blood runs green.  Without being too specific about where I grew up, let’s just say I think my grandparents settled where they did because it reminded them of Ireland.  Rain.  Green.  Ocean.  Catholic churches established by missionaries of long ago.  Home.

I am taking a semester-long sabbatical from my teaching position.  It is the first sabbatical I have had — never taking more than a one month vacation from teaching/preaching, of which two weeks of that summer vacation is always spent on retreat in a Catholic Abbey.  I have filled my time with family and prayer.  I have contemplated where God is leading me as I ponder retirement.

Contemplative prayer — In a few days, I will enter a Jesuit retreat center where I will reside for an undetermined length of time.  Maybe a month, maybe more.  I do not need to be back in the USA until August.  I have spent most of my adult life in front of a classroom — teaching.  Teaching theology at the high school level, teaching ancient Christianity and world religions and all things relating to Religious Studies at the university level.  I love teaching.  I love teaching about God.  I love teaching about Christianity.  I love learning about other religions so that I can teach about them.  God led me to the classroom, and there I have been for over 30 years.

As I approach retirement age — although not mandatory — I need to figure out the next phase of this journey called life.  Thus, the extended retreat where I will be cloistered for part of the time.  God has a plan that only He knows.  As a child of God, I need to listen to Him and follow His guiding hand.  Where will He lead me next?  Each summer, when I am on retreat — for a short two weeks — it has become more difficult to reenter the world.  I am drawn to a life of contemplation.  I have spent my career being “public,” speaking before groups, socializing with fellow academics or fellow priests or congregations.  In reality, I am the ultra-introvert.  I prefer to be alone.  Quiet.  What I hope to discern during this extended retreat is whether I would serve God well by being a spiritual director at a retreat center.  Should I trade my absent-minded professor garb for my clerical garb?

I have much to pray about over the next several weeks — not just about my future, but prayers for my family, prayers for my friends, prayers for the world.  I know a few people who are hoping I will blog about St. Patrick — after all, I am in Ireland, I am Irish, and I was born on St. Pat’s Day!  However, I will be cloistered so I doubt if I will write anything about the patron saint of the land I love.

Until I return — my prayers to all of my readers.  Please pray for me, too!

God bless . . . .

St. Valentine’s Day

I have to laugh!  Today is Valentine’s Day — a day for romantics to remember their sweethearts.  A day of hearts, of chocolates, of kisses between lovers.  It wasn’t until I received an email from a friend requesting that I write about St. Valentine’s Day that I even gave it a thought.  I am a Catholic priest — it’s not like I have a valentine! +;-)  But, realizing that there is more to today’s celebration, and knowing what my friend was requesting, I thought I should write about St. Valentine himself.  When I opened this blog to write a new post, there was a message saying, “Inspire me or give me hints,” or something to that effect.  When I clicked on that link, here is what was given me:  Write about your strongest memory of heart-pounding belly-twisting nervousness: what caused the adrenaline? Was it justified? How did you respond?  Do you see why I laughed???  For me, my strongest memory of “heart-pounding belly-twisting nervousness” was the day I was ordained.  

I confess, St. Valentine is a saint I know very little about.  Thus, I am “cheating” and looking at Wikipedia.  Now, just so you know, if any of my students were to use Wikipedia as a resource when writing a paper, well, um, I would not be kind in grading.  Since I doubt if any of you who are reading this are going to grade me, I am allowing myself a moment of laziness.  

Rather than celebrating St. Valentine on the date of his birth, or the date he did something extraordinary, St. Valentine’s Day is celebrated on the date he was martyred, February 14, 270 — give or take a few years, since no one is sure.  I find it somewhat ironic that we celebrate the saint of love on the day he was beheaded.  Historically, there is no reliable evidence that Valentine was one person or more than one.  According to some sources, Valentine was a priest in Rome during the reign of Claudius II.  Valentine was apprehended by Roman soldiers after he was found to be marrying Christian couples and assisting those who were being persecuted in Rome under Emperor Claudius II.  Being sent to the prefect of Rome, Valentine refused to renounce his Christian faith and was imprisoned.  Claudius liked Valentine, until Valentine made a tactical error when he tried to convert Claudius II to Christianity.  Valentine was then beaten with clubs and beheaded.  In 496 CE, Pope Gelasius pronounced February 14th as a celebration in honor of his martyrdom.

But, where does all the lovey-dovey stuff come from?  I am moving far out of my area of expertise with this one.  Or, could it be this is not within my comfort zone???  According to what I have been able to learn, the first recorded association of Valentine’s Day with romantic love is in Chaucer’s Parlement of Foules, written in 1382.

As all good Catholics should know, saints are not supposed to rest in peace — they are expected to keep busy, performing miracles and interceding in our prayers.  Being in jail or being dead is no excuse for non-performance of the supernatural!  😉  One legend says that, while awaiting his execution, Valentine restored the sight of his jailer’s blind daughter.  On the eve of his execution, he wrote a farewell note to the jailer’s daughter and signed it, “From your Valentine.”  

That is all this priest can muster to write about St. Valentine’s Day! Will this do, Margy?  I won’t promise to do better with St. Patrick because I will, most likely, be cloistered in an Irish monastery.  Before I end this post, I would like to share a St. Valentine’s Day prayer:

I said a Valentine prayer for you
and asked the Lord above
to fill your heart and bless your soul
With the precious gift of love.

I asked Him for sincere love
The kind that’s meant to stay
Just like the generous love
You give to those you touch each day.

I prayed for love from family
And from every cherished friend
Then I asked the Lord to give you
His love that knows no end.

God Bless . . . .

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is the first day of the 40 day season of Lent (excluding Sundays).  For Christians, Lent is a somber season of reflection, penance, and fasting in preparation of the resurrection of our Savior on Easter through which we attain redemption.

Many Christian churches have Ash Wednesday services in which the priest or minister places a cross of ashes on the foreheads of the believers. The ashes are made by burning the blessed palms used in the Palm Sunday celebration of the previous year.  The ashes are then christened with Holy Water and are scented by exposing them to incense.  While the ashes symbolize penance and contrition, they are also a reminder that God is gracious and merciful to those who call on Him with repentant hearts.  God’s Divine mercy is of paramount importance during the Lenten Season, and the Church calls on us to seek that mercy during the 40 days of Lent with reflection, prayer, and penance.

The ashes are a symbol of the sacrament of penance, and they help us to develop a spirit of humility and sacrifice.  “Remember, you are from dust , and to dust shall you return” (Genesis 3:19).  In ancient times, Christians who had committed grave faults were required to perform public penance.  On Ash Wednesday, the Bishop blessed the shirts worn by the penitent and sprinkled over them ashes made from burning the palms from the previous year.  Then, while the faithful recited the Seven Penitential Psalms, the penitents were turned out of the church because of their sins.  This turning away was symbolic of Adam being turned out of the Garden of Eden because of his disobedience.  The penitents did not enter the church again until Maundy Thursday after having been reconciled by the toil of 40 days’ penance and sacramental absolution.  Later, whether public or secret penitents, all Christians came to receive ashes out of devotion.

Ash Wednesday and Lent are times of fasting and abstinence.  From the time we were children, my brothers, sisters, and I learned the importance of fasting to become closer to God and his merciful forgiveness.  Traditionally, Christians “give up” something for Lent — chocolate, coffee, soda pop, or cussing seem to be common.  My parents asked us to “give up” something that would “give gain” to someone else.  We would “give up” our allowances to buy food for the hungry, we would “give up” play time with our friends to spend time with the elderly in nursing homes or the crippled children at Shriner’s Hospital, we would “give up” piano lessons and ask our piano teacher to give “free” (we would still pay the teacher) lessons to kids whose parents couldn’t afford music lessons.  By “giving up” to help others “gain” we learned of the sacrifice Jesus “gave” so we Christians could “gain” salvation.  Fasting from food was sometimes more difficult when we watched our non-Catholic friends enjoying after school snacks.  Lent for us meant smaller meals, no in-between meal snacks, no meat on Fridays.  Fortunately, from a religious perspective, we attended Catholic schools so all of our classmates were also “suffering” through the fasting of Lent.  It was when we got home from school and our public school friends wanted to play and eat snacks that it became more challenging.

What will be interesting about this Lenten season, for me, is that I will be in Ireland for most of it — cloistered in a monastery.  Ash Wednesday will be honored, as usual, and then I depart for my ancestral home the following week for an undetermined length of time.  I can’t recall ever spending Easter in Ireland, a country that does not understand the concept of “separation of church and state” as we Americans do.  The State is Roman Catholic.   The Irish imp in me is feeling a need to stir up the pot — to rebel against authority.  My parents taught us well to believe in social justice, to work towards making better lives for the least.  Ireland has a few social justice issues that I believe need to be addressed.  It is quite possible that this Lenten season, I will look for an Irish cause to donate my time, to “give gain” to a worthy cause.

My prayer for all who read this is that you have a very blessed Lent — that you allow for time to reflect, to repent, and to fast in order to bring your spirit closer to God.

Thanksgiving Musings

I am a writer — most of what I write is for academic journals of which only a few people in my field read.  To maintain tenure at the university at which I teach, I must be published.  Over the years, I have been encouraged by colleagues, friends, and family to write a book.  Because I do not believe I would have anything new to contribute in my field of expertise, I remain hesitant to add one more book that would say much the same as all the other books on the market.  I am testing the waters, not so much with my academic knowledge, but with my writing skills — to learn if anyone is interested in reading what I write.  And, so, I have titled my blog, “Musings”, as I will write about nothing in particular.

Thanksgiving Musings — my family has always put great emphasis on this All American holiday.  We have so much to be thankful for and, although mostly mythological, there is some historical accuracy to the first Thanksgiving.  Each year we would share stories, sometimes debate those stories, of what might have actually happened, why it happened, and what the significance of sharing a meal with those who “are not like us” means.  The first Thanksgiving was celebrated with the natives of our great land, and the first immigrants.

We are all immigrants, or the descendants of immigrants.  My parents were born in Ireland and immigrated to the United States as young children, along with their parents and some of their older siblings.  Unlike many, if not most, immigrants of their era, my grandparents were adamant that their children and, subsequently, their grandchildren not lose their native tongue.  We are all fluent in Irish, as are many, to a lesser extent, of my nieces and nephews.  With each passing generation, the language is becoming lost to our family.

As we shared our reasons for being thankful this past week, it became evident that each generation is thankful for different things.  I am thankful for the importance of God in my life; I am thankful for my Church and the community that it offers; I am thankful for my family who are my support and who love me unconditionally; I am thankful for my immigrant grandparents who insisted that their children and grandchildren be bilingual which, in turn, enabled me to more easily learn more languages; I am thankful for the freedoms we have as Americans, that have been hard fought by generations of soldiers; I am thankful for the life God has led me to lead — to serve my Lord, to attain an extensive education, to have the opportunity to share my knowledge with the incredibly awesome intellectual minds of my students.  I am thankful.

As I reflect on all that I am thankful for, much of which pertains to my being an American, I cannot help but wonder how our Native people feel about their past, their history, their land being, essentially, stolen out from under them by the white man who thought he was superior.  I am Irish by blood.  My heritage is not much different from the Native’s.  Our land was stolen by the British.  My ancestors were forced to learn English, to make it their native tongue, to lose their Irish heritage.  My ancestors were made to be tenets on their own land, they were starved during the potato famine, they were not afforded quality health care when they became ill due to horrendous living conditions, they were “slaves” in their own homeland — oppressed by the British.  Our Natives have been oppressed by their conquerors.  After their land was stolen, they were forced to learn English, the children were sent to boarding schools to be taught to assimilate to the American way of life, they were forced to become Christian and to leave their native religious rituals behind — they were oppressed by the white man.  The white man who was, most likely, British.  Hmm . . . Do you see a trend?

And, in the beginning, they shared their farming knowledge with their future conquerors, they shared a meal in celebration of that first harvest, they were kind to the immigrants.  The Natives did not ship those first immigrants home, those immigrants who would eventually ship the Natives to reservations.  Several of the students I have taught over the past 30 years have been immigrants — most from countries in Central and South America.  Many of those students were brought to the United States when they were young children.  By the time I have them in my classroom, they have lived in the US longer than they lived in their native lands.  They consider themselves to be American.  The caveat is that many are undocumented.  Because of that little glitch in their “right” to be in this country, many of our citizens believe these children, and their parents, should be shipped back to their native countries.  Do we, as a nation, never learn?  Must we continue to be the conqueror?  Must we continue to be the oppressor?  I learn as much from my students as I hope I teach them.  Their thirst for knowledge, their intellect, their hope for a better future than their parents could attain, the richness of their different cultures — all creates beautiful human beings that offer so much to our “melting pot” society.

My prayer is for a country that is no longer polarized, a country where we are ALL treated with equality, a country where our immigrants are welcomed and their skills are utilized in a friendly atmosphere, a country where we all love one another as God loves each and every one of us.