It's A Different Lenten Season This Year!

  Matthew 6:16-18

   “When you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites. They neglect their appearance, so that they may appear to others to be fasting. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you may not appear to others to be fasting, except to your Father who is hidden. And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you.

 

This reading was part of the Gospel for Ash Wednesday. But this year it was different. Because of the pandemic I was not ministering at the altar, but rather was doing a different ministry, that of live streaming the Mass for those in our parish who were not able to be there in person.

I am used to seeing the church overflowing with people on this first day of Lent. It is something about coming to Mass to receive ashes in the sign of the cross on ones’ forehead and wearing them all day that is a humbling experience.

But listening to Fr. Jim Gannon OFM’s homily really brought it into perspective for this year. He caught my attention when he said “This year we are finally doing what the Gospel is asking us to do, not to put dirt on our foreheads!” 

And you know he was right. Jesus tells us “when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you may not appear to others to be fasting, except to your Father who is hidden.”

He went on to say how other years, when we received ashes, we came forward with our heads held high to receive them This year we received them with our heads bowed. Not in gloom and doom but humbly before the Lord, as receiving them in new life.

This year we need to do things differently. We need to show others who we are, not by a smudge of dirt on our foreheads but by our actions.

Others did not see the ashes on us this year, as Father Jim says so that others may say “Oh you must be Christian or you must be Catholic because you have ashes on your forehead.”

This year we need to make this Lenten season a more active one. The pandemic has had us hiding behind a mask, no one can see if we have a happy face or a frown. We need to go out of our way to show who we really are by our actions of kindness.

We have a short forty days to bring ourselves closer to our God and this year the devil seems to be doing his best to pull us away.

Let’s make this Lent more about life with Christ and less about death in this world. Let others see Christ in us and we see Christ in others as we look forward to a glorious Easter to come.

Look Up Child!

I was feeling a little down because of the Stay At Home policy from the state, but that did not prevent me from taking a walk today. Being out in the country there are not many people I would come in contact with.

As I walked, I was looking down and got even more depressed. All around there seemed to be nothing but emptiness, bare fields of brown ground, dead plants, and leaves. There was trash thrown on the side of the road and ditch near a muddy stream. Everything looks so bleak.

 

As I walked, I could only see the long empty road ahead of me as I turned around to head back the mile and a half to my home. No people, no cars, I do not even think I see or heard a bird. Even the wind was still and the silence deafening.

I started to talk with God and ask, maybe more like shouting.

 “WHERE ARE YOU IN ALL OF THIS?” 

And then inside of me a voice said quietly,

 “Look up child, I’m here!”

I took my eyes off the ground and started to look up. I looked at the sky and seen beautiful clouds and sunlight. I seen new growth on the high branches of the trees, and birds flying in the air, carefree to what was going on below. Everywhere I looked I seen something different, new life coming from what seemed to be dead and forsaken.

And then a funny thing happened, as I looked down again, I seen things differently. Beyond the dead plants and leaves new growth appeared. Dormant plants were starting to come to life. Flowers were starting to bud out and new stocks were breaking through the brown earth. Sounds of birds chirping and geese honking, frogs singing near the ponds filled the air. 

Sounds of life abounded, cars came down the road with people waving as they went by. A neighbor was out cutting grass and the sound of children playing in a yard could be heard. And that voice said to me, 

“See I am near, you just have to look up child.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4Nx2hEhVRE

Good Friday Lesson From A Tree.

A few weeks ago, I was finally able to go out for a walk. I like being able to go on walks because it helps to relax me, and I have time to calm my mind and pray. So many times, I ask God to help me understand things in a simple way. I don’t consider myself to be a highly educated person, I never went to formal college. The only college level courses I took were when I was studying for the diaconate. And even then, I asked my daughters to check over my papers to make sure I was formatting them the way the teachers wanted them.

I like things simple and I don’t use a lot of big words when I write or speak. In fact, in one class on Social Justice I was totally confused that I was getting A’s, yet I didn’t understand why. I asked the teacher why and she said that was the first time anyone questioned getting A’s. She explained to me that she saw that even though I was using 50 cent words instead of 50-dollar words I was understanding and already doing the things she was trying to get across. She said sometimes it is better to look at things more simply than to over think them.

That is why I enjoy my walks; it gives me time to see and hear the simple things in God’s creation and yet wonder and question things I see. On one of my most recent walks I noticed a tree that held its brown leaves all winter instead of dropping them. I had driven past this tree all winter long and never noticed it until that day. And it got me wondering as to why. All the other trees had shed their leaves except this one, so I was curious to find out why. I did some research and found that there’s a term for this curious leaf-retention phenomenon, it's called marcescence. 

What's interesting is that scientists haven't figured out exactly why some trees retain their leaves. It’s all theory, and there appears to be little new literature about the topic in recent years. One would think such seemingly delicate leaves would have been torn from the tree in the high winds of our winter storms and would have dropped many months ago, but this delicate looking tree still had all it’s leaves after months of fall, winter and spring storms. You could walk up to it and gently tugged on one of its leaves... it is on there tight! Not ready to drop even if you want to pry it!

There seem to be a lot of theories as to why this happens, from helping retain water from the snow they catch, to keeping the leaves close to the tree for fertilizer when they finally fell off in the spring.  Some think that an early cold spell stops the nature cycle of shedding the leaves. Or the tree retains the leaves for protection from animals who would try to eat the spring buds because the brown leaves were bitter thus deterring the animals from the sweetness under them.

Regardless of the reason for marcescence, when growth begins in the spring, new leaf buds will expand, push the old leaves off and clothe the branches with new greenery. 

So, what does this have to do with Good Friday?  Well it got me thinking about the crucifixion of Christ. Why did He stay on the cross? Why didn’t He come off like some were taunting Him to do? I think the answer was simple, if He did that, the job He was sent to do would not have gotten done.

I began to think it wasn’t just the nails that held Jesus to the cross, it wasn’t just our sins that kept Him there. It seems that our sins where trying to pull Him off the cross. It was His whole essence that held Him there. It was for our protection that He stayed on the cross. He knew He needed to be there until the job was finished. He knew that it was our infirmities that he bore, our sufferings that he endured, the bitterness of death that he protected us from and if He came down, we would not be saved.

He knew that the only way for us to have new life was that He had to give his life as an offering for sin, so that the will of the Father would be accomplished through him. Because He surrendered himself to death and was counted among the wicked; and he took away the sins of many and won pardon for our offenses.

He knew that without death there could be no resurrection, no salvation, no new life eternal. He knew that He was still connected to the Father, the source of all life, and by losing one life, He gained eternal life for all who believe in Him, who cling to Him through all the hard things of life, including death itself. By completing His mission, He became new life, making the cross a tree of life not death. When we hang on to the cross, we hang on to the living Christ.

Maybe, just maybe, the leaves of that tree are trying to show us what it means to die, yet remain bound to a living thing that will bring us new life.

Even In Pain We Can Grow!

                         
   There is some much going on in the world, from political upheavals, to sexual abuse, not just in the Catholic Church, but also in other churches and public venues. And so much is going on in personal lives, from bullying in schools and jobs, the immigrants, both legal and illegal, the poor and needy and those abusing the system making it hard for those who really need the help.

   Some of the words from the song Worn best describes how I feel. Words like “My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world, And I know that you can give me rest, So I cry out with all that I have left.” “I want to know a song can rise From the ashes of a broken life, And all that's dead inside can be reborn Cause I'm worn.”

   Can any good come out of all these things? Can the people who were hurt and in need get through all these hurts? Will the innocent people be able to stand up to the ridicule that others will dish out, just because these others will lump them together with the ones who did the injustice? Will the pain that is eating at our lives and our souls keep us from still doing good for those who need our help? Will the pain eating at other’s lives and souls keep them from turning to those who still want help them? I don’t have an answer.

   I have asked God to give me some understanding in all this, some kind of sign that would help me make sense of all these things. Today I think I may have seen that sign, or at least have some hope for the future.

   A few weeks ago my wife noticed some bugs on a few plants that was given to us from a friend. Japanese Beatles had attacked the plants and started to eat the leaves of the plants. My nephew came over and spayed the plants but I didn’t know if the damage done was too much for the plants to survive. Today I looked out our patio door and noticed some new flowers. I went to check and see where they were coming from, and found that the damaged plants, even though many of their leaves were severely damaged, continued to grow and produce beautiful flowers.

   Could this be the sign I needed to see? Could there be hope that even though something or someone who was mercilessly hurt, could still survive and continue to grow through the pain? I can only hope it can be so, that with a little help from others, even through hurt or damage was done, life can continue to grow. And that something beautiful can still come out of it all.

 

 

He Is Still "My Dad"

He is still my Dad.

   I don’t know why I feel the way I do today. Maybe it’s from the short, dark cold winter days. Maybe it’s because I’m older and just getting tired. Or maybe it’s just because I am me, and that’s the way I am.

                Today is the first anniversary of my father-in-law’s death and I see so many posts on Facebook from his family and the memories they share. How they miss him and all the things they remember doing or learning from him. It made me think of my own father.

                I find it so hard to relate to anyone who lost their father later in their life time. All the memories they have of them and stories to tell. It must be great to have had a father to be there for them when they are in their 30’s 40’s 50’s or 60’s and beyond. And to lose them after all that time must be devastating. But I can’t say, or be able to tell them I know how they feel.

                See I lost my dad when I was 15 years old and at 62 years of age now I still remember that day like it was yesterday. I listen but it is hard to understand all the stories and memories they have of their fathers.

                I don’t have many memories of my dad but the ones I have I cherish. You see my father never did many things with me, but he was still my dad.  I don’t ever remember going hunting or fishing with him.  He never taught me how to throw a ball or ride a bike, but he was still my dad.  He never showed me how to drive a car, but he did teach me to drive a tractor.

                We never went to a ball game together, unless you count the ones I watched from my aunt and uncle’s house in Hofa Park, when we went to visit on Sunday afternoons, but he was still my dad!

                I remember helping him in the garage and working on cars and in the garden, but I never remember having a heart to heart talk with him, but he was still my dad.

                I never remember him telling me he loved me or was proud of me, though I knew he did and was, but he was still my dad.  My dad never met my wife or had lived to have enjoyed spending time with my children, but he was still my dad.

                He did teach me how to play Sheepshead and Smear but was not around long enough to enjoy time together to do those things, but he was still my dad. He taught me not to be afraid of the storm and to be in awe of the beauty and power of lighting, even though I may be beginning to lose some of that.

                Maybe he knew his time was short with me and didn’t want me to be dependent on him’ to think I couldn’t go on without him. For as the song goes, “And the day he died, all he left us was alone.” But he was still my dad.

                I do remember the first brand new bike he bought me and how we tried to figure out how it shifted gears and wondered how those little rubber pads could work as brakes. I remember how he always loved the same present for Christmas, a new pocket knife, because the one he got last year was worn out. Yup he was my dad!

                I don’t have many pictures of my dad, and even fewer ones of us together, and I am beginning to forget what he looked like. But he was still my dad.

                If you got this far reading, you may think I am having a pity party, but I’m not. I am just telling you to hang on to all the memories you have, share them with your families, and keep telling the stories. but don’t judge me if I can’t relate.

Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing the stories and enjoy the excitement it brings for those telling them. I just get overwhelmed and I’m just trying to hang on to the few I have.

                Even though I may be telling the samething’s over and over it is all I have, to help me remember he is still and will be forever my dad.

Dad's Final Farewell

This past week was a hard one for me as I gave the memorial for my father-in-law before his funeral Mass.

Before I start I want to thank my wife Joan and all my brother and sister in laws for sharing their dad with me. I lost my dad when I was 15 years old and didn’t have that role model in my late teen and early adult life. I learned some things from my dad and many of those things were reinforced by my father-in-law. But I learned many life lessons from my father-in-law, who I will most affectedly call dad from here on in.

Dad was a son, a brother, a nephew, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great grandfather, an uncle, a friend. He was a wise man, a miracle worker, as tough as nails, as gentle as a warm summer breeze kind of person. His broad shoulders and strong arms could carry the heaviest bag of grind feed or the squirmiest calf, and at the same time hold a sleeping or fussy child or grandchild in their gentle grasp.

There wasn’t anything that he couldn’t fix, and if it wasn’t fixable to his standards then he made something better to replace the broken part. He had a magical bench in his work shed that if anything broken was set on it, it would be mystically fixed.

 Many times, he allowed things to get broken so a life lesson could be taught there, as he would say “Your experience by my expense.”

He helped children and grandchildren alike distinguish when it was time to work and time to play. And he brought a better understanding to what it meant to run around like a chicken with its head cut off, literally.

Learning simple lessons like cutting the twine by the knot so it didn’t get caught when you pulled it off, to finding a tree or post to drive to so you drove the tractor straight for the rock pickers. Or just showing how to find the right piece of grass to make a whistle or picking the best clover flower, and knowing how to get the sweet tasting nectar.

From teaching children how to ride a bike, finding the best place to dig for worms, picking just the right apple from the tree, and finding the best pea pod to open. There wasn’t anything that dad couldn’t do. Well almost, we won’t mention dad’s swimming ability or his attempt at riding a scooter.

Technology had nothing over dad. He could send and receive messages easily, from a towel hanging from a second story window, or a wink of the eye. He could get his message across from a stern look that would turn into a sly smile, to phases like, you have to have a heart, or I guess I’ll need a spade for that. Super speed computers, the Internet, or iPad never entered into any decisions making process for dad. A good night’s sleep was all that was needed as he would say many a time, “Let me sleep on it”

Family was important to dad, whether it was near or far. From Sunday dinners, baseball games in the yard, volleyball in the backyard, seven steps around the house, and of course a good game of sheepshead or pinochle . And the times of piling in the station wagon for a drive to check out the neighbor’s crops and a stop for ice cream, to trips to other states for vacations, weddings, fishing, or hunting. Or just being able to have the one on one talks on the glider swing as you watched the sun go down on another day. Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas was always special family tradition time.

No one was immune from the tricks and experiences, not even the city relatives, when it came to getting squirted with milk from the cows, learning to drink from the water hose or checking to see if the electric fence was on.

His love of mom showed every day. The quick smooch, the loud conversations when they both had their hearing aids out, up till the final days, wanting to make sure mom had a birthday cake for her birthday.

Dad seemed to have a hard time verbalizing his love to others. When his children or grandchildren would leave that would say Love you dad, and his reply was Ya ok. As he seemed to realize his time on this earth was coming to an end, he was the one to say I love you first. Even I got an “I love you” the last time I seen him.

 And so we now say Dad, go with God, to break bread with the one whose life and death has guaranteed the everlasting life we seek. May his angels lead you today into paradise, as you begin your new life, in which health replaces illness, youth replaces age, and certainty replace doubt; as you enter the company of those loved ones who preceded you and as you wait for those who are to follow.

And don't worry dad, we’ll close the gate.

We Love you Dad.

I Miss My Dad

  

 Have you ever seen that poster that shows how people see their dads at different ages? They go from the dads can do anything to not know anything, and then see what would dad say until age 60 when they miss their dad.

   I have been missing my dad since I was 15, that is when he passed away. I am in my 60’s now and a few days ago I was really thinking about him since his birthday was coming up on March 16^th.

   Times were so much simpler back then. Sundays the stores were closed and it was a family day, church, homemade chicken dinner, and an afternoon of 7 handed Sheepshead.

   I miss my dad.

   I remember the family rides to get ice cream at the old store in Cecil and sitting in the park at Shawano Lake. Or going to Hofa Park to watch the baseball game from my aunt and uncle’s house.

   I miss my dad.

   I remember listening to his favorite records, The Laughing Horse Polka, The Iron Casket Polka and Whispering Winds. Or when he would pull out his violin and rosin up his bow and play for us.

I miss my dad.

   I remember waiting for dad to get home from work so I could drive the tractor out in the field. Or the time the front tire went flat and he put an old car tire on because we couldn’t afford a new one. He told me “Now we have a tire for driving on the road and one for driving in the field.”

   I miss my dad.

   I remember some Saturdays going to work with him and watch how he could transform wrecked cars back to their original shape. I turned down approval of work done on a few of my vehicles because I knew they were not up to dad’s standards.

   I miss my dad.

   I remember standing outside with him watching the lighting strikes during a storm. He would tell me it was God’s fireworks show for us. Or the warm summer nights just looking at the stars after a hard day’s work and feeling peaceful.

   I miss my dad.

   I remember the time he got me my very own brand new Spyder bike with 5 speeds from Sears and how we both were trying to figure out how the chain went from one gear to another without falling off.

   I miss my dad.

   I remember when my mom was in the hospital and my grandmother would watch my sister and I during the day. I couldn’t wait for him to get home to tell him how the day went. Then he would let grandma go home and he would take the supper dishes outside and let the dog lick them clean, then put dish soap on the and wash them with the hose and let them dry in the evening warmth. Laughing he would say “Now don’t tell mom.”

   I miss my dad.

   I remember searching the garage for his lost tools only to find them later in the garden where the dog buried them. And how we would go out into yard and pick apples off the ground because he said the bruised ones tasted the best, and he was right!

   I miss my dad.

   I often wondered how he would have loved my wife and children and how they would have loved him. I wondered what he would of think of me being a deacon. I wondered if he would have been as proud of me as I was of him.

   I miss my dad.

   I have wondered how different my life would have been if he was just alive a little longer.

   Happy birthday dad. I love you and miss you, always have and always will.