Intercessions ~ First Sunday in Advent

This First Advent Sunday/ at the start of a new liturgical year,/ we ask for blessings as we begin again/ in our prayer,/ our perceiving,/ our forgiving and peace-making./ We pray to the Lord.

From Japan,/ Pope Francis has said that possessing and using nuclear weapons is immoral,/ as they are destructive of the planet and wasteful of resources that could lift populations out of poverty./ We ask for leaders eager to try new avenues towards creating a peaceful planet./ We pray to the Lord. 

As the Holiday time has begun with Thanksgiving Day,/ we ask to have grateful hearts,/ that we would take nothing for granted,/ and be eager to share from our abundance./ We pray to the Lord.

In this hemisphere,/ during the time of cold and dark,/ we pray for those who are homeless,/ working more than one job,/ alone,/ despairing or afraid./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for our families where they are in need of help and healing./ For families exhausted by disaster,/ famine or war./ For the world's children to feel welcomed,/ healthy and secure./ We pray to the Lord.

For those fighting disastrous fires in Australia./ For the people who have lost property or loved ones there./ For those who care for the animals where habitats have been destroyed,/ some species now nearing extinction./ We pray to the Lord.

Saint Michael the Archangel Prayer

Here is the brilliant 14th century icon of Saint Michael the Archangel found in the Byzantine Museum of Athens. The Greek letters on the top of the icon to left and right spell out: The Prince Michael — the Great Commander. And the Greek letters found inside the transparent sphere the angel holds spell out: Christ, the Righteous Judge.

Many decades ago, Pope Paul VI lamented, "Somehow, Satan's smoke has gotten into the Church through some crack." Not a few people might be saying something like that about our country today, or about the state of the world, or about folks whose lives seem to be in tatters and for no good reason.  

Here's the traditional prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel many older Catholics know by heart, and which was prayed communally after most Masses until 1964.

Saint Michael the Archangel,

defend us in battle.

Be our protection against the wickedness

   and snares of the devil.

May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,

and do you, O prince of the heavenly hosts,

by the power of God,

cast into hell Satan

   and all the other evil spirits 

   who prowl about the world

   seeking the ruin of souls.

Amen.

Now I know a gentle nun who says she doesn't like the bit about sending Satan to hell. I get it, Saint Isaac says we should have pity even for the demons. So I send them to Jesus, who will know what to do with them. 

Not Just An Admirer

One of the great temptations for the Christian is that even after many years I might have allowed myself to become just an admirer.

I can admire the beauty of the old-fashioned church.

I can admire the lovely words of the prayers.

I can admire the way the organist plays.

I can admire the priest's sound theological homily.

I can admire his vestments.

I can admire how he offers the Mass.

I can admire the young family which comes to Mass faithfully.

I can admire the Pope's charity.

I can admire how excellent the choir is.

I can admire how much money the parishioners give.

I can admire how well-prepared the First Communicants are.

I can admire the altar flowers.

I can admire the stories of the saints.

I can admire that we have a singing parish.

I can admire the pictures of Jesus and Mary on the wall.

I can admire the Sacred Heart of Jesus,

  attend Mass in a Church that bears that title, 

  pray the Consecration to the Sacred Heart

  and have that picture in my home. 

But I'm supposed to have a Sacred Heart too, lest I become just an admirer. But what is a Sacred Heart? Saint Isaac the Syrian tells us.

What is a heart of mercy? It is the heart of him (her) who burns with pity for all creation. ... He looks at the creatures and his eyes are filled with tears. His heart is filled with deep compassion and limitless patience. He overflows with tenderness, and cannot bear to see or hear any evil or the least grief suffered by the creature.

I might read this paragraph again—slowly. I mean, I can read these words and simply admire how St. Isaac thought of them

Intercessions ~ Feast of Christ the King

"a universal kingdom of justice, love and peace." Preface ~ Christ the King

On the Feast of Christ the King,/ we ask for Christ to enter the universe of every human heart and mind./ For the disciples of Jesus to establish and promote Christ's reign of compassion,/ justice,/ mercy and peace./ We pray to the Lord.

As the liturgical year comes to a close,/ may we have grateful hearts,/ eager to recognize God's presence and movement in our lives./ We pray to the Lord.

We insult the God of life,/ when every day in our nation,/ 310 people are shot/ and 109 die by fire arms./ We ask for the conversion of hearts:/ for the courage,/ wisdom and will needed/ to stop this suffering and bloodletting./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for Pope Francis,/ and for all who work for the purification of Christ's Church./ We pray for each other today/ as we stand around the altar,/ asking for our prayer to be strengthened/ and for our growth in faith and goodness./ We pray to the Lord.

This Wednesday in Canada/ is National Child Day./ May the world be inspired to consider every day a Child Day./ May the children be welcomed,/ sustained and kept safe./ May the world's first priority always be/ to love the children./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for our nation and those who govern./ For the healing of the nation's bitterness,/ for the strengthening and blessing of those who remain decent,/ authentic and good./ For the welfare of our families./ We pray to the Lord.

Psalm 122 ~ Looking To The Lord With A Child's Trust

Psalm 122 is a short psalm of only four verses, but expressive of deep emotion growing out of an ancient story of Jewish sorrow and loss. In this psalm, the Jewish people of Judah have returned from Babylonian captivity of about seventy years. In 586 B.C., Jerusalem and its great temple were destroyed. The leading citizens were exiled to Babylon, leaving behind the poorest and the weakest. This psalm gives communal voice to the sense of loss but also of trust

Verse 1: The first line expresses terrible despair. No words, just eyes looking up to the sky. Maybe accompanied by a deep sigh - everything is ruined. We have the saying, "There are no words to describe how I feel." 

Verse 2: Again, giving expression to the weary and dis-spirited community,  the psalmist references his eyes. They are the eyes of a slave (or servant) who anticipates being told where to go and what to do. 

Yet again, eyes. As if to say, We'll just wait patiently, trusting that in God's own good time, God will see fit to extend his restorative and renewing kindness to us. In one of his poems, Pope John Paul II writes of the years of Communist occupation, when one could hear women weeping, as each night they would sneak into the churches to lay out the vestments for the next morning's Masses, which wouldn't take place because the priests had been killed or taken away to concentration camps. Weeping and waiting on God: "...till he show us his mercy."

Verse 3,4: Here the psalmist pleads a third time for God's mercy. Mercy doesn't mean, "Please don't ping us off into an eternal sea of flame." Mercy is God's kindness. Some folks don't like that Pope Francis speaks so often of God's mercy; they prefer he'd speak about God's judgments - even harsh and condemning judgments. What's that about? Do they think threats and intimidation will draw souls to love God?

The psalmist reminds God that his people have been through a very great trial—that they have suffered a bitter hatred, that they have been mocked and humiliated by arrogant captors. Remember Psalm 136 which recalls the sadness the people felt while exiled to Babylon:

By the rivers of Babylon

there we sat and wept,

remembering Zion;

on the poplars that grew there

we hung up our harps.

For it was there that they asked us,

our captors for songs,

our oppressors, for joy. 

'Sing to us,' they said,

'one of Zion's songs.'

Zion is Jerusalem. The captives were taunted to sing the songs they remembered from their Jerusalem Temple worship.

But for the Christian, there is more! The psalms were composed long before the birth of Jesus, whose Incarnation changes everything. Psalm 122 sees us as God's slaves. But slaves are degraded, un-free people, greedily owned, often brutalized, stolen from their homeland and away from their own people. That's not how Jesus sees us. Instead he says:

"No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you." John 15:15

And here's what St. John has to say about who we are before God:

"See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are...Beloved, we are God's children now..." 1 John 3: 1,2

Might I then suggest a second read of the psalm, though this time, praying it with the new awareness of myself as God's dear friend; dear child.

But It's Not Really About The Withered Hand

6 Now on another Sabbath he went into the synagogue and began to teach, and a man was present, and his right hand was withered. 7 And the scribes and the Pharisees were watching him to see if he would cure somebody on the Sabbath, hoping to find something to charge him with. 8 But he knew their thoughts; and he said to the man with the withered hand, 'Get  up and stand out in the middle!' And he came forward and stood there. 9 Then Jesus said to them, 'I put it to you; is it permitted on the Sabbath to do good, or to do evil; to save life, or to destroy it?' 10 Then he looked around at them all and said to the man, 'Staretch out your hand,' He did so, and his hand was restored. 11 But they were furious and began to discuss with one another what they might do to Jesus. Luke 6:6-11

Verse 6: This is the second trouble-on-the-Sabbath story. Jesus is teaching in the synagogue, which is the local Jewish gathering house for prayer, instruction and study. Was the man with the useless hand in attendance because he knew Jesus was in there and would be helpful? Or is he in the synagogue because he's a regular worshipper? We don't know.  Notice the gospel tells us it's the man's right hand that's withered. That means he can't work.

Verse 7: The religious officials were watching Jesus. They are suspicious and on the look out to see how Jesus will offend the Sabbath laws. Observing the Sabbath - filled with suspicions!

Verse 8: "But he knew their thoughts."  Jesus isn't a mind reader, more likely he knew they were up to no good because they followed him around and regularly spoke to him in testy ways. But this doesn't stop Jesus; he isn't afraid of them. The rest of the verse might suggest he even baits them, inviting the hand-crippled man to "stand up here in the middle."

Verse 9: Now it's plain to see, Jesus is setting them up. He asks them the essential question. Are we allowed to do good on the Sabbath...save life?   Notice that the leaders don't answer. Jesus often teaches people by asking probing questions. 

Verse 10: Jesus looked all around the circle. We can imagine he made eye-contact. We're told he looked around at them all. His message is for everyone. We've missed the mark if we think the teaching of Jesus is for someone else—Them. We witness the invitation of Jesus: "Stretch out your hand," and healing follows at once. But notice: as when Jesus heals the lepers, he's restoring people who had previously been marginalized. Now he restores a man who can't work - who's unemployable.  

When you've got work, you've got your dignity. A lot of people are denied their dignity in our world today. The Christians - the ones who know this story - ought to be the experts in helping people to realize their dignity. But instead, we're often the excluders, who don't want to see or know them, let along invite them in. It's the major complaint many people make when leaving the Church.

Verse 11: But they were furious.  Not a very holy Sabbath. Anger, even fury, can be a real Sabbath spoiler. Maybe folks furious about the homily they heard that morning. My goodness: I remember as a boy the pastor standing at the pulpit one Sunday and addressing a congregation of hundreds after the local police reported to him that many of the parishioners cursed at them for not getting the cars out of the parking lot fast enough. The Holy Host barely swallowed!

And these scribes and Pharisees put their furious heads together to talk about what to do with Jesus - which means how they could get rid of him. He was rocking the boat.  I was at a priest meeting and the bishop said that Tuesday was the heaviest mail day - piles of angry letters written and posted on Sunday and delivered to the chancery by Tuesday. Or the angry men who walk out of homilies. I've never seen a woman walk out of a homily. What's that about?

I'm smiling now, but when I was newly ordained, the pastor called me into his office and read a letter of complaint he'd received about me. For forty years I've ended homilies with the little Franciscan phrase, "And in all of these things the Holy Spirit enlighten our hearts and our minds. Amen."  This angry complainer made his case to the pastor against me and finished off saying, "May the Holy Spirit enlighten your heart and your mind as to what to do with this young man."

But for all of my ignorance and inexperience as a new priest, I knew my task in the pulpit wasn't to make us comfortable. Jesus may have comforted the handicapped man, but the miracle wasn't about him really, was it?  We might say Jesus is something of a provocateur. Will I allow it?

Intercessions ~ Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

November ~ Full Beaver Moon

This week we observed a beautiful full moon./ May we have some new experience of personal fullness/ as the liturgical year comes to a close:/ some fresh sense of God's incentivising grace/ that prompts us to be more fully human./ We pray to the Lord.

We ask to be blessed with gifts of endurance,/ faith,/ hope and love,/ where the world seems to be in crisis or chaos./ We pray to the Lord.

Pope Francis travels to Thailand and Japan this week./ We pray for his safety./ May his words and example support growth in goodness for the people of these nations./ We pray to the Lord.

For the President of the United States/ and those who govern around the world./ May they be genuine servants of the common good,/freed of power-lust/ and self-service./ We pray to the Lord.

California and Australia are suffering terrible fires,/ Venice is under water,/ and much of the United States is enduring January-like cold./ May we grow in a protective love for the planet-gift God has given us./ We pray to the Lord.

For the strengthening of families in all their diversity and need./ For the world's children and their safe-guarding./ For the sick,/ the war-damaged,/ and all who are living in terrifying insecurity./ We pray to the Lord.

Introductions for Life

My father introduced me to the spiritual world by taking me to dark, incensed, wooden churches on Sunday afternoons, where we'd light candles in blue and red glasses. But my mother introduced me to gardening.

I have a small photograph of her when she was three years old, standing in her Maspeth, Queens backyard. She's wearing a little girl's collared cape, standing on a brick path alongside a narrow curbed garden. There are terracotta pots containing vine-y plants trailing along a wire fence behind her. When my family left the Bronx apartment in 1953 for life in the suburbs, there was a back yard where she started her own gardens along the edge of the new white post and plank fence. 

Long Island had provided Manhattan with its potatoes since the early 1800's, and when the land was transformed into suburbia in the late 1940's, it seems the top soil was taken away, a pebble-y, sandy soil left behind. It was out of that pretty useless stuff that my mother grew some rather amazing, lightly fragranced, red climbing roses; brilliantly colored, lacquer-petaled portulaca (which does best in sand); purple iris, and whatever Mothers Day plants were to be had in those days. 

One afternoon when I was eight, I found myself kneeling on the grass, helping her to transplant a Columbine from a clay pot. It wasn't blooming at the time, but I thought the Italian Parsley-like leaves to be attractive, all the more so when the rain beaded, acting like magnifying glasses, affording me a deeper look. Sometimes the drops lined up along the leaf edges or puddled in the center where the new, lighter green leaves, were taking shape.

My ancestry report says the ancient relatives on my paternal side, were 17% Scottish, English and Welsh, and 50% Irish—from Ulster, Tyron, Londonderry, Antrim and Roscommon. So, I'm a Celt, and the Celts believed the Columbine to be a protection against evil and that it stood at the portal to the world of dreams and visions.

I think there are experiences in our lives, if even frozen moments, that somehow portend the future. I've been protected against alcoholism, depression and suicide. I've been kept alive and safe from the invasion of a parish priest who exploited and further weakened our family, abusing me and another of my siblings. And out of that experience, and long, garden-like inner tending,  a vision and dream of personal salvation has emerged. Not an eternal rest in a cloudy neverland of heavenly delights, but the salvation and new vision for myself of sanity, evolution and creativity, with my spirit-world intact.

But these themes are often fragile, like the  Columbine, which is particularly susceptible to the ruinous leaf-miner. And so, I plant a new one every spring, solicitous of its vulnerability and always grateful.

Anthropocene Extinction

I was in third grade in 1959 and remember the day the new set of red bound Encyclopedia Britannica was rolled into the room on its wheeled cart. After an introduction, the good teacher had us move our desks into groups where we set out exploring topics of interest. This search took me far beyond the wood-lot behind my house. Here, I investigated African and Indian Elephants, enthralled by their beauty and the complexity of their communal lives. I didn't know anything about big game hunting, the selling of ivory for piano keys, the turning of elephant feet into waste paper baskets.  I didn't have the words to describe it, but I knew that elephants were among the most wonderful expressions of God's imagination. 

Now here we are sixty years later, and the news is bad for our paradise planet. I've asked a science teacher friend to share something of this with us here. There's a big world out there, about which the grateful, God-loving soul might want to know as much possible.

Sixty-five million years ago, a meteor struck the earth killing off three quarters of the species living at the time including the well known dinosaurs. This was the fifth major extinction event to have taken place since the beginning of flourishing life. A mass extinction is defined as the dying off of a large number of species within a relatively short period of geological time. And scientists overwhelmingly agree that we are in the midst of a sixth major extinction event which is claiming the lives of countless species, even as we walk the planet today. Unlike past mass extinctions, caused by events such as asteroid strikes, volcanic eruptions, and natural climate shifts, the current crisis is almost entirely caused by humans. Overpopulation, over consumption, deforestation, habitat loss, the introduction of invasive species into new ecosystems, toxic pollution  and of course, activities that have led to global climate change are all to blame. 

The numbers are staggering. Although extinction is a natural phenomenon, it occurs at a natural “background” rate of about one to five species per year. Scientists estimate we're now losing species at up to 1,000 times the background rate. For example, the planet should lose a bird species only about once every 1,000 years. In actuality, at least 150 species of birds have gone extinct in the last 500 years alone, Under current trends a mass extinction could be reached for birds in 537 years, for amphibians in 242 years and for mammals in about 334 years. 

There are entire populations that are not yet on the brink of extinction, but their numbers are ‘crashing’. There are 400,000 African elephants roaming the continent today. It seems like a large number, but it is less than half of what we had 100 years ago. The rate of decline is increasing and if the trend continues, we won’t have any African elephants within the next 20 years. It’s distressing statistics like these that are cause for great concern. And the African Elephant is just one example. There are 26,500 species threatened with extinction, according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature, a global network of some 16,000 scientists. That includes 40 percent of amphibian species, 33 percent of reef-building corals, 25 percent of mammals, and 14 percent of birds. A third of insect species are endangered, and the total number of bugs on Earth is dropping by 2.5 percent every year. Insects like bees, butterflies, hoverflies, and other pollinators perform a crucial role in fruit, vegetable, and nut production. Bugs are food sources for many bird, fish, and mammal species, some of which humans rely on for food. There are many ripple effect consequences. Think about it.

As we rapidly change our planet and watch food chains diminish, one might wonder what might become of us. The global population continues to rise, and we continue to chop down trees and burn fossil fuels. We still have time to change our ways. Will we do it? 

Intercessions ~ Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Kristallnacht is the night of November 9th to 10th,/1938,/ when Nazis torched synagogues,/ vandalized Jewish homes,/ schools,/ and Jewish businesses across Germany and occupied Austria./ Nearly 100 Jews died./ For the conversion of every Christian heart harboring hatred for Jews./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for Pope Francis/ and for the Church./ May we be a people of joy,/ welcome,/ justice,/ generosity and good prayer./ We pray to the Lord.

This week the United States formally withdrew from the Paris Climate Accord./ We pray for the safeguarding of our vulnerable planet./ May we be of good conscience,/ freed of the exploitive greed which stresses the earth./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for our President and those in leadership all around the world./ May they be persons of virtue/ and self-forgetting in the service of all the people./ And as an election year gets underway,/ may it be a safe and peaceful time./ We pray to the Lord.

For the sick,/ those who are abused,/ wounded or dying./ For the State of California where fires are still being fought./ For prisoners and addicts./ We pray to the Lord.

As we move into the cold and dark time,/ we pray for those who have no warmth or comfort./ For those who are alone,/ fleeing,/ afraid,/ or feeling they are at their wits ends./ We pray to the Lord.

Jesus in the Cornfield

1 One Sabbath day, as Jesus happened to be passing through the cornfields, his disciples began picking the ears of corn, rubbing them in their hands, and eating them. 2 Some of the Pharisees remarked, "Why are you doing what the Law forbids men to do on the Sabbath day?" 3 Jesus answered them and said, "Have you never read what David and his men did when they were hungry? 4 He went into the house of God, took the presentation loaves, ate some bread himself and gave some to those with him, even though the Law does not permit anyone except the priests to eat it." 5 Then he added, "The Son of Man is master even of the Sabbath. Luke 6:1-5

Verse 1: Here we go again, "One Sabbath day..." Those words alert us: there's trouble up ahead. We know Jesus is going to do something that's going to irk someone with regard to Sabbath law. Here they are, Jesus and his friends, minding their own business, having a nice Sabbath walk, and they're hungry. They pick some corn along the roadside (interesting no one will charge them with stealing), which they rub between their hands to loosen up the kernels, which they then pop into their mouths.

Now we might stop for a moment and get hold of ourselves. Not a few Catholics, including priests, like to poke fun of the Jews for having so many rules (613) governing just about every aspect of religious living. But let's be honest: the Catholic Code of Canon Law has 1,752 laws! The 1917 Code of Canon Law contained 2,414 laws! So let's stop making fun of the Jews - we've got them beat by miles.

Verse 2:  Here, the self-appointed or sent-from-Jerusalem religion-police appear. We can imagine them watching Jesus from a distance along the walk or hiding in the cornfield observing. Suddenly they spring out and accuse Jesus with, get ready, harvesting, which is a Sabbath-forbidden work. All religions can be reduced to extroverted observances. It takes real self-awareness to detect how we may have drifted off into that spiritually empty place.

Verses 3,4: But Jesus is brilliant. He knows their game and answers their question with a question. That's a tool any good teacher uses to bring students to deeper insight. He's talking to serious religious observers, so of course they're going to know the David story. In the Book of Exodus, God laid out in fine detail how all the furniture, vestments, curtains and coverings for the Jerusalem temple were to be made. We might think God had more important things to do, but there it is. And in the most holy, interior place of the Temple, the Holy of Holies, where only the priests were allowed to enter, there was a golden table where loaves of bread were left as an offering to God. I expect the bread was kept fresh and changed everyday. David and his friends were apparently hungry one day and ate that God-bread.

Verse 5: Jesus wraps up the short conversation with this mysterious saying, referring to himself as Son of Man. This isn't a claim of divinity, but sounds more like a claim to being one with humanity. Either way, Jesus does claim to be master over the Sabbath. Some translations say, LORD, of the Sabbath. Lord is an Easter title for Jesus. We might then understand this verse to mean something like, "I am over the Sabbath." And if Jesus is over the Sabbath, then he's the one who can determine what matters most about the Sabbath. And that can easily be overlooked. The rule was "broken" because people were hungry. Some people don't make the connection. But doesn't Jesus establish feeding the hungry as an essential and even pre-eminent act of religion? Matthew 25.

November ~ Thoughts About Heaven

Greccio Cave Altar

November is the month of praying for the dead: thoughts of heaven. And years ago I saw a condolence card with the message, "Heaven is remembering." That line could open a major debate among the folks who arm themselves with scripture quotes in an attempt to win theological arguments. You can argue anything with scripture quotes. 

Here are two sayings of Jesus which I've held onto tightly. They don't prove anything about heaven, but simply suggest, or better yet, invite pondering. 

"I have come that they may have life and have it to the full." John 10:10

"I have told you this so that my own joy may be in you and your joy be complete." John 15:11

Jesus came that we might have full life and complete joy. So can we say heaven begins here—wherever there is joy and life? And maybe heaven is remembering these earth moments, however fleeting, and the moments we've forgotten. And I expect heaven will take us even beyond all of this and reveal to us the meaning of these experiences and encounters.

Here are some of the remembering moments that come to my mind. Their capacity to reveal heaven for me doesn't come from the fact that some of them are specifically religious. But what they all have in common is that in those moments I felt safe, struggling to stay alive inwardly, and deeply connected. Someone might say, "Oh well, he must have grown up in a happy, pious, Catholic home." Uh...no. 

Recollecting my own complete life/full joy moments only serves to point you in the direction of remembering your own. Like Jesus spotting Zaccahaeus up in the tree—God has found us long before.

~ ~ ~

Remembering the moment of my First Communion in 1958. The priest wore a silver-white chasuble that was lustered like a pearl. An embroidered image of Mary sorrowing was on the back.

Remembering at age eight, being called by the farmer on the class trip to come up to the front, where he placed the lamb into my arms.

Remembering the old priest in cassock and amice, standing in the doorway from the sacristy to the sanctuary of our parish church, and thinking, "I want to wear that." 

Remembering the Mass I offered in the Cave of Greccio where St. Francis created the live Nativity with animals and townsfolk; where at midnight Mass he sang the Nativity Gospel.

Remembering the surprise discovery of the Crib of Bethlehem, down the white marble stairs of Saint Mary Major in Rome, to a tiny chapel dimly lit, the wood slats held in a great crystal egg.

Remembering the Russia trip, the ship sailing through the night, and in the morning looking out the porthole and seeing the wooden Kizhi cathedrals in the distance, their wooden shingles shining like silver.

Remembering the visit to the Kostroma Convent and venerating the Fyodoroskaya icon of the Mother of God—the chapel filled with phlox-scent that had ridden in on the breeze, from the nun's garden through the open window.

Remembering Joan Sutherland (La Stupenda!) singing Norma at the Metropolitan Opera and sneaking back stage to meet her. The Long Island Railroad threatening a midnight strike, and going into Manhattan anyway, not knowing where I'd stay if the strike weren't called off.

Remembering the discovery of a Jack-in-the-Pulpit blooming in the woods behind my house, the smell of decaying oak leaves and acorns.

Remembering as a young priest standing by the edge of the woods behind the rectory and the day the chickadees grabbed sunflower seeds off my open hand.

Remembering the Easter Night singing the Exsultet by heart, standing in a dark church next to the great candle, the air filled with incense and lily scent.

Remembering the Christmas in a parishioner's house, sharing gifts and dinner with six special needs ladies who were residents there.

Remembering the meal at the end of my three month Assisi sabbatical, and the young Capuchin friars with whom I'd lived, moving the great refectory table to the side, and throwing me up into the air three times, and the room turning into slow motion.

Remembering kneeling on the exact spot where Bernadette knelt in the grotto at Lourdes and being bent over in hard tears for the wonder of it. "At Lourdes the veil between heaven and hearth is most thin." 

Remembering the first sight of the Tilma at Guadalupe and being struck by the vibrancy of its colors, and finding a small square of paving stone where I could kneel down out of the crowd's way.

Remembering the deep silence of the pilgrims filling the chapel of the San Damiano Crucifix at Santa Chiara. The painted Christ smiling, flying and hovering over us. Returning every day; just to be there.

Remembering the elegant nun who handed me a holy card of Our Lady of Perpetual Help - my first icon.

Remembering the late autumn night my brother and I, young boys, wrapped ourselves in our father's army blankets and lay on the backyard patio to look up into the stars.