Keep On Keepin’ On

I think we can all relate to this. What a comfort to see the others who’ve “failed” somewhere along the line too, only to get back in there and fight! Endurance, persistence, and perhaps a little stubbornness can make all the difference in the world. This also reminds of the line from Neil Diamond’s “Done Too Soon.” (I know, I know… you never realized how much we can get out of Neil D. huh?) He lists a vast array of people from throughout history and connects them all with this moving verse….

And each one there
Has one thing shared:
They have sweated beneath the same sun,
Looked up in wonder at the same moon,
And wept when it was all done
For bein’ done too soon,
For bein’ done too soon….

Let’s take a look today at the faces around us and beside us, family, friends; at the faces plastered on billboards and magazines and on the silver screen if we catch a movie this weekend. Are we any different on the inside? Are we not all seeking the same things in the end? Did we not all begin the same way, fumble, falter, feel at some point alone, abandoned, rejected, amazed, dazed, captured and captivated by this Journey called Life? We have more in common than we think. We are called to be one; one amazing, holy, and happy communion of persons! The only thing that can separate this is sin. The only thing that can keep us from finding ourselves is the refusal to give ourselves as a gift to each other!

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Wait Watchers

Waiting. Some of us just can’t stand it. We can’t wait in a line, on a phone, or for a table without getting our cranky pants on. You’ve seen it yourself, I’m sure. “I need it now and you’re not facilitating my needs fast enough!”

Black Friday was as black as ever this past week when an angry mob’s impatience led to the death of a Walmart employee. Death… in a department store. Hordes of people trampled over a man and killed him in a reckless pursuit of things. May God forgive us, and bring peace to his soul and his family!

This waiting, however, is absolutely critical to the Christian way of life. Advent begins our whole Liturgical Year as Catholics with a call to patient waiting. It’s a period of watchfulness for Christians across the planet. This holy expectancy is at the very heart of a believer. It’s name is Hope, and if Hope is not filling the cavern of the soul, then a person tries filling it, in vain, with something else. But no thing can fill us like Hope. It is not a waiting is not in order to clutch and grasp at a thing the moment our turn is up, but to receive the gift of a Person, like a sunrise fills the eyes of a sentinel at the start of the new day.

So what will be our posture, our attitude, our position this Advent? Will it be restless with activity (probably at some point), or will rest dominate these weeks? Will we be a churning sea of whitecaps and swells of impatience, or a quiet pool that reflects the sky? In the quiet things are seen more clearly.

I know I can be restless, not just in this time but in all my daily work. Thank God for our newborn baby boy, who by his very existence has caused me to put the brakes on more often. He gives me cause to waste time, to simply be with him for an hour, or two, or three; just gazing at each other, smiling, sleeping, nestling in my arms. What a meditation he has afforded us this Advent! We must all become as the little children, utterly dependent on the Father in Whose arms we are invited to rest and receive.

And just to hammer it home, I’m building another devotion into my Advent schedule: the Friday Fast. It will become my Desert Day. I will be “unplugging” myself each Friday of this season – no blogging, internet, iPhone, radio, iPod, TV…. nuthin’. I’ll only use technology for teaching and of course, the cell is on for emergencies at home. Anybody game for this? I could use a little team support!

May this holy time be a fruitful time for us all! He is coming, may He find us watchful and waiting, preparing our hearts, sweeping then clean, warm, open and ready for His Abundant Love to come down and to be born in the Bethlehem of our hearts.

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Another Sign of the Things to Come…

More beauty breaking open from the cold shells of winter. A tree grows in Malvern Prep’s campus near Good Counsel Hall.

I had a funny feeling the story wasn’t going to end in that chilling darkness, bleak and drained of the robin’s trill and the smell of grass. Life always finds a way, dwelling in darkness and obscurity only for a season.

Such is life… hope for the flowers and all the way up the scale of Being; fresh hope for us wrapped in our winter coats, ready to burst open at just the right time, when the warm breath of the Holy Spirit fills Adam’s nostrils again and we are remade…. “Behold, I make all things new.”

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

New Year’s Resolution #1

Well, we never made it to the Outback Steakhouse this past Wednesday. It was Dad’s birthday and we left the choice up to him. He chose simplicity; a night at Casa Donaghy with catered food from Paul Revere’s (the local pizza place that Rebecca and I do in fact “revere.” Man those Greek fries!).

But alas, the other night we were determined to hit the hallowed halls of Aussie Steakdom (’cause that gift card is burning a hole in our collective wallet!). So there we were, all gussied up and proper: and the sheila (that’s Aussie for colleen, which is Irish for young girl) that took our name said, in her finest non-Aussie accent “It’s a 2 hour wait.”

Yup. 2 hours…

Consisting of 60 minutes each, by the way, for a grand total of 120 minutes.

Now you may be thinking, dear reader, that anyone in their right mind would 86 the place for a reasonable alternative (to which I reply, “Have you not tasted the Outback Special?”). But several factors like tent pegs helped us stand our ground:

1. the fact that we were already out,
2. ready to eat,
3. holding a gift card to said establishment.
4. and the Olive Garden (other gift card, thanks Mom!) was about 30 minutes away with its own wait.

So we waited. Rebecca actually split for Target down the street to return something, so that killed time. I walked around outside, perused the Office Max, the back of the buildings where the dumpsters sat gloomily (hey, they come in lots of different shapes…who designs those things?), and I finally grabbed a stool at Baja Fresh for some $1.60 chips and salsa to tide me over. When I returned to the non-Aussie hostess and inquired about our progress, I got a little frown and a “One hour, 17 minutes.”

“Is that it! Cool.”

Does this sound ridiculous?

NO! Because it got me to thinking… globally…

Back in 1987-ish, a Polish family stayed with us at the Browns Mills domicile in NJ. The Sikorsgies had a beautiful little boy, not yet a year old, who needed open heart surgery. Browns Mills is home, not only to Alba’s Pizza (oh man those Sicilian pies), but also to Deborah Heart and Lung Center, world-renowned for their expert cardio-care. So old Joe Frazier from the Holy Name at St. Ann’s asked if we could set them up for a few weeks. It was more a blessing for us, as often is the case in serving others, than it was for the family from Poland. For we got to see our life through their eyes, and their life through their stories.

The fact of the matter is, most Americans live like kings and queens. We have so much more than we need, and compared to the rest of the planet, most of us are spoiled beyond comprehension. A two hour wait for food was half the wait for them back in the late 80’s in Poland. They could wait up to 5 hours for their meat, or dairy, or meds. When we took them through our local Acme they staggered about like drunkards, like kids on Christmas morning. All of this food! All wrapped up for you, and COLD? And the cold air is just leaking out onto the floors as we walk by, and the refrigerators are packed and everything is so fresh. You can buy as much as you like? This was unheard of.

Move your hand over the spinning globe to Haiti, to the slums of Cite Soleil, to Africa, to the fear filled streets of Darfur, to any number of places where daily life is a real sacrifice and a physical, sweat and blood and bone, life and death struggle.

So we waited in the cozy strip mall of Springfield Township, and there were no guns, no pollution, no dictators, no death squads, no malaria. And the meal was wonderful, and the service was a gift, and there is soooo much more to be thankful for.

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION #1: No more complaining.

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Creepy and Yet… Miraculous

Last week I stepped out the front door to clear away the spider webs for Rebecca before her journey to the bus stop (chivalry is not dead!). We have some massive shrubs that grow opposite our front steps, and the little buggers love to build these high tension lines from bush to railing. They faithfully appear each morning to try and keep her from her daily duty, but like Frodo and Sam armed with the fiery blade of Sting, we make our way through their silken cords! Ah Elbereth gilthoniel!

But one morning last week, there was a clear path. No webs. Hmmm, curious. What are they up to? So off she went to the bus and I headed out the back door to our car to make the scenic route through to Chester County and historic Malvern Prep. But lo! Stretching and glistening in the early morning light, covering half of the entrance to the garage and completely covering my access to the car door was a MASSIVE web. I’m talking Shelob web here. And perched right in the middle of the web, like a ruby set in stone, was Gigantor the Spider, Spawn of the Shadows, the Ungoliant of Backyard Undergrowth.

After I got over the initial shock and awe, I was mesmerized. I watched as she stepped out and continued spinning her dark dreams, but as I entered into the beauty of this little bugger I saw them now more as cords of light, intricate patterns that were like tiny geometric miracles, engineering enigmas! Wow. It was with mixed emotions that I axed the web with a newspaper. Hey, I gotta get to work here!

The next morning…. there she was again, with her cathedral of silken beauty, built in a day.

I thought of us, toiling and spinning our little dreams in our little lives. I don’t know about you, but when the newspaper of life sweeps my plans away, I’m not always up and early the next morning working on a new project. So here’s to spiders! To their enterprise, their industry, their perseverance. and their patience!

I wish I had half their guts…. or abdomens…. I guess…

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Which Way Do I Go?

I will never forget February 28, 1998. That’s the day I got in my old Chevy Eurosport wagon with the sweet rims and starting driving, without a clue as to where I was going…

I had just spent 4 years in the seminary; steeped in the Church’s rich liturgy, intoxicated by the beauty of prayer, captivated by the teachings of the Catholic Church, discovering brothers in the spirit I never knew I had, from Allentown to Peoria, Alabama to Nebraska, and it was a period of the deepest peace for my restless spirit. I had just earned a Bachelor’s degree in Philosophy, and was at the half way point, still a couple years from ordination, when suddenly the bells of peace stopped peeling, and the certainty of seminary life dissipated like incense at evening prayer.

I had always believed that I was in the right place at the right time; that God had surely led me to this place of discernment, and that like Peter on the mountaintop I could say it was truly “good for me to be here.” But the end of the seminary, the goal of ordination, was always a little foggy for me. “No worries,” I thought to myself (and shared with my spiritual director); “God will lead me then as He is now and always has.” And this was affirmed. Isn’t it supposed to be like that after all, a daily walk, a day by day as the song goes? We pray every day, “give us this day our daily bread”? But this way is actually harder than it sounds, especially for our culture today, so consumed with having financial security, stability, insurance, overdraft protection! et cetera! The daily bread prayer says don’t worry about tomorrow, tomorrow has troubles of it’s own (see Matthew 6:26).

God’s ways are not our ways, His plans are not the blueprints we would have drafted. His timing is perfect, but it seems our watches just can’t sync up with that Divine Clock! After 6 months of prayer, more discernment, spiritual direction, and the advice of good friends, I drove away from the seminary into an unknown future. And I remember looking back and saying “I was born there.” That’s how good God was to me in that place of community, prayer, and study. And I would suggest to any man who feels the pull to a possible vocation to listen and respond. Who knows where God will lead you?

The daily mass readings this week have been spotlighting our man Abraham. There have been boatloads written about this patriarch, the father of faith. I love Abraham. It was in the midst of my clouds and troubles about leaving the seminary that I first understood just how heroic Abraham really was. Providentially, we were studying Genesis and Abraham’s story in one of my graduate courses in the late winter of 1998. Here’s a guy who had it all: “Abram was very rich in livestock, silver, and gold.” He was quite cozy in the town of Ur and was actually ready for retirement by our standards. Then it got a little foggy for Abe….

The LORD said to Abram: “Go forth from the land of your kinsfolk and from your father’s house to a land that I will show you.

The seminary had become a home to me, a place of deep peace and comfort. This should have been the first sign. The seminary is a transitional place, a garden where you grow, but where you must also be uprooted and transplanted into the world. Seminary actually means “seed bed.” No one remains a seminarian forever. Some leave as priests, fathers for the flock of God; others leave as better formed men of faith who go on to become husbands and fathers of a domestic church, the family.

We can’t stay on the mountaintop, and build a permanent tent to hang out in! That was Peter’s mistake on the Mount of the Transfiguration. I suppose I wanted that peace too badly, and ended up trying to grasp it when the thought came that I must let it go.

“Go forth… to a land that I will show you.”

Wow, the power of those words. The invitation to journey, to leap, to trust completely. I was scared out of my mind in 1998. But looking back, what a ride! What lessons I’ve learned, and continue to learn as the Father continues to form me. Our past is such a rich treasure house for us to keep as we move into the future!

So where has He lead you, and where will He lead you still? Do you need to know everything? Do you need the map all drawn out and highlighted for you? Or can you just “go forth” and let God guide you? I certainly struggle with this walk of faith, but I’ve learned to trust Him all the more; to know just when to move and when to sit back and let go of the wheel. And today I am not alone, but another journeys with me!

I have another date that I will never forget. August 9, 2003. That’s the day I found my vocation, my peace and my place. To stand beside a woman of faith who is for me a pure gift, a guide and a companion on this journey. As a husband and we pray soon as a father, I hope to walk this road just as Abraham did; in faith and trust and with wild abandon. In the words of Peter Kreeft “There is one and only one possible road to joy: selfless love.” That selfless love is the bottom line for all of us. It gives us the power to launch into His love and the plans He has made for us.

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Hush Ya’self….

By the Sea – William Wordsworth

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder – everlastingly.…
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This is a piece of Wordsworth’s poem that first grabbed me in my college days. Doesn’t it make you want to, in the words from a recent Paul Simon song, “sit down, shut up, think about God“?

Oh the power and the beauty and the sometimes awkwardness of SILENCE! Before Easter, in the next two weeks, can we find some time to be still in it? To wallow in silence for a good 30 minutes, or 20? There are deep mysteries within and without every heart. Can we drink from that chalice given to us by the Father in a wordless act of prayer and adoration?

Silence is GOLDEN. Catherine Doherty once said “Silence can be the greatest expression of love. Such silence is deep, unfathomable, and endless. It already partakes of eternity. Such silence touches the face of God…” Listen to the poets, the mystics, the saints. No need for fear here, because the Loving Father is closer to us than we know. Just walk out into silence and see what happens. Peer into the quiet pool of your heart when the water is still and see what you see.

Perhaps it will take some time before the last ripples of distraction dissipate, but let’s be patient (that’s why a good session of silence takes a solid 20 minutes or more). Maybe walking, sitting, driving… and remember, it’s not a “library” silence, not a vacuum, or a pall laying over everything and suffocating the heart. It’s a pregnant stillness. It’s the rhythm of breathing. It’s the ancient movement of exitus-reditus, the sending out and the return that is the very life-breath of the created world.

What will we discover in this place of silence?

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Spring Cleaning

Are you a back roads kinda person, or a main roads kinda person? Maybe a bit of both?

I had a great commute when I was studying for my associates degree. I’d stick to the back roads for as long as I could on that almost hour long drive; Georgetown to Sykesville, Chesterfield to 130, and sometimes Route 68, in the days before it was cluttered by golf courses and condos.
You see more life on the back roads. More trees, more fields, more bizarre lawn art. And there’s always the added bonus of those little mom and pop convenience stores (the ones that carry “Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies”… deeeelicious!).

I was on such a back road drive one day, in my classical-music-and-opera-are-actually-amazing phase, when I was seized by a flash of beauty. At the exact moment that Puccini’s “E Lucevan Le Stella” was roaring from my radio, I was passing a farmer’s field where soil was being peeled back by a rusty old tractor. It was the springtime of the year. The smell of earth lifted up like incense, just as a flock of white gulls hovered above the farmer in an earthy paraclesis. What a sight! The music was deep and mournful, the earth open and naked under heaven, and the mystical attentiveness of the birds over it all; the scene breathed like a sacrament.

I think we have seasons, like Lent, when Jesus wants to stir things up in us. Perhaps we’ve gone fallow as a field and the fruits of our labors have become a little scattered. Maybe the soil of our souls has grown old and cold from a winter away from Him and we need tilling.

Christ is the Divine Gardener, the Tiller of the Soil of our hearts. If we let ourselves be open to Him, then He can literally plant new life in us. He cares so deeply for us. He will show us the roots and stones that are causing us trouble. Sometimes we can move them together, sometimes He asks that we move around them. It takes patience. But the Holy Spirit will be working in us as well, hovering just above us, carefully removing the sin and the roots of sin, as the birds clear fields of what does not belong.

If we let Him have His way, what a fruitful harvest it will be!

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Sometimes "Stinky" is Good

Years ago, I spent some time working as a groundskeeper at a beautiful garden estate in New Hampshire. It was a lush little plot of earth set right on the rugged New England coast, a stone’s throw from the sea. Every day I’d drive the ‘ole Chevy “Eurosport” Wagon (aptly named the Eggplant) down the winding ocean road to the gardens, to a place that was crammed with life: dozens of hybrid roses, delicate iris, a greenhouse packed with bougainvillea, cacti, ferns and flowers. The sea air was rich and fertile, pouring over us and into us from the Atlantic. The music of the waves was always soft and near. The irony was that in the midst of all this life, I was going through a kind of death.

It was a kind of “dark night of the soul.” A deep fog surrounded me then, and life seemed suddenly like a pathless void. So, finding no clear path, I took to the soil. I tossed hay and trimmed roses. We hauled dirt and cut grass, kept the greenhouse green, and the plants well watered. It turns out the simple rhythm of the work in that rose garden was just what I needed. Sometimes I can think too much.

On the way home one day, I found a little church, coincidentally named for St. Therese, the Little Flower. It was right off the ocean road, just minutes from work! So I’d pop in time and again and lay my troubled heart on the altar. “Where am I going? What do I do now?” Things never got any clearer, but there was at least this daily act of the will to “lay things at His feet.” Sometimes I think that’s all we can do; like little kids with shoelaces all knotted up from running around, we go to Daddy to fix it. Some knots take longer to work out than others.

I see now His timing was perfect. I spent a few months with my brother, which was priceless. We had a rundown little apartment we jokingly named the “Palace,” right next door to Sander’s Fish Market. Right upstairs was the coldest, meanest old lobsterman you ever laid eyes on. He had his traps all over the backyard, never said a word to us. We called him “Mr. Happy.”

Walks at night along the river between Maine and New Hampshire, to a pub for a pint or just out for fresh air, were so good for the soul. And our conversations were bonding. I’m so grateful for those days when the younger brother became the older. Looking back, there were lessons all around me. I was amazed to learn about the practice of trimming the rose bushes at just such a precise angle to prevent mold, or the covering of them with thick burlap when a chill was due. Don’t we need to do as much, trimming our desires, and knowing when to conceal and when to reveal our hearts in the midst of this often cold world?

My favorite lesson might seem the most ridiculous. In the early days of spring, we covered those scented rosy beauties with….. horse poop. Now that’s a fun job. What a parable there is in this one. Here’s a flower famous the world over for its scent, and I’m putting horse poop at its roots? The lesson – Sometimes the stinky stuff is just what we need to help us grow. This puts a new twist on the experience of having a crappy day! Maybe we should actually wish for it! Any gardener will tell you that dark, smelly compost is so often what generates the most fertile, nutrient-rich soil. And horse manure for a good gardener is like gold… nuggets.

The question then, as we continue the Lenten journey: what’s crappy in your life? What’s the poop with you? Maybe it can turn into something efficacious? It depends on how we respond to the soil in which we’re planted…

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org

Fiddles, Whistles and the Slowly Poured Pint

Sometimes we want too much too fast. We want it all! But in the wise words of comedian Stephen Wright “You can’t have everything. Where would you put it?”

A Tangent…

One of my favorite traditional Irish bands is the Chieftains. They’ve been around forever. They are amazingly gifted musicians: on the harp, the flute, fiddles, bodhran, tinwhistle… and Paddy Moloney on those Irish pipes! “Cheese and crackers!” (as Grandpa Donaghy would’ve said)… it sounds like the mystic moan of the poets and warriors of Ireland, calling us out to Tir na Nog!

Matt Molloy plays the flute for the Chieftains, and he owns a pub in Westport, County Mayo. On our tour of the west coast of Ireland, we stayed a night in Westport. After setting up in a little B & B, with great reverence and a dose of excitement, we walked into town and entered the dark cavern of this legendary pub. Our eyes adjusted, and our ears as well, just as a stream of music came gushing out of a cozy little back room.

There was a band of 7 souls gathered around a wooden table covered with pints and glasses. They were kicking out jigs and reels like kung fu masters. Making “moosic” with wild abandon; fiddles flew, whistles wailed, drums beat. The room was packed, but we managed to squeeze in beside a mantle against the back wall. Then I realized, my hand was empty. And so was Rebecca’s.

Now if you’re ever in a pub in Ireland, having an empty hand is like not burping after a meal in Turkey. You follow me? I hastened back to the bar; “Bailey’s with milk, please,” I said to the man, “and a pint of Guinness.”The music played on, rising up, swirling about in a Celtic cloud of glory; feet were pounding the hardwood floors, hands smacking hands, smiles, joy, an occassional “woo!” I could see Rebecca back there, crammed in the shrinking space, her face pleading “hurry!” as the room filled with people. It became a microcosm of the larger world: Germans, Italians, Poles, Chinese, Americans, that’s the magnetic power of this music, this Irish stream of melody that is still a riverdance running through the world.

“I’m coming!” I mouthed, and turned back. The drinks were laid on the polished bar. And then I did what I knew I should not have done. I reached for my pint before it had *”settled.”

Now there are those who know what an offense this is, and those who don’t. The bartender, of course, was in the know. As my hand touched the glass in obvious haste, he took it, and drew it back. With a look of sincere pity, he shook his head. And I hung mine. No words need be said. And so it goes. As the dance of life continues, and the rooms around us fill up, can we stop and simply let it be? We are in it. No need to grasp, no need to rush. I made it back in time, and there was room to spare. Of course there would be. And the pint was just right. When will I ever learn!

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* settled – there’s a distinct gap between the
dark liquid and the head or foamy cap.

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Inspiration for the New Evangelization
http://www.missionmoment.org