FOR THE FIRST TIME...

 He was young and energetic.  From his first political gambit he electrified listeners.  He was unabashedly Christian, fiercely patriotic, and unafraid of spirited debate. And we lost him to an assassin....  a coward crawling out of a patchwork of delusion with a weapon, skulking into history behind a rifle scope that ended the dreams of a generation inspired by youthful enthusiasm and the promise of a better tomorrow.  He left behind a little girl and a little boy, and a wife who witnessed firsthand his last breath.  And a nation was haunted, and changed, forever.

 

We called him JFK.  He was a Kennedy, the proud son of a family steeped in tradition, and in the love of God and country.  And when he was cut down by a bullet, for the first time, I felt the confusion of senseless violence.

 

Tonight I went to a football game and watched highschoolers celebrate the United States of America, and the first responders who protect us. But it wasn’t just any night. Many were dressed patriotically for the event, and there was a different vibe on and off the field, on the other side of another horrific event that affected us as a nation.

 

Charlie Kirk had been assassinated and these high school students had experienced their first national horror. He was young and energetic.  From his first political gambit he electrified listeners.  He was unabashedly Christian, fiercely patriotic, and unafraid of spirited debate. And we lost him to an assassin....  a coward crawling out of a patchwork of delusion with a weapon, skulking into history behind a rifle scope that ended the dreams of a generation inspired by youthful enthusiasm and the promise of a better tomorrow.  He left behind a little girl and a little boy, and a wife who witnessed firsthand his last breath.  And our nation seems once again haunted, and changed, forever.

 

These kids weren’t alive for 9/11. They certainly don’t remember the assassinations of JFK or MLK or RFK. So I am reflecting on the first time I faced some of those emotions, and I know how I felt. Because although that was over four decades ago, I can still feel the sense of loss and confusion.

 

Seeing the world through the eyes of a young person is like time traveling. Hopes and dreams and emotions swirl.  We want so much more for this new generation of Americans. And so much less. So much more to hope for and dream about. So much less to be fearful of and hesitant about.  So much more truth.  So much less delusion.

 

Today’s global landscape is a kaleidoscope of diversity and so much more open than the world in which I grew up. Open to new ideas. Carrying the capability of global communication at the touch of a keystroke. Kids today are intelligent, blessed with material possessions and access to information, and replete with the altruism endemic to youth.  I can only hope that these youngsters reflecting on this tragedy, the scope of which they are encountering for the first time, will try and find different ways to resolve differences. I pray they will see violence and war and hatred and vitriol for exactly the evil they are.

 

Because I’m acutely aware from personal experience that the first time will not be the last time.

VIBRANCY NESTED IN TENDERNESS

 

In his 1960 book “Love and Responsibility,” Karol Wojtyla (who would in 1978 become Pope John-Paul II) explains that “tenderness is the ability to feel with and for the whole person, to feel even the most deeply hidden spiritual tremors, and always to have in mind the true good of that person.”

 

I am intrigued by the term “spiritual tremors.” And when those spiritual tremors are “most deeply hidden” they can only be the stirrings of the Holy Spirit.  If tenderness allows me to feel them, I can follow the best example of living in tenderness, in Jesus. He lived and loved tenderly; he touched the leper, he welcomed the tax collector, he forgave even from the cross.  Jesus lived in love and connection, tenderly.

 

But Jesus also flipped over the tables in the temple. He danced at the wedding at Cana. He endured hunger and thirst, pain and suffering. He lived a vibrant life while extending a tender heart. And we are called to imitate him.

 

I wonder if you find this deep reflection as pertinent in your life today as I do. I wonder if you see the challenge of carving out a life of vibrancy and tenderness and love, in a world not particularly inclined to that formula.  Follow me along the thought pattern that these ideas have evoked in me. If you find your story tucked inside, we’ll call it, as my friend Michael calls it, Provendipity.  

 

We read in John 10:10 about the abundant life God calls us to. I believe that means we are called to live in love, “always to have in mind the true good of that person.” We are made for love… made for connection.  And however elusive it may seem, tenderness makes love blossom. The tenderness Jesus models is captured in every encounter depicted in Scripture… we see him being present to God in prayer, choosing and living among his disciples, and teaching them to live boldly among adversaries, and to go out and meet the needs of others. He taught presence in its most perfect form.

 

I have learned that commitment to live vibrantly yet with tenderness requires me to be intentional about the quality of my presence. How do I show up when I am with a friend?  Do I engage fully, listening by being undistracted and open?  That’s presence.  First I seek to be that way with God.  Listening to God, being with other people to listen to God together, talking to other people about my relationship with God, all take practice, but by making working on my relationship with God a priority, my bandwidth for living the abundant life for which He sent His Son increases exponentially.

 

I believe the Holy Spirit is inviting me to a deeper layer of my story. By beginning to see life through the lens of those I love and who love God, I turn from my need to control what goes on around me as I learn to trust God. I also sense that the Holy Spirit may be encouraging me to live life with more vibrancy. I want to be all in for the full spectrum of what life has to offer…I want to show up boldly and say what really needs to be said, out loud. It feels like a mandate in my soul to bring color and even vibrancy to a formally beige world and a formerly reticent way of communicating to others. I now see that reticence has limited not only my story but the story I tell about the influence of the Lord in my heart and soul, and in my life, the vibrancy I feel in my soul, and the passion that drives what I believe, who I care about, and how I show tenderness and compassion. I want to be so attuned to others and their vibrancy, and to relate to what they need, that I can resonate with them, we can resonate mutually, and I can meet their needs boldly and effectively.

 

I pray that the Lord will integrate these ideas into my heart, soul, mind and strength so that they can take root, I can grow in holiness, and I can more effectively go forward in my faith walk.

 

I especially pray that I can deepen my ability to love tenderly and compassionately… graciously and gratefully when I am loved in return, but also equally graciously and gratefully when I am not loved in return. For that is the faithfulness we encounter through our loving God, through his ever-forgiving Son, and through the inspiring Holy Spirit.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful". 

-Hebrews 10:23

 

Finally, may I be firm in my resolve. I want to come up higher so I can see the way the Lord sees, and put on the mind of Christ; and I want to go deeper so that I am not reactionary, but rather intentional in my resolve. I pray that the Lord will take me out of the places where I have seen myself or others wrongly, through assumptions or wrong thinking, and allow me to see them as made in His image and worthy of my tenderness and compassion.

 

May I grow, like a live oak, firm but not brittle, interconnected to truth and love at the root, to remain in His love and rooted in Him. In His power, may I let things go from my life that are not serving me any longer, to make room for a better version of myself. And in doing so, may I see life vibrantly, live life lovingly, and love others tenderly.

 

So… do you relate?  Can you proclaim, without restraint or reservation:

I am made for connection… I am made to receive love and to give love,

with vibrancy nested in tenderness.

 

"So that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, 

that you, being rooted and grounded in love,

may have strength to comprehend with all the saints 

what is the breadth and length and height and depth, 

and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge,

that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

-Ephesians 3:17-19

MAY THE ROAD RISE UP TO MEET YOU

 

As 2025 begins, I sit on a rainy day in my dining room looking out at an unusually gloomy day.  The rain is falling hard, willing me to stop and contemplate.

 

This new year has promise and will no doubt be filled with many joys. Neighbors have been cheerfully calling out “Happy New Year” to me as I walk; emails are filling my inbox with optimism and hope… texts speak of gratitude and plans and family and love. I am reminded of the beauty of community, expanded in this age beyond geographical bounds.

 

I am reaching out, as I launch into my new year, with a request to my community to find what each beloved friend or family member would like me to pray for.  And I have received dozens of well-thought-out, often deeply personal requests.  Almost always, as a part of the response, comes an expression of gratitude for my kindness in wanting to pray for them and for their specific intentions.  But the idea did not come to me from a place of kindness, or even from a place of my own at all. 

 

On this gloomy day, in this moment of contemplation, I reflect on the source of my outreach and realize it has everything to do with the indelible mark on my heart and soul left by my friend Father Mike Carroll.  He inspired me to be a credible witness, to see into people’s hearts and to seek to minister to their needs, right where they were.  He met people in their joys and their sorrows with the same listening ear and the same open heart.  He drew them back into themselves to discern their heart’s desire, and he inserted himself into their situation - always with consolation, sometimes with advice, and often with solutions… but first and foremost with prayer.  Father Mike believed in a term we often discussed: “encounter.”  He was committed to face-to-face interaction with his flock, and he shepherded them wherever and whenever they were in need.  There were many times when, regardless of the hour, he would receive a call while we were together which might have been handled by phone.  But he stopped, gathered his belongings, and was off to see the caller.  He attended to every need without delay, never hesitating but always encouraging, in person.  Miles away or close at hand, his beloved flock knew his voice, and he heard their call.

 

Now, as I set out to pray for the specific intentions which I have received, I think of Father Mike coming down from the altar after his homily to ask congregants to call out what or who they wanted us to pray for. His most memorable responses came from the students at the Wednesday school Mass, where kids’ requests were unfiltered and sincere.  How he loved those kids!  And they certainly responded to him at Mass, as well as around the church and school campus.  He made it a point to know their names, as he did with every parishioner and even every homeless person he encountered.  One day, when we were working on a film introducing new parishioners to the parish, I remember complimenting him for his attention to detail and telling him he had inspired me to really see the homeless rather than passing them by.  His response was, “well, that’s good, Love, but next time try and learn their name.  Sure, look them in the eye, but call them by name… that can really make a difference.”

 

So many stories like that flood my mind as I look out my window writing this. And I realize that despite my sharpened eyesight thanks to recent cataract surgery, the world looks blurry.  And the rain seems more like angels’ tears. I know why I’m crying, but I don’t know why they would be.  Because my beloved friend Father Mike is gone from this life and spending eternity with them.

 

Lucky angels.  Happy Heaven.  God’s mercy in letting us have Father Mike for 77 years has now shifted to taking him to his eternal reward.  Of course, I rejoice knowing he has run his race and finished his work.  But in the weeks and months ahead, as I long to see his face and hear his voice and share a meal or a story or a prayer, I will cherish memories of our every encounter.

 

In this new year and going forward, I will remember that challenge to be the credible witness Father Mike called me to be.  And I will give it all I have, in his honor, giving God all the glory.  Thank you, Father Mike, for the life lessons you taught me by example. Thank you for allowing me to minister by your side.  You strengthened my faith, guided my path, and kept me grounded, grateful, and eternity-minded.  Until we meet again, rest in God’s presence.  For you embodied the attribute to which we all aspire: “good and faithful servant.”

LOSS

 

Recently I have experienced loss at a magnitude which feels beyond what I can absorb through my normal process of grief, prayer, contemplation, and honoring the loss through commitment to life and resilience.  As I write this, I search for ways to overpower it emotionally, but I am recognizing that surrendering to God’s will is my only path.  I know so many of you have encountered the effects of loss, and I hope my reflection will lead you to the same surrender.  Because one thing I have learned is that surrender is not a concession to defeat.  It is a mark of faith.

 

Loss, as is its nature, comes in a range of forms.  It comes when we are not expecting it… not ready… and seeks to leave our soul empty and defeated.  In my case, I have lost the joy of connection and relationship as I helplessly watch a loved one suffering decline and its destruction of mind, body and soul.  And I have lost my beloved dog and companion of 18 years.

 

Your loss may be of a similar nature.  And like me, after the sorrow of emptiness and the helplessness of apparent defeat, you may have sought remedy in engaging your mind by going through a process of assessment, and your body by deciding to take action. 

 

But what do you do when you watch someone losing cognitive connection with you and with the rest of the world?  What action can mitigate the pathology of that process?  And what is your motive?  To bring back the person you once knew?  If that person is safe and happy, for whom is that remedy intended?

 

And what do you do when you lose a beloved companion to death?  No action can change that irreversible event, but what can you do to mitigate the sadness?  And again, what is your motive?  To bring back that experience of loving and being loved? If that beloved companion has passed to a place of no pain, for whom is that remedy intended?

 

My faith has often provided more questions about life than answers, but in these days, after realizing it is the endpoint to which I keep arriving, I have awakened to the fact that it should be my starting point.  I realize that I have engaged my mind and my body in trying to process loss, but I have not engaged my soul.

 

Every day, when loss comes my way (and it does, often and in obvious forms such as death or critical illness, or even news of families and friends suffering social and emotional challenges), I try and guide myself right into prayer.  I remind myself of a great bit of spiritual advice I received when a priest told me that no challenging encounter should be approached without envisioning the triangle of the other person, myself, and God.  “See the Triangle” he said.  That visual, for me, is both comforting and encouraging.  It opens a path of dialogue for me through prayer and trust in the God who is always there, always waiting, always loving.

 

And so I invite you into whatever form of contemplative prayer you practice.  When loss, in any of its many forms, knocks on your door with the potential to rock your world and shake your confidence, trust and believe that prayer can bring you the same consolation it has brought me.  Prayer can open your heart to the grace that only God can impart.  The fear of what we are losing can be replaced, even if it takes time, by gratitude for what we still have.  For we live in a world filled with beauty and grace, and we certainly do not have to reach far beyond our immediate circumstance to touch the wonders of our surroundings.  In nature, in fellowship, and even in the material things manifesting our own collective creativity, we can recognize pleasure and goodness.  And we can thank God.

 

A friend once summed this up by saying “My most fervent daily prayer is “Thy Will Be Done.”

 

Amen.

The House of Christmas

For some of us, home is a place of peace and tranquility where we are surrounded by tradition and love. For others, home is a more elusive concept. During this holy season, we pray that all our neighbors, across the street or across the globe, find in their hearts the hope and peace we all seek, for ourselves and for each other. 

For this Christmas of 2022, I am inspired to share with you the offering of Anthony Esolen called “The House of Christmas.”  Esolen is a professor and writer-in-residence at Magdalen College of the Liberal Arts in N.H., and I believe his imagination captures that feeling of awe and wonder... that feeling of home.

And so, as I share his message with you, I wish you and your loved ones a wonderful, holy and glorious Season of Hope.

"The House of Christmas" by Anthony Esolen

It’s one of the great paradoxes of human life that we so often find ourselves strangers in a strange land. “Bury me not on the lone prairie,” begs the dying lad in the old cowboy song, as he longs to be laid beside his father, far away. But though they are friendly to him, they do not heed his request. The patriarch Joseph, as he lay dying, made his countrymen promise that they would not leave his bones behind in Egypt — the land where his word was law; it was not to be their home. The soldier will never again see his true love on “the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.”

Yet even when we are at home, we are not quite at home. When I was a boy, I was often lonely as I gazed from a hilltop over my town spread out far below and across the valley, and felt that it was not my home. Yet I miss that hilltop, though I know if I were to stand upon it today, I would miss even more; for the town has changed, and many a homely thing I took for granted and in a strange way even cherished is no longer there. Blaise Pascal once said that man’s chief trouble is that he cannot sit quiet in his room. For he feels somehow that it is not his room after all; it isn’t where he ultimately belongs. But where does he belong? He cannot say.

Chesterton says it for us. We belong, we can be home, only in the place where a mother who had no home had to give birth to her child. It was a “crazy stable,” he says, meaning that its timbers were cracked and tilted and its thatch was caving in, but this place was stronger and more permanent “than the square stones of Rome.” We have lost our hearts, he says, and where did we lose them? You cannot find the place on a map. No star-chart and no compass will take you to the lost Eden. And everywhere else is a foreign land to us, even if we but walk a few blocks from work to the houses we live in, and we lay our heads peacefully in bed at night. That’s not to say that these foreign lands are poor and paltry things. Not at all! Here we have “chance and honor and high surprise,” in the daily battle of human life, but our homes are “under miraculous skies, / Where the yule tale was begun.”

Rome may be tall, but this place is taller. Eden may be old, but this place is older — or rather it never has grown old, because it is the place of the eternal Son, the same who was born in a stable in Bethlehem and laid to sleep in a manger, whose hands played with the stars. We say, in the season of Advent, “Come to us!” And He replies, “Yes, I have come — and I am calling you home.”

 

There fared a mother driven forth

Out of an inn to roam;

In the place where she was homeless

All men are at home.

The crazy stable close at hand,

With shaking timber and shifting sand,

Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand

Than the square stones of Rome.

 

For men are homesick in their homes,

And strangers under the sun,

And they lay on their heads in a foreign land

Whenever the day is done.

Here we have battle and blazing eyes,

And chance and honor and high surprise,

But our homes are under miraculous skies

Where the yule tale was begun.

 

A Child in a foul stable,

Where the beasts feed and foam;

Only where He was homeless

Are you and I at home;

We have hands that fashion and heads that know,

But our hearts we lost - how long ago!

In a place no chart nor ship can show

Under the sky's dome.

 

This world is wild as an old wives' tale,

And strange the plain things are,

The earth is enough and the air is enough

For our wonder and our war;

But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings

And our peace is put in impossible things

Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings

Round an incredible star.

 

To an open house in the evening

Home shall men come,

To an older place than Eden

And a taller town than Rome.

To the end of the way of the wandering star,

To the things that cannot be and that are,

To the place where God was homeless

And all men are at home.

-Anthony Esolen, December 2022 

 

 

 

QUESTIONS

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day." -Albert Einstein

 A kindred spirit of mine has an insatiable curiosity about the Christian faith, about philosophy, about eternity, about the beauty of creation, and about our interconnectedness as human beings. I so enjoy our exchanges, because she is a profound thinker with an open heart.

 How many of us really understand that the words “I don’t know” are a doorway opened and waiting, whereas the words “I know” can sometimes slam that door closed?

 Voltaire encouraged “Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.”

 Socrates encouraged his “six great questions” to advance understanding of the perspectives of others.

What is virtue? What is moderation? What is justice? What is courage? What is good? What is piety?

 The next eight days, across the globe, is celebrated as the Octave of Christian Unity. Initiated by Pope Leo XIII in 1908, this prayer octave for Christian Unity encourages followers of Christ to look to each other across denominations. Asking questions about our differences often reveals that much more connects us than divides us.

 As we study ecumenism, unity at the level of spirituality, let us follow the words of theologian Yves Congar: “We can pass through the door of ecumenism only on our knees.” After all, Congar’s thesis of unity in charity is lived out all around us in the natural impulse driving kindness and generosity. The global phenomenon of crowd-funding, for example, is the consummate example of unity in charity. Likewise, it is evident in neighborhoods where an ice or snowstorm draws people to sharing casseroles, shoveling each other’s driveways, and checking in on the least mobile who may need assistance.

 Looking in on, looking out for each other, being interested in the welfare of our neighbor, is unity in charity. It starts with a basic question like “Are you okay” or “Do you need anything?” and allows us to open up, connect, and break down barriers. Doesn’t it follow, then, that those many opened doors and opened hearts can prompt a more prolonged interest in questioning the larger, philosophical issues about life and virtue and faith?

 Like my curious kindred spirit who asks earnest questions and stays open to learning and finding things that unite us, let’s use this eight days as a respite from division and an invitation to unity. I welcome the opportunity. I hope you do, too.

STORYTELLING

 

The purpose of a storyteller

is not to tell you how to think,

but to give you questions

to think upon.

-Brandon Sanderson

 

 

 

 

“Store.” 

It’s the root of story, right?  And when we root out our fears, our presumptions, and our judgements, we find our true story… our own store of truth, right? We chronicle our past as it meets our present, and we do it with honesty and authenticity.

 

“Re- Store.”

Re-rooting?  Finding that interior space where our truth lies waiting… patiently waiting for us to cast away the impediments that separate us from our store, our story. We project our future as it casts off from our present, committed to holding on to that same honesty and authenticity.

 

I think we often face difficulties in finding and holding onto our own story in these complicated times, but we have as models the balladeers of medieval times all the way to the bloggers of today.  They remind us that storytellers create, communicate, and captivate. They help us find that space that holds our own story.  They guide us to explore right to the heart of our heart and the substance of our soul.  And when we find the store of our story, we restore the fragments worth carrying into our future, separating them from those best left in our past.

 

Restoration never comes of our own making. Admitting that is often hard. But look back. How many times have you been able to turn yourself around, or get yourself reset, without the encouragement of a guide?  Sometimes we find ourselves in a spiritual void and yearn for a word from a holy text, an inspirational song, or a pithy quote. And every one of those messages that carries our hearts and souls back from the brink is a relatable, resonate story.  I contend that it is our storytellers who are the most accessible messengers of those guiding words… put to prose, or poetry, or music.   

 

As Mr. Sanderson says in our opening quote, for the storyteller that sees and lives his true purpose, the result is not that we are told how to think, but that we are gifted with questions to think about… to bring us to a place of presence where we can root out our unfettered truths.  And in that place we breathe freely, we reconnect, and we restore.

 

My friend Michael has been doing this, quite brilliantly, in a series of messages sent out on Monday Mornings for over a decade. And now, as his 4-Volume set of these curated messages (yes, it’s called Monday Mornings) is in the hands of many readers of this blog, we are all coming to see just what being in the presence of a real Storyteller means.  It means laughing, and crying, and seeing ourselves through his words.  It means finding our story in his.  And in allowing him to root out the truths to which we can relate, he helps us find our own paths to our interior selves.

 

My prayer for 2022 is that our stories will be better, because we will be wiser.  My hope is that for those who have felt disconnected, from others or (more likely) from your inner self and your own story, you will pick up that gift from your favorite Storyteller.  You may just find yourself happier. You may just find yourself more complete.  And if you find the right Storyteller… honestly… you may just find yourself.

 

I send you off into this brand spanking new year with a message from an anonymous author.  I couldn’t have said it better myself!

 

 

As the dawn breaks on a new year,

let us give thanks for all we hold dear:

our health, our family and our friends.

 

Let us release our grudges, our anger and our pains,

for these are nothing but binding chains.

Let us live each day in the most loving way…

the God-conscious way.

Let us serve all who are in need,

regardless of race, color or creed.

 

Let us keep God of our own understanding in our hearts

and chant God’s name each day.

Let us lead the world from darkness to light,

from falsehood to truth,

and from wrong to right.

 

Let us remember that we are all one,

embracing all,

discriminating against none.

 

May your year be filled

with peace, prosperity and love.

May God’s blessing shower upon each of you

and bestow upon you

a bright, healthy and peaceful new year.