On the march. OK, on the Rally. . .Immigration Reform

Life isn't fair. The world is not a just place.

Efforts to explain the unfairness of it all just lead you into a ridiculous place. I'm reminded of the TV preachers who stated that the tragedy of 9-11-01 came about because of America's tolerance for its LGBTs.

Really? I can only conclude that the god these "evangelists" claim to represent has not the slightest acquaintance with the God I worship. You know - the God about whom we say "God is love." "God so loved the world, that he sent his Son into. . ." She doesn't work like that a'tall a'tall.

Life isn't fair. Elie Wiesel, in Night, describes the hanging of a boy in a Nazi camp. It really doesn't matter how old the boy was - 8? 10? He was hanged beside two adults. The two adults died rather quickly because of their weight. The boy, being slight, strangled to death, slowly.

Why? Where's the justice?

I write all of this fully aware that the circumstances of life have done me favors, not injustices. I wasn't born a Jewish kid in 1930s Europe. I wasn't in the Towers. I'm Anglo (well, I look it; I'm not all Caucasian, although that's not obvious), from an intact, marvelous family right in the middle of the middle class. I've been blessed with good health for most of my life. I married a great wife, and into a great (and great BIG) family. None of my kids has been locked up, and they have become productive citizens in their own right. I have a faith that sustains me, and I have been able to walk away from faith that did not. Life's been good to me.

Still, maybe because I have been so blessed - and because, I hope, I have open eyes and an open heart - I am very aware that not everyone is so lucky. Why do any children die of cancer, and why to parents have to bury their kids and grandkids? Why debilitating illness, for anyone? Why is it that this lucky, lucky guy has a mentally challenged daughter, and two autistic nephews? Great kids, and I love them dearly, but, still, I can't explain. I know, I know - sin, right? I don't know the answer, but the God I believe in doesn't do that. And don't tell me that line that "God must have needed another angel." Horsebleep. God could have made one if She needed one. Leave the kids alone.

Life isn't fair, and I can't change that. In AA we say a prayer:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

I can't make life fair. But I can - I can - work like crazy to make my little corner of this earth a more fair, just place.

Thus, the rally.

In February we had a rally in downtown Davenport for immigration reform. It was by the Irish Memorial - a monument to another group that faced terrible challenges in the immigrant experience. The opening speaker was a young lady. Her family came to the United States when she was three. She has never thought of herself as anything but American, and there was no reason she should have UNTIL. . .

Until she got to the age when all the other kids got a driver's license, and she couldn't.

Until she tried to get a job, but needed a Social Security number and, well. . .good luck with that.

And the message got through, time and time again: You're different. You're inferior. Go back to the shadows - you belong there.

And the God I believe in - the God who became man and was crucified - weeps for her. And us.

On June 29 I will be joining others, not in an illusion that all will be well and just, but only to work on our little corner. We'll be at Schwiebert Park, in Rock Island, from 10-11. How many will there be? We don't know. 20? 1000? Those of us who can will wear white t-shirts as a sign of unity.

I have a hard time beginning to grasp the courage it took for that young lady to speak out as she did. And I do not want to let her down.

Please join us.

The Mississippi and Mother Nature

It has been a while, hasn't it? For a while my computer was on the blink, then I was, then I was busy again. (Last one was really no excuse. I've been that way all the time, for some time.)

I usually take a walk by the Mississippi River. Heck, you could come with, if you're in the area. I leave my workplace at about 2:30 and return about 3:00. The route is pretty unvarying - down LeClaire Park and back. The River - and if you're from these parts you can capitalize that; there aren't any other real rivers - has been a part of my life and my soul since I was a kid.

The River is in flood now. That's not unusual. What is unusual is that this is the second time this year that it has been in flood. On the Illinois side of the River there have been efforts in Rock Island to put up a floodwall, but sooner or later, somewhere or other, the Mississippi will do exactly what it wants to do. There have been efforts by the Corps of Engineers to channel the River. Fuhgeddaboud it. In the eternal battle between human ingenuity and the Mississippi River, the River wins. Every. Single. Time.

Down south they've been a little smarter about this. The system of spillways is a concession to physics and fluid flow being what they are, and at New Orleans the River's channel is cut so wide and deep that our biggest floods don't have much impact down there. (A Category 3 hurricane, however. . .)

A building I walk by used to be a hot dog shack. It's been closed for years. On a corner of the building there are markers, showing what the high-water marks were for some of the great historic floods. A good two feet above any of the other markers, and fully three inches above my head there's a marker that just says "65". The shack is probably 50-75 feet from the shore, and there's a slope going down to the shore. So, 50 feet from shore the water was over six feet deep.

I remember the '65 flood. We'd moved from Davenport to East Moline a little over a year earlier. Our family drove over to see what we could see. What we saw - lots and lots of water.

The Mississippi wins. Every time.

'93 was pretty impressive, too, but the Mississippi River flood that's referred to as The Great Flood was the flood of 1927. It affected the lower Mississippi more than the upper Mississippi. There were torrential rains for much of the winter of '26-'27, and the flood reached a level of force such that levees all down the River were breaking. (The Mississippi wins - but you knew that.) The floods peaked in April, '27, and two months passed before it had subsided. At one point, 36 of Arkansas' 75 counties were flooded, some to a depth of 30 feet. 6600 square miles - underwater. It spawned cultural changes. It was the setting for Faulkner's Old Man (Old Man was a nickname for the Mississippi.) You should read it, assuming that it wasn't ruined for you in the class in which you had to read it.

Back to The River tomorrow. Meantime, thanks for hanging out.

Sex and stuff

Jason Collins is gay. And the really sad part is that the reaction is anything but, "So?"

I have often wondered about why some people are so absolutely certain that the presence of LGBT folks in society presages the destruction of that society. I think I have a (kind of) answer.

Some years ago Eugene Robinson became the first openly gay Episcopal bishop. One of the local radio blowhards announced that this makes this generation of Episcopalians the last generation of Episcopalians. I guess he thought that, given permission to be gay, ALL guys would be gay and thus the end. . .

The last time I checked, the Episcopalian Church was just fine, thanks. The UCC, which has been far more open to the LGBT community than most others, is also doing all right. Neither denomination had a rush of men running to other men's beds, and that didn't happen among the women, either.

So, I think that the reason that our radio bloviator, and some of the out-there right wingers, are so determined that opening society to LGBT will be our destruction is -

I don't know, but could it be that they are, themselves, gay? Closeted, to be sure, but still, gay? Could the reason that they are so certain that all would be gay be that this is exactly what THEY would do? They have no clue what anyone else would do, but they are so certain of this because. . .Just wondering.

Jason Collins is gay. The only decent response would be no response. Maybe a shrug and, "So?" Who he, or any other LGBT person, loves is their own business, no one else's. Society allows me the privilege of maintaining the privacy of my sex life. Why would we not extend that courtesy to the LGBT community?

It took a lot of courage for Jason Collins to come out as he did, and that is, in itself, a sad, sad statement, not about him, but about the rest of us.

I have been married to the love of my life for 38 years. If you allow same-sex marriage, it will not harm me a'tall, a'tall. I will awaken in the morning, when I am old, next to the person I wanted to grow old with. Why should an LGBT person not have the same privilege? If you can encourage someone else's happiness, and at no cost to yourself, why would you not?

Why must we act like our biggest fear is that somebody, somewhere, is having a good time?

I am a person of faith, specifically Roman Catholic. My own church has been trying to deal with the issue. One time at which this became an issue was at the onset of the AIDS epidemic. AIDS was, at first, identified as a gay issue; it was "their" disease. The question was, is a church obligated to provide its loving care to gays? The answer now is a resounding "YES!" The question was that much louder in parishes in, say, San Francisco, where some of the parishes may be 3/4 gay.

We haven't stopped thinking about this. Phil Donahue once noted that there are two groups within the Church to whom the Church will need to apologize one day: gays and the divorced. It won't be easy - it can't be easy - but we can't quit thinking about this. I don't think Mr. Donahue was wrong.

I have a lot of friends - co-workers - classmates that are gay. To them: you are my brothers and sisters. I have lost two friends to AIDS. To them: I pray daily that God may be good to you - better than we were.

Lots of stuff tossing around in my head about this. Thanks for hanging out while a spilled some of it.

Bad Guy Fascination

Someone asked an author during an interview on C-SPAN how they could write about someone that they didn't like.

Some subjects of biographies that I've read recently: Stalin. Himmler. Hitler. Stalin's Jewish Doctors' Plot was the subject of a monograph that I read. I've read a couple of works on the Gulag system. And then there was Wiesel's Night.

I promise you, I am not fond of Himmler. I have no love for the Gulag. And yet, authors write these, and I read them. I am forever haunted by the closing lines of Night. After the war is over, after the liberation from the camps that cost the lives of both of Wiesel's parents, this kid who never got to be a kid, reflected:

One day I was able to get up, , after gathering all my stength. I wanted to see myself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. I had not seen myelf since the ghetto.

From the depths of the mirror a corpse gazed back at me.

The look in his eyes, as they stared into mine, has never left me.

Thomas Merton wrote about some psychological testing done with some Nazi guards. There was no psychopathy, nothing that would suggest that they were anything but normal. They were normal, human beings functioning within their society.

And that's why I read the bios of the bad guys. I don't like or admire them; I have no desire to emulate them. My heroes are, I think, much more worthy of emulation: Merton, Mother Theresa, Philip Berrigan, Cardinal Bernardin. But I read about the despicable ones because I take the mantra with utter seriousness:

NEVER AGAIN!!

And, thus the fascination with the Boston Bombers. Never again.

So somebody's got to write those books. And I will read. I hope you do too. The guy in me who got his BA in history knows that you can't know where you should go if you don't know where you've been.

Thanks for hanging out.

Prison stories

I used to work at one. From 1981 to '83 I was a correctional officer at the Joliet Correctional Center, on Collins Street. It was the oldest prison in the state at the time, and one of the oldest in the country. It was a maximum security adult joint. It has since closed, but even at the time I worked there people in Joliet thought it was already closed.

Actually, only half of the prison was really a maximum-security facility. The other half was a reception and classification facility. Inmates entered the state system at our center, and waited while it was determined in which sort of facility they'd take up permanent residence. We had plenty of business. The inmates going into the state system from Cook County - Chicago - came through our place. Inmates would arrive - from most counties, in a sheriff's car, from Cook County on a bus - dressed in street clothes which would reflect some degree of individuality. They would enter a building like that, and exit the building all wearing blue jumpsuits. Individuality - gone. No one paid much attention to whether the jumpsuits fit or not.

Then, after some weeks, they would be shipped on a bus to their destination. For a time I worked on thitd shift, and we had the job of getting the inmates up who were to be transported that day. We'd get them up and send them to the dining hall for what passed for breakfast in such a place, and we were done.

One morning I was engaged in this task. We got the inmates up, had them grab the stuff that was going with them, and sent them over to eat. One fellow was moving rather slowly. He had barely gotten going when we had the others on the walk to chow, and he was still sitting on his bunk.

I said to him, "C'mon, man, let's go."

And he got up. And kept getting up. And getting up - to his full six feet eight inches. And I started getting a little nervous. He was indignant.

"As long as you live, don't you ever call me "Man" again. I'm a woman!"

Twenty minutes later, after he was long gone, I was still standing outside his cell, door open, pointing my finger and shaking my head.

Yeah, there are stories. Obviously, not all was fun and games. None of it was. There was the morning I went home after my shift and had my wife scream at me, "Blood on your shirt!!!! How did you get BLOOD on your shirt!?!?!?"

I said, "Oh - it's not mine." That didn't make it better.

It was during that time that my drinking - my alcoholism - reached the depths. It was during that time that I saw what a waste of mental energy any show of arrogant self-righteousness is, and I came to realize the truth that "ALL have sinned and come short of the glory of God." I found myself treating my wife and kids like they, too, were inmates, and may everlasting shame be on me for that. I knw what stress is. I know what a thin line it is that divides me from the very worst.

And stories. I do have stories.

Stay tuned.

Some pictures are just too heartbreaking for words.

 

 

Martin Richard was 8 years old before this year's Boston marathon. I'm sure the punk-ass coward who set off the bomb is taking delight in his work even now.

 

Two of my grandsons are nine. I so see them in this picture.

 

 

 

Hadiyah Pendleton. Great kid, All-American kid, a highly intelligent kid, a kid of great character. She would make any family proud. She and her band played at the President's inaugural. It had to have been a highlight of her young life. I'm glad she got to experience that, because days later she was shot dead. Someone thought she was in a rival gang.

 

And the pic is just too heartbreaking.

 

What have we all missed, when we lose a boy who chose his message to any and all: "No more hurting people." What have we lost when we lose a young lady about whom Michelle Obama would say, "I was Hadiyeh, and Hadiyeh was me"?

 

What are we losing?

 

Chicago police confirm 'tragic number' of 500 homicides

December 28, 2012|By Jeremy Gorner and Peter Nickeas | Tribune reporters

 

What are we doing to ourselves? Hadiyeh, Martin, Newtown - kids. Kids. May God be good to all of you. And may She have mercy on us.

 

Do you have answers? I'd love to hear them. I know I surely don't.

 

Do you have an answer?

Does God not exist?

I can look through my blog and see how may people have looked at each posting. I can't see who looked but I can see how many. The only way I know who read the posts is if you comment, and I'd love to have you do just that. Those who know me know that you can disagree with me and still be a dear friend to me.

I asked my students in my Christian Ed class if I'm really that scary a guy. They hesitated - which scared me - hen said, "Well, if someone dosn't know you. . ." OK, true enough, I guess.

The most-read posting was "Perpathy," the posting about a peculiar American illness, our incomprehensible sympathy for the perpetrators of horrific crimes. I had some help from a niece on that one. She loved my new word. (So do I.) The second most-read was "Does God Exist?"

Interesting thing about that one. I posted it on Facebook. Suddenly, in the "People You May Know" section, I'm seeing all sorts of names of people whose only cnnecting theme with each other is their professed atheism. Now, mind you, one's atheism is no barrier to a warm relationship with me, and don't see atheism as a barrier to having a strong conscience, a real sense of morality. You can't prove to me that you're right, and I can't prove to you that I am right, so let's make our peace with that and just - you lnow - relate. If you are not my brother or sister in the faith, you are still very much my brother or sister in this wonderful family called Humanity. I treasure that fellowship. (And the invitation to join in that family of faith is very much there - invittion, not command.)

But, why would anyone think that, because I ask the question, I must necessarily be atheist? What software at Facebook assumed otherwise? I respect atheists, but it is not my position. I thought that was pretty clear from the posting. So, tonight Iask the question in reverse.

But, we are brothers and sisters all. If you are in favor of finding a more humane and just system of immigration and of dealing with the people who have  been working and contributing here for years, you are my brother or sister. If you are angered by the arrogance of those who forget that they, too, are descended from immigrants, you are my brother or sister.

If trafficking kids 12 - and younger - for sex sickens you, too - you are my sister or brother.

If wage theft makes you boiling mad, you are my brother or sister. If the concentrated effort to deny labor the right to organize makes you see red - you are my brother or sister. People are also trafficked ino forced labor. Mad yet?

And if the fact that one person can do so little about it all frustrates you to no end - you are my sister. Or brother.

Somehow we'll find a way to join hands. Even if I believe and you don't.

Thanks for hanging out!

A bit of my childhood and MS and whatnot

The very first crush of my youngest years is gone.

I have thought at times that my first crush was the girl that lived just down the street. She went to Alleman; I went to UT. She studied French, I studied Latin. We were within a couple of months of being the same age, same grade in school, we both moved to East Moline from out of town at about the same time, we both experienced something of the "I'm an Outsider" feeling. As it happens, we didn't have nearly as much in common as I'd thought. We passed rather quickly out of each other's life in about our senior year.

Sometimes I thank God

For unanswered prayers.

So, later I met my true soulmate and best friend, and we're still newlyweds some 38 years and five kids and ten grandkids later. The other person's history? I have no clue.

But this wasn't my first crush. When I was in first grade my teacher was of Japanese descent. She was from Hawaii. Oh, did I have a crush on her. Miss Takano. During that year I took to doing a hula around the house wrapped in a bath to. . .er, a grass skirt. (Oh, to have my first grader's imagination again.) I think one Iowa winter was quite enough for Miss Takano.

But, even before that, there was Annette. She was the very first. I don't remember how old I was, but the Mickey Mouse Club stopped running in 1958, when I was five. And what I remember about this crush: What you saw was what you got. She came across as a wholesome, family-oriented person, and she never, as far as I know, disappointed. She was wife, mom. She has now passed away, and should be mourned.

She was diagnosed with MS. The diagnosis was in 1987, but she went public with it in 1992. She was notable for the courage and grace with which she handled this condition. I have some family and some dear friends who also contend with MS. For some, it's nearly invisible; for some, it affects only a limited part of them. Others have their bad days when they can barely get around. All have handled this far better than I could have; all are far better, braver people than I. So, all my respect for them.

And for my first crush, my first imaginary friend. RIP, Annette.

Does God exist?

This was the title of a book published years ago by Hans Kung, a Swiss theologian. There are those who would swear and affirm that Kung's whole purpose in life is to antagonize the Vatican. He did so to the point that Rome - a name that Kung always pronounced with a certain disdain and a slight roll of the eyes - told him that he could no longer call himself a Catholic theologian. He was still Catholic, mind you, and he was still a theologian. He just wasn't a Catholic theologian.

How's that workin' out for you, Rome? Kung's books continued to sell well. He was invited to be a guest lecturer at universities throughout the western world, and it was very difficult to get into the sections in which he lectured. He was influential at Vatican II, and people still pay attention to him.

Kung published Existiert Gott?, the original German version, in 1978. The English translation, Does God Exist?, was copyrighted later in 1978. I have a copy on my bookshelf. It's a bit beaten up; it's been one of my dippin'-into books for years.

Kung doesn't play coy with his answer. In the Introduction, he says that the answer will be, Yes, God does exist.  He takes a well-informed and extensive look at various Western trends that may say otherwise - followers of Marx,of Freud, and a plethora of others - and winds up at the same place: God does exist.

I ask the qustion also, and, like Kung, I mean to have no suspense here. I am a believer; God does exist. But I won't be as comprehensive as Kung (really, does anyone have time for that?)

 I freely concede that I can't prove the existence of God. Here I am far more Kierkegaardian than Thomist. (That would make me a very untypical Catholic.) Thomas taught that the existence of God is subject to logical proofs - the ontological argument, the unmoved mover, etc. Those aren't really proofs, though; there's always room for something to sit in the gaps. (No time to explain all that.)

Kierkegarrd's position, and mine, is that the existence of God cannot be proved. The nonexistence of God also can't be proved. We gather all the available evidence on one side or the other, but there is no conclusive, compelling proof, one way or the other. The term"Leap of faith" is a very Kierkegaard sort of term. After we gather all the evidence available, it's still not proof. Believers take a leap of faith, knowing the gaps. Nonbelievers are also taking a leap of faith. They tend not to be as aware of that leap, and they think they've got the gaps covered, but they take it nonetheless, and they don't.

So, I take the leap. I make the decision every day to take that leap (yes, I have something of the existentialist in me, too. One day at a time.) My evidence does not constitute proof, but it's enough for me. My evidence is in my recovery from my battle with alcoholism (that one-day-at-a-time thng again); it is my life history, of just the right people being in just the right place at just the right time. My evidence is in the creation, and the fine-edged knife edge it rests on. My evidence is in family and love. My evidence is in the mystery that is part of life and death, and in the knowledge that there are some things that the folks in the lab coats can't explain. It's bigger than human reason.

I take the leap.

Thanks for hanging out!

News notes kinda maybe

At work I get in each day's e-mail a publication called Business Record Daily. It's a digest ofvarious articles, mostly from the Des Moines metro area, and mostly about things that are of interest to the business community. It's a handy little paper, and it does reflect something about Des Moines: folks from Des Moines think that Des Moines is Iowa. Chicago does the same thing with Illinois, but more.

A headline in the Business Record caught my attention: "Report: Americans Spend 2.6 Hours Per Day On Mobile Devices." I find that just mind-blowing: 2.6 hours every day. I have known people that would be sitting five feet away from each other, arguing with each other on Facebook. I can't help but wonder how much time that leaves for other matters like, you know, talking with your family. Something like that.

Another headline today: "Developer Homesath to leave Tickly." OK, the imagery conjured up wa just. . .weird. "Don't go away mad; just go away Tickly." Saints pr'sarve us.

Cubs are 2-1. Cards are 1-2. Enjoy it for now.

And from Mark Morford in the San Francisco Chronicle: "Six percent of Americans believe in unicorns. Thirty-six percent believe in UFOs. A whopping 24 pecent believe dinosaurs and human beings hung out together." (We only missed by a cool 160 million years or so, but we didn't miss entirely. Descendants of the dinosaurs are still around. We call them birds.) "Eighteen percent still believe the sun revolves around the earth." (Sorry, Morford; I'd need your source for that one.) "Nearly 30 percent believe that cloud computing involves. . .actual clouds." (It doesn't?) "A shockngly sad 18% still believe the President is a Muslim." (My question: He's not - but so what if he is?) (And, yes - they are sad. To be pitied.)

"Roughly 48 percent believe in some form of creationism." Sorry, Mark. I'm one of the 48%. No, no, I am no fundamentalist. But the God I believe in is eternal, so if She wanted to use a ginormous explosion billions of years ago, well, what's a billion years to an eternal God? If God wanted to use evolution to create the magnificent scope of life, who am I to argue? (Although, had I been there at the creation, I may have had a suggestion about shoulders and knees.) Those who would teach creationism as a science, as an alternative to the standard science curriculum, fail to present evidence. They get so hung up on provng that this all took place in six days 6,000 years ago, that they lose something of the majesty of God in all of that. They require that the writer of Genesis (actually, writers and editors) write a scientifically valid account of the creation. This would be like requiring Archimedes to write an account of string theory.

If you read the Mesopotamian accounts of creation - the Gilgamesh Epic, for one - you understand what the writers of Genesis were after. Try it sometime.

Thanks for hanging out.

The Vigil. The incredible news: "HE IS RISEN!"

The Triduum - Three Days - Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday - are a somber time, a time of darkness. On Holy Thursday, the liturgy starts with a joyous sort of atmosphere. The Gloria is sung for the first time since Ash Wednesday. But the mood darkens. The end of the liturgy is the celebrant removing the Host from the altar - the altar is stripped. Jesus' crucifixion rapidly approaches. He is about to be betrayed and undergo an unfair, illegal trial, and be handed over to Pilate. At the conclusion of the liturgy on Holy Thursday, we leave in silence.

On Good Friday we have a liturgy, but no Mass is said, anywhere in the world, on Good Friday. The Hosts we use on Good Friday would have been consecrated on Holy Thursday. The liturgy is very solemn. Jesus has died. As we put ourselves in the place of the early disciples - was there ever a darker day? He's gone. Gone. Our hopes - dashed. He is wrapped up and placed in a tomb.

Then there was a gray, gray Saturday, a day that neither heard his voice nor saw his face. And then sunset and the darkness and the end of Shabbat.

And then. . .and then. . .

We enter a dark church. Darkness, despair. . .

And then a fire is lit - a fire that symbolizes life. Some grains of incense are placed in the wax of the candle, and the words are spoken:

Christ yesterday and today;

The beginning and the end,

The Alpha and the Omega,

His are the times and ages.

To Him be glory and dominion

Through all ages of eternity. Amen.

The candle is lit from the fire and is raised. As the candle is raised in the still-dark church, we hear the proclamation:

Lumen Christi! Light of Christ!

The reply from all:

Deo gratias! Thanks be to God!

 

And with the Paschal candle, and the proclamation in the darkness, the words from the Prologue to the Fourth Gospel never fail to come to my mind:

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

To me, this is the most powerful moment in the entire liturgical year. I don't have words to say how powerfully that one moment impacts me. I am surprised when I find out how many Catholics - Catholics, mind you - have never attended an Easter Vigil Mass. I would go so far as to suggest that even non-Catholic Christians should attend one of these in your lifetime. The symbols and their impacts don't stop with the candle. Everything we do litutgically comes about in this one Mass. It is rich in symbol - fire, water, light, dark. New members are baptized, confirmed, receive their first Eucharist. And the joy at the beginning does not fade by the end. Because we worship a risen Lord.

He is Risen!

Mass starts at 8:15 (the church must be dark, so the Vigil Mass must start after sunset.)

Thanks for hanging out.

Were you there? I was.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble - tremble - tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble - tremble - tremble.
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?

Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble - tremble - tremble.
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?

Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble - tremble - tremble.
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?

Yes. Yes I was. After all, He did it for me.

History, meet Eternity. Eternity - history.

I didn't know what I wanted to write about tonight. Then I went to the Holy Thursday evening Mass.

Lent ends with the beginning of the Holy Thursday Mass. We do have one more meatless Friday, and our attitude of fasting and penance doesn't decrease. Rather, it intensifies as we enter the Triduum. The Triduum - "three days" - Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday - forms a mini liturgical season of its own. The Mass on Holy Thursday isn't a full Mass. It's the first 1/3 of a Mass that starts on Thursday, has a middle section on Friday, and concludes with the Easter Vigil on Saturday night.

My watch came off before tonight's Mass. It won't go back on until Monday morning. The events we celebrate this weekend occurred in time, but they are not of time. They occurred in history, but they are not of history. Rather, they are the events in which eternity touched time and history. The eternal God became the historical Jesus, and on this weekend Jesus completes his work on earth and brings the eternal to us, in a wafer of unleavened bread, a cup of wine. And you can't really ask, "How?" It's too much for the human mind to bear. You can only ask, "Who?" "Who is the God-Man that brought eternity to earth, and presents humanity to God?" "Jesus of Nazareth."

Mass started at 7:00. That would have probably been about the time that, in three of the Gospels Jesus was presiding over the Last Supper. John tells us that, when Judas Iscariot left to betray Jesus, the supper was just wrapping up, and it was dark. By 7:00 in these parts it's not dark yet.

Mass ended about 8:15. By then it was dark. We exited the Church. On that night so long ago, Judas exited that upper room. Before this night is out, there will be a trial before the Sanhedrin - Peter's bravado - Peter's triple denial - the appearance before Pilate, then Herod, then Pilate again. Then beating - flogging - crown of thorns. . .

So tonight, in Mass and after, we keep watch. We keep company. We honor the sacrifice that no other human being ever born could have made.

And time and eternity meet.

Other thoughts:

St. Mary's in  Davenport is about 75% Latino. Most of the major Masses are bilingual. So, the reading from Exodus (the account of the Passover) was read in English, with the Spanish in print. The New Testament reading - from 1 Corinthians - was the other way around. And Father Ed read the Gospel in Spanish and English. Prayers and the homily were in both languages. I'm a Eucharistic minister, and I was distributing the host, to some with "The body of Christ" and to others with "El Cuerpo de Cristo." It was all a celebration of something else - no matter the skin color, no matter the language spoken, we are all brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus. Bilingual Masses are a highlight of my year.

Tomorrow is Good Friday. Time meets eternity, and it does seem that time wins, doesn't it?

Thanks. Hasta luego!

Quit the Bible-thumping already

I know my way around the Bible, a little. . .

Some years ago I attended a seminary. I was preparing to become a Presbyterian minister. That came to an end with the culmination of a gradual process. I found myself thinking more like a Catholic every day, and the market for Presbyterian ministers who think like Catholics is kind of limited. In September, 1992, with open heart surgery looming on the horizon, I was bvaptized, confirmed and took my first Eucharist as a member of the Roman Catholic Church.

Back to the seminary. The Presbyterian Church requires of its ministerial candidates the demonstrated ability to do exegesis on biblical texts in Greek (for the New Testament) and Hebrew (for the Hebrew Scriptures.) So, on my first day of classes the very first class was Hebrew. Dr. Wallace told us to open our copies of the Biblia Hebraica to Deuteronomy 6:4-5. A couple of things to keep in mind about this venture. Hebrew is read from right to left, instead of left-to-right as we're used to. And, the alphabet is not like anything we've seen before. Find Deuteronomy? We don't even know which way is up in these things. But get there we did, and found perhaps the most powerful passage of Scripture in the Hebrew Scriptures:

Sh'ma, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad.

It is the key passage in Jewish belief, and countless Jewish martyrs have died with this on their lips:

Sh'ma, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad.

"Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one."

It was Jesus' first and most important command: Ve' ahav'tah eth adonai elohei ka v'col l'vav ka, uv col nafshe ka, uv col maode ka. You shall love the Lord your God with all your hearts, with all your souls, with all your (and here it's tricky; maode ka doesn't translate precisely) - muchness? abundance? You get the idea.

Then Jesus' second command: Ve ahav ta larea ka kamo ka, ani Adonai. "You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

I am no naif in Biblical interpretation. I know my way around. There is much I don't know, of course, and I would tell anyone who goes to the Bible in search of answers to their questions to not be surprised if the outcome is that they wind up with questions for their answers. But I do know this:

Nowhere in my Bible am I given the right to thump that Bible in condemnation of another. NOWHERE. And I am not willing to be the first stone-thrower.

So, to my LGBT friends, I am given one command: to love you. I hope you win the marriage equality battles. I hope you find the joy and contentment and wonder in your marriages that I have found in the 38 years of mine. I love you, my brothers and sisters.

Thanks.

What to write. . .what to write. . .

Oh heck, I dunno.

Tomorrow night is the monthly meeting of the Immigration Task Force of Quad City Interfaith. The meeting doesn't require much prep from me, unlike some of the other things I do for the task force. So, easy night tonight, easy night tomorrow.

Holy Week. Started with Palm Sunday. Lent doesn't end with Easter. Rather, Lent ends at the beginning of the Holy Thursday evening Mass. And that Mass is really long; it doesn't end until the end of the Easter Vigil, on Saturday night. On Holy Thursday we will do a foot washing. In the Fourth Gospel the Last Supper is not there. It's replaced by a foot washing. We will have a foot washing at St. Mary's. I was one of those whose foot was washed last year - probably explains that look on Fathe Ed's face sine then - and I will be again this year.

Tired - time for beddy-bye.Thanks for hagng out.

Sunday! Sunday!

(was that an annoying commercial or what? sorry I even brought it up.)

My reading: I have made my way through most of Shelley's Prometheus Unbound. One theme that does seem to come up frequently in western literature is reflected in Mark Twain's famous statement that he would prefer heaven for the climate and hell for the company. In Dante, in Milton, Satan does seem to have the more interesting people around him. In Prometheus, the character cast out of heaven - Prometheus - is hardly a major character, not at all in he mode of the Satan of Milton. There are parallels, to be sure: in the beginning, both Prometheus and Satan lie bound in hell. The being that cast out Satan in Milton is the Judeo-Christian God; the being that cast out Prometheus is the Roman Jove. I haven't finished the work, so I don't know yet where Shelley is going with this. I do know that his use of the language is sublime.

Other reading: Yves Congar: Essential Writings. Congar was a Dominican friar. His work started before Vatican II, and his was an influential voice in Vatican II. Much of his work was on eccesiology - the study of the church - and ecumenism. I'm a bit peeved at this collection. Excerpting the work of a theologian like Congar, whose body of work was very extensive and who never in his life, I think, used the short-form thought about anything, is probably too much of a challenge. I would read a segment and wish more was there. Still, if the purpose of such a collection of shorter pieces is to entice the reader to read more of this person's work, this book may succeed.

So, back to my quiet, deliciously quiet and lazy Sunday. Thanks for hanging out!

Got no deeds to do, no promises to keep. . .

Women, the Church, today's Bible stuff

At some times of the year my mind moves in a certain way each year. One of those times is the period from about September 10 to October 2. That's typically a rough time emotionally. The annivesary of my mom's passing, my dad's birthday, the anniversary of Dad's passing, the anniversary of my mother-in-law passing - all fall within that three-week period.

This is another such time, for a different reason. During Lent I, and much of Christendom, reflect much on faith and life. Lent is a season of penitence. I just listened to Don Wooten, on Saturday Morning Live on WVIK, talking about a conversation he'd had years ago with a Jesuit scholar who said that, confronted with the mysteries of life - birth, death, love, even the scope of this great universe - we should hve two reactions: we should kneel before the mystery and we should question the mystery. We should do both. To say somthing very similar: you must experience the walk through the valley of doubt before your faith takes on a reality. A comprehended God is no God at all.

My thoughts also turned toward the nature of God. The God I worship is the holy Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. There seems to be no room for any feminine dimension of God. There should be, but I'm not sure how to reimage God to allow for that. We should. Jesus did more than hint at this: "Jerusalem, Jerusalem. . .how often have I desired to gather your chldren together as a hen gathers her brood. . ." That's a very feminine image of God - unless you know of some male hens.

The Hebrew word Ruach, and the Greek word Pneuma, translate the same way into English: three meanings, one of which is spirit. Both nouns are feminine nouns. I do realize that the feminine/masculine division, in the linguistic sense, makes no reference to the object to which the word refers. A ship is "she" in any language, although a ship has no gender. Still, I find it interesting that these nouns are feminine. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to see the Holy Spirit as a refection of a feminine aspect of God.

There is a genre of literature in the Old Testament, the Wisdom literature. Hebrew for "wisdom" is kochma. Wisom is not identified as God. Rather, Wisdom is the principle by which God orders the creation. Wisdom is often personified in the Hebrew scriptures, and it is always as a woman. Even if God is male - and my conception of God does not require that God be male; God is beyond gender - but even if God is male, he uses a woman to mintain order.

In the New Testament and in early Church history Mary Magdalene is very highly thought of, as esteemed as St. Peter. I don't need to say how highly we regard Mary the Mother of Jesus. The Letter of St. Paul to the church at Philippi is to a church in which Lydia, a seller of purple, may well have been the person in charge. Someone looking at our church 2000 years from now would see all of this and would say, "What a wonderful, feminine orientation they have."

Then they would wonder, "Did they really not ordain women?" (Alert! Alert! This is an area in which I am at odds with my church.) The rationale from the hierarchy has been that, well, that's the way it's always been, and we don't feel that we have permission to change that. But - what if that's not the way it's always been? What gave you permission to change?

Thanks for letting me think out loud - or online or whatever. Love the journey, love that we're together on it.

Stranger danger. Addiction. Sunday school.

Thursday. The non-meeting day.

It's the day that I start to prep for the Sunday school class I teach. I've started to block out the lesson for Sunday. It's more challenging than most weeks for two reasons. One reason is that we only have about a half hour. I think most people who teach would tell you that they would rather teach the full hour than 30 minutes.

The second thing that makes this challenging is the subject matter. I found out a couple of Sundays ago that, according to diocesan standards, we were supposed to teach a session on stranger dangr and the like. The diocesan stndards are maddengly vague about what should be taught. I know enough about trafficking that this will be no problem. I could do this without notes, just winging it. Not that I ever wanted to be this acquainted with the subject, but I am.

The careful balance I must maintain: this is a class, most of the members of which are junior high age. I want to present the subject directly enough that they will know that we're talking about a serious serious danger. I also must be tactful enough that I'm not a cause of trauma.

The age group makes this interesting as well. If we only had 7th and 8th graders, it could be difficult enough. In any roomful of people there is a variety of maturity levels, but 7th and 8th graders present the variety in exaggeration. Add to that, that not all of the folks there are 7th and 8th grade. Our class is not designated by age group or school grade. It consists of kids who have been baptized, who have received their first Eucharist, who are of an age at which the Confirmation process could begin, but could not get into Confirmation class because the current Confirmation class is in its second year. So these youngsters are mostly 7th and 8th grade, but we have a 9th grader, we have a high school sophomore. Big variety of maturity levels and ages.

There's another subject that I know much more about than I ever wanted to know - addiction. For me, alcoholism, but alcoholism is just a form of addiction. Had I been thinking about this earlier in the year I would have had a class session in the fall about stranger danger and trafficking, and one in the spring about addiction. Mashing the two together won't be hard - there's an obvious connection between trafficking and addiction. But I'd rather have done this in two sessions. Lesson for next time - but I'm not at all sure that there will be a next time. I will be 60 in July, y'know.

So, to work, and work it will be.

Thanks for hanging out!

My son. Hero.

Yes he is.

October 2, 2002 was a memorable day. First, I got sick at work and came home. We had just moved into a new place in Bettendorf, and I didn't have my key to the new place, so from about 11 in the morning, I sat outside and waited and waited and. . .About 4 or 4:30 one of my daughters came by. She told me that we had a new granddaughter. Jada Alexis was born, and Richard Jr. was dad, and I hopped in the car and we went to Trinity West in Rock Island.

Only, Jada wasn't there. She'd been transported by helicopter to OSF St. Francis Medical Center in Peoria. Jada has cerebral palsy. The things we take for granted - walking, talking, singing, feeding ourselves - Jada will never be able to do. My son learned more about parenting in a really short time than I have learned in a very long time.

Jada eventually got to come home during the week of Thanksgiving. Between that early October day and the end of November Richard and Cindy and I drove to Peoria so often that we could have driven it backwards and blindfolded. (Not recommended, though. Deer do a nasty job on cars.) St. Francis in Peoria has a top-notch neonatal care center but, even so, we saw lots of parents whose babies just couldn't make it. Jada had lots of surgeries, and she probably had no business making it, either, but there is one family trait that comes from both sides. She's a fighter. Praise God - Jada's a fighter. And now, ten-years-plus later, Jada the fighter is still fighting.

And her dad is fighting right with her.

My son's heroism doesn't stop there. In June, 2007, our daughter, Becky, gave birth to her youngest, Kylie, and within 12 hours our daughter-in-law Leanne gave birth to Payton. Payton also had his difficulties. He had problems eating, and so he's had a feeding tube for these six years. Also, numerous surgeries. But today we got word: Payton can now thrive on his own. One more surgery, to remove the feeding tube. Yay Payton!

We are fighters. We are grinders. Things don't always go exactly as we would wish. Just keep plugging.

And I couldn't be prouder.

Thanks for hanging out!

Perpathy

A story in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch is about a candidate for mother of the year: A 28-year-old Warrenton woman is in police custody. Police said she spanked her 3-year-old son in excess. She admitted as much in an interview with police - that she occasionally spanked her son too much.

You could say that.

There were six calls made to a state child abuse and neglect hotline within the past year. Spanked too much? In a November incident the child had "severe bruises along the back of his spine, shoulder area, face, ears, groin, chest and top of his head." She said that an abrasion on his head may have occurred when she hit him with a sippy cup.

Mom-o-the-year material, there.

The commenters on the story in the Post-Dispatch had predictable responses - I rather favor the sterilization-and-a-lobotomy idea - but one apparently saw mom's picture and said, "She's kinda hot." Thus, one comment leads to a thought about a phenomenon I've been noticing: Perpathy. Sympathy for the perps.

The recent rape trial in Steubenville, Ohio brought this to light. There were many reports about how this verdict and punishment was going to ruin the lives of these bright young men.

Bright young men? Great futures ruined? They are RAPISTS. Say it again: RAPISTS. Nothing more. I have not seen any coverage that spoke of the damage this would have done to the victim, just the damage that her charges would do to the perps.

Had that been my daughter I would have done as these parents did: back my daughter all the way through trial. Had that been one of my granddaughters, the buzz would have been about that 12-gauge vasectomy done right in front of the courthouse.

They are RAPISTS - nothing more. She was the victim, but she's ruined their lives??

And please don't tell me that this isn't who these young men are. This is exactly who they are.

Perpathy.

After the trial two girls were arrested for threatening the life of the victim.

Perpathy.

It's not new. Remember "Free Charles Manson?"

Perpathy.

It's not new. It wasn't very bright then. It's downright moronic now.

Thanks for letting me vent.

Medical stuff

I spent half my day at work today. The other half was in medical facilities. If I'm asked, "Who's your doctor?" my answer is, "Who isn't?"

For those curious:

The first appointment was with the Diabetes Care Center. Yes, I should do a better job in taking my meds; I'm told they work better that way. I should also monitor my blood glucose better. No news there.

The news, such as it is, came from my visit to the neurologist. Dr. Wright had the images from the MRI that I had last month. It showed images of my brain. I was relieved to know that I still have one.

I saw the evidence of the old stroke that had been discussed. It affected a small part of the brain, toward the rear. The stroke would not have produced the vertigo I've experienced. It's in the part of the brain that would affect vision. It could have produced no symptoms at all, or it could have had an effect on my vision. But not vertigo.

So we're back to thinking inner ear. I'm taking the meds I need to take; I'm doing what I need to do. The approach now: steady as she goes, and if I have another episode of vertigo, get immediately to an emergency room. I'm told that, while the vertigo is occurring, the eyes act in ways that can help to clarify whether it's an ear issue or a brain issue.

Thanks for hanging out!

1 AM, Sunday morning

Way back in November I borrowed a book from the Bettendorf Library. It was The Third Jesus by Deepak Chopra. On a Friday I took it into a coffee shop on the way to work, and I left it on the counter. That Monday I went back to the coffee shop to retrieve it - and the coffee shop had been closed.

Bats.

The coffee shop reopened last week, and I have now retrieved the book. Now I have to take it back, and I'm guessing the library fine will be more than it would have cost to replace the book.

Bats bats.

I don't even like Deepak Chopra's work. I was only reading the book to try to get a handle on whether my assessment of Chopra was fair. It was. He's way too New-Agey for me. His premise is that there was an original Jesus. Who he really was is long lost in history. That's true enough. We don't know, for example, what he looked like. Too often we see pictures of him with brown hair, white skin with just enough tan, green eyes. . .More likely he had black hair, olive skin, brown eyes. He was, after all, a Palestinian Jew. He may have had all his teeth, or maybe not. He wouldn't have been very tall by our standards. But Jesus has been such a towering figure in human history that many cultures have imagined him as resembling people from their own culture.

Chopra then posits a second Jesus, the Jesus of faith. The writers of the New Testament and the Church authorities, he claims, have passed along only the traditions of Jesus that they'd wanted passed on. Thus they robbed us of knowledge of who this Jesus was.

So Chopra wants to present to us a third Jesus, the "real" Jesus. But this all begs a question: if the historical Jesus is lost in time, and the only source of info we have is that which is screened by New Testament writers and the Church, and if the real Jesus is the "third Jesus" - how would Deepak Chopra know any more about this "third Jesus" than anyone else would? What would make him even qualified to write about it?

As I read it, Chopra's method is to cherry-pick from those very writings that he says screen us from his version of Jesus. You can't do that. It's an exegetical fallacy called "proof-texting".

Where the New Age stuff comes in: Chopra writes about Jesus as having a "God consciousness" - which is way short of identifying Jesus as God. He writes about Jesus as being "Christ conscious" - not at all the same as Jesus being Christ.

I got to the point of not being able to stomach any more. I've had a bellyful of the New Age crap. I hear a lot of folks saying that they're "spiritual but not religious." What that tells me is that you know that a decision of faith can bring great benefit, but you don't want to make such a decision. There is intellectual discipline in learning about faith, and the "spiritual but not religious" folks don't want to be that disciplined.

I also know this. God consciousness would not lead Jesus to the cross. He said "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" - that's not a prayer to an abstract "consciousness." He said, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" It's a prayer to a personal being, not to consciousness.

I would not claim that Jesus is easy to understand. Anyone who encounters him in a serious study of the New Testament will have to wrestle deeply with who this man was, with what he did, with what he said. If you think you will approach Jesus and find answers, I am sorry to inform you that when you approach Jesus you will find questions on questions on questions. . .But I know this:

Jesus Christ is Lord. Not "consciousness".

Thursday. Good bye, Ruby - Thursday?

On Tuesdays I have one meeting or another every week. First Tuesday of the month: St. Mary's Core Group for Justice. Second Tuesday: Quad City Interfaith Board meeting. Third Tuesday: St. Mary's Pastoral Council. Fourth Tuesday: Immigration Task Force for QCI. On those months that have a fifth Tuesday, I have no meetings but I spend the whole evening wondering what I'm forgetting.

One Saturday a month I spend the morning at St. Mary's Monastery in Rock Island. It has no direct relation to our parish, but if you have a Catholic something - anything -it's as likely as not that it's named St. Mary's.

We had a deacon at our parish named Julian Gutierrez. He's retired now, and moved to the D.C. area because he has family there. If you wanted to know what it was like to be a Mexican-American in the Quad Cities over the past fifty years, Deacon Gutierrez was the walking encyclopedia. He'd lived it all. Something I learned from him that I hadn't thought of. If a Spanish speaker is travelling and is lookng for a Spanish Mass in a town unknown to him, he'll look for a St. Mary's. It holds true in the Quad Cities - the only Spanish Mass in Davenport is at St. Mary's. Bettendorf doesn't have a St. Mary's, and also doesn't have a Spanish Mass. Rock Island is an exception; they have a St. Mary's, but no Spanish Mass. Moline has a Spanish Mass - at St. Mary's. East Moline had a Spanish Mass, at St. Mary's, until it closed. The Spanish Mass in Silvis isn't at St. Mary's. It's at Our Lady of Guadalupe. For the unitiated, Our Lady of Guadalupe is Mexico's patron saint. Our Lady of Guadalupe is St. Mary.

I occasionally moan and groan about the amount of stuff on my plate, until the realization creeps in that every dang thing that's on my plate is there because I put it there.

But Thursday is usually a night when I have no deeds to do, no promises to keep. I start thinking about the Sunday School lesson for the coming weekend, but only in a very general way.

I'm ready for a good night's sleep. That's another typically Thursday thing.

Niters! Thanks for hanging out for a few.

Then there are the Saturdays that

Surprise!

I didn't see THAT coming.

OK, I saw the part about a Latin American Pope. Got that. Just picked the wrong one. Well, some wanted a Latin American, and some wanted an Italian, and now they're both happy.

Something that maybe we should have seen, but few did. There has been through most recent history of Popes an alternation of personality types. The decidedly non-charismatic Pius XII followed by the diplomat-charmer John XXIII, followed by the rather dull Paul VI, followed by the charismatic John Paul I (for a month) and the rock star charismatic John Paul II, followed by the shy, professorial Benedict XVI. Another decided change: since 1978 we have had philosopher-popes - professor-popes. It looks like the electors thought it time for a Pope with a strong pastoral background. Not that Francis lacks intellectual heft; he has a graduate degree in chemistry. But Francis spent most of his career in his native Argentina, caring for his flock.

I think it a great, and welcome, change.

You can never really know what a Pope will do, how he will influence the Church, until his papacy is in progress, or even after it's done. John XXIII, my personal favorite among modern popes, was a 77-year-old lifelong Vatican diplomat, Curia to the bone. He was elected because the guy they really wanted - Montini - was deemed not yet ready. Montini did, eventually, become Pope. He followed John XXIII, as Paul VI. But, in 1958, Roncalli - John's name before he became Pope - was thought a harmless placeholder who would do nothing drastic, make no big changes, just hold the place together until the guy they really wanted was ready.

Then John XXIII called Vatican II together. That nonthreatening placeholder proved to be something quite different. He said it was time to open the windows and let some fresh air in. Indeed. Some in the hierarchy feared he was opening the windows to a hurricane.

No hurricane. An interesting thing: the word pneuma in Greek translates exactly the same way that ruach in Hebrew does. Both have a triple meaning: breath. Wind. And, spirit. John XXIII wanted to open the windows and let a little - wind? or spirit? or Spirit? in. And did he ever.

I am heartened by Francis' choice of name - after St. Francis of Assissi, who gave himself to his faith with complete abandon.I am surprised that the cardinals selected a Jesuit; Jesuits have traditionally specialized in giving Popes heartburn. (One answer to a two-part question: "What are two things even God doesn't know?" A: "What's on a Jesuit's mind.") And I am glad for the recognition that the Catholic Church has become a church of the Southern Hemisphere.

Thanks for hanging out!

Black smoke, and stuff not in the news

The black smoke poured out of the chimney in Rome. You expected? They never elect a Pope on the first ballot, not even when the choice is as obvious as was Ratzinger. The front runners are probably still Scola from Italy, and Scherer from Brazil (note that my three names are not among them. Just wait.) If they haven't settled on a name by about the end of the second day, things may be getting interesting inside. The longer the conclave goes, the more likely it is that the obvious names are faltering ("he who comes to Rome a Pope goes home a cardinal"), and the search is on for a compromise candidate. How long will that take?

The longest conclave on record started in November, 1268. It finally ended on September 1, 1271. After that three-year conclave, the powers-that-were decided that enough was enough, and the rules were changed. Part of the reason for the length of that conclave was meddling by political authorities. The measure taken to stop that was that the cardinals were sequestered. They were, when they were not meeting, locked in their cells. Meals were passed in to them.

Then, if the conclave went past three days, their rations were cut to one meal per day.

It didn't take long before the cardinals decided to get the h*!! out of Rome.

Recently the quarters that the cardinals occupied during the conclave were greatly upgraded, but for much of history the cardinals stayed in a place with one bathroom. No - not one bathroom per cell. One bathroom - period. Most of these guys were 70+ years old. One bathroom. I'm guessing there were long lines and short patience. Again, get out of Dodge quick! I'm told that the quarters are much improved, although far from luxurious.

We shall see.

Other topic: Tonight was our board meeting for Quad City Interfaith. We discussed fundraising. It's distasteful for some. Where I woork - well, my full-time job - we have a different idea of fundraising. We send you a bill. You send us a check. Funds raised. If you don't send us a check we shut your lights off. THEN you send us a check, along with a reconnection fee and late fees. More funds raised. QCI doesn't have that sort of leverage.

I know some denominations are strict about tithing, to the point of having a settlement meeting yearly for each member. It's 10%, pal. Of the gross. The Catholic Church doesn't do that, but people are accustomed to contributing. QCI, not being a denomination, lacks this leverage, also.

So what's our key? Relationships with potential donors - relationships that precede the ask for the check, and that we'd like to see go beyond the contribution. Relationships, relationships, relationships - that allow us to identify where our self-interests may intersect, that allow us to develop the ability to work together and invest together in our community that go far beyond the writing of the check. We want investment. We want a more just society. We don't want your damned charity.

Fundraising is the life blood of any nonprofit. Saul Alinsky would not hire a new staffer unless the candidate could raise two years of his own salary. It's needed if we are serious about doing what we do - our work on the immigrant justice task force (the one I work on), the work of our transportation equity and health care equity task forces - all do good stuff. Important stuff. It all takes money.

So I have some people to talk to.

Thanks for keeping me company tonight!

Thursday I posted. Saturday I posted. Monday I'm posting. I haven't been close to posting every day. I do have an excuse, kind of. It's the "I share my 'puter with my daughter" syndrome.

Tomorrow the cardinals go into conclave. I have no clue who they will select. Anyone who thinks they know, doesn't. Always remember the Roman saying: "He who goes to Rome as Pope goes home a cardinal."

Truthfully, I don't know why anyone would want the job. I know that Benedict was, by nature, a shy, retiring sort. Had he lived out his life as a professor of philosophy at a German university, he would have been a happy man. He never really took to being in the spotlight. His predecessor, John Paul II, was a very different story: as charismatic an individual as has ever been Pope. Paul VI was quite like Benedict in that regard, and John XXIII was like John Paul II. We seem to go back and forth.

If this be true, and if the cardinals look to select a Hopeful Holy Man who smiles, and who doesn't mind the spotlight a'tall a'tall, that would speak well for the chance of Dolan, in New York. But I seriously doubt that any American stands a chance.

I am hoping that the cardinal electors are paying attention to a couple of trends. One is that our church is no longer a European church. Even once-strongly-Catholic societies like Ireland and Poland are increasingly secular. We are a little over a billion in number. About half of that number is in Central America, Mexico, South America, and the United States. The trend here: I think it a good idea if the choice is someone from that part of the world. If I had to pick a name from there: Maradiaga, a cardinal from Honduras.

The second trend: the area of fastest growth for the church is Africa. If the choice is an African, look for a Ghanaian named Turkson.

So, those are my names: Maradiaga, Turkson, dark horse Dolan.

We shall see. Thanks for hanging out!

Thursday I posted on this blog. The title might have been  a bit misleading; it might be taken to suggest that I had been a victim of abuse. I have not. When I joined the church I was 39 years old. It was to happen in the spring of 1993 - new people usually receive the rites of initiation during the Easter vigil service - but in September of '92 I was advised by my doctor that I needed open-heart surgery and soon. Needless to say, that sped up the process considerably, although it wasn't as much as a hurry-up as it could have been. I had been attending the seminary of another denomination. I already could handle some biblical passage in Hebrew and in Greek; I already knew where Luther differed from Calvin who differed from Barth; I knew where Augustine and Aquinas differed. So during the afternoon of the last Saturday in September of 1992 I was baptized (I'd been baptized in another denomination, but the Catholic Church does not recognize that baptism), confirmed, received the anointing of the sick ("Viaticum"), and first Eucharist. There wasn't much else I could have done as far as receiving Sacraments; I was already married, which eliminated both getting married and receiving Holy Orders. I guess I could have gone quickly and sinned greatly so I could receive Reconciliation, but. . .no.

By the time I was received into the Church I was about six feet tall and about 250 pounds - about the size of an NFL linebacker. Not a tempting target even had the priests been so inclined. And they were not. Fr. Ressler - AKA Rocket Ressler; he got through Masses quicklike and in a hurry - and Fr. Osterhaus both understood celibacy for what it is. It's a gift of God to the Church, and an offering from the priests back to God. The two priests at the Church of the Nativity in Dubuque understood the vows and were faithful to them.

As are most priests.

In my previous blog I mentioned the primary and most obvious victims of the scandals - the kids. I forgot another big group of victims - the priests. The priests who must endure being painted with the same broad brush as the criminals.

The percentage of priests that engaged in abuse is a hard number to pin down, but a lot of the best estimates settle near the 4% figure. It indicates a problem, to be sure, and it's far higher than the percentage among the general populace. This may speak to inadequate screening of candidates. For those 4%, treatment should be the same as it is for anyone convicted of such a crime. In my opinion, the punishment for one convicted of child sexual abuse should be life. No parole. First offense. That's a subject for another posting. That should be the punishment for a priest, for a teacher, for anyone. Pedophiles don't age out of it, and they don't get better.

That broad-brush treatment means that we can't apologize enough to the other 96%, who know the vows they took and remained true to those vows. So, to priests, I apologize for leaving you off my last blog. You are victims of the animals as much as is anyone else.

Thanks for being around!

sex abuse, the church, and me

And the cardinals are in Rome, and God is in Her heaven, and the Vatican is - uh - suggesting that the American cardinals quit talking to the press. Such a chatty bunch, they are. Except. . .except. . .when there was somebody who really needed for them to say something.

There must be a special place in hell for those who didn't use their voices to give a voice to the powerless victimized kids who had no voice.

I am Catholic. I will stay Catholic. Even though I am no cradle Catholic, it has seeped into my bones. My faith is part of me, right to my toes. The prayer, the worship, the Eucharist, it's as much a part of me as is my liver. My faith heroes are almost all Catholic - Merton, St. Benedict of Nursia, Bernardin, Pope John XXIII, Nouwen, Berrigan, Congar, Rahner. There are non-Catholics among them - Tutu, King - but my heroes are predominantly Catholic.

And there is my wife, who is a faith hero to me in more ways than I can count.

You can imagine, then, my dismay - disgust - pure anger - at the sex abuse scandals that have occurred. I am horrified on so many levels. It has come back in view with the pending selection of a new Pope, and I hope it means that the next Pope will be one who stands open, honest and strong against the abuse. I long ago gave up on the idea that there is one true church, or the idea that one had a monopoly of truth. Most institutions have some truth. All organizations have some sin. Human nature is human nature, and is sinful. But, we can do better than this.

I am mortified at what happened to the youngsters, and I would tell every one of them, if I could, how sorry I am that this happened to them. If you list all the people around whom kids should be completely safe - doctors? police officers? teachers? priests? - there have been those among each of those groups who have abused that trust, and the kids who invested that trust in them. I am profoundly saddened and sorry that this happens.

I am disgusted by the fact that those, both among the conservatives and among the liberals, have used this to ride their hobby horses. The conservative hobby horse: "Get those gays out of the priesthood!" The position reflects a misunderstanding of pedophilia. Pedophilia, like rape, is a crime of power, not sex. If you were to draw up a prototypical pedophile, the person is more often straight than gay.

Besides, if one of your vows is celibacy, what could it possibly matter if you are a straight celibate or a gay celibate? The Catholic Church does not hold that homesexual orientation is a sin.

I am equally angered by those on the left who ride their hobby horse: "Let the priests marry!" Again, this is a misunderstanding of pedophilia. The profile of the pedophile would not necessarily be single. They have usually been married, although the marriages are often troubled. These people don't do well at handling relationships where the power balance is about equal. If a pedophile gets married, the result isn't a non-pedophile. It's a married pedophile.

And talking about a special place in hell - bishops, even archbishops and cardinals who knew that a priest had abused kids, and helped to cover it up by playing musical parishes? If a lawyer or paralegal reads this, can you help me with a definition of "accessory after the fact"? Bernard Law of Boston escaped only by virtue of the statute of limitations.

I am Catholic. I am under no illusions about the perfection of my church. I do, however, love that, when Catholicism is at its best, it brings forth the glorious and wonderful and beautiful like no other organization can. When we are at our best, we proclaim the beauty and glory of life, at both ends and every step in the middle. When we are at our best, we provide health care and education in many parts of the world where no one else is providing it. When we are at our best, we are Mother Theresa, holding the hands of the dying among the poorest and most outcast. When we are at our best we are the voice for the voiceless immigrants, love for the unloved, peace in war, tranquillity in chaos.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love. . .

Thanks for being you, and allowing me to be me. Love you!

Stuff from tonight

So, last night the weather forecast called for 6-10" of snow. We had a church meeting - one I'd thought of as being important - scheduled for tonight, but with all that snow? I was thinking of postponing the meeting last night, but I waited until this morning to make the decision. This morning the National Weather Service was staying with that forecast - oh, yeah, 20 mph winds gusting to 35 - so the decision was made. We postponed. I rescheduled a medical appointment.

Then reality intervened - the reality that forecasting winter weather in the Midwest is devilishly hard. All it takes is a very small change in the atmospheric conditions, and by this evening one would wonder why we messed around with our scghedule. It's the Midwest! Don't like the weather? Wait a minute.

We went to a movie - Life of Pi. Good flick. I found the visuals to be stunning, and a lot of them were things I'd seen. In the Navy I was a destroyer sailor. The movie showed a scene in which a school of dolphins was leaping on the surface. I've seen that. There were scenes in which you see stars at night, then realize that we're not looking up into the sky, but down into the water. The points of light are reflections of the stars. I've seen that. You haven't experienced darkness unless you've been on a ship in the ocean, in darken ship conditions under a new moon. Yes, the stars do give off light.

I've heard that people can be divided into mountain people and ocean people. As much as I love mountains, I'm an ocean person.

The spiritual theme is clear and unmistakeable. Pi as a youngster grows up as a Hindu, then goes through a Christian phase and a Muslim phase. Noah had his arc, and after the shipwreck Pi has his little assortment of animals on his boat. (Hyenas do not play well with others, but trust me: if you have a Bengal tiger on board, you don't have a hyena problem.) The Israelites had Moses and forty years in the wilderness. Pi's wilderness is the ocean. They had manna, and God intervened when hope seemed lost. Pi had an island that they landed at.

Great movie. It gave the adults food for thought, and our 11-year-old granddaughter was able to follow it, and wants to see it again (I'm sure she would have missed the religious allusions.)

Thanks for hanging out. Love that we're sharing parts of the journey.

We are. Until we're not.

Tomorrow we were to have our Core Group meeting. It was to be one of our more important meetings. We took a parish survey on the weekend, and tomorrow we were to discuss the survey results, and take some direction for our Core Group actions from that.

Alas, tomorrow we have in our forecast about 6" of snow, with a 20 mph wind gusting to 35. We want to meet, but we're not willing to put safety at risk to have it. We won't make the decision until tomorrow morning, but it's not looking good.

Sigh.

News stuff and book stuff and suchlike thingys

Once upon a very long time ago Moline had a newspaper (the Dispatch, aka the Dishrag), and Rock Island had a newspaper (the Argus. It had no clever nickname. It had no clever anything else, either) I remember a day in 1978 (yes, I'm old) when there was a headline. It looked like typical filler - small, back pages - and the story led with, "World War II was ended with the Japanese surrender on August 14, 1945."

For filler it was OK, I guess, but I did wonder why it was there. The date of the story wasn't August 14, so it wasn't an anniversary. The only thing I can think of is that the Argus thought that they had a hot news story - a scoop! I'm just sure that no one else even knows this!

I'm told that there was a photo yesterday in their Faith and Values section that shows that old habits die hard. The Dispatch and Argus are no longer separate papers. In yesterday's edition, March 2, there was a photo taken at the Dream For All prayer vigil. That prayer vigil happened on February 6. It was on the TV stations on February 6. It was in the Quad City Times on February 7. On March 2, the Dispatch/Argus gets around to noticing. Hmph.

And that got me to thinking about other reading. . .

When I was in fifth grade my teacher noticed that I'd developed a fondness for sea stories. So she let me borrow one of hers: Moby Dick. Hint for all: Moby Dick is not for fifth graders. I didn't get through it then - very intelligent adults get lost in Moby Dick. I did read it as an adult, and I had better comprehension. But as a fifth-grader? No chance at all. You could spend a lifetime on that novel and not plumb its depths.

BTW, that thing about the sea has carried into my adult life. I served in the Navy. I love the sea and respect its power. Joseph Conrad is one of my favorite writers.

Gulliver's Travels was a cartoon show for kids. Gulliver's Travels, the novel, is not kids' material. Trust me.

And Don Quixote. I don't know how many references I've seen to Quixote tilting at windmills, and when I see it, I know that the writer didn't get far into the novel, and had no comprehension of what Cervantes was  driving at. The bit about the windmills is very early in the book, and of very short duration. Don Quixote is a book about books, and about Spanish society in Cervantes' time.

'Nuff. Thanks for hanging out with me!

Late. Tired.

Trivia night tonight was great. We raised some funds, and a good time was had by all.

And now I'm tired, it's late, and I still have a junior high class to prep for. 'Niters!

For Catholics: No we're not. For others: No we're not

We have now survived our first day of being unPoped. DePoped? Fear not; soon enough we'll be rePoped.

The day after the Pope announced his pending retirement the front page headline in the Quad City Times read, "Catholics Face Uncertainty."

O, come on now. Seriously?

We've been around for almost 2,000 years. Been there, done that. A Pope retires? Four times. The last two were voluntary, although Celestine's fate wasn't pretty. Things have changed over the last 600 years.

At any rate, the strength of the Roman Catholic Church does not lie in Rome. It never has. It does not reside in the bishops or in the College of Cardinals or in the Curia.

It lies in the Parishes. It lies in my Sunday School class. If I live another 25 years, my parish, St. Mary's, will be in the care of that class. I will be in the care of that class. It will be in great, trustworthy, faithful, strong hands. And it will be stronger than ever. The reason the Catholic Church has survived and thrived for two millenia isn't because of some old guy in Rome who has a yarmulke and red shoes. It's because of generation after generation of kids and their forming their relation with Jesus. Jeans and t-shirts and Chucks and the Holy Spirit. The Church is a bottom-up institution, or it is nothing at all. That's true of any church. Don't waste time talking about what great guys are at the top of the pyramid. Tell me about the congregations.

The strength of the church is local. It's in Africa, where the growth has been explosive. One parish recorded 102 baptisms in one week, and the Church in Africa has more vocations to the priesthood than they know what to do with. It's in southeast Asia and, most of all, it's in Mexico, Central America, South America. . .the largest Catholic nation in the world is Brazil.

May the Cardinal electors be blessed with wisdom and the Spirit. May the next Pope govern with wisdom, the Spirit, and a strong pastoral sense.

But we know where the true might of the Roman Catholic Church is. It meets at 10 AM on Sundays, in an upstairs room in a house right across Fillmore Street from St. Mary's.

Thanks for hanging out!

St. Mary's - Quad City Interfaith - Sam. . .stuff

I'm the president of the Parish Council of St. Mary's. I also represent St. Mary's on the board of Quad City Interfaith. One of my favorite ways to communicate is e-mail, and I periodically send messages to our council and some folks, and here's one I sent tonight (trust me, there's nothing confidential or proprietary or even a little gossipy in this. But who knows? there might be something you'd find interesting or helpful or. . .something.)

"Hello, all, and God's blessings be with you.

Quad City Interfaith will be holding a Trivia Night this Saturday, March 2. It will be at the K. of C., 1111 W. 35th, downstairs. $10/person. Doors open at 6:30, trivia starts at 7:00. Bring your own food, beverages must be purchased on-site. We are sincerely really and truly hoping to fill at least one table from St. Mary's. Come one, come all for a night of fun and fellowship and trivia!

Oh - and baskets. My wife is among those who have put together baskets for this. Now if she would only let me see what's in one. . .

We took a survey at last weekend's Masses. In conjunction with Quad City Interfaith and some other area congregations St. Mary's is participating in Rekindling Our Congregations. The survey was to get a sense of what matters most to our members, and what we would have a Core Group do to help out. The actions wanted may be within our parish, or neighborhood, or larger community. A Core Group can be a wonderful instrument for good. Let's make it such.

Speaking of. . .We recently had a Saturday workshop of some QCI board members with Sam Finkelstein from Gamaliel of Illinois. One of the topics was 1x1 conversations. One-on-ones are a foundation of community organizing. Toward the end of the discussion we were asked how many 1x1s we could have toward building our Core Team. People would say eight or ten from their congregations. Sam said he has ten a day. (From anyone else that would be unbelievable. You should meet Sam. Really big bundle of energy in a really small package. He just might do ten a day.) I guess I might have stood out for my answer: "One." We at St. Mary's have the advantage of already having a Core Group, and what I'd like to see accomplished: every person involved with our Core Group to talk about our work, and invite one person to join us. Just one. Do I have anyone in mind? I cheated. I have two or three in mind. If any or all of the ones I have in mind do get involved, I plan to do a little mentoring, but not too much. The ones I have in mind need no handholding. They're smart, tough, and independent. Ask their opinion, and you're liable to get it. Once involved, they each will have a voice to be heard. I am so hoping. . .

So, God bless. . .have a great night. . .see you Saturday!"

Thanks for hanging out for a few!

On Wednesdays during Lent, except for Ash Wednesday and Wednesday of Holy Week, St. Mary's has a soup supper. The soup's good, the fellowship is better.

I'm a St. Mary's guy. I live about 5 minutes in one direction from St. John Vianney in Bettendorf, and about the same distance in the other direction from Our Lady of Lourdes (yes, Bettendorf does seem to have had a thing about French saints.) On my way to weekend Mass, in order to get to St. Mary's I drive past two other parishes: Sacred Heart Cathedral (east side of Davenport, above the hill), and St. Anthony's (downtown.) I like St. Mary's for several reasons. More on that some other time.

I have a headache now. I've had a couple of episodes of pretty severe and long-lasting vertigo recently. I recently had an MRI in connection, and I'm told there is evidence of an old stroke. It affected the left side of my brain. What I don't know is how old, and what the damage was. Was that what was going on in those episodes of vertigo? I don't know for sure, but it would seem reasonable to think so. Anyway, neurologist on March 18.

Headache and tired. 'Nuff for today. Thanks for the company!

I am really really tired tonight.

Tonight was the fourth Tuesday of the month. Almost all of my Tuesday nights are taken up with something. The fourth Tuesday is the night of the meeting of the Quad City Interfaith immigrant task force. Only tonight, what with the winter storm, only Cindy and I showed up. And Cheryl. And Meri. And Kaitlin.

Kaitlin is a wonderful young lady. She must be; she gets my jokes. When we moved into the building we're in now, she and her family lived across the hall. The families drew close, and Kaitlin adopted us as her grandparents. Then, last weekend, Kaitlin and Cindy were looking through some of Cindy's family photos, when Kaitlin asked, "What's my grandma doing in your scrapbook?" and Cindy replied, "That's my aunt!" Small world - she really is family. And we're glad of it.

My interest in human trafficking - especially in areas of domestic servitude and agricultural labor- was a byproduct of my interest in immigration, and my concern with the horrors of the sex trade arose largely from the proximity of one of the larger centers of the trade to where we live. Whether you know it or not it's also close to where you are. Even in the placest that people think is least likely. Got a truck stop in Boise? Massage parlor in Salt Lake? Trust me - it's under your nose.

A second area of concern for me is wage theft. It happens all over the place. Immigrants are shipped in to work under slave conditions, then two days before payday ICE shows up. The timing is coincidence, I'm sure. Workers are paid below minimum wage. Or, they are told, "No overtime, under any circumstances." Then they are given a pile of work that would take 50 hours to do, and told to have it done within the week. The expectation is that the worker will "donate" the other 10 hours. I have worked in a situation in which I was expected to take work home, but it was not allowed that anyone would claim overtime. "Donation" was expected. The more appropriate term was never used: "Theft." Wal-Mart workers are forced to work through their breaks, but don't single out Wal-Mart. I doubt that Target or K-Mart or any ot the other retailers are different.

What can we do about this? I've discussed (I think!) our adventure of our prayer vigil at Wal-Mart on Black Friday. I guess those nuns just scared the bejezus out of Wal-Mart!

Every year St. Ambrose University awards the Pacem in Terris award. Last year's recipient was Kim Bobo, from International Worker Justice. We met her, and I've got a copy of a book she wrote, autographed by her. Wage theft is a big issue to them. So, I've been on a Black Friday prayer vigil at a Wal-Mart. I've met a founder of International Worker Justice, and sent them a check. IWJ is starting an office in Iowa City, and may be doing some work in the QCA. We'll see.

Did you know Iowa is a "right-to-work" state? (Translation: right to work underpaid.)

'Nuff for tonight. Thanks for hanging out!

Tired.

Our fourth grandkid - third granddaughter - Livvy tuned 11 today. We are so very proud of her. Love you, Livvy!

I read the papers daily. I don't often read a lot of it in depth. I skim, and if an article catches my attention, I may spend more time on it. Today was one of those rare days when nothing caught my attention.

Sleep well, all. I'll try to do likewise.

Thanks for coming by!

My week - Saturday

Saturday is a day of semi-rest. I'm not very active physically. This morning I drove daughter 3 to her boyfriend's house, dropping her off about 6:40. After I came home I surfed the web, listened to music, watched TV, in no particular order. Whatever I felt like doing at any given time.

I start to think through the Sunday school lesson for Sunday on Friday night. This week we'll be talking about the Holy Spirit, the beginning of the Church on Pentecost, apostles, and martyrs. The word "apostle" is often taken to refer to one of the twelve orginals, but it was a Greek word long before there was a church or a Twelve. "Apostle" simply means "one sent on a mission." When President Obama sent Hillary Clinton on an overseas mission, she was an apostle for him. The word "epistle" means "letter", so if Ms. Clinton sent a foreign dignitary a letter rather than making the trip, it was an epistle from an apostle. If that person sent a letter in reply, it was an epistle from that apostle. It had no connection with a church at all. In the Nicene Creed that the Roman Catholics and most Protestants (but not the Eastern Orthodox) subscribe to, we refer to "one holy catholic and apostolic church" (Roman Catholics capitalize the "Catholic".) The phrase means "one holy universal church with a mission."

We'll talk about martyrs. The martyrs we'll be focusing on will be associated with the violence in El Salvador in the early 1980s: Archbishop Oscar Romero, assassinated in March, 1980, and four American church women, three of them nuns, who were beaten, raped and murdered by five Salvadoran soldiers in December of that same year. We talked a while ago about Pedro Calungsod, a Filipino 18-year-old martyred in Guam a few centuries ago. The question: what is it that would motivate someone to surrender their very lives for something, as these people did?

On Friday night I work through some preliminary thoughts. During the early part of Saturday I fill out the subject matter. Later Saturday I start to consider the methodology. I have a catechists' guide (why say "teacher" when you can say "Catechist"?) and sometimes I adhere pretty closely, and sometimes not at all. Tomorrow will be a bit of a hybrid.

It's 10:42 now, and this is about the time I'm usually wrapping up, but after the 5 PM Mass Cindy and I and a couple of family members went out to a movie so things are a bit delayed. Cindy and I would notice if the plot was believable and well-developed, if the acting performances were good, if the screenplay was well-written. The family members we had with us are of such an age that they only notice if the actors are hot.

So, back to finishing up the prep. If a teacher shows up for a class unprepared, trust me, junior high kids will pick up on that quicklike and in a hurry.

Thanks for hanging out!

What I do all week. . .

I am such a creature of habit. I could tell you what I'll be doing all week in October. It will be pretty much the same thing I'm doing all week now.

SUNDAY: Mass at 9 AM, if I didn't go to the 5 PM on Saturday. I have one or another liturgical role at the 5:00 Mass seven months of the year, so most weekends it's the 5:00 Mass. Then I teach a Sunday school class, mostly junior-high age; class starts at 10:00 or whenever time everyone gets there, until 11:10, or whenever we're done.

I'm not terribly rule-bound. A denomination that I used to belong to was all about rules. Rules written. Rules unwritten. Rules made by anyone who confused his/her own opinion for rules. I think that one of the reasons I connect well with junior high kids is that I'm not a legalistic sort. Thus, no assigned seating. Sit wherever there's room and wherever your mood prompts you to sit. And I refuse to be the Cell Phone Gestapo. Just shut them off and don't make me compete with them. My lessons have not been about rules nearly as much as they've been about relationships. If you get through a year with me without knowing a lot more about rules and customs and suchlike, I'm OK with that. There's a time for that. But if you get through a year with me and are no closer to establishing your relationship with Jesus than you were at the start, then you have not failed. I have.

We're not afraid of experimentation in methods. So, the class session before a Christmas pageant was all music, and stories. We're experimenting with adding music and some closed-book-open-discussion time. I'm not sure that's working out so great.

I think that these kids and I connect well with each other. There's the rules-unbound thing (and, no, these youngsters have not abused that). But most people who know me well know that I've got a lot of junior high kid left in me. Both the good and the bad. Odd, because I remember the junior high years as being two of the toughest years of my life. I don't get it. But these young people and our class are one of the highlights of my week.

Then the rest of Sunday I think about no meetings, no organizations. I sit in a chair or lay on the couch looking for all the world like I'm stoned. "Rick - you in there?" "Huh?" If my boss ever saw that she'd send me for a random drug test the next day. (Hint: I'd pass.)

Long enough for one day. Thanks for hanging out.