May 31, 2009

A bike ride with God


At first I saw God as my observer, my judge, keeping track of the things I did wrong, so as to know whether I merited Heaven or Hell when I die. He was out there sort of like the president. I recognized His picture when I saw it, but I didn’t really know Him.

But later on when I recognized my God, it seemed as though life was rather like a bike ride. But it was a tandem bike, and I noticed that God was in the back helping me pedal.

I don’t know when it was that He suggested we change places, but life has not been the same since, life with my God, that is. God makes life exciting!

When I had control, I knew the way. It was rather boring but predictable. It was the shortest distance between two points.

But when he took the lead, He knew delightful long cuts, up mountains, and through rocky places and at breakneck speeds; it was all I could do to hang on! Even though it looked like madness, He said, “Pedal!”

I worried and was anxious and asked, “Where are you taking me?” He laughed and didn’t answer, and I started to learn to trust.

I forgot my boring life and entered into the adventure. And when I’d say, “I’m scared.” He’d lean back and touch my hand.

He took me to people with gifts that I needed, gifts of healing, acceptance and joy. They gave me their gifts to take on my journey, OUR journey, God’s and mine.

And we were off again. He said, “Give the gifts away; they’re extra baggage, too much weight.” So I did, to the people we met, and I found that giving I received, and still our burden was light.

I did not trust Him at first, in control of my life. I thought He’d wreck it, but He knows bike secrets, knows how to make it bend to the sharp corners, jump to clear high rocks, fly to shorten scary passages.

And I am learning to shut up and pedal in the strangest places, and I’m beginning to enjoy the view and the cool breeze on my face with my delightful constant companion, my God.

And when I’m sure I just can’t do any more, He just smiles and says, ”Pedal.”

– Anonymous

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One man's experience of the Holy Spirit at work


As for the exact date of my conversion, I can’t put my finger on it. It happened progressively, as I moved from atheism to a very marked, sincere faith, but when I look back I can no longer discern the landmarks along the way. I had been completely indifferent, but one day I realized that I had new eyes, and a view of reality which I had never anticipated was given to me. Before that, the true God was an indifferent tradition as far as I was concerned. Now, He is all that matters. He is at the center of the world, He rises above my being, He invades me totally, and my spirit cannot escape from Him. A powerful hand has seized me. Where is it? What has it done to me? I do not know, for His action is not like the action of men, it is unknowable and effective. It constrains me, and I am free. It transforms my being, yet I do not cease to be what I am.

Then comes the struggle – silent, tragic – between what I was and what I have become. For the new creature who has been planted within me calls for a response which I am free to refuse. I have received the principle; I must go on to the consequences. My viewpoint has changed, but my habits of thought and action have not. God has left them as they were. I have to fight, adapt, reconstruct my inner being, and I cannot be at peace unless I accept to fight. I am amazed and surprised at the change which grace has effected in me.

These words come from a letter written by Jacques Fesch from prison. He was subsequently guillotined. See this post for another sample of his writing.

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May 30, 2009

Thoughts on Pentecost - *


In Acts, we read about the Holy Spirit “coming to rest” on Jesus’ followers. But the Holy Spirit hasn’t gotten a whole lot of “rest”, as far as I can see.

For one thing, those who receive the Holy Spirit are given gifts. If you do a bit of research into these gifts, you will find that tradition holds that there are seven (or perhaps nine) gifts. The list of seven, take from Isaiah 11: 2-3, include wisdom, understanding, right judgment, courage, knowledge, reverence, and awe of God. The list of nine is taken from I Corinthians 12, and includes wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, mighty deeds, prophecy, discernment of spirits, tongues, and interpretation of tongues. But if you read 1 Corinthians 12, Ephesians 4, and Romans 12, you’ll be able to count at least 20 gifts which the Holy Spirit gives us. So He’s been pretty busy: he hasn’t gotten much “rest”.

As we read about the effect of the Holy Spirit on followers of Jesus, we discover a listing of fruits of the Holy Spirit in Galatians 5: 22-23: “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.” As with the gifts, if we poke around a bit more in the Bible, we will discover other qualities that could be described as “fruits of the Spirit”. So once again, the Spirit has been keeping busy.

But we’re expected to be busy as well. A gift left in the box is of no value. Even if the ribbon is removed and the box is opened, a gift is worthless to us if we leave it sitting there. We’re expected to open these gifts and put them to use. And as we do so, the Spirit will bear fruit in our lives. If we cooperate with the action of the Holy Spirit, we will have an abundant harvest which can be used in the service of God and of those around us.

As we remember Pentecost, let us pray with St. Augustine:


Breathe into me, Holy Spirit,that my thoughts may all be holy.
Move in me, Holy Spirit,that my work, too, may be holy.
Attract my heart, Holy Spirit,that I may love only what is holy.
Strengthen me, Holy Spirit,that I may defend all that is holy.
Protect me, Holy Spirit,that I may always be holy.

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May 29, 2009

Sister Mary Ann runs out of gas


It's time for a little levity!

Sister Mary Ann, who worked for a home health agency, was out making her rounds visiting homebound patients when she ran out of gas. As luck would have it, a Texaco Gasoline station was just a block away. She walked to the station to borrow a gas can and buy some gas. The attendant told her that the only gas can he owned had been loaned out, but she could wait until it was returned.

Since Sister Mary Ann was on the way to see a patient, she decided not to wait and walked back to her car. She looked for something in her car that she could fill with gas and spotted the bedpan she was taking to the patient. Always resourceful, Sister Mary Ann carried the bedpan to the station, filled it with gasoline, and carried the full bedpan back to her car.

As she was pouring the gas into her tank, two Baptists watched from across the street. One of them turned to the other and said, 'If it starts, I'm turning Catholic.'

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The parable of the horses



Just up the road from my home is a field, with two horses in it. From a distance, each looks like every other horse. But if you stop your car, or are walking by, you will notice something quite amazing. Looking into the eyes of one horse , you will disover that he is blind. His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made a good home for him. This alone is amazing.

If nearby and listening, you will hear the sound of a bell. Looking around for the source of the sound, you will see that it comes from the smaller horse in the field. Attached to her halter is a small bell. It lets her blind friend know where she is, so he can follow her.

As you stand and watch these two friends, you'll see how she is always checking on him, and that he will listen for her bell and then slowly walk to where she is, trusting that she will not lead him astray. When she returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, she stops occasionally and looks back, making sure her friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.

Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect or because we have problems or challenges. He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.

Sometimes we are the blind horse being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives. Other times we are the guide horse, helping others see.

Good friends are like this . You don't always see them, but you know they are always there. Please listen for my bell and I'll listen for yours.

- Author unknown



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May 28, 2009

New Life in Christ: What it Looks Like, What it Demands



This post, written by Charles J. Chaput, O.F.M. Cap., Archbishop of Denver, is taken from the First Things blog.


The Catholic faith is not simply a collection of doctrines and ideas, or a body of knowledge, or even a system of beliefs, although all those things are important. At its root, Christianity is an experience: a life-changing, personal experience of the risen Jesus Christ. Everything else in the writings of St. Paul, and everything else in our life as Catholics, flows from that personal encounter with Jesus Christ. If we truly seek him, then we will always find him. But when we find him, we need to be ready for the consequences, because nothing about our lives can be the same.

Let me share a story with you to explain what I mean. It’s about a young man named Franz who lived about sixty years ago in a small village in Austria. Franz was the illegitimate son of a farmer who later died in World War I. He was a wild teenager. Local people recall that he was the first one in his village to drive a motorcycle. And it’s not because he drove safely or kept to the posted speed limits.

Franz was the leader of a gang that used to fight rival gangs in neighboring towns with knives and chains. He was something of a cad, too, and a womanizer. He got a girl pregnant and was forced to leave town. People said he went to work for awhile in an iron mine.

For reasons nobody knows, Franz came back a changed man. He had always gone to church, even during his wildest days. But when he returned, he was a serious Catholic, not just a Sunday Catholic. He started making payments to support the child he had fathered out of wedlock. He married a good Catholic woman and settled down to become a good farmer, husband and father, raising three children and serving as a lay leader in his local parish.

I want to quote something Franz wrote in a letter to his godson. He wrote: “I can say from my own experience how painful life often is when one lives as a halfway Christian. It is more like vegetating than living.” Believers today are relentlessly tempted to accept a halfway Christianity, to lead a “double life”¯to be one person when we’re in church or at prayer and somebody different when we’re with our friends or family, or at work, or when we talk about politics.

Part of this temptation comes from normal social pressure. We don’t want to stand out. We don’t want to seem different, so we keep our religious beliefs to ourselves. It’s as if we’ve internalized the old adage: “Never talk about religion or politics in polite company.” I’ve never accepted that kind of thinking, myself. Religion, politics, social justice¯these are precisely the things we should be talking about. Nothing else really matters. Few things could be more important than religious faith, which deals with the ultimate meaning of life, and politics, which deals with how we should organize our lives together for justice and the common good.

These are the things we need to talk about if we really want a new life, a whole and undivided life, in Jesus Christ. I think it’s important, though, that we start with a kind of “diagnosis” of the culture we’re living in, and the challenges it forces us to face. The reason is simple. We’re living in the first age in human history where entire societies are organized around this principle of “a double life.”

The Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor calls our period the “secular age.” How we got to this moment is far too big a subject for this article. The point is that in just a few centuries we’ve gone from living in a world where it was virtually impossible not to believe in God, to living in a world where belief in God doesn’t seem to be necessary or to make any difference.

Most men and women today can live their whole lives as if God didn’t exist. Of course in all the developed, Western-style democracies, we’re allowed to believe in God, and even to pray and worship together. But we’re constantly lectured by the mass media to never impose our religious viewpoints on our neighbors. This curious idea is always framed as a reasonable and enlightened way to live. You’re free to believe what you want to believe, I’m free to believe what I want to believe, and the government agrees not to tell either of us what to believe or not to believe.

But things really aren’t as reasonable and enlightened as they seem. Here’s a recent example: Pope Benedict visited Africa in March. On the plane a reporter asked him about the AIDS epidemic and the Church’s disapproval of condom uses. Now, there aren’t many nations or organizations in the world today that have poured as much money and human effort into the fight against AIDS in Africa as the Catholic Church. That’s just a statistical fact. So when the Pope answers a question like this he’s speaking, not just from theological opinion, but with real knowledge about conditions on the ground.

And Benedict said that promoting condom use doesn’t help. In fact it does just the opposite. Nobody listened to his answer beyond that point. It was all over the media for the next several days how this conservative pope was sacrificing millions of Africans with AIDS on the altar of the Church’s rigid moral dogma. By one count, more than 4,000 articles were filed on the subject. And what’s astounding is the uniformity of the criticism¯that the Pope and the Church are backward and medieval, and that Catholic beliefs are a threat to the public health.

What happened? The pope challenged one of the cultish little orthodoxies of our time, the cult of the condom, and the underlying ideology that sexual intercourse is a fundamental human “need” that can never be questioned¯not even in situations where pursuing that need could cost you your life.

So public discussion gets shut down. Nobody stops to consider that what the Pope said wasn’t just sectarian religious belief, but that it actually makes good practical sense. Giving people condoms offers them a false sense of security and encourages the very behaviors that lead to the transmission of AIDS. What’s even more frustrating is to know that leading AIDS-prevention research scientists in Africa actually agree with the Pope.

We’re taught to think that we live in an open society that respects freedom of religion and the free exchange of different ideas. But we don’t.

And we shouldn’t kid ourselves. We may not be too far from the day when it will be legally discouraged to hold certain moral views and illegal to refuse to do certain things we find to be evil. The question then becomes: How are we going to live in this new world? How can we lead a “new life in Christ” in an unbelieving age?

We can’t really answer that question until we get some things straight about what it means to be a Christian. And that means first getting some things straight about Jesus Christ. This is another one of the by-products of our secular times: We don’t really quite know what to think about Jesus anymore. Why?

Because our culture has given Jesus a make-over. We’ve remade him in the image and likeness of generic compassion. Today he’s not the Lord, the Son of God, but more like an enlightened humanist nice guy.

The problem is this: If Jesus isn’t Lord, if he isn’t the Son of God, then he can’t do anything for us. Then the Gospel is just one more or less interesting philosophy of life. And that’s my first point about how we need to live in a secular age: We need to trust the gospels, and we need to trust the Church that gives us the gospels. We need to truly believe that Jesus is the Son of God and the son of Mary; true God and true man; the One who holds the words of eternal life. If we aren’t committed to that truth, then nothing else I say in this article can make any sense.

Here's a second point: Jesus didn’t come down from heaven to tell us to go to church on Sunday. He didn’t die on the cross and rise from the dead so that we’d pray more at home and be a little kinder to our next-door neighbors. The one thing even non-believers can see is that the Gospels aren’t compromise documents. Jesus wants all of us. And not just on Sundays. He wants us to love God with all our heart, all our soul, all our strength, and all our mind. He wants us to love our neighbor as ourselves. In other words, with a love that’s total.

We need to take Christ at his word. We need to love him like our lives depend on it. Right now. And without excuses. Remember the man in Scripture who told Jesus: I’m ready to be your disciple, but first I need to plan my father’s funeral? The way Jesus responds is very blunt and rather disturbing: “Leave the dead to bury their own dead. Follow me and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Of course, he’s not commanding us to show disrespect for our parents. What Jesus is saying is that there can be no more urgent priority in our lives than following him and proclaiming his kingdom.

My third point flows from the first two: Being a follower of Jesus Christ is not just one among many different aspects of your daily life. Being a Christian is who you are. Period. And being a Christian means your life has a mission. It means striving every day to be a better follower, to become more like Jesus in your thoughts and actions.

Blessed Charles de Foucauld once said that, “God calls all the souls he has created to love him with their whole being. . . . But he does not ask all souls to show their love by the same works, to climb to heaven by the same ladder, to achieve goodness in the same way. What sort of work, then must I do? Which is my road to heaven?”

God expects big things from each of us. That’s why he made us. To love him and to serve one another, and to play our personal part in bringing about the kingdom of love. So you have to ask yourselves the same questions that Blessed Charles asked himself. What does God want you to be doing? How does he want you to follow Christ?

Now, how do you go about finding the answers to these questions? By talking to God, humbly and honestly, in prayer. By getting to know Christ better through daily reading and praying over the gospels. By opening yourself up to the graces he gives us in the sacraments. “Ask and it will be given you; seek and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you.” It’s not about you choosing what you want to do with your life. It’s about discovering how God wants to use your life to spread the good news of his love and his kingdom.

Blessed Charles, by the way, is one of the great stories of the twentieth century. He was a Frenchman who lived most of his life like the prodigal son, squandering his inheritance on alcohol, women, and dead-end pleasures. But when he came to know Jesus Christ, his life changed forever. He felt called to follow Christ literally, setting off on foot to Nazareth to devote himself to a humble life of manual labor, prayer, and charity. Some years later, his imitation of Christ led him to the Sahara Desert, where he lived as a hermit and eventually died a martyr’s death.

Most of you will find your own road to heaven starting a little closer to home. That’s appropriate. In fact, it’s exactly what God intends. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus meets and reveals himself to two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They’re not heading for Jerusalem or Moscow or Ottawa or Beijing or Washington, D.C. They’re on their way home. Likewise in the Gospel of Mark, the angel tells the women at the empty tomb that Jesus “is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him as he told you.” Galilee was an obscure and unimportant place. But it was the apostles’ home.

In other words, Christ reveals himself to his followers in their ordinary lives. Jesus meets us on the way of life, and we find him again and again in the “breaking of the bread,” and as we pray over the Law of Moses, the prophets, the psalms, and all of Scripture. Our encounter with him in our personal circumstances opens our minds to the meaning of all these things. Jesus wants us to grow where we’re planted. Your task is to preach the gospel with your lives no matter where you are or whatever you find yourself doing¯going to school, working, raising children, making a home.

One final point: Love the Church; love her as your mother and teacher. Help to build her up, to purify her life and work. We all get angry when we see human weakness and sin in the Church. But we need to remember always that the Church is much, much more than the sum of her human parts.

The Church is the Bride of Christ. The Spirit that worked in Jesus Christ and in his apostles is still at work in the Church. Jesus promised his apostles that when they teach, it will be he who is teaching. That when they forgive sins, it will be he who forgives. That when they say his words, “This is my body,” the bread and wine will become his body and blood. Jesus doesn’t forget his promises. Where the Church is, Jesus Christ is¯until the end of the age. And we always want to be where Christ is, because there is no way home to God except through him.

So love the Church. And this is crucial: Know and revere what the Church teaches. What the Church teaches is what Christ wants you and everyone else to know¯for our own good and for our salvation. Know what the Church teaches so you can live those teachings and share those teachings with others.

The leaders of today’s secularized societies like to fancy themselves as true humanists and humanitarians. But these same societies justify killing millions of babies in the womb and dismembering embryos in the laboratory. We dispatch the handicapped and the elderly and call it “death with dignity.” Our very language has become subverted. The family is no longer the covenant communion of a man and woman that leads to new life and hence the future of society. In fact, there are so few babies being born now in developed, Western-style countries that we have to wonder whether our civilization has lost its will to survive.

Only the Church stands up against these inhuman trends in our societies. It’s your mission, as lay men and lay women, to ensure that Christ’s teaching is preached and explained and defended at every level of our society¯in politics, in the workplace, in the culture. This takes real courage. There are all sorts of pressures, subtle and not so subtle, to sell out Jesus. To water down or diminish his gospel. To pick and choose among his teachings. But we can’t do that. Make a promise to Jesus Christ never to contradict the Church’s teachings by your words or actions.

Only the truth can set people free. That truth is Jesus Christ. So if we truly love our neighbors we will want them to know the truth. The whole truth. Not just the parts of it that make them feel good and don’t challenge them to change.

It’s not possible for real Christians to lead a double life; our whole way of thinking and acting needs to be transformed by our faith, or we make ourselves into hypocrites. Like our friend Franz once said, being a halfway Christian is like being a vegetable. It’s not really a life. It’s barely an existence. And that reminds me that it’s time for me to tell you the rest of the story about Franz.

Germany invaded Austria in 1938. Unlike most of his neighbors, Franz refused to cooperate in any way with the new National Socialist regime because he considered Hitler to be an enemy of Christ and the Church. For five years he waged a personal campaign of moral resistance. But finally, he was arrested for refusing an order to enlist in the German army.

While awaiting his sentence, many people, including his family and his local priest, urged him to pay lip-service to the regime and thereby spare his life. Franz wouldn’t do it.

So sixty-six summers ago, on August 9, 1943, Franz died on a Nazi guillotine. Today we remember him as Blessed Franz Jägerstätter¯a martyr for the truth that a Catholic can never lead a double life; that there can be no such thing as a halfway Christian.

Blessed Franz wrote beautiful letters to his wife from prison. In one of them he talked about the great martyrs of the Church. He wrote: “If we hope to reach our goal some day, then we, too, must become heroes of the faith. For as long as we fear men more than God, we will never make the grade.” Another time he wrote: “The important thing is that we do not let a single day go by in vain without putting it to good use for eternity.”

That’s the heart of the matter for anyone who wants to be a real Christian. That’s the path to a new life in Christ: Put every day to good use for eternity. And the time to begin that is now.


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May 27, 2009

Terrible choices - *


Yesterday I wrote about John Demanjuk, who was deported to Germany to face charges that he was an accessory to 29,000 counts of murder in his capacity as a death camp guard. I’ve been mulling over the story for several weeks, but in a sense, it’s merely a continuation of years of wondering and reflecting.

The people of Nazi Germany have always perplexed me. All of them, really. I’ve read accounts written by and about people who lived through the Holocaust, and I am at a loss to understand. I see the old newsreels of Hitler, and I can hardly believe that people blindly followed that ranting, evil man. I simply can’t fathom the mindset of people who would take an active role in the murder of millions. I am appalled to think of physicians who would conduct inhuman experiments on helpless human beings. I do not understand how people allowed themselves to be packed into cattle cars when it was becoming apparent that they were traveling to their death. I ask myself how countless “good people” could close their eyes to the atrocities, and I wonder how others summoned the courage to risk their lives to hide Jews or to assist in smuggling them to safety. No matter how much I read, the questions remain.

For me, there is a special reason to ask these questions. I am of German heritage. My family emigrated to the US well before Hitler’s rise to power. But I can never hear about the history of that time without wondering what role I would have played. I like to think that I would have done the right thing. But I don’t know for certain. It’s easy to know the right thing, but I know through long experience that I don’t always do the right thing.

I pray if I’m ever faced with such terrible choices, I will make the right one.


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The unforgivable sin? Or the unanswerable question? - *

On May 11, 2009, a retired auto worker named John Demajanjuk was removed from his home on a stretcher by authorities who transported him to the airport for deportation to Germany. There, the 89-year-old will be subject to an arrest warrant accusing him of 29,000 counts of accessory to murder while he was a guard at the Sobibor death camp in Poland. There, his attorneys were expected to argue that his case should be dismissed because of his age and failing health. Rabbi Marvin Hier, who founded the Los Angeles-based Simon Wiesenthal Center, is quoted as saying, “His work at the Sobibor death camp was to push men, women and children into the gas chamber… He had no mercy, no pity and no remorse for the families whose lives he was destroying.” Nevertheless, seeing this man carried out of his home on a stretcher looking so frail actually made me feel somewhat sorry for him.


Yet if he is guilty, his crimes were truly appalling. Despite his age and frailty, can we in good conscience allow such crimes to go unpunished?


It has made me reflect on forgiveness and consequences. When is it incumbent upon us to forgive? Do we even have the right to forgive someone for the harm they’ve done to others? In the case of Demajanjuk, for example, there are 29,000 people who died. Can we forgive in their names, or is that presumptuous beyond belief? Could this be an instance where forgiveness is almost evil?


I don’t pretend to have an answer to these questions, but I’d like to hear what you think.

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May 26, 2009

Are you a cracked pot, too?



A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he bore across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.


For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, but the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection. After two years enduring this failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.


“I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”


“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?”


“I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you don't get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.


The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”


Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots.

- Author unknown

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May 25, 2009

Gianna Jessen: she survived “choice” and lived to tell about it. - *

I am a nurse and, about 20 years ago, I had just come back into relationship with God. At the time, I believed in and defended a woman’s right to choose abortion.

I had the opportunity to interview for a position as a nurse on a women’s gynecological oncology unit. The interview went quite well, and I was definitely interested in taking the position. But as I prepared to leave, the manager of the unit said, “Oh… by the way… We sometimes get patients who’ve had late term abortions. Sometimes the baby will be born alive. You’ll be expected to place ‘it’ in a basin in the utility room and take care of the mother.”

I was shocked. All of the sudden, I understood exactly what it meant for me to be pro-choice. We weren’t talking about “choice” here; we were talking about a baby. We were talking about life. I couldn’t do it.

I began to listen more intently to some of the debates that raged over when life begins. Is it with fertilization? Implantation? Cell differentiation and specialization? Evidence of a beating heart? Brainstem formation?

It became clear to me that the question “When does life begin?” is a bad one. It places us on a slippery slope, because there is so much we don’t know… and so much we have to answer for if we’re wrong.

Read these words from Gianna Jessen, who testified before the Constitution Subcommittee of the House Judiciary Committee on April 22, 1996.
My name is Gianna Jessen. I am 19 years of age. I am originally from California, but now reside in Franklin, Tennessee. I am adopted. I have cerebral palsy. My biological mother was 17 years old and seven and one-half months pregnant when she made the decision to have a saline abortion. I am the person she aborted. I lived instead of died.

Fortunately for me the abortionist was not in the clinic when I arrived alive, instead of dead, at 6:00 a.m. on the morning of April 6, 1977. I was early, my death was not expected to be seen until about 9 a.m., when he would probably be arriving for his office hours. I am sure I would not be here today if the abortionist would have been in the clinic as his job is to take life, not sustain it. Some have said I am a "botched abortion", a result of a job not well done.

There were many witnesses to my entry into this world. My biological mother and other young girls in the clinic, who also awaited the death of their babies, were the first to greet me. I am told this was a hysterical moment. Next was a staff nurse who apparently called emergency medical services and had me transferred to a hospital. I remained in the hospital for almost three months. There was not much hope for me in the beginning. I weighed only two pounds. Today, babies smaller than I was have survived.

A doctor once said I had a great will to live and that I fought for my life. I eventually was able to leave the hospital and be placed in foster care. I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy as a result of the abortion. My foster mother was told that it was doubtful that I would ever crawl or walk. I could not sit up independently. Through the prayers and dedication of my foster mother, and later many other people, I eventually learned to sit up, crawl, then stand. I walked with leg braces and a walker shortly before I turned age four. I was legally adopted by my foster mother's daughter, Diana De Paul, a few months after I began to walk. The Department of Social Services would not release me any earlier for adoption.

I have continued in physical therapy for my disability, and after a total of four surgeries, I can now walk without assistance. It is not always easy. Sometimes I fall, but I have learned how to fall gracefully after falling 19 years.

I am happy to be alive. I almost died. Every day I thank God for life. I do not consider myself a by-product of conception, a clump of tissue, or any other of the titles given to a child in the womb. I do not consider any person conceived to be any of those things.
I have met other survivors of abortion. They are all thankful for life. Only a few months ago I met another saline abortion survivor. Her name is Sarah. She is two
years old. Sarah also has cerebral palsy, but her diagnosis is not good. She is blind and has severe seizures. The abortionist, besides injecting the mother with saline, also injects the baby victims. Sarah was injected in the head. I saw the place on her head where this was done. When I speak, I speak not only for myself, but for the other survivors, like Sarah, and also for those who cannot yet speak ...

Today, a baby is a baby when convenient. It is tissue or otherwise when the time is not right. A baby is a baby when miscarriage takes place at two, three, four months. A baby is called a tissue or clumps of cells when an abortion takes place at two, three, four months. Why is that? I see no difference. What are you seeing? Many close there eyes...

The best thing I can show you to defend life is my life. It has been a great gift. Killing is not the answer to any question or situation. Show me how it is the answer. There is a quote which is etched into the high ceilings of one of our state's capitol buildings. The quote says, "Whatever is morally wrong, is not politically correct." Abortion is morally wrong. Our country is shedding the blood of the innocent. America is killing its future.
All life is valuable. All life is a gift from our Creator. We must receive and cherish the gifts we are given. We must honor the right to life.
Interested in learning more about Gianna? Visit her website at http://www.giannajessen.com/. And listen to the voice of an angel singing there. That’s Gianna.

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Changing the world




When I was young and free and my imagination had no limits, I dreamed of changing the world. As I grew older and wiser, I discovered the world would not change, so I shortened my sights somewhat and decided to change only my country. But it, too, seemed immovable. As I grew into my twilight years, in one last desperate attempt, I settled for changing only my family, those closest to me, but alas, they would have none of it. And now as I lie on my deathbed, I suddenly realize: If I had only changed myself first, then by example I would have changed my family. From their inspiration and encouragement, I would then have been able to better my country and, who knows, I may have even changed the world.
– Words found on the tomb of an Anglican Bishop
(d. 1100 A.D.) in the Crypts of Westminster Abbey





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May 24, 2009

We will not forget: what Memorial Day is about. - *




Not long after the World War II Memorial opened in Washington DC, I had the opportunity to visit there. As with the Vietnam Memorial, I found mementos and messages left at the Memorial by people remembering loved ones or simply offering the sacrifices of the soldiers who served in that war. I found this letter, which seems an appropriate way to remember those who have risked their lives that we might enjoy our freedom.



June 26, 2004

We were both born more than 20 years after victory finally came over the Germans and the Japanese. You protected our parents, who were still children, not fully aware of the shadows that hung over them, during the years when you took to the battlefields, the seas, and the air. We grew up luxuriously, at least compared to most of the world, and we were freely able to attend college, seek employment, get married, and have a child. These are all gifts from God, but they are gifts you helped procure for us long before we were even conceived. You, who died in so many awful ways; you, who saw the worst things men’s eyes could ever endure; you, who did the dirtiest, hardest, most hellish work imaginable; you, who had to kill, because there was no other choice; you, who left behind dead friends that you loved more than yourselves; you, who lost legs and arms and feet and hands; you, who returned to your loved ones in victory, though you left pieces of your hearts behind with those buried on Pacific islands, or in Europe’s fields, or in the boundless oceans.

You were not, and you are not, heroes of marble. You are heroes because you were boys, flesh and blood, having to do what none of you (or us) would have chosen in the best of worlds. But you did it. You fought to preserve what goodness there was, and for the potential of goodness even in the midst of darkness; nothing could be simpler than that, yet nothing could be more profound. We grieve, even now, for you the dead soldiers of World War II, and wish we could have met you as old men, surrounded by loved ones, serene in your twilight years. Your buddies, many who (we are so glad) remain with us, wish the same. Life is full of great beauty, wrapped in sorrow.

We often are told that no words can describe certain thoughts or feelings. But we have these words for you: thank you, we love you, and though we know we often take you for granted, we will never forget you, we promise. Our son will know about you, and his children will know about you, and we will do what we can to tell anyone else about the men and women of WWII, because we owe you. Thank God for you, and thank God for our country.

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May 22, 2009

What will you find?

Shortly after he had moved into a small town in Pennsylvania, a newcomer fell into conversation with an old Quaker who was in the habit of sitting on a stool in a gathering spot of the little community.

"What kind of people live here?" asked the newcomer.

The old Quaker asked in reply, "What kind of people didst thee live amongst before?"

"Oh, they were mean, narrow, suspicious and very unfair," answered the man.

"Then," replied the wise Quaker, "I am sorry, thee will find the same manner of people here."

– A. Purnell Bailey
Today, let us look for the best in each other. The rewards will be great for all of us.

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May 21, 2009

The Unfolding Of A Rose

A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day and feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was inquiring of the older preacher. The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals.


The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and for his ministry. Because of his high respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact... It wasn't long before he realized how impossible it was to do so.

Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud while keeping it intact, the older preacher began to recite the following poem...

It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
God opens this flower so sweetly,
When in my hands they fade and die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for His leading
Each moment of every day.
I will look to him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

- Author Unknown

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Euthanasia: the path to “dignity”??? - *


Often we like the concept of being front-runners, out in front of the pack, on the cutting edge. Washington and Oregon have earned this distinction by virtue of laws permitting assisted suicide. There are now no legal penalties for physicians who prescribe lethal doses of drugs for the purposes of suicide. A Montana judge has ruled that physician-assisted suicide is legal in that state as well. The decision affirms that “Montana constitutional rights of individual privacy and human dignity” grant someone with terminal illness the right to “die with dignity”. When former Attorney General John Ashcroft challenged the Oregon law, Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy wrote, "He is not authorized to make a rule declaring illegitimate a medical standard for care and treatment of patients that is specifically authorized under state law."

I won’t pretend to hold an unbiased opinion in this matter. Rather, I speak from the perspective of a nurse with 35+ years of experience. During many of these years, I have worked with patients facing terminal illness. And I disagree with Justice Kennedy's suggestion that deliberately taking human life is a “medical standard for care and treatment of patients”. Furthermore, I take issue with the Montana court when it implies that an option for suicide must be offered so that those with terminal illness have the right to “die with dignity”.

I have had the privilege of working with people throughout the spectrum of life: in obstetrics and newborn nursery, with the elderly, and everywhere in between. I have been by the bedside of people coming to grips with the terminal nature of their illness. I have prayed with them, sung to them, and held their hands as they died. There was no shortage of dignity at the bedside of the dying, and to suggest that the path to “dignity” involves killing another human being is just plain wrong.

With regards to this debate, we are faced with many instances where we use euphemisms or deceptive language to disguise the true meaning of our words. So we call it “physician-assisted suicide” or a “medical standard for care and treatment of patients” for a doctor to prescribe a lethal dose of drugs. We call it “dying with dignity” to give in to despair by taking one’s own life. Oregon physicians are legally required to list the cause of death as the terminal illness, not “suicide”. And the organization which is at the forefront of the movement to legalize assisted suicide is called “Compassion & Choices”.

Remember the Hippocratic Oath? This oath has been a hallmark of the physician’s code of ethics since the 4th century. In part, it read “I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone. I will not give a lethal drug to anyone if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan; and similarly I will not give a woman a pessary to cause an abortion.” But the oath has now been rewritten. There are a couple of versions, but the bottom line is this: doctors no longer pledge such an oath. Rather than promising to “never do harm”, to avoid giving a lethal drug, and not to perform an abortion, the oath now says, “Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God.” The full text of this watered-down modern version of the Hippocratic Oath may be found at http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/doctors/oath_modern.html.

So now we have an ethical code that has been integral to the practice of medicine since the 4th century B.C. being replaced by “Compassion and Choices.”

Just how “compassionate is it?

Consider the case of Barbara Wagner, an Oregon woman with late-stage cancer. The Oregon Health Plan (their Medicaid program) refused to pay for her physician’s prescription for a novel cancer therapy, instead offering to pay for assisted suicide. To quote Rita Marker, who directs the International Task Force on Euthanasia and Assisted Suicide, “Once you transform the crime of assisted suicide into a medical treatment, then you set up a situation where those who are paying health care costs are for more likely to approve the least expensive treatment than they are to authorize treatment for something else the patient wants or needs.”

What a shame.

What a terrible, terrible shame.

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May 20, 2009

"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives..." - *


Maybe I’m the only person who notices this, but often it seems like, if I’m quiet enough to listen, God uses nature to preach a wonderful sermon. And for me, there’s no place where that’s more true than the ocean. I guess looking out at the vastness of the ocean and seeing it’s awesome power makes for a bit of a metaphor (or is it a simile?) for God. He, too, is larger than I’ll ever be able to fathom, and more powerful than I’ll ever be able to grasp.

My husband and I have taken a little getaway time together. We’ve got a lovely view of the ocean from our room, but have spent a good deal of time down by the water. The water is a bit too cool to be welcoming at the moment, but the weather is warm enough to make walking pleasant, and the beaches aren’t yet crowded.

One of the things I enjoy when I walk along the beach is collecting a few shells. And I’ve noticed over the years that my tastes in shells has changed. When I was younger, I wasn’t satisfied unless the shells were in pristine shape – no cracks, no worn edges, no pieces missing. For a while there, I only wanted shells that were a certain color. Later, I only liked shells that curved in on themselves as a spiral. Not too long ago, I liked them when a hole had somehow been eaten or pecked through. But this time I’ve enjoyed the ones that have been tossed about enough that they have smooth, rounded edges. Many look highly polished, and the colors can be quite vibrant. As time goes own and the process continues, they become tiny grains of sand. Eventually, they will be worn so fine that they become one with the ocean.

I suspect that the reason I find these shells so alluring is because of another analogy that keeps popping into my mind. For it seems to me that my life is a bit like that. As I abandon myself to God, over time I am changed. In some respects, some of my sharpness is worn away, some of the rough spots are made smooth. The process is slowed down if I hug the safety of the shore, but if I allow myself to drawn into Him, we will become inseparable. We will be one with Him.

My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. – John 17:20-23


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May 19, 2009

You mean I'm not perfect yet? - *



"The way I see the problem is this: I think that you really do want God to be glorified in your life, but you think that this is going to be accomplished by becoming more and more perfect. And in doing this you still are thinking of your own personal worth. So if you would truly derive profit from the discovery of your imperfections, I would suggest two things. First of all, never try to justify yourself before God. And second, do not condemn yourself. Instead, why not quietly lay your imperfections before God? And if, at that moment, there are some things you cannot understand about His will, simply tell Him that you are willing to conform your will to His in all things. And then go on in peace. For you must understand that peace is the will of God for you in every situation."

- Fenelon

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The Christmas truce - *


I’m reading the most peculiar book, called Silent Night: The Story of the Christmas Truce, by Stanley Weintraub. To be more accurate, I suppose, it is the story behind the book is so odd. In it, the author recounts the history of the 1914 “Christmas Truce”.


The events described took place in the midst of World War I, the so-called “war to end all wars”. For a time, weapons were laid down on both sides of the battlefield, and enemies walked across the front lines, sharing holiday greetings and contents of their Christmas packages from home.


There had been strange “outbreaks of peace” even before the Christmas Truce. Quoting from the book, “A week before Christmas near Armentieres, a Daily Express correspondent wrote later, the Germans slipped a ‘splendid’ chocolate cake into the British lines with a message explaining, ‘We propose having a concert tonight as it is our Captain’s birthday, and we cordially invite you to attend – provided you will give us your word of honour as guests that you agree to cease all hostilities between 7:30 and 8:30. When you see us light the candles and footlight at the edge of our trench at 7:30 sharp you can safely put your heads above your trenches, and we shall do the same, and begin the concert.”


Later, a German soldier shouts over to the Allies and “announces that a gift from his side is coming. The British dive for cover, shouting for a sandbag to cover it, but the container, a boot, explodes only with sausage and chocolates… On Christmas Eve the Royal Flying Corps dropped a padded, brandy-steeped plum pudding on the German airfield at Lille. The next day the Germans responded with a careful airdrop of a bottle of rum”.


I’ve been wondering why, if it was possible to have cordial intervals such as these during a time of war, we see so much venomous infighting among people of faith.


I’m not suggesting that we should relax our standards or disregard those things we have come to believe in and to treasure about our churches or compromise on key elements of our faiths. But I see no value in refusing to acknowledge our common ground. And I see no advantage to be gained by sneering at other people who love Christ, yet who express their love for Him in a manner different from our own.


During the Christmas truce of 1914, for at least a little while, enemy soldiers laid down their weapons and united around the Son of God, the One who had come to save all mankind. As Christians, we all profess a belief in Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. I believe it is possible to treat those who choose a different path to Him with respect, even when we disagree with the particular path they have chosen. I believe it is possible to state our beliefs clearly and unwaveringly without being rude in the process. As St. Vincent de Paul said, “I have never succeeded when I have spoken with the faintest suspicion of hardness. One must be ever on one’s guard not to embitter the heart, if one wishes to move the mind.”



And He gave some as apostles, and some as prophets, and some as evangelists, and some as pastors and teachers, for the equipping of the saints for the work of service, to the building up of the body of Christ; until we all attain to the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a mature man, to the measure of the stature which belongs to the fullness of Christ. As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming; but speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ, from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together by what every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love.


- Ephesians 4:1-16

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May 18, 2009

The cab ride




Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice". I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held on to me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT "YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

- Author unknown

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May 17, 2009

Fruit of the vine - *



Jesus said to his disciples: "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and every one that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit. You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you. Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing. Anyone who does not remain in me will be thrown out like a branch and wither; people will gather them and throw them into a fire and they will be burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you. By this is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples." - John 15: 1-5

Father John Speekman has a blog titled Homilies and Reflections from Australia, http://homiliesfromaustralia.blogspot.com/. In his post relating to this Gospel passage, Father Speekman said, "The fruit borne by the branches is the fruit of the vine. This needs to be emphasized. It is not as though the fruit we bear as branches is our fruit because we, the branches, belong entirely to the vine. So the fruit we bear belongs entirely to the vine, and the vine is Christ. What a privilege!"


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May 16, 2009

Why me? - *

Have you ever noticed how this question is asked only when "bad things" happen? Yet when something wonderful happens, we don't ask why.

Have you noticed, too, that often something positive comes out of the "bad things" that happen?

Read the words of 20th century theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

I believe that God can and will bring good out of evil, even out of the greatest evil. For that purpose he needs men who make the best use of everything. I believe that God will give us all the strength we need to help us resist in all times of distress. But he never gives it in advance, lest we should rely on ourselves and not on him alone. A faith such as this should allay all our fears for the future. I believe that even our mistakes and shortcomings are turned to good account, and that it is no harder for God to deal with them than with our supposedly good deeds.

Sometimes it takes heroic effort to trust God when in the midst of crisis. And Bonhoeffer showed just that sort of trust. Bonhoeffer was a German theologian, who participated in the German Resistance movement against Nazism. He was arrested and spent two years in a military prison prior to his execution just weeks before the war came to an end. In the Wikipedia article about Bonhoeffer, we read, “The camp doctor who witnessed the execution wrote: 'I saw Pastor Bonhoeffer ... kneeling on the floor praying fervently to God. I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution, he again said a short prayer and then climbed the few steps to the gallows, brave and composed. His death ensued after a few seconds. In the almost fifty years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.'”

In the midst of circumstances more harrowing than any of us are likely to experience, Bonhoeffer trusted the outcome to God. To quote Bonhoeffer again, "This is the end — for me the beginning of life."

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If he hadn’t risen from the dead, he’d be turning over in his grave. - *

I’ve become increasingly conscious lately of the vast number of things we Christians argue about. The list is endless. Adult or infant baptism? Sprinkling or immersion? Salvation by faith alone, or faith plus good works? Was the world created in 6 literal 24-hour days, or over the course of years? Did Mary have other children, or did she remain a virgin? Should a woman wear a hair covering? Is the book of Baruch part of the Bible? Can women serve as pastors of the church? Must priests remain celibate? How many Sacraments are there? Is it a sin to drink alcohol? Should the Mass be offered in Latin or in the common language of the people? At what precise time point does the bread and wine used in Communion become the Body and Blood of Christ?


Now I’m not saying these things aren’t important. Some of them really are. But I’m amazed at how ugly some of the disagreements get. And I’m trying to imagine how it looks to someone from the outside. I’m wondering if we’re doing all that well at leading people to Christ if we’re constantly arguing among ourselves, and if the arguments are full of venom? And I’m wondering how we can hope to truly develop our relationship with Jesus when we spend so much time engaged in needless controversy.


Lately I’ve found myself attempting to simply walk away from those things which aren’t really essential elements of my faith. This is important to me. For one thing, I suspect that some folks are simply trying to “get something started”. When someone says something like, “I think Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married”, I think they’re wasting their time. We won’t be able to prove it conclusively one way or the other, and although I disagree, it isn’t all that important to me. My faith in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior isn’t really affected by this controversy. When people argue about whether we will go to heaven immediately upon our death, or whether we undergo a time of purification first, or whether we will be waiting for Jesus to come again before all of us will go together, I try not to get pulled into the discussion. I have faith that God has worked out these details, and my faith isn’t going to be destroyed if it turns out that only one of these is correct. For that matter, my faith won’t be destroyed if something else altogether takes place.


Brilliant men and women have debated complex theological issues throughout the history of our faith. One of the first involved whether the new convert must be circumcised. The Council of Jerusalem determined in about 50 A.D. that circumcision wasn’t required for salvation. And from that day to this, the number of controversies has multiplied and the number of divisions in the body of Christ have mushroomed. According to Wikipedia, it is estimated that there are 38,000 Christian denominations. I can’t help but believe that we’ve missed the essence of what Jesus was teaching here on earth.


Maybe I’m missing the point here. But while the debates rage, I’m going to continue to believe in Jesus Christ, conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, crucified, died, buried, and risen from the dead. While other people engage in discussion about a host of issues, I’m going to plug along, trying to follow Him.


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May 15, 2009

Hide and seek - *


One of the most challenging quotes I’ve read recently is from Max Lucado :
"A woman's heart should be so hidden in God that a man has to seek Him just to find her."

This pulled me up short. I had to ask myself: How do I measure up against this statement? Am I "hidden in God"? Or do I hide the "God in me" so completely that He is impossible to see?


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May 14, 2009

Picking up chips - *



If you know someone who has been in Alcoholics Anonymous for any length of time, ask them to show you their “chip”. When an AA member hits a milestone, they “pick up a chip”. The first milestone is when the member hasn’t taken a drink for 30 days. Later in sobriety, chips won’t be picked up as frequently, but those first days are often the toughest.



I had a friend in Al-Anon, a group designed to support friends and family members of alcoholics, who came to recognize how tough it can be to remain sober. She had tried to work on her own defects of character by determining to eliminate a particular pesky flaw “a day at a time”. Her objective was to “pick up chips” as time went on in order to mark her own progress. She found that it was extremely difficult – almost impossible – to keep from slipping. In fact, when I last saw her, she hadn’t been able to pick up a 30-day chip.



Which brings me to the point of today’s post. St. Therese of Lisieux wrote the following words in her autobiography, “The Story of a Soul”:



I resolved to lead a life of grater devoutness and mortification than ever before. When I speak of mortification, I don’t mean the kind of penance practiced by saints. There are great souls who practice every sort of mortification from childhood, but I am not like them. All I did was to break my self-will, check a hasty reply, and do little kindnesses without making a fuss about them – and lots of other similar things.


It is her faithfulness in little things that ultimately led to her being recognized as a saint and which earned her the title of “Doctor of the Church”.



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May 13, 2009

A music lesson



On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches.

To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is a sight. He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play. But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do. People who were there that night thought to themselves: “We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one.”

But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just 3 strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.

He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone, “You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows?

Perhaps that is the way of life - not just for artists but for all of us.

Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings. So he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.

So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.

- Article by Jack Riemer, Houston Chronicle:



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May 12, 2009

A prayer, attributed to Clement XI

Lord, I believe in you: increase my faith.
I trust in you: strengthen my trust.
I love you: let me love you more and more.
I am sorry for my sins: deepen my sorrow.
I worship you as my first beginning,
I long for you as my last end,
I praise you as my constant helper,
And call on you as my loving protector.
Guide me by your wisdom,
Correct me with your justice,
Comfort me with your mercy,
Protect me with your power.
I offer you, Lord, my thoughts: to be fixed on you;
My words: to have you for their theme;
My actions: to reflect my love for you;
My sufferings: to be endured for your greater glory.
I want to do what you ask of me:
In the way you ask,
For as long as you ask,
Because you ask it.
Lord, enlighten my understanding,
Strengthen my will,
Purify my heart, and make me holy.
Help me to repent of my past sins
And to resist temptation in the future.
Help me to rise above my human weaknesses
And to grow stronger as a Christian.
Let me love you, my Lord and my God,
And see myself as I really am:
A pilgrim in this world,
A Christian called to respect and love
All whose lives I touch,
Those under my authority,
My friends and my enemies.
Help me to conquer anger with gentleness,
Greed by generosity,
Apathy by fervor.
Help me to forget myself
And reach out toward others.
Make me prudent in planning,
Courageous in taking risks.
Make me patient in suffering, unassuming in prosperity.
Keep me, Lord, attentive at prayer,
Temperate in food and drink,
Diligent in my work,
Firm in my good intentions.
Let my conscience be clear,
My conduct without fault,
My speech blameless,
My life well-ordered.
Put me on guard against my human weaknesses.
Let me cherish your love for me,
Keep you law,
And come at last to your salvation.
Teach me to realize that this world is passing,
That my true future is the happiness of heaven,
That life on earth is short,
And the life to come eternal.
Help me to prepare for death
With a proper fear of judgment,
But a greater trust in your goodness.
Lead me safely through death
To the endless joy of heaven.
Grant this through Christ our Lord.
Amen.

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May 11, 2009

Which should we choose: condemnation or compassion? - *

If you live in the United States, unless you live under a rock you’ve heard of the controversy surrounding a priest after pictures surfaced which provided evidence that he had been involved in a sexual relationship with a woman on a Miami beach. Paparazzi had reportedly taken dozens of photographs over a 3-day period and had attempted to sell the damning pictures for more than $100,000. He has resigned as the head of his parish in Miami Beach, and has stepped down as president of Radio Paz and Radio Peace, radio stations run by the diocese.

According to a news clip I saw today, this event has “reignited the debate over priestly celibacy”. Certainly that is one way to look at it. And it is just as valid to use this occasion to look at the way we respond to our religious leaders. Are our expectations of them realistic? Do we place them on a pedestal? And if they demonstrate by their actions that they, too, are human beings capable of sin, do we condemn them more harshly than we would ourselves?

I read a quote by an anonymous author the other day: “If the priest is a saint, his people will be holy. If the priest is holy, his people will be good. If the priest is good, his people will be fair. If the priest is fair, his people will be mediocre. If the priest is mediocre, his people will be bad.”

What a heavy burden to lay upon our spiritual leaders!

For the past week or so, it’s been brought to my mind that we need to pray for those who pastor our churches. We sometimes make theirs a lonely job. They are surrounded by a church family that calls on them frequently for prayer, yet far too seldom do we reciprocate by asking God to sustain and strengthen them. We seek their counsel when we are tempted and their solace when we fall, but when the tables are reversed, we offer condemnation. We want them to reassure us that our sins will be washed “whiter than snow”, and yet we drag them through the mud. Father Mark posted something thought-provoking on this subject at http://vultus.stblogs.org/2009/05/has-no-one-condemned-you.html.

Today, let us pray for those who have been called to lead our churches, asking God to provide them with strength and wisdom and guidance.

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Faithfulness - *

In Luke 4:24-30, Jesus offended the people in the synagogue by reminding them that God had favored Gentiles, not Jews, in several instances recorded in Scriptures. Those who heard his words were infuriated, and they drove him to the edge of a hillside. They wanted to throw him off the cliff, but Jesus “walked right through the crowd and went on his way”.

In John 10:25-39, the crowd wants to stone Jesus after he says, “I and the Father are one”. He defends himself by saying, ”Why then do you accuse me of blasphemy because I said, ‘I am God's Son’? Do not believe me unless I do what my Father does. But if I do it, even though you do not believe me, believe the miracles, that you may know and understand that the Father is in me, and I in the Father.” Further enraged by these “blasphemous” words, the crowd again tried to seize Jesus, but “he escaped their grasp”.

In Acts 14: 15-18, we read that the people wanted to stone Paul and Barnabas, who fled to other cities “ where they continued to proclaim the Good News”.

It struck me as I considered these passages that some would point to these verses as evidence of cowardice on the part of Jesus and his followers. But according to Christian tradition, Paul was beheaded, Barnabas was tortured before being stoned, and Jesus was scourged, spit on, mocked, and crucified. So cowardice clearly doesn’t figure in their stories. Rather, they demonstrate an exquisite sense of timing. When appropriate, they were willing to make the supreme sacrifice. But at all times, they strived to remain faithful to God.

Being faithful Christians often calls for some measure of sacrifice. Few Christians are called to sacrifice their lives, although persecution is increasing in parts of Asia and Africa in particular. But we are all called to be faithful to Jesus at all times. Pope Benedict XVI said, “Are not the young martyrs who died to bear witness to Christ a powerful stimulus for you, the Christians of today, to continue to follow Jesus faithfully?... Today too, though in different ways, Christ's salvific message is attacked and Christians, no less than yesterday, are called to give reasons for their hope, to offer the world the testimony of the Truth of the One Who saves and redeems.”

Pray that we may remain faithful to God as He is faithful to us!

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May 9, 2009

Thank you, St. Anthony! - *

One of the things I needed to understand before I made the decision to become Catholic was this notion of “praying to Mary” and “praying to the saints”. Frankly, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up just a bit to hear these expressions. So before I continue with today’s post, I need to explain that just a bit.

When it comes to “praying to Mary” and “praying to the saints”, I think the use of the preposition “to” can lead to confusion. I haven’t decided yet what a better preposition might be, but I suspect that “with” would perhaps describe it better for me. We’re not “praying to” the saints or to Mary in the same sense that we pray to God. Rather, we’re asking them to pray with us, just as we ask our friends on earth to join with us in prayer about our concerns. We believe the saints are with God in heaven, and ask them to join with us in praying to God. And although it may sound a bit goofy to non-Catholics, some saints specialize. St. Francis of Assisi is the patron saint of animals and the environment. St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland. And St. Anthony is the patron saint of lost things. There’s even a silly little ditty that reflects St. Anthony’s specialty: '”Tony, Tony, look around. Something's lost and must be found!”

Now… on to the “meat” of this post.

My sister was 6 years younger than I. She suffered horribly from mental illness which served to torment her (and, often, folks around her). She threatened frequently, and so when she was found dead with no warning, that's was we assumed had happened. (Note - the autopsy later disproved this, but we went through hell for many weeks before the final results were released.)

At any rate, this is definitely the most difficult loss I've ever experienced. If you have siblings remaining, do everything in your power to cherish your time together.

One thing has been driving me nuts over the past year.

The Christmas before she died, my sister pulled me aside for a private moment in which she shared a letter she had written to me. It was a special letter in which she shared her feelings about me and about our relationship. I had saved that letter, which was even more precious to me after her death. But in the months after she died, I simply couldn't read that letter. I wasn't ready.

After a year, I began to think about reading it. It niggled at the back of my mind but I couldn't quite do it. A few months later, I was ready... but despite turning the house upside down, I couldn't find it. I looked and looked, but simply Could Not Find It.

Friends of mine named Anita and Marion emailed the other day and mentioned St. Anthony. Apparently one of them found something after asking St. Anthony to pray as well. This got me thinking once again about that letter. So Marion and I both asked for Anthony’s help in finding this letter. (Note – I felt a bit sheepish doing this, but Marion, a "cradle Catholic", was more faithful and less skeptical than I was...) And today, thanks be to God... and St. Anthony... and my dear friend Marion... I found the letter.

So I'm sitting here with tears of sadness and gladness halfway down my shirt, but I have that precious letter in hand.

Thank you, Marion and Anthony, for your prayers. And thank you, Lord, for your answer.

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Keep my lantern burning



This beautiful prayer is attributed to St. Columbanus:



How I wish I might deserve to have my lantern always burning at night in the temple of my Lord, to give light to all who enter the house of my God. Give me, I pray you, Lord, in the name of Jesus Christ, your Son and my God, that love that does not fail so that my lantern, burning within me and giving light to others, may be always lighted and never extinguished... Give your light to my lantern, I beg you, my Jesus, so that by its light I may see that holy of holies which receives you as the eternal priest entering among the columns of your great temple. May I ever see you only, look on you, long for you; may I gaze with love on you alone, and have my lantern shining and burning always in your presence.
Matthew 5:14-16 - "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven."

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