>>>This article was recently republished on insidecatholic.com and gives a nice glimpse of both the community in which I live and the Church I worship at and serve as a Deacon. Much has changed since the 1940's but not much about our beloved St. Jane de Chantal Church.
Remembering Abita: Life and Faith in a Southern Town
by Sandra Miesel
6/01/10
Because my parents' marriage failed early, I spent my childhood with my great-aunt Mamie Schlumbrecht and her husband, Albert, on a five-acre chicken farm outside Abita Springs, Louisiana. Abita, which is about 35 miles north of New Orleans in St. Tammany Parish, is now a chic town -- the famous home of an excellent microbrewed beer. But in the 1940s, it was a hamlet of 200 people where all the clocks had stopped after the Crash of 1929.
We didn't actually live in Abita but rather two miles out on Talisheek Road. The flat countryside had been logged clear a generation earlier, leaving swathes of open country dotted with second-growth pine, scrub oak, and gall berry bushes amid grass that was brown all year. We could hear dynamite blasts in the far distance where huge beef cattle farms were clearing pasture. Ours was the only home within sight on our side of the graveled road.
Mamie and Albert had built the house themselves in 1923, a typical bungalow whose rough-sawn clapboards had been stained and weathered to gray. Scattered around it were chicken houses and sheds, vegetable gardens, piles of sand and gravel for construction, and the much smaller house where the black hired couple Rosie and Brown used to live (it was later adapted for raising turkeys). The front of the property was landscaped with neat hedges of box and sweet bay, azaleas, magnolias, a giant gardenia bush, a tall holly that bore no berries, and, right by the front doors, a huge crape myrtle entwined with honeysuckle vines thick as your wrist -- both blooming together in a sweet tangle that drew bees and hummingbirds.
Mamie (née Myra Katherine Klink) was strong and squarely built, with long brown hair braided and coiled around her head and blue eyes behind bifocals. She showed me that a woman should be equally adept with an axe and a needle. I gave up on the axe after one unauthorized attempt left me with a gashed knee at age four. The same year, I learned to crochet and embroider -- skills I've kept for life. Three decades later Mamie would take her crocheting to the hospital lest she fail to keep busy on her deathbed.
Albert was tall, gaunt, and black-haired. He was susceptible to crackpot ideas including eugenics, fruit fasts, and the Lost Books of the Bible. He'd been put out to work after fourth grade and, while still young, lost half his right thumb in a machinery accident. As a result, he had a curl of yellowed bone instead of a first joint (though it sufficed to roll cigarettes from his beloved King Bee tobacco). Albert's many eccentricities didn't impinge on me much as a child, but I eventually realized he'd put Mamie through a very difficult life.
A lapsed Lutheran, Albert didn't believe much in church-going. But Mamie was an intensely devout Catholic. I loved to read about the saints in the onionskin pages of her daily missal, never suspecting that I would one day grow up to write about them myself. Mamie said her prayers on a silvery rosary missing a bead (though her favorite devotion was to the Sacred Heart). To get a precious blessed palm to slide lovingly behind Our Lord's picture, she drove out one Palm Sunday through flood waters pouring over a bridge in three places.
Trying to make a living meant ceaseless toil for Mamie and Albert. From five in the morning until supper, they worked. No one had told Mamie that she could labor without wearing her boned corset, so she did her rounds well-cinched. The electrical generator died during the War and couldn't be fixed, so we depended on kerosene lamps until rural electrification and telephone service arrived by 1948. Happily, we did have indoor plumbing, though we had to boil water in a teakettle for our baths.
Mamie cooked with bottled gas, baked in a woodstove, did laundry on a washboard, and sewed on a treadle machine, often using bright calico that had been cut from feed sacks. The main business of the place was raising chickens: white "broilers" raised indoors in cages and plump Barred Rock or Rhode Island Red laying hens whose airy house had access to the outdoors. I briefly made a pet of one runty Barred Rock and called her "Inquisitor," but she got turned into someone's stewing hen. Chicks were usually chosen from a mail-order catalog and arrived a day old in special cardboard boxes, cheeping at the post office. One year, Albert experimented with breeding his own crosses and incubated a batch of eggs in the house, and I got to watch the hatching process.
While I didn't go out of my way to watch chickens get killed on the chopping block, I can't pretend it disgusted me. The offal went into 500-gallon steel drums until it rotted and was turned out on the garden as compost. Our perfect organic vegetables grew from that graveyard of chicken leg bones and skulls.
Besides chickens, we sold produce -- strawberries, honey, pecans, potatoes, peas, greens, and parsley. I'd go with Mamie as she made deliveries on weekends. So I got to see the full range of Abita's homes, from the rich family whose heavy German furniture was decorated with carved wooden stags' heads to the poor woman who bought chicken feet for soup. At one extreme were the gorgeous summer homes of wealthy New Orleans gentry; at the other, a shotgun house crammed with a family so poor the mother boiled their wash in a cauldron in the yard. But in Abita, respectability was a function of personal behavior, not income.
Abita sprawled over a railroad track, neither side "wrong." The eponymous springs -- which had supposedly restored the Choctaw princess Abita to health in the days of Spanish rule -- were covered by a pavilion in the town park. There was also an artesian well in the park spurting an icy torrent. Because several nearby homes had similar wells, some ditches ran with spring water, making a delightful place to play and catch frogs. Abita boasted four groceries, three barrooms, two drugstores, two gas stations, an icehouse, and a pool hall whose owner doubled as a cabbie. The town hall was used for weekly municipal bingo games and housed a tiny library.
Bingo bored me, so on Friday nights I watched television at the home of family friends while Mamie played. Other forms of gambling held no interest either. I realized early on that neither the spinners at the town summer festival nor the slot machine and punchboard at the drugstore were going to pay off. In other places, I now realize, respectable little girls didn't take a pull at the slot machine while they licked their Sunday ice cream cones. But this was Louisiana.
There were two churches in Abita -- the white clapboard Lutheran parish presided over by Pastor Klamm and our red brick St. Jane de Chantal church. People were scandalized when Baptists attempted to form a church because it complicated allegiances: Their appearance even dissuaded a widow with Catholic children from converting to Catholicism. There was also a black Pentecostal congregation at the edge of town. Years before, my Aunt Hermanie and her teenage friends had tried to spy on their services. When they tried a second time, they found the windows covered with newspaper. Mamie scolded Hermanie -- hard.
St. Jane's had been built in the 1920s and never had the funds afterward to install stained-glass windows. But the big wedding-cake white altar had a life-size statue of the Sacred Heart flanked by kneeling angels holding candelabra. The Madonna was Our Lady of Victory -- resplendent in a turquoise gown and filigreed brass crown (completely outshining poor and plain St. Joseph). Our saints were St. Jane in voluminous habit holding a golden heart, St. Thérèse with her roses, St. Rita with her crown of thorns, and St. Anthony holding the Christ Child. Lost and found objects were left at his feet in the back of the church.
Also in the back was the usher's table presided over by Mr. Peters in his white suit and shoes. My aunt always bought the National Catholic Register, Our Sunday Visitor, and the Messenger of the Sacred Heart. Little did I know that I'd grow up to write for the first two.
Our pastor was Father Thomas (properly, the Rev. Dr. Thomas Schwerigkeit O.C.S.O.), a refugee German Trappist who was attached to nearby St. Joseph's Abbey. He had advanced tastes in liturgy and introduced the Dialogue Mass and another practice of startling impropriety: As he said the Canon in Latin, the ladies of the choir read it aloud in English. No one as far as I know questioned this; Father always knew best. Mamie sewed his monk's habit out of fine white wool, and I used scraps of it to dress my teddy bears. In 1948, our beloved Father Thomas contracted cancer and went back to Germany to die.
While the next pastor was a rather gloomy monk named Father Athanasius, he was soon succeeded by colorful Father Aloysius Fischer -- a secular priest who arrived with Miz Martha, his own housekeeper. Father Aloysius was old enough to be retired, with fingers knobby from arthritis. Nevertheless, he was a fiery preacher who disdained the pulpit to stand in the middle of the sanctuary and pound on the communion rail for emphasis.
Miz Martha joined the choir and the Altar and Rosary Society, which were coextensive. While Miz Lustalot played the pipe organ, Mamie sang second soprano to her friend Miz Mamie Rau. The latter was a Railway Express agent with an obese cocker spaniel named Soda who slept in a laundry basket. Miz Mamie wouldn't let me sing in the choir because I "put her out." So in my early years, I'd sit in the choir loft and try to keep still.
At some point after I vomited during the Tre Ore service on Good Friday of 1947, I was sent downstairs to sit with my friend Connie in the first pew on the St. Joseph side. I carefully followed the Mass in my pocket-sized Fr. Stedman's Sunday Missal, which is easier to use and more comprehensive in coverage than today's miserable "worship aids." Sunday Mass usually ended with the hymn "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name," and Benediction followed.
St. Jane's had a varied congregation. Names like Abadie, Hébert, Privette, Marieuse, Kustermacher, Matranga, O'Brien, McNeeley, Miller, Perez, and Alcantara were common. People ranged from poor Archie who'd been shell-shocked in the War and trembled incessantly to tiny Miz Bébé, the grocery clerk. One regular attendee turned out not to be Catholic at all. When Mamie found her dead in her home, the priest refused to have the church bell tolled because the lady was actually Jewish and had never formally converted.
Black parishioners sat in the back row as the customs of the time required. These were, after all, the days of legal segregation. (Archbishop Rummel's heroic resistance to racism lay some years in the future.) The black population of Abita led almost entirely separate lives. Mamie was remarkably free of prejudice, when she could recognize it. (She didn't while reading me the hopelessly racist pages of a classic Southern children's book, Miss Minerva and William Green Hill.) But she would cheerfully give Annie the housemaid a ride when she saw her walking along the road in broken shoes. And Mamie had no problem accepting a ride to church from our black fellow parishioners when ours was unavailable.
They were a mixed-race clan that kept to itself on several small farms up Talisheek Road. Mamie bought an old Wurlitzer piano from them so that I could take lessons, but its sound board was so damaged (even after we removed the beans, pebbles, and mud dauber nests) that I never learned what the notes were supposed to sound like. It pains me now to describe their poverty: a tiny cabin perched on a sea of cracked mud with chicken wire -- not screens -- in the windows and fat flies swarming over their baby. It horrified me that these unusually beautiful and obviously honest people had to live that way.
There were, of course, no black children in our schools and -- I confess -- I never really wondered where they were educated. But Louisiana allowed parochial school children to ride public buses. That's how Abita's Catholic children got to St. Peter's School in Covington, three miles away. What went on in Abita's own public grade school I never knew, although my best friend, Li'l Harold, went there.
In those days, school buses had no stop signs to swing out. When I was in second grade, a public school girl was killed on the highway by a car speeding around the bus. All I saw was an explosion of papers and a thin line of dark blood across the asphalt. Ever after, I imagined seeing that glossy red line every time we drove across the spot.
St. Peter's School must have run on thin air because it charged two dollars a month for tuition and an extra dollar for lunch. It was staffed by Benedictines whose motherhouse was in the next block where they also operated St. Scholastica Academy for girls. The congregation no longer exists, but I have happy memories of them. Thank you Sisters Philippine, Anthony, Stephen, Agatha, and Anna -- not to mention our lay teachers Miz Edwards and Miz Viola. Yes, there were ruler slaps and the principal once spanked me for swatting another girl with a jump rope, but none of my teachers was ever mean.
The school was funded by St. Peter's Parish, whose unusually contemporary church opened in 1946. Vaguely Norman in style, its interior walls were plain rose brick and its stylized statues were carved from pale wood. By 1950 it acquired some marvelous modern stained glass tracing the life of St. Peter. Around the same time, though, a parishioner donated life-size, glass-eyed plaster statues of the Sacred Heart and Our Lady of Fatima, which rather spoiled the effect.
St. Peter's School, in contrast, was a wooden relic two stories tall, with every classroom's walls and ceiling paneled in dingy beadboard pine. The lower floor (called the basement) housed a stage, foul restrooms, and a cafeteria that served hideous food. The school occupied an entire city block -- plenty of space for 200 pupils -- with trees and grass as well as game courts of packed yellow clay. Spanish moss from the live oaks was a favorite play material. A surprising number of students came from divorced or widowed homes, and families were generally small. Diversity consisted of a single Colombian girl who boarded at St. Scholastica's.
In most respects, St. Peter's offered an average education for its time and place. The state provided our texts in secular subjects, supplemented with the Baltimore Catechism, Bible history, and the magnificent Loyola Voyages in English series, which taught me all the grammar I know. Reading was taught through the worthless "look-say" method, but the nuns zealously encouraged us to read. The best students got the first shot at new books, ceremoniously presented in front of the class. But there was nothing done for the worst student in my class, a boy who was probably retarded and certainly had behavioral problems. The nuns much preferred two angel-perfect cousins who strolled rather than played at recess, lest they muss their crisp uniforms.
A lot of our religious formation came through osmosis. We had plenty of occasions for Mass, including First Fridays when the communicants would get hot cocoa afterward to break their fast. Prayer opened the school day, and we said the Angelus before lunch. May crowning was an elaborate event that featured small girls strewing rose petals down the church aisle ahead of the procession. We fought over the privilege of providing flowers for the Blessed Mother's altar in each classroom, fashioned spiritual bouquets, and collected money to ransom pagan babies.
There were many mansions in the realm of Catholic culture. We read Our Little Messenger and Treasure Chest Catholic comics, although I preferred pretty booklets on the lives of female saints. There was much talk about the evils of Communism, made vivid by the presence of a Hungarian refugee family in the school.
Not only did we troop off to watch religious-themed movies in town (Guilty of Treason and The Next Voice You Hear, for example), the nuns also showed us explicitly Catholic films in the school basement -- Italian lives of St. Benedict and St. Francis and a particularly hokey Mexican account of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The St. Benedict story -- straight out of The Dialogues -- made an unforgettable impression on me in second grade. The prologue ended with a crawler, "The barbarians were at the gates," and faded to show a bunch of howling savages clad in skins menacing a set of wrought-iron gates. For years that was my image of the fall of Rome. I also naively asked Sister Anna why the floating image of a woman's face constituted a temptation for Benedict.
I left Louisiana just before my eleventh birthday. Rickety old St. Peter's School was replaced long ago and then closed, and Abita has been renovated for yuppies. But when Mass at my present parish ends with "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name," I close my eyes and I'm back in the first pew at St. Jane's. And Aunt Mamie is waiting for me by the church door.
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Sandra Miesel is a veteran Catholic journalist, and co-author of The Da Vinci Hoax. This article originally appeared in the December 2003 issue of Crisis Magazine.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
New Orleans Saints are the real deal...
No, I'm not talking about last February's Super Bowl victory (although I could, over and over again) or the recent weekend's mini-camp or the upcoming season where we will strive to keep the chrome in the dome...
I'm talking about another first class move by what has become the premier first class football franchise in the NFL as the New Orleans Saints spent the day among the people hardest hit by the BP Oil disaster.
All the big names took a nearly 2 hour bus ride to Buras, LA in Plaquemines Parish to rally the community, spend time with people who have had little to smile about these past 50 days and view first hand some of the devastating effects from the latest hard knock to befall these good, honest hard-working people. As Drew Brees, Reggie Bush, Coach Sean Payton and others took the stage the locals could forget, if just for a brief moment of time, the hardships that have befallen them.
The World Champs took time to sign autographs (no charge) and then made a stunning announcement. The Saints are going to raise funds for those impacted by BP by raffling off a Super Bowl ring for chances as low as $ 2 each. I understand you may have to purchase a minimum of 5 tickets but for $ 10 you get 5 chances to win and wear your very own Super Bowl ring. Sign me up.
As I find out more, I'll be happy to provide more details.
We have so much hard work ahead as the oil keeps gushing, the government keeps misleading and good people keep hurting. So keep praying for the people of the Gulf Coast and particularly those who depend on the marshes of southeast Louisiana. But today we all can say thank you World Champion New Orleans Saints. You made a difference!
I'm talking about another first class move by what has become the premier first class football franchise in the NFL as the New Orleans Saints spent the day among the people hardest hit by the BP Oil disaster.
All the big names took a nearly 2 hour bus ride to Buras, LA in Plaquemines Parish to rally the community, spend time with people who have had little to smile about these past 50 days and view first hand some of the devastating effects from the latest hard knock to befall these good, honest hard-working people. As Drew Brees, Reggie Bush, Coach Sean Payton and others took the stage the locals could forget, if just for a brief moment of time, the hardships that have befallen them.
The World Champs took time to sign autographs (no charge) and then made a stunning announcement. The Saints are going to raise funds for those impacted by BP by raffling off a Super Bowl ring for chances as low as $ 2 each. I understand you may have to purchase a minimum of 5 tickets but for $ 10 you get 5 chances to win and wear your very own Super Bowl ring. Sign me up.
As I find out more, I'll be happy to provide more details.
We have so much hard work ahead as the oil keeps gushing, the government keeps misleading and good people keep hurting. So keep praying for the people of the Gulf Coast and particularly those who depend on the marshes of southeast Louisiana. But today we all can say thank you World Champion New Orleans Saints. You made a difference!
Catholic Social Justice
>>>Much has been written over the past year about Catholic Social Teaching, the term social justice and much criticism about how this social teaching is misused. The following is directly from the USCCB website and contains the seven themes of Catholic Social Teaching. On balance, who could argue with these themes? And all should take note that first and foremost is the life and dignity of the human person, from conception to natural death. While it is true that tenets of social justice or social teaching are twisted by some, it can never be denied that Catholic Social Teaching is real and has been expounded upon in the last 100+ years from Pope Leo XIII all the way through Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI.
Themes of Catholic Social Teaching
The Church’s social teaching is a rich treasure of wisdom about building a just society and living lives of holiness amidst the challenges of modern society. Modern Catholic social teaching has been articulated through a tradition of papal, conciliar, and episcopal documents. The depth and richness of this tradition can be understood best through a direct reading of these documents. In these brief reflections, we highlight several of the key themes that are at the heart of our Catholic social tradition.
Life and Dignity of the Human Person
The Catholic Church proclaims that human life is sacred and that the dignity of the human person is the foundation of a moral vision for society. This belief is the foundation of all the principles of our social teaching. In our society, human life is under direct attack from abortion and euthanasia. The value of human life is being threatened by cloning, embryonic stem cell research, and the use of the death penalty. The intentional targeting of civilians in war or terrorist attacks is always wrong. Catholic teaching also calls on us to work to avoid war. Nations must protect the right to life by finding increasingly effective ways to prevent conflicts and resolve them by peaceful means. We believe that every person is precious, that people are more important than things, and that the measure of every institution is whether it threatens or enhances the life and dignity of the human person.
Call to Family, Community, and Participation
The person is not only sacred but also social. How we organize our society—in economics and politics, in law and policy—directly affects human dignity and the capacity of individuals to grow in community. Marriage and the family are the central social institutions that must be supported and strengthened, not undermined. We believe people have a right and a duty to participate in society, seeking together the common good and well-being of all, especially the poor and vulnerable.
Rights and Responsibilities
The Catholic tradition teaches that human dignity can be protected and a healthy community can be achieved only if human rights are protected and responsibilities are met. Therefore, every person has a fundamental right to life and a right to those things required for human decency. Corresponding to these rights are duties and responsibilities--to one another, to our families, and to the larger society.
Option for the Poor and Vulnerable
A basic moral test is how our most vulnerable members are faring. In a society marred by deepening divisions between rich and poor, our tradition recalls the story of the Last Judgment (Mt 25:31-46) and instructs us to put the needs of the poor and vulnerable first.
The Dignity of Work and the Rights of Workers
The economy must serve people, not the other way around. Work is more than a way to make a living; it is a form of continuing participation in God’s creation. If the dignity of work is to be protected, then the basic rights of workers must be respected--the right to productive work, to decent and fair wages, to the organization and joining of unions, to private property, and to economic initiative.
Solidarity
We are one human family whatever our national, racial, ethnic, economic, and ideological differences. We are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, wherever they may be. Loving our neighbor has global dimensions in a shrinking world. At the core of the virtue of solidarity is the pursuit of justice and peace. Pope Paul VI taught that “if you want peace, work for justice.”1 The Gospel calls us to be peacemakers. Our love for all our sisters and brothers demands that we promote peace in a world surrounded by violence and conflict.
Care for God’s Creation
We show our respect for the Creator by our stewardship of creation. Care for the earth is not just an Earth Day slogan, it is a requirement of our faith. We are called to protect people and the planet, living our faith in relationship with all of God’s creation. This environmental challenge has fundamental moral and ethical dimensions that cannot be ignored.
Themes of Catholic Social Teaching
The Church’s social teaching is a rich treasure of wisdom about building a just society and living lives of holiness amidst the challenges of modern society. Modern Catholic social teaching has been articulated through a tradition of papal, conciliar, and episcopal documents. The depth and richness of this tradition can be understood best through a direct reading of these documents. In these brief reflections, we highlight several of the key themes that are at the heart of our Catholic social tradition.
Life and Dignity of the Human Person
The Catholic Church proclaims that human life is sacred and that the dignity of the human person is the foundation of a moral vision for society. This belief is the foundation of all the principles of our social teaching. In our society, human life is under direct attack from abortion and euthanasia. The value of human life is being threatened by cloning, embryonic stem cell research, and the use of the death penalty. The intentional targeting of civilians in war or terrorist attacks is always wrong. Catholic teaching also calls on us to work to avoid war. Nations must protect the right to life by finding increasingly effective ways to prevent conflicts and resolve them by peaceful means. We believe that every person is precious, that people are more important than things, and that the measure of every institution is whether it threatens or enhances the life and dignity of the human person.
Call to Family, Community, and Participation
The person is not only sacred but also social. How we organize our society—in economics and politics, in law and policy—directly affects human dignity and the capacity of individuals to grow in community. Marriage and the family are the central social institutions that must be supported and strengthened, not undermined. We believe people have a right and a duty to participate in society, seeking together the common good and well-being of all, especially the poor and vulnerable.
Rights and Responsibilities
The Catholic tradition teaches that human dignity can be protected and a healthy community can be achieved only if human rights are protected and responsibilities are met. Therefore, every person has a fundamental right to life and a right to those things required for human decency. Corresponding to these rights are duties and responsibilities--to one another, to our families, and to the larger society.
Option for the Poor and Vulnerable
A basic moral test is how our most vulnerable members are faring. In a society marred by deepening divisions between rich and poor, our tradition recalls the story of the Last Judgment (Mt 25:31-46) and instructs us to put the needs of the poor and vulnerable first.
The Dignity of Work and the Rights of Workers
The economy must serve people, not the other way around. Work is more than a way to make a living; it is a form of continuing participation in God’s creation. If the dignity of work is to be protected, then the basic rights of workers must be respected--the right to productive work, to decent and fair wages, to the organization and joining of unions, to private property, and to economic initiative.
Solidarity
We are one human family whatever our national, racial, ethnic, economic, and ideological differences. We are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, wherever they may be. Loving our neighbor has global dimensions in a shrinking world. At the core of the virtue of solidarity is the pursuit of justice and peace. Pope Paul VI taught that “if you want peace, work for justice.”1 The Gospel calls us to be peacemakers. Our love for all our sisters and brothers demands that we promote peace in a world surrounded by violence and conflict.
Care for God’s Creation
We show our respect for the Creator by our stewardship of creation. Care for the earth is not just an Earth Day slogan, it is a requirement of our faith. We are called to protect people and the planet, living our faith in relationship with all of God’s creation. This environmental challenge has fundamental moral and ethical dimensions that cannot be ignored.
Answering questions about the Permanent Deacon
This past weekend the Archdiocese of New Orleans opened an inquiry period for men who may be feeling a call to serve the Church in ordained ministry. We were blessed to have 56 married men, with their wives and 4 single men in attendance. Supporting the day's events were many Permanent Deacons, including yours truly and the men and wives of our 2010 class (scheduled to be ordained in December) and 2012 class.
After a meaningful and thorough presentation that lasted several hours, with plenty of time for breaks and refreshment, the floor was opened for questions. Now please understand from the outset that I'm sharing some of this as a teachable moment. In no way do I find the questions silly or stupid but it does point out that the emerging permanent diaconate still has a way to go.
One of the questions dealt with compensation. This is a great question. I often hear from good Catholics that they are curious about how much the good Deacon makes. I'll say this; the fringe benefits; eternal in nature, are great but the pay is, well, non-existent. As a rule of thumb, Deacons are not paid. True, some will take jobs at a parish or diocese level that is paying. This should be viewed no differently from the thousands of deacons that work as firemen, business owners, policemen, sales managers and in my case, a banker. And besides, for the Permanent Deacon, it's never about what we do but who we are.
Another question was about being assigned ministry. As is often the case, many come to inquiry assuming the process will result in an assignment back home in the parish. Not necessarily so. Deacons are directly reportable to the Bishop. He assigns the Deacon. The overall needs of the diocese determine a parish assignment. This led to another question about having to relocate, etc. Quickly this was addressed. In our diocese, and I imagine most others, a Deacon would not be assigned so far away geographically that he would face selling a home, changing a job or encountering any other financial hardship. And one more word on assignments: Deacons are usually assigned a ministry of charity which is the true charism of the Deacon. Mine is prison ministry. Others serve in hospitals, hospice, nursing homes, food banks, etc. This is where the Deacon should be focused and this service leads in a holy way to the sacramental sign where most Catholics see the Deacon; on the altar and perhaps preaching a homily.
One of the most interesting questions concerned single men, as asked by a single man inquiring. Statistics show that the vast majority of Permanent Deacons in the USA are married. Most single Deacons are widowers. While not a deterrent to applying to the diaconate and perhaps being ordained, the inquirer may need to pray and discern a calling to the Priesthood if they are fulfilling a single, celibate vocation already.
I thoroughly enjoy fielding questions about the Permanent Diaconate. It is a ministry that the Apostles themselves knew was needed for the Church to truly exemplify Christ the Servant. I so look forward to following the inquirers over the monts ahead and ask all reading this post to pray for them and all who are seeking God's will in their lives.
After a meaningful and thorough presentation that lasted several hours, with plenty of time for breaks and refreshment, the floor was opened for questions. Now please understand from the outset that I'm sharing some of this as a teachable moment. In no way do I find the questions silly or stupid but it does point out that the emerging permanent diaconate still has a way to go.
One of the questions dealt with compensation. This is a great question. I often hear from good Catholics that they are curious about how much the good Deacon makes. I'll say this; the fringe benefits; eternal in nature, are great but the pay is, well, non-existent. As a rule of thumb, Deacons are not paid. True, some will take jobs at a parish or diocese level that is paying. This should be viewed no differently from the thousands of deacons that work as firemen, business owners, policemen, sales managers and in my case, a banker. And besides, for the Permanent Deacon, it's never about what we do but who we are.
Another question was about being assigned ministry. As is often the case, many come to inquiry assuming the process will result in an assignment back home in the parish. Not necessarily so. Deacons are directly reportable to the Bishop. He assigns the Deacon. The overall needs of the diocese determine a parish assignment. This led to another question about having to relocate, etc. Quickly this was addressed. In our diocese, and I imagine most others, a Deacon would not be assigned so far away geographically that he would face selling a home, changing a job or encountering any other financial hardship. And one more word on assignments: Deacons are usually assigned a ministry of charity which is the true charism of the Deacon. Mine is prison ministry. Others serve in hospitals, hospice, nursing homes, food banks, etc. This is where the Deacon should be focused and this service leads in a holy way to the sacramental sign where most Catholics see the Deacon; on the altar and perhaps preaching a homily.
One of the most interesting questions concerned single men, as asked by a single man inquiring. Statistics show that the vast majority of Permanent Deacons in the USA are married. Most single Deacons are widowers. While not a deterrent to applying to the diaconate and perhaps being ordained, the inquirer may need to pray and discern a calling to the Priesthood if they are fulfilling a single, celibate vocation already.
I thoroughly enjoy fielding questions about the Permanent Diaconate. It is a ministry that the Apostles themselves knew was needed for the Church to truly exemplify Christ the Servant. I so look forward to following the inquirers over the monts ahead and ask all reading this post to pray for them and all who are seeking God's will in their lives.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Happy Anniversary to the Sisters of the Visitation of Holy Mary
Most of what follows comes from this weeks bulletin from my home parish of St. Jane de Chantal in Abita Springs, LA:
400 years ago on this date, after considerable prayer, discernment, spiritual direction from and planning with her special friend and co-founder, St. Francis de Sales, St. Jane de Chantal started the religious order of the Visitation of Holy Mary. On this day 400 years ago it happened to be Sunday and it was the feast day of the Most Holy Trinity. It was St. Francis de Sales that picked the name Visitation because he found in that name a "thousand spiritual insights" which also summarized the spirit of the new group. He wanted it to include worship, adoration, thanksgiving, prayer, relationship and the hidden mutual service of women.
The new religious community was welcomed in the town of Annecy, France. The founders were St. Jane, Jeanne-Charlotte de Brechard and Anne-Jacqueline Coste. They were joined in their new home by two of St. Jane's daughters; Marie-Aime and Francoise. St. Jane declared "this is the place of our delight and rest."
The growth and development of the Order was incredibly fast during St. Jane's lifetime. Currently there are twelve communities of the Visitation in the United States including the closest in Mobile, Alabama and the Georgetown Monastery that is on the front page of this very website. Their blog is livejesus.blogspot.com.
Live + Jesus is the motto of St. Jane de Chantal.
So we congratulate and give thanks to God for the 400th anniversary of the Visitation Order and for the life of St. Jane de Chantal; patron saint of my home parish!
400 years ago on this date, after considerable prayer, discernment, spiritual direction from and planning with her special friend and co-founder, St. Francis de Sales, St. Jane de Chantal started the religious order of the Visitation of Holy Mary. On this day 400 years ago it happened to be Sunday and it was the feast day of the Most Holy Trinity. It was St. Francis de Sales that picked the name Visitation because he found in that name a "thousand spiritual insights" which also summarized the spirit of the new group. He wanted it to include worship, adoration, thanksgiving, prayer, relationship and the hidden mutual service of women.
The new religious community was welcomed in the town of Annecy, France. The founders were St. Jane, Jeanne-Charlotte de Brechard and Anne-Jacqueline Coste. They were joined in their new home by two of St. Jane's daughters; Marie-Aime and Francoise. St. Jane declared "this is the place of our delight and rest."
The growth and development of the Order was incredibly fast during St. Jane's lifetime. Currently there are twelve communities of the Visitation in the United States including the closest in Mobile, Alabama and the Georgetown Monastery that is on the front page of this very website. Their blog is livejesus.blogspot.com.
Live + Jesus is the motto of St. Jane de Chantal.
So we congratulate and give thanks to God for the 400th anniversary of the Visitation Order and for the life of St. Jane de Chantal; patron saint of my home parish!
Homily for Feast of the Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ
One of the greatest entertainers of all time was Bob Hope and his signature song was “thanks for the memories”. At the end of every TV show or live performance, including those in front of thousands of troops, decade after decade, Bob Hope would sing “thanks for the memories”. And the lyrics taught us to be thankful for all the little things in our lives. It was always a touching moment when Bob Hope sang “thanks for the memories”.
All of us gathered here today have many memories; and hopefully a vast majority of them are memories we would be thankful for. We have memories of family and friends, of days gone by and so much more.
As people of faith, do we gather today in a spirit of thanksgiving and remember the great gift of the Body & Blood of Jesus Christ?
On this great feast day we hear proclaimed in the Gospel the feeding of the multitudes with five loaves and two fish. Now Scripture tells us that the crowd numbers five thousand men. This probably equates to a total crowd of fifteen to twenty thousand counting women and children. Despite the vast numbers Jesus instructs the disciples to sit the crowd in groups of fifty and then he blesses, breaks and gives so the disciples can distribute the food to all. And Scripture tells us: they all ate and were satisfied.
In this beautiful Gospel we see here the celebration of the Mass; the Eucharist. We have the Liturgy of the Word as Jesus is speaking to the crowds. And we have the Liturgy of the Eucharist as Jesus takes the simple elements of fish and bread and satisfies all who came to him.
The sublime gift of the Eucharist is more than feeding a hungry crowd gathered on a hillside. In the Eucharist, Jesus continues to feed us, as he feed this crowd, but the bread is not mere bread; it is the Bread of eternal life. It is His Body and it satisfies us fully even now.
The second reading today from St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians also teaches us about the Eucharist and affirms the real presence of Christ’s Body & Blood in the bread and wine. St. Paul is writing several decades after the death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus yet he tells us about the real presence. And how does Paul know? Paul tells us clearly; I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you. And then he proclaims the words of Jesus from Holy Thursday which are handed on and still are the words of institution at every Mass around the world, every day some two thousand years later. This is my body…this is the cup of my blood…do this in remembrance of me.
Today we sing in one of our great Eucharistic hymns, we remember, we celebrate, we believe.
What do we believe? How do we describe the Eucharist to those who have doubts? Can we proclaim full throated and with sincere hearts that we receive Jesus? Do we see bread and wine with eyes or do we see Jesus, body-blood-soul and divinity, with eyes of faith? Do we give thanks and do we remember? Do we, pondering on the greatest gift of self: Jesus Christ’s own body and blood blessed, broken and given to us, remember and give Him thanks?
Eucharist: the very word means thanks-giving. And what do we give thanks for? Just as bread satisfies our natural hunger, this bread of life, the Eucharist, satisfies our supernatural hunger.
And what should our response be to receiving the Body and Blood of Jesus? Of course thanksgiving as we have touched upon but there is more. As we sing in another Eucharistic song: “we become what we believe”. Just as the gift of Jesus’ Body and Blood is the revelation of the very kingdom of God, we are called to share our resources, even if they be meager, so that this sharing can become spiritual nourishment for those we share with. This is the model Jesus gives us.
As we prepare to receive the Eucharist today and then go out and face the week ahead can we focus on a spirit of thanksgiving? Can we give thanks for the little things that we so often take for granted? And can we focus, in this same spirit of thanksgiving, on those who we need to share with? Perhaps we are called to share from our material possessions with those who have less, and we can do that here at home through our poor boxes, our own St. Vincent de Paul Society and the Covington Food Bank. But perhaps we too are called to share a laugh, a smile, our love, and our very selves with someone so desperately in need of such kindness. Can we this week truly focus on becoming what we believe; becoming what we receive.
There is another Eucharistic song that says: “I received the living God, and my heart is full of joy!” May we receive the living Jesus, body and blood, soul and divinity and be full of joy; joy to share with all we encounter.
Thanks for the memories!
All of us gathered here today have many memories; and hopefully a vast majority of them are memories we would be thankful for. We have memories of family and friends, of days gone by and so much more.
As people of faith, do we gather today in a spirit of thanksgiving and remember the great gift of the Body & Blood of Jesus Christ?
On this great feast day we hear proclaimed in the Gospel the feeding of the multitudes with five loaves and two fish. Now Scripture tells us that the crowd numbers five thousand men. This probably equates to a total crowd of fifteen to twenty thousand counting women and children. Despite the vast numbers Jesus instructs the disciples to sit the crowd in groups of fifty and then he blesses, breaks and gives so the disciples can distribute the food to all. And Scripture tells us: they all ate and were satisfied.
In this beautiful Gospel we see here the celebration of the Mass; the Eucharist. We have the Liturgy of the Word as Jesus is speaking to the crowds. And we have the Liturgy of the Eucharist as Jesus takes the simple elements of fish and bread and satisfies all who came to him.
The sublime gift of the Eucharist is more than feeding a hungry crowd gathered on a hillside. In the Eucharist, Jesus continues to feed us, as he feed this crowd, but the bread is not mere bread; it is the Bread of eternal life. It is His Body and it satisfies us fully even now.
The second reading today from St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians also teaches us about the Eucharist and affirms the real presence of Christ’s Body & Blood in the bread and wine. St. Paul is writing several decades after the death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus yet he tells us about the real presence. And how does Paul know? Paul tells us clearly; I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you. And then he proclaims the words of Jesus from Holy Thursday which are handed on and still are the words of institution at every Mass around the world, every day some two thousand years later. This is my body…this is the cup of my blood…do this in remembrance of me.
Today we sing in one of our great Eucharistic hymns, we remember, we celebrate, we believe.
What do we believe? How do we describe the Eucharist to those who have doubts? Can we proclaim full throated and with sincere hearts that we receive Jesus? Do we see bread and wine with eyes or do we see Jesus, body-blood-soul and divinity, with eyes of faith? Do we give thanks and do we remember? Do we, pondering on the greatest gift of self: Jesus Christ’s own body and blood blessed, broken and given to us, remember and give Him thanks?
Eucharist: the very word means thanks-giving. And what do we give thanks for? Just as bread satisfies our natural hunger, this bread of life, the Eucharist, satisfies our supernatural hunger.
And what should our response be to receiving the Body and Blood of Jesus? Of course thanksgiving as we have touched upon but there is more. As we sing in another Eucharistic song: “we become what we believe”. Just as the gift of Jesus’ Body and Blood is the revelation of the very kingdom of God, we are called to share our resources, even if they be meager, so that this sharing can become spiritual nourishment for those we share with. This is the model Jesus gives us.
As we prepare to receive the Eucharist today and then go out and face the week ahead can we focus on a spirit of thanksgiving? Can we give thanks for the little things that we so often take for granted? And can we focus, in this same spirit of thanksgiving, on those who we need to share with? Perhaps we are called to share from our material possessions with those who have less, and we can do that here at home through our poor boxes, our own St. Vincent de Paul Society and the Covington Food Bank. But perhaps we too are called to share a laugh, a smile, our love, and our very selves with someone so desperately in need of such kindness. Can we this week truly focus on becoming what we believe; becoming what we receive.
There is another Eucharistic song that says: “I received the living God, and my heart is full of joy!” May we receive the living Jesus, body and blood, soul and divinity and be full of joy; joy to share with all we encounter.
Thanks for the memories!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Louisiana still under attack
It's been over 40 days since oil has gushed unabated into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Every day news reports update on the menacing oil as it approaces the coast line. For over two weeks now, we in Louisiana are dealing with the oil on shore; deep into the marshes, killing marsh grass faster than a wildfire, on the sandy beaches of our barrier islands, slipping over oyster beds and rich habitat that normally supports shrimp, fish of all kinds, birds, pelicans, sea turtles, dolphins, and so much more.
Day after day we watch the oil pumping from the damaged riser while BP fails time and time again to stop the leak. The oil beseiges Louisiana's coast and way of life while BP CEO Tony Heyward speaks and acts wimpishly as he struggles to constantly remove his foot from his mouth. Oil renders working class families poorer by the hour while our President sound tough but appears unable to muster any real solutions. If criticism of President Bush after Katrina was fair and warranted (and some of it was) then President Obama should not escape his fair share of criticism either. While Louisiana officials proposed the dredging of sand berms, the feds took almost 4 weeks to act, while oil continued to lick at the boot of Louisiana.
Soon, we are told, the beaches and good people of other states, Alabama and Florida to be specific, will feel our pain. We in Louisiana are wishing our neighbors well and praying for the best for them. But in the meantime, for us in Louisiana, the damage is done, the oil is creeping deeper in the marsh and across ever expanding miles and miles of coastline.
Will we be able to supply a nation, hungry for quality seafood, with the shrimp, oysters and fish that we all have taken for granted? Will we be able to ever really develop a solid energy plan and learn how to drill safely without over reacting, like the Obama administration has, resulting in the unintended consequence of leaving more Louisiana residents unemployed? Will we be able to sustain communities of people who have seen a solid, honest, hard-working way of life as all of their sources of income are destroyed? Will we recover a way of life that identifies people of the coastal parishes of our great state as the backbone of southeast Louisiana?
I could go on; the questions keep coming; and so does the oil.
We owe so much thanks to the many people who are trying with all sincerity to make this latest man-made disaster to touch us in Louisiana tolerable. And we all must continue to pray for a conclusion to this disaster so all may be able to recover and move on.
Continue to pray for the people of Louisiana and the state itself.
Louisiana is still under attack. And her people will fight. And they will pray. We desperately need your prayers too!
Day after day we watch the oil pumping from the damaged riser while BP fails time and time again to stop the leak. The oil beseiges Louisiana's coast and way of life while BP CEO Tony Heyward speaks and acts wimpishly as he struggles to constantly remove his foot from his mouth. Oil renders working class families poorer by the hour while our President sound tough but appears unable to muster any real solutions. If criticism of President Bush after Katrina was fair and warranted (and some of it was) then President Obama should not escape his fair share of criticism either. While Louisiana officials proposed the dredging of sand berms, the feds took almost 4 weeks to act, while oil continued to lick at the boot of Louisiana.
Soon, we are told, the beaches and good people of other states, Alabama and Florida to be specific, will feel our pain. We in Louisiana are wishing our neighbors well and praying for the best for them. But in the meantime, for us in Louisiana, the damage is done, the oil is creeping deeper in the marsh and across ever expanding miles and miles of coastline.
Will we be able to supply a nation, hungry for quality seafood, with the shrimp, oysters and fish that we all have taken for granted? Will we be able to ever really develop a solid energy plan and learn how to drill safely without over reacting, like the Obama administration has, resulting in the unintended consequence of leaving more Louisiana residents unemployed? Will we be able to sustain communities of people who have seen a solid, honest, hard-working way of life as all of their sources of income are destroyed? Will we recover a way of life that identifies people of the coastal parishes of our great state as the backbone of southeast Louisiana?
I could go on; the questions keep coming; and so does the oil.
We owe so much thanks to the many people who are trying with all sincerity to make this latest man-made disaster to touch us in Louisiana tolerable. And we all must continue to pray for a conclusion to this disaster so all may be able to recover and move on.
Continue to pray for the people of Louisiana and the state itself.
Louisiana is still under attack. And her people will fight. And they will pray. We desperately need your prayers too!
A bigger win than a perfect game
By now everyone knows about the blown call by umpire Jim Joyce that cost Detroit Tiger pitcher Armando Galarraga a career-changing perfect game. After retiring 26 batters in a row all that stood in the way of a perfect game was Cleveland Indian shortstop Jason Donald. Donald hit a slow roller to the 1st base side of the infield that required Galarraga to cover 1st. He fielded the tossed ball seconds ahead of Donald touching 1st base; a perfect game. But NO! Jim Joyce called Donald safe. Replays clearly showed a botched call. There is no instant replay in baseball so the bad call stands, the perfect game never happened (at least officially) and everyone is upset.
At first, the usual expected reactions did occur. But fast forward to after the game when Jim Joyce watched the replay and immediately realized that his human mistake cost Galarraga a perfect game; a chance at history and the Hall of Fame. Joyce was devastated. And Joyce began to apologize profusely. The intensity and sincerity of his apology has touched everyone including Galarraga and the entire Detroit Tiger organization. In fact, the class and dignity and respect shown by the Tigers, led by manager Jim Leyland, has helped to make this a moment that is more profound than a perfect game. It is one of the classic moments of forgiveness and charity.
So complete is Joyce's apology and resulting repentance and so complete is the acceptance of said apology by Galarraga and the Tigers that Jim Joyce received more than substantial applause today as he took the field to umpire Thursday's game. So overwhelmed by the generous show of forgiveness, the man took the field literally in tears. The whole scene at home plate today, with Galarraga handing Joyce today's line up card, was emotional.
In the end, a near perfect game, lost forever by a blown call, has become a profound teaching moment. And the lesson is to forgive, to be civil and to demonstrate class and dignity when presented even with a situation that is unfair and unjust.
Wow! What a moment.
At first, the usual expected reactions did occur. But fast forward to after the game when Jim Joyce watched the replay and immediately realized that his human mistake cost Galarraga a perfect game; a chance at history and the Hall of Fame. Joyce was devastated. And Joyce began to apologize profusely. The intensity and sincerity of his apology has touched everyone including Galarraga and the entire Detroit Tiger organization. In fact, the class and dignity and respect shown by the Tigers, led by manager Jim Leyland, has helped to make this a moment that is more profound than a perfect game. It is one of the classic moments of forgiveness and charity.
So complete is Joyce's apology and resulting repentance and so complete is the acceptance of said apology by Galarraga and the Tigers that Jim Joyce received more than substantial applause today as he took the field to umpire Thursday's game. So overwhelmed by the generous show of forgiveness, the man took the field literally in tears. The whole scene at home plate today, with Galarraga handing Joyce today's line up card, was emotional.
In the end, a near perfect game, lost forever by a blown call, has become a profound teaching moment. And the lesson is to forgive, to be civil and to demonstrate class and dignity when presented even with a situation that is unfair and unjust.
Wow! What a moment.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Time to get back in the groove
June is now underway and for our family, the end to an amazing week which took us to North Carolina for our sons wedding. Our oldest, Jimmy is now honeymooning with his bride Sara as they began a lifelong journey together in the Greensboro area. My wife and I are trying to "return to normal" after our 1st experience of being the parents of the groom. Needless to say the past week was special, full of wonderful memories and our return home yesterday.
I am very ready to get back in the groove. The events of seeing your only son getting married, and the very successful life he has built in his career, now his family life and all the friends he has made makes it easy on mom & dad. Even though he lives 12 hours away, we can relax knowing he is doing so well and so happy. And totally unrelated to the wedding is the event we witnessed yesterday as we were just 1 hour from home. A horrible car accident on 1-10 occured just 4 or 5 car lengths in front of us resulting in two totalled vehicles and serious injuries. I stopped and helped the man in the truck, who flipped 7 times. He appeared to suffer no life threatening injuries but I do not believe the same is true for the other vehicle. I don't know what happened to her as we left the scene but she was unresponsive and had a faint pulse. I'll be praying for all involved.
So what do the totally unrelated events of a joyful wedding and the sight of a horrible incident have to do with getting in the groove? What I think it means is live life. And live the life God asks of you.
A couple of weeks ago I shared the story of being hit by lightning and why did this happen? I wonder today why was I not hit by that car and why was I on the scene to help, even if just a little bit? I don't know these answers; I do know that each of us has a purpose and we should live our lives fully!
So I'm ready to get back in the groove. Tonight, its prison ministry and tomorrow its back to work. And it's time to live with the same enthusiasm as I witnessed last week from my own son and to live fully dependent on God's providential care because life can change in the blink of an eye, like I witnessed yesterday.
Can't wait to keep updating all of you on my everyday experiences as a husband, father and Deacon!
I am very ready to get back in the groove. The events of seeing your only son getting married, and the very successful life he has built in his career, now his family life and all the friends he has made makes it easy on mom & dad. Even though he lives 12 hours away, we can relax knowing he is doing so well and so happy. And totally unrelated to the wedding is the event we witnessed yesterday as we were just 1 hour from home. A horrible car accident on 1-10 occured just 4 or 5 car lengths in front of us resulting in two totalled vehicles and serious injuries. I stopped and helped the man in the truck, who flipped 7 times. He appeared to suffer no life threatening injuries but I do not believe the same is true for the other vehicle. I don't know what happened to her as we left the scene but she was unresponsive and had a faint pulse. I'll be praying for all involved.
So what do the totally unrelated events of a joyful wedding and the sight of a horrible incident have to do with getting in the groove? What I think it means is live life. And live the life God asks of you.
A couple of weeks ago I shared the story of being hit by lightning and why did this happen? I wonder today why was I not hit by that car and why was I on the scene to help, even if just a little bit? I don't know these answers; I do know that each of us has a purpose and we should live our lives fully!
So I'm ready to get back in the groove. Tonight, its prison ministry and tomorrow its back to work. And it's time to live with the same enthusiasm as I witnessed last week from my own son and to live fully dependent on God's providential care because life can change in the blink of an eye, like I witnessed yesterday.
Can't wait to keep updating all of you on my everyday experiences as a husband, father and Deacon!
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