Merry Christmas to all. While the radio stations have stopped playing their Christmas songs, many Christmas decorations are already down, and most people will look at you like you have three heads if you wish them a Merry Christmas now, it is still the Christmas Season, and there is much to celebrate and much to commemorate at this time. While pondering the joys and the little thought of sorrows associated with Christmastime, it occurred to me that this is a year when the feasts of the Holy Family and the Holy Innocents fall on the same day. What a glaring demonstration side by side of the conflict between the loving, nurturing culture of life we are called to build and the destructive culture of death that dominates so much of society today.
Pope St. John Paul II, when writing about the trinitarian nature of God, said, "God in His deepest mystery is not a solitude, but a family, since He has in Himself fatherhood, sonship and the essence of the family, which is love." Dr. Scott Hahn, points out that John Paul II did not say God was like a family, but a family, and that it was more accurate to say the Hahns are like a family, since those attributes were present in his family (and all others), but only imperfectly. Jesus Christ, as God, is part of the Holy Trinity, the most perfect family. As a man, however, He was also a part of the closest reflection of that trinitarian family, which is the Holy Family. In the ideals of a family, we are called to love, give and sacrifice for others, both in our natural family and in our extended family of humanity as sons and daughters of God. In ways great and small, we have fallen short of that goal, but we have this celebration of the Holy Family the first Sunday after Christmas Day to remind us of that ideal and to renew our efforts to draw closer to one another. In a loving family, life is valued, and people seek to raise up one another, not to hold power over one another. Humility reigns in the kingdom of the family.
The pride that led to the slaughter of the Holy Innocents under Herod was not a one time occurrence. The bloodlust that stands out in such ugly opposition to the family was there when Cain slew Abel. "Am I my brother's keeper?" I imagine Cain, tiller of the fields whose sacrifice was rejected, while that of Abel, keeper of flocks, was accepted, making such a statement with derision, viewing his brother as little more than an animal. As Scott Hahn pointed out, and as should be our approach in life, Cain was not his brother's keeper; he was his brother's brother, and he murdered him in cold blood. Herod, far from being related to Jesus by blood, viewed the vulnerable Babe of Bethlehem not as a brother, but as an enemy. If the potential lurks in the hearts of people to kill their own immediate family, how much easier for a corrupt king to order the slaughter of a village's entire population of boys two years or younger in an attempt to destroy One Who could be a threat to his power.
Over time, people have sought to dehumanize other groups. Slavery and segregation were accepted in the United States and live on in other parts of the world because one nationality, skin color, tribe or other collective arbitrarily decides it is better than another. Such oppressions of one group by another are contrary to the love we must have as children of the same Heavenly Father.
The most horrific attack on the family, which takes tens of millions of lives annually worldwide, and which has killed more innocents in America than Hitler and Stalin combined in their respective countries, is that of abortion. Our modern culture has become one that pits mother against child, and which believes compassion is a case of either/or, while a true sense of family sees it as both/and. It has become a lucrative industry to "fix" an unexpected, inconvenient pregnancy through the destruction of a helpless life, and some in that industry even see their work as a good thing, even an act of charity.
Rather than charity, it is an act of war, which leaves one dead and one wounded. Oppose this war, and you are labeled as one who wants women to die in back alleys or only cares about people until they're born, despite the facts about the pro-life movement demonstrating the opposite. We are a community that provides both brick and mortar and mobile care units, all sorts of baby supplies and a variety of other services. No one single organization or individual can handle all of the responsibilities when caring for the needs of mothers and children. Some are better at filling one need than another, whether praying, protesting, material support or giving up ones time to serve. They all are pieces of a puzzle that together answer the question, how do we help families in need? We must be countercultural and oppose the mindset that says helping a child is done at the expense of the mother or vice versa. That mother and that child, you are their brother or sister. There is much work to be done, much love to be given if we are to build a true family spirit.
If you want to help mothers in need, there are more links to more places than I can possibly fit on my own blog, but here are a few to start, mostly around Long Island where I grew up and New Jersey where I live now:
http://www.cge-nj.org/
http://www.sistersoflife.org/
http://birthright.org/en/
http://www.lifecenterli.org/
http://thebridgetolife.org/web/
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Miscarriage for Men
As I'm writing this, it's August 15, the Feast of the Assumption, when the Blessed Virgin Mary was assumed body and soul into Heaven. If you're reading it the day it's published, however, it's October 15, the day when we commemorate the passing of millions of other souls into eternal life, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It is a day that has particular meaning to me, as my beloved wife has had four miscarriages: one from her first marriage and three with me.
This Halloween, we will remember the sixth anniversary of one of them, probably the most difficult one for either of us emotionally. It was one that I just began to come to terms with this year, thanks to plenty of prayer, therapy and an article I read, entitled, "How to Have a Miscarriage." I had seen it posted in a Facebook support group for fathers of miscarried children, and my first thought was not to click on it, thinking it dealt with how to trigger one naturally. After a few days of the link taunting me, however, I decided to click on it. The resulting read was one that triggered a surge of anger, grief and guilt expressed in incoherent sobs almost seven years after the fact. It wasn't due to the similarities to my wife's experience, but rather, due to the differences.
There were some similarities initially. My wife, like the woman in the article, was 40. We weren't trying, though. We had just had a son January of that year, and we figured that was just freak luck. We never expected another conception in general, much less the same year, yet there we were late that summer, marveling at our above average fertility. We weren't anything resembling wealthy, so we were understandably nervous about finances, but knowing our families would express more than enough verbal concern about that for both of us, I simply kissed her tummy and whispered, "Welcome," to the tiny person in there.
Around mid-October, things changed. My wife's asthma, which usually became negligible during pregnancy, started to return to non-pregnancy levels. Time went by, and spotting started. We went in to the obgyn to get her looked at, praying, full of fear for our little girl. My wife's regular obgyn was out, not a situation you want to be in when miscarrying. It was too early for any ultrasound to show gender, but instinct told us both she was carrying a girl, and her instincts have never been wrong for any live births, so I trust those same instincts regarding any miscarriages. It was late enough for an ultrasound to detect a heartbeat, or lack thereof in this case. I was there with my wife, our nine-month old son, and the little girl we prayed was all right. When I saw the image on the ultrasound, that little baby looked perfect. Although based on timing, the fetal age should've been thirteen weeks, the ultrasound said eleven. There was no possible way to soften the words from the doctor that day, "I'm not finding a heartbeat." She sent us to Overlook Hospital for a second ultrasound, just in case, but her tone told me she didn't hold out much hope. On the drive over, to hell with New Jersey law in that situation, I called my Dad. I asked for his prayers, cried with him and asked him to let others know.
When we arrived, they did the second ultrasound, same results, and they scheduled my wife for a D&C to remove our little child's body. This was where things were very different from the Hairpin article. We didn't hear about any other options. We didn't hear that we could go home and wait for things to occur naturally, which, as you will soon read, probably would've happened sooner rather than later.
As we were walking, yes, walking, to the area where the procedure would be done, we experienced the one time that day when we were entirely alone. People being discharged from a hospital stay, who have no need of any assistance moving, are still sometimes wheeled out in wheelchairs, but my miscarrying wife was expected to walk. It was in a hallway, and at that moment was when spotting went to actual hemorrhaging. Having known the fear due to my wife hemorrhaging after labor had been induced during the last pregnancy, I felt a fear like I had never known before, the fear of losing both. The next...I don't even know how long it was...I don't remember what happened. Whether help arrived, or I carried, dragged or walked her there, I still don't know. All I know is that we got where we needed to go.
While we waited, I called our pastor. I'm the type that many non-Catholic or non-practicing Catholic friends often ask when a question about what the Catholic Church does in the case of this or that, but I had no idea what Catholic procedure was in the event of a miscarriage, which our pastor could probably tell. While we waited for him, a chaplain who was part of the hospital staff prayed with us. Our pastor arrived, and they prayed together, and then he prayed a prayer that's used for miscarriages. That was the one moment of comfort that occurred the whole day.
When the surgeon who would be doing the procedure arrived, we requested that he keep our baby's remains so we could have a burial. His cold response was, "Well, I can preserve the specimen, but there won't be much left." The specimen? My baby was reduced to that? As my tongue recovered from the shock enough to begin shaping into the first expletive in what would have been a tapestry of them if I had gotten the chance, my wife fired back, "That is not a specimen; that is my daughter!" The doctor's response was a weak, "As you wish."
The procedure began, and I waited with my nine month old. I had to watch as life went on around me. Although it was a hospital, and they were dealing with sick and injured people, there was still a bit of a festive, celebratory feel about the place, as it was Halloween. While they passed candy around and talked about their plans, I waited, my plans, hopes and dreams for my little girl shattered. It felt so wrong that life should be allowed to continue for the rest of the world, and that I should be forced to witness it, all while my wife and I grieved. After what seemed like forever, the doctor notified me he was finished, and he let me know there was genetic testing that could be done to verify gender and to see if there were any physical problems that resulted in the miscarriage. We didn't have the money for that, and knowing wouldn't bring her back, so I declined.
A little later, I was told my wife was awake, and I could come see her. However, as I headed in with my son to the area of recovery where she was, the nurse behind the desk informed me in a near shout, "Excuse me, you can't bring the baby in here!" I snapped back, "Well, it would be nice if somebody told me that before telling me I could go see my wife who just miscarried! I don't have anybody with me to watch the baby!" As I left that area, a few of the other nurses who were around enough to know who I was and what my wife had just been through offered to watch my son while I went in. As I headed back in empty handed, I approached the nurses' station to ask where my wife was. The nurse who was there at that point then said I couldn't see her and asked me when she was getting out. "How the hell should I know? You're the ones who are supposed to know that!" was the first thing I could say. At that point, I was very worried about my wife, as I was wondering if, like me, she had been told I could see her and was wondering why I wasn't there yet, and livid at the conflicting instructions I was being given. I began to storm out ranting about why I wanted to see her so badly, and for them to come find me when they figure out what their policies and procedures were supposed to be. At last, someone showed me a little compassion and told me where my wife was. She looked miserable, but relieved to see me, and all I could think to do was hold her until I headed back out.
We left the hospital that same day, and I dropped my wife at home to rest. The day was nowhere near over yet for me. Death in the family or not, it was still Halloween. The older kids, ranging in age from eleven to fifteen at the time, were getting together with friends, and it was my son's first Halloween. Life was expected to go on, and I was expected to run it. The afternoon and evening were a blur, but trick or treating happened, and we have pictures of my son in his giraffe costume from that day, and I'm sure everybody ate. Nighttime came, and I came to bed. The one person who had the most right not to consider how I was feeling at the moment asked me if I was okay. If ever I have lied in my marriage, my yes was probably it that night. The truth was, as I drifted off to sleep that night, I truly wanted to die. I wanted to close my eyes, go to sleep and not wake up the next morning, and if there had not been a wife and kids on earth who still needed me, I probably could have. Their need for me was the thin thread on which hung my belief that life was still worth living, so I woke up the next morning, numb and going through the motions.
As months and years went on, I still ached each year on Halloween, finding it hard to celebrate, but the focus of my thoughts was that at least my little baby was safe in Our Lord's arms, until I found out something I had never known in the immediate aftermath. My wife had been experiencing extreme guilt over what happened that day, as a D&C is not only used after a miscarriage, but as a common surgical abortion procedure. It should be noted that ultrasound and other technology have made it much easier to confirm fetal death, as was the case with us, so there is a clear difference between removing the already expired baby and an abortion. Still, given our staunch pro-life beliefs, the similarity haunted my wife for a long time until she had taken the time to process the experience through EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) therapy. Even after that, finding out the hell she went through for years, about which I was completely clueless, sent me through my own spiral of guilt. I went through a process unofficially known as "shoulding" on myself. I should've been able to fight for her the day of the miscarriage; I should've known more about our options; I should've insisted on a wheelchair or stretcher to take her across the hospital; I should've known she was having such a hard time afterwards. After EMDR therapy, she was doing a lot better, and in many ways I felt reassured. We were able to celebrate and have fun again last year when Halloween hit. As has become a tradition, she took the day as a personal day, and we went to see our little boys (yes, we had one more born after the miscarriage) at their school Halloween parades. I felt safe asking if they were playing Halloween music on Music Choice's "Sounds of the Season" channel (suggestion if anyone who decides the programming is reading this: add "Frankenstein" by Edgar Winter this year). We cut the pumpkins the night before. We had fun. As my wife began to heal, I formed a scab and thought I was okay, but I wasn't.
That Hairpin article ripped the scab from me, and I was bleeding again, as fresh and raw as if it had just happened. I've been through EMDR to process other traumatic events in my life, and although my next therapy session after reading that article was not EMDR specifically, there was an outpouring that I can say was very similar. I relived it, dug down deep as I knew I had to do, and I processed my grief and anger at last. I was able to let go of things about that day for which I had long blamed myself, and that my wife was since able to tell me, "I survived." I felt like I finally had a right to recover. I still ache sometimes to see my little girl. I ache to hold her. I look forward to seeing her in Heaven when my time is done here, but I don't beg for it. I believe that life is worth living for as long as I'm here, and however long or short that is, I know I will see my little saints I never got to hold in this life.
I wouldn't say I reached that point even immediately after that therapy session. It has been insanely busy, without much time to rest, and therefore not much time to "process the processing" I did at therapy. It hasn't had the opportunity to set fully, and I got to thinking, maybe that's because I haven't shared it yet. It hit me that maybe that was the last piece of the puzzle I needed, to share my story, so that other men could not have to experience what I did. Why write it now but wait to post it? Well, now is when I'm thinking about it, while October, when there are miscarriage awareness events and posts all over social media, is when the population in general might notice it more. I suppose I'm thinking strategically for maximum benefit for others. Maybe the fact that the youngest of the girls in my beautiful blended family just left for college the day I wrote it, so I feel a fresh sense of loss that won't be here when this posts. All my girls on earth are, whether by blood or as a bonus of marriage, are legally adults now, even though they'll always be my little girls in my heart.
Sometimes fathers feel they are not allowed to grieve, that since they didn't have the physical loss that mothers experience, they're expected not to hurt on the inside. It's sometimes not even acknowledged by organizations that are supposed call attention to miscarriage and infant loss. I can remember one group having symbols to post to one's Facebook profile. They had one for mothers, and they had one for friends of those mothers who had experienced miscarriage, but not one for fathers. I can't even find the website anymore, so I have no idea if they've updated their assortment to let hurting daddies in on it, but even without a picture, I hope friends of couples suffering the loss of miscarriage will think of us too. Definitely don't do anything less for the women who suffer this grief, but after you've done all you can to comfort a grieving mother, take a moment, take the father aside, and ask him, "How are you holding up?" I assure you, it makes a world of difference. If you are a father dealing with miscarriage or infant loss or know someone who is, here are some helpful links:
Sometimes fathers feel they are not allowed to grieve, that since they didn't have the physical loss that mothers experience, they're expected not to hurt on the inside. It's sometimes not even acknowledged by organizations that are supposed call attention to miscarriage and infant loss. I can remember one group having symbols to post to one's Facebook profile. They had one for mothers, and they had one for friends of those mothers who had experienced miscarriage, but not one for fathers. I can't even find the website anymore, so I have no idea if they've updated their assortment to let hurting daddies in on it, but even without a picture, I hope friends of couples suffering the loss of miscarriage will think of us too. Definitely don't do anything less for the women who suffer this grief, but after you've done all you can to comfort a grieving mother, take a moment, take the father aside, and ask him, "How are you holding up?" I assure you, it makes a world of difference. If you are a father dealing with miscarriage or infant loss or know someone who is, here are some helpful links:
Also, if you'll indulge me, a few songs that, for one reason or another, have some meaning in relation to that sad day. Feel free to listen:
I Knew I Loved You
Another Day
I Can Only Imagine
Here's to Us - Language alert, but when I heard it a few years ago on Halloween, the takeaway for me was that it was ok simultaneously to mourn those I lost and celebrate those I have
I Knew I Loved You
Another Day
I Can Only Imagine
Here's to Us - Language alert, but when I heard it a few years ago on Halloween, the takeaway for me was that it was ok simultaneously to mourn those I lost and celebrate those I have
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Real Men and Women
Society and the media love to tell us in so many different and usually completely incorrect ways what a "real man" or "real woman" is or does or thinks or feels. Over the past few weeks, I feel like I've been bombarded, either through experience, inspiration or someone out there having the right idea, with a more correct version of real men and women. Keep in mind, the first rule is that real men and women are not perfect, so if you don't feel you live up to these, well I guess the second rule is that real men and women keep on trying after they fail.
The first thing that made me start thinking about this was right before Easter. I had been growing my hair, having been lazy for several months about getting it cut, and finally deciding I had probably one last chance to grow and donate it before it went grey on me, so I decided to go for it. I found that while I had enjoyed the luxurious mane in my 20s, it just wasn't as much fun at 38, 39 or...40. Dealing with day to day tasks I didn't have in my younger days, it was in my way, but I had made a promise, and there were still times it was fun. I had originally planned to cut it off right before Lent, as a sign of "shedding the excess," but in casually discussing it with my pastor, he had humorously remarked, "No, you have to keep it until Easter, then the new haircut will represent 'new life.'" Well, who was I to contradict my pastor? So, Holy Saturday morning, I got it done.
Two nights later, at work, a female co-worker had commented that it took years off my face, and continued, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look...hotter." Now, in my 40 years on this earth, I had never heard "hot" or any variation used to describe me, with the exception of perhaps after a rant about how sick I was of being "cute," which I associated with being permanent friend-zoned, or even "handsome," which to me always brought images of either a little boy dressed up for some special occasion or an older man who was still good-looking, leaving me either too old or too young to want that label. I had for a long time bought the lies of needing to be sexy, hot or desirable, and when I ranted about the curse of cuteness, I always considered the occasional follow up, "But you are [insert adjective closer to my preference here]," to be little more than a consolation prize. No longer actively fishing for the descriptive words I had simply given up on ever hearing, I was shocked, and I'll admit, although this until recently unknown "hotness" of mine is reserved entirely for my wife, I was on a high all week from having heard the word without practically begging for it. My entire appearance could've been completely disfigured the next day, and I would've shrugged and thought, "Oh well, at least I was hot for one day." I suppose there's nothing wrong with appreciating a compliment, but perhaps I allowed my brain to be wired over the years to place a little bit too much value on that, and it never quite went away. By obsessing over that, I (and probably many other men) objectified myself as much as we of the male gender are guilty of doing so many times to women. We then tell women through the media that they need to do the same. Perhaps both men and women need to turn off the tv, burn the magazines, stop taking the quizzes and begin to look beyond the surface, both in their dealings with others and when they look at themselves.
Another thing that has been at the back of my mind in general is the way our culture tends to look at men now. There is the emphasis on how much real women can do, and this idea that men are just stupid, bumbling fools who'd forget to breathe if women weren't around to remind them. How men are presented in terms of intelligence these days is how the old fairy tales often presented women in terms of strength - helpless and needing rescuing by the other gender. Enter the meme. Someone had shared one on Facebook this morning about how a real woman can...some laundry list of things I can't even remember...share if you think you might be a man. There are a lot of those quotes about "real women," usually written by the same people who don't believe that "real men" exist. In some ways, sure it mocks the unrealistic expectations of women, but in other ways it seemed to put down men as being incapable of doing anything right. Most quotes meant to praise women tend to end with a sometimes veiled and sometimes blatant swipe at men. A few times, it's a joke; as a constant theme, it gets old. Not wanting to comment directly on the meme and be the object of a women's lynch mob, I decided the best place to vent would be my own status, which said, "The best way to ruin a quote praising one gender is for the same quote to insult the other gender." Women, the constant berating of men doesn't exalt you; it makes you look like a bunch of nags. It doesn't make us want to do better; it makes those who are trying want to give up, and those who aren't want to try even less.
Elsewhere, I received a little bit of encouragement via another page I follow on Facebook, The Chastity Project. They had shared a video of female students at Franciscan University of Steubenville thanking the male students for being real men. I was stunned. In a world where the little day to day things that men do really aren't appreciated at all, it was nice to see a group of young women, real women, taking notice when men are real men. The video wasn't even directed at me personally, and yet in my own day to day struggles to do my best, I felt recognized and appreciated as a man. I was also reminded of the times in my life when I didn't see the good in me, especially the times since early 2006, when my beloved Judy could, and did all she could to remind me.
I guess in a nutshell, what real men and women try to do is build each other up, not with false praise, but with a true recognition of each other's innate, God-given worth. We look to see the differences between the sexes not as a reason to belittle each other, but to see the other as complementary to our own nature, so as to understand more completely the creative genius of God in designing us how we are. Women, you rock! Men, so do you! God bless all of you for simply being you. Now excuse me. This real man has some housework to do.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Who Am I To Judge?
This is a week late because it's the first time in a week that I've been able to get the laptop. Yep, Daddy's low on the pecking order for the computer. There definitely have to be some changes made in that arena, but it's not my intention to make the focus of a blog entry a rant about that. What I'd really like to talk about is judging, and the tendency people have to judge others, but not in the way one would expect. Day and night, when it comes to this and that action that some religions (usually Christian denominations) find sinful, the auto-reply of an argument is always, "Well who are you to judge?" To that, I have another auto-reply, "God judges souls; we are called to have a proper judgment of actions."
It is true that God is the final judge of our souls, and He alone knows the true condition of our souls, even better than we know our own. Therefore, even when we see people in sin, while it is our duty to instruct and pray for them, we do not assume they are bound for damnation. Yet last week's second reading from First Corinthians 4:1-5 made me realize this area of "not judging" also works the other way around. Paul says, "It does not concern me in the least that I be judged by any human tribunal; I do not even pass judgment on myself; I am not conscious of any charge against me, but I do not stand acquitted; the one who judges is the Lord." How many in today's culture are aware of the number of possible charges, secular and divine, against them? Yet, can we assume they are innocent based upon that?
I've found that by that standard, I have been just as judgmental as those who point the finger and tell people, "You're going to hell!" Among people I've met at churches throughout Long Island and New Jersey, there are a lot of people I admire and respect, and honestly I sometimes get a spiritual inferiority complex in their presence. I sometimes wonder how they even can bear to be in my presence, unless they just really don't know what a wretched sinner I am. They seem to have it all together, and I can't imagine them having any difficulty getting to heaven. Are you seeing a problem here? It hit me upside the head last week as I thought about how I can't know what sorts of temptations they face on a regular basis, or what goes on in their homes or their heads. What if they need my prayers, and I'm too busy comparing to pray for them? What if the thoughts going through their heads are a lot like mine?
It's easy to pray for the obvious sinners. It's easy to cry out to God to help the people facing addictions or steeped in promiscuity or who have lost their faith. But the devout person showing up to Mass every weekend, staying to pray after, seemingly faithful to his or her spouse and family, the one who is a pillar of the community, that individual could be just as much in need of our prayerful support. I know this much, I hope nobody who ever meets me thinks I'm not in need of prayer. Please, family, friends, people who happen to stumble on my blog, pray for me. If you're a regularly praying person, you know the line's always open, and if you're not a praying person, well then that's bound to get God's attention. Don't just limit it to me, either. Pray for all those in your life, all those whose paths meet yours throughout the day, from the person who cuts you off to the person who lets you cut in front of him or her at the supermarket checkout counter. Good or bad, don't judge, but pray for all.
It is true that God is the final judge of our souls, and He alone knows the true condition of our souls, even better than we know our own. Therefore, even when we see people in sin, while it is our duty to instruct and pray for them, we do not assume they are bound for damnation. Yet last week's second reading from First Corinthians 4:1-5 made me realize this area of "not judging" also works the other way around. Paul says, "It does not concern me in the least that I be judged by any human tribunal; I do not even pass judgment on myself; I am not conscious of any charge against me, but I do not stand acquitted; the one who judges is the Lord." How many in today's culture are aware of the number of possible charges, secular and divine, against them? Yet, can we assume they are innocent based upon that?
I've found that by that standard, I have been just as judgmental as those who point the finger and tell people, "You're going to hell!" Among people I've met at churches throughout Long Island and New Jersey, there are a lot of people I admire and respect, and honestly I sometimes get a spiritual inferiority complex in their presence. I sometimes wonder how they even can bear to be in my presence, unless they just really don't know what a wretched sinner I am. They seem to have it all together, and I can't imagine them having any difficulty getting to heaven. Are you seeing a problem here? It hit me upside the head last week as I thought about how I can't know what sorts of temptations they face on a regular basis, or what goes on in their homes or their heads. What if they need my prayers, and I'm too busy comparing to pray for them? What if the thoughts going through their heads are a lot like mine?
It's easy to pray for the obvious sinners. It's easy to cry out to God to help the people facing addictions or steeped in promiscuity or who have lost their faith. But the devout person showing up to Mass every weekend, staying to pray after, seemingly faithful to his or her spouse and family, the one who is a pillar of the community, that individual could be just as much in need of our prayerful support. I know this much, I hope nobody who ever meets me thinks I'm not in need of prayer. Please, family, friends, people who happen to stumble on my blog, pray for me. If you're a regularly praying person, you know the line's always open, and if you're not a praying person, well then that's bound to get God's attention. Don't just limit it to me, either. Pray for all those in your life, all those whose paths meet yours throughout the day, from the person who cuts you off to the person who lets you cut in front of him or her at the supermarket checkout counter. Good or bad, don't judge, but pray for all.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Using Scandals to Excuse Bigotry and Silence Debate
Yesterday, while heading out to parent teacher conferences, I had the radio on. It was a primarily talk station, New Jersey 101.5. Being somewhere between 2-3 pm, Deminski and Doyle were on. I have heard the pair cover a number of issues, sometimes controversial, other times fairly tame. Yesterday's discussion dealt with a topic that was one of interest that I've personally heard discussed in many groups, but one that doesn't generally offend, employee dress codes.
People calling in had some of the standard issues - tattoos people got decades ago affecting their employment eligibility now, dress codes supposedly meant for safety not being enforced equally by gender, etc. I had experienced the dress code issue personally in my college days when looking around for some part time work. When I asked for an application at a McDonald's, I had somewhat long hair, and the woman with whom I spoke, who had even longer hair, asked me, "Would you be willing to cut your hair?" My response as a brash, sarcastic 19-20 year old, "Depends, would you?" Needless to say, McDonald's was not on my list of employers in my college days.
On this topic, eventually a called called in about some sort of dress code when she was working at a Catholic church. I don't even remember what the actual requirement was, but apparently the caller and the hosts thought it was a trivial matter. One of the hosts' responses predictably involved dress codes apparently being more of an issue than raping little boys. Lemme guess D&D, you either:
That said, there is something to be said of the blatant anti-Catholic bigotry that exists in our current secular culture, in other religions and especially among professed but ashamed Catholics. The last category is not unusual or exclusively Catholic. Taken to its extreme, some of the worst atrocities in history against particular groups have been as successful as they were because of collaborators among their own. Though indentured servitude existed in the New World before him, the first person to own lifelong slaves was a man named Anthony Johnson, a free black man. The Holocaust during World War II owed at least some measure of its gruesome success to Jewish collaborators. Though I cannot find the link, I will never forget reading an account of a Holocaust survivor in Ukraine who described the conditions and constant threat of death in her town. The exits to the town were typically under guard, with some of the guards being German, others Ukrainian, and still others Jews who were members of the Judenrat. Her description of the chances of survival for someone attempting to leave the town were, to paraphrase, pretty good when the guard was German, varied for Ukrainian and next to nothing when he was a Jew. Current anti-Catholicism with some Catholics is nothing like that now, but more of a resentment of the Church for not keeping up with the fickle trends of the times.
For a little perspective on the sex abuse scandal in the Church, let's clear up some deliberate media-fed smoke on the issue. For one thing, most of the abuse cases are referred to as pedophilia. Though there were some cases in which some prepubescent children were molested, the vast majority of them involved adolescent boys, which means most cases involved homosexual ephebophilia. Still illegal regardless of same sex or opposite sex, still wrong, but we're getting there on using more accurate terms. Under that description, those priests should be looked at as the next Harvey Milk. Do you think maybe Sean Penn is available to star in a movie depicting one of those priests as a hero?
Another fact ignored by both media and snarky anti-Catholic bigots always looking to joke about the abuse of minors is that not all victims were boys. The mainstream media, the entertainment world and the sheeple willing to believe all that both those outlets tell them almost never bring that up. I personally did, when it was found out that a defrocked priest who settled out of court on a case involving the the molesting of a girl was a supervisor with the TSA at Philadelphia International Airport. I guess priests having sexual relations with and victimizing members of the opposite sex just doesn't quite have the same shock value, does it?
Why is that? Are the media the real anti-gay bigots, who only care about what a priest does wrong when it involves someone of the same sex? Or are they sexist, considering female victims to be of lesser importance? We all know it can't possibly be because of anti-Catholic bigotry, Christophobia or Vaticaphobia (I can make up phobias and sound like a psychologist too), because those don't exist, right?
Back to the radio program, had I not had more important things to do than continue listening to the rantings of a bigoted radio host, I might have called the show with a few comments that tied into the topic of the day. I too have come across policies that are not evenly enforced at work. I have seen cases of people losing their jobs for making "politically incorrect" comments about sexual morality, abortion, non-Christian religions and a host of other things. Yet, when someone makes a joking reference to priests all being a bunch of child rapists, even on a radio station that broadcasts to almost an entire state of nearly 9 million, trust me, he'll still have his job tomorrow. It might not be dress code, but it's certainly a case of favoritism and selective enforcement of company policy.
Fact is, one abuse case, boy or girl, male or female perpetrator, is one too many. The Church abuse scandal never should have happened, and actually was worse because we spent decades trying to be, well, like the world. To paint priests as disproportionately disposed to molest or otherwise abuse children, however, in light of evidence showing it's just as likely to happen among teachers, government airport security, police, friends, relatives or any other group supposedly responsible for the protection of innocents is either a case of gross ignorance, deliberate deception and/or blatant anti-Catholic bigotry. And to those who would tell me the Church needs to just shut up about such and such issue because we have no credibility after the sex abuse scandal, while ignoring every other group guilty of the same thing, do me a favor. Change your heart, or unfriend me on any social media, lose my contact info and forget I exist. That way you can treat me as you would treat a priest. You obviously have a deep hatred for the Church, and I, as a layperson trying to live a faithful Catholic life, am just as much the Church as any member of the clergy.
People calling in had some of the standard issues - tattoos people got decades ago affecting their employment eligibility now, dress codes supposedly meant for safety not being enforced equally by gender, etc. I had experienced the dress code issue personally in my college days when looking around for some part time work. When I asked for an application at a McDonald's, I had somewhat long hair, and the woman with whom I spoke, who had even longer hair, asked me, "Would you be willing to cut your hair?" My response as a brash, sarcastic 19-20 year old, "Depends, would you?" Needless to say, McDonald's was not on my list of employers in my college days.
On this topic, eventually a called called in about some sort of dress code when she was working at a Catholic church. I don't even remember what the actual requirement was, but apparently the caller and the hosts thought it was a trivial matter. One of the hosts' responses predictably involved dress codes apparently being more of an issue than raping little boys. Lemme guess D&D, you either:
- Have never been a Catholic.
- Left the Catholic Church because (insert gripe here).
- Profess to be Catholic, but think it should be a flimsy blade of grass blowing in the wind and subject to the ever changing whims of popular culture and/or your personal preferences.
That said, there is something to be said of the blatant anti-Catholic bigotry that exists in our current secular culture, in other religions and especially among professed but ashamed Catholics. The last category is not unusual or exclusively Catholic. Taken to its extreme, some of the worst atrocities in history against particular groups have been as successful as they were because of collaborators among their own. Though indentured servitude existed in the New World before him, the first person to own lifelong slaves was a man named Anthony Johnson, a free black man. The Holocaust during World War II owed at least some measure of its gruesome success to Jewish collaborators. Though I cannot find the link, I will never forget reading an account of a Holocaust survivor in Ukraine who described the conditions and constant threat of death in her town. The exits to the town were typically under guard, with some of the guards being German, others Ukrainian, and still others Jews who were members of the Judenrat. Her description of the chances of survival for someone attempting to leave the town were, to paraphrase, pretty good when the guard was German, varied for Ukrainian and next to nothing when he was a Jew. Current anti-Catholicism with some Catholics is nothing like that now, but more of a resentment of the Church for not keeping up with the fickle trends of the times.
For a little perspective on the sex abuse scandal in the Church, let's clear up some deliberate media-fed smoke on the issue. For one thing, most of the abuse cases are referred to as pedophilia. Though there were some cases in which some prepubescent children were molested, the vast majority of them involved adolescent boys, which means most cases involved homosexual ephebophilia. Still illegal regardless of same sex or opposite sex, still wrong, but we're getting there on using more accurate terms. Under that description, those priests should be looked at as the next Harvey Milk. Do you think maybe Sean Penn is available to star in a movie depicting one of those priests as a hero?
Another fact ignored by both media and snarky anti-Catholic bigots always looking to joke about the abuse of minors is that not all victims were boys. The mainstream media, the entertainment world and the sheeple willing to believe all that both those outlets tell them almost never bring that up. I personally did, when it was found out that a defrocked priest who settled out of court on a case involving the the molesting of a girl was a supervisor with the TSA at Philadelphia International Airport. I guess priests having sexual relations with and victimizing members of the opposite sex just doesn't quite have the same shock value, does it?
Why is that? Are the media the real anti-gay bigots, who only care about what a priest does wrong when it involves someone of the same sex? Or are they sexist, considering female victims to be of lesser importance? We all know it can't possibly be because of anti-Catholic bigotry, Christophobia or Vaticaphobia (I can make up phobias and sound like a psychologist too), because those don't exist, right?
Back to the radio program, had I not had more important things to do than continue listening to the rantings of a bigoted radio host, I might have called the show with a few comments that tied into the topic of the day. I too have come across policies that are not evenly enforced at work. I have seen cases of people losing their jobs for making "politically incorrect" comments about sexual morality, abortion, non-Christian religions and a host of other things. Yet, when someone makes a joking reference to priests all being a bunch of child rapists, even on a radio station that broadcasts to almost an entire state of nearly 9 million, trust me, he'll still have his job tomorrow. It might not be dress code, but it's certainly a case of favoritism and selective enforcement of company policy.
Fact is, one abuse case, boy or girl, male or female perpetrator, is one too many. The Church abuse scandal never should have happened, and actually was worse because we spent decades trying to be, well, like the world. To paint priests as disproportionately disposed to molest or otherwise abuse children, however, in light of evidence showing it's just as likely to happen among teachers, government airport security, police, friends, relatives or any other group supposedly responsible for the protection of innocents is either a case of gross ignorance, deliberate deception and/or blatant anti-Catholic bigotry. And to those who would tell me the Church needs to just shut up about such and such issue because we have no credibility after the sex abuse scandal, while ignoring every other group guilty of the same thing, do me a favor. Change your heart, or unfriend me on any social media, lose my contact info and forget I exist. That way you can treat me as you would treat a priest. You obviously have a deep hatred for the Church, and I, as a layperson trying to live a faithful Catholic life, am just as much the Church as any member of the clergy.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
That Extraordinary Season
Today, Catholics around the globe celebrated the Baptism of the Lord, the official liturgical end of the Christmas Season. We remember Christ's baptism in the Jordan River by his cousin, St. John the Baptist, and the beginning of His public life, which is the primary focus of the readings from now until Lent.
The most confusing thing for me was always being told the Baptism of our Lord was the official end of the Christmas Season, meaning it was part of it, and yet next Sunday is the 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time. That's not the real focus of why I'm writing today, just sort of a side thought that always pops up this time of year.
Christmas, of course, centers around Jesus' birth, Advent on preparation for that. Lent prepares for Holy Week and Easter, where we recall His arrival in Jerusalem, His institution of the most Holy Eucharist, Crucifixion and Resurrection. But what of Ordinary Time? The first Ordinary Time, between the end of the Christmas Season and Ash Wednesday, focuses primarily on Christ's earthly ministry, His teachings. The second Ordinary Time, after the end of the Easter Season, actually points toward now, our mission while on this earth. Then Christ the King ends the liturgical year, as we focus on His eternal reign, essentially celebrating what will be at the end of time. We know the end of the story, God wins, reigns forever, so why not celebrate it now, even though in linear time we still must wait?
My reason for bringing all this up is that as the Christmas Season winds down each year, I always find myself lamenting the term "ordinary" when referring to anything religious. Sure, a few songs at Mass here and there are none too impressive, but to be able to come into God's presence, to receive His Son, Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity under the humble appearance of bread and wine? That is far from ordinary. Yet it is easy to lose God in the more mundane times of life. When the Nativity Scene is there in the church, it's easy to feel the wonder. When Alleluia is practically every other word after the Resurrection, the glory of it is palpable. During Advent and Lent, the sense of preparation, of the need for reform, it's easy to be humbled and be aware of our unworthiness. Ordinary Time, though, can feel just that. Perhaps that's deliberate.
St. Therese of Lisieux, also known as "The Little Flower," whom I will sometimes call "my girlfriend in heaven," (long story that perhaps I'll explain someday) did not view herself as someone who could do great things. She did, however, believe she could go about doing the little things in life with great love. This little nun who lived no more than two dozen years became a saint via this "little way" to Jesus. This simple young lady not only became a saint, but was also granted the title Doctor of the Church. Popes don't just hand that title out like central banks print money. One has to be a particularly inspiring individual for that title. Minds like Augustine and Thomas Aquinas becomes Doctors of the Church. Apparently, so do hearts like Therese.
So what does this have to do with me? Where does this lesson apply to my life? I wear many hats, musician, political activist, freight team member, yet the most important one God gives me is that of husband and father. As an at-home dad or househusband, there is plenty of ordinary work to do. Get breakfast ready and get the kids out the door in the morning, sweep, do laundry, mop, do the dishes, scrub the toilet, etc. On the surface, it's pretty ordinary, almost bland, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. When my three year old is still awake and defiant after 10 o'clock after being put to bed before 8, when a stomach bug makes its way through the family, when I'm meal planning, there are days I'd rather just crawl back in bed, hide my head under the covers, and just say, "Forget it, the same housework is just going to be there tomorrow," it's my love for my family that makes me get my butt in gear and do it. I'm imperfect, and sometimes it takes me time to rev up the engine, but I take care of those God has entrusted to my care.
Still, things get away from me. The work piles up, I get distracted, I get grumpy and don't feel like talking to anyone, and suddenly I'm not living my vocation very well. Is that the kind of fatherly love God has for me? Is that the kind of attitude Jesus came to earth to teach us to take? Absolutely not. He wants me to do all things I do, great and small, with an open, giving love.
Christ's public mission begins today. He has come to call His followers; will I say yes? His mission is to save souls; is mine open? His first place He comes is to His own people to wake them up; am I asleep? He will travel many miles, mainly in one of the most ordinary forms of travel, walking. He will perform miracles, make controversial proclamations, but He will also have many ordinary interactions. I, too, must take many ordinary steps in my mission, taking care of my family. What is your mission? Only you can answer that, but you will have your own share of ordinary moments and things to do. This Ordinary Time, let us embrace those moments and the people in them with extraordinary love in our hearts.
The most confusing thing for me was always being told the Baptism of our Lord was the official end of the Christmas Season, meaning it was part of it, and yet next Sunday is the 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time. That's not the real focus of why I'm writing today, just sort of a side thought that always pops up this time of year.
Christmas, of course, centers around Jesus' birth, Advent on preparation for that. Lent prepares for Holy Week and Easter, where we recall His arrival in Jerusalem, His institution of the most Holy Eucharist, Crucifixion and Resurrection. But what of Ordinary Time? The first Ordinary Time, between the end of the Christmas Season and Ash Wednesday, focuses primarily on Christ's earthly ministry, His teachings. The second Ordinary Time, after the end of the Easter Season, actually points toward now, our mission while on this earth. Then Christ the King ends the liturgical year, as we focus on His eternal reign, essentially celebrating what will be at the end of time. We know the end of the story, God wins, reigns forever, so why not celebrate it now, even though in linear time we still must wait?
My reason for bringing all this up is that as the Christmas Season winds down each year, I always find myself lamenting the term "ordinary" when referring to anything religious. Sure, a few songs at Mass here and there are none too impressive, but to be able to come into God's presence, to receive His Son, Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity under the humble appearance of bread and wine? That is far from ordinary. Yet it is easy to lose God in the more mundane times of life. When the Nativity Scene is there in the church, it's easy to feel the wonder. When Alleluia is practically every other word after the Resurrection, the glory of it is palpable. During Advent and Lent, the sense of preparation, of the need for reform, it's easy to be humbled and be aware of our unworthiness. Ordinary Time, though, can feel just that. Perhaps that's deliberate.
St. Therese of Lisieux, also known as "The Little Flower," whom I will sometimes call "my girlfriend in heaven," (long story that perhaps I'll explain someday) did not view herself as someone who could do great things. She did, however, believe she could go about doing the little things in life with great love. This little nun who lived no more than two dozen years became a saint via this "little way" to Jesus. This simple young lady not only became a saint, but was also granted the title Doctor of the Church. Popes don't just hand that title out like central banks print money. One has to be a particularly inspiring individual for that title. Minds like Augustine and Thomas Aquinas becomes Doctors of the Church. Apparently, so do hearts like Therese.
So what does this have to do with me? Where does this lesson apply to my life? I wear many hats, musician, political activist, freight team member, yet the most important one God gives me is that of husband and father. As an at-home dad or househusband, there is plenty of ordinary work to do. Get breakfast ready and get the kids out the door in the morning, sweep, do laundry, mop, do the dishes, scrub the toilet, etc. On the surface, it's pretty ordinary, almost bland, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. When my three year old is still awake and defiant after 10 o'clock after being put to bed before 8, when a stomach bug makes its way through the family, when I'm meal planning, there are days I'd rather just crawl back in bed, hide my head under the covers, and just say, "Forget it, the same housework is just going to be there tomorrow," it's my love for my family that makes me get my butt in gear and do it. I'm imperfect, and sometimes it takes me time to rev up the engine, but I take care of those God has entrusted to my care.
Still, things get away from me. The work piles up, I get distracted, I get grumpy and don't feel like talking to anyone, and suddenly I'm not living my vocation very well. Is that the kind of fatherly love God has for me? Is that the kind of attitude Jesus came to earth to teach us to take? Absolutely not. He wants me to do all things I do, great and small, with an open, giving love.
Christ's public mission begins today. He has come to call His followers; will I say yes? His mission is to save souls; is mine open? His first place He comes is to His own people to wake them up; am I asleep? He will travel many miles, mainly in one of the most ordinary forms of travel, walking. He will perform miracles, make controversial proclamations, but He will also have many ordinary interactions. I, too, must take many ordinary steps in my mission, taking care of my family. What is your mission? Only you can answer that, but you will have your own share of ordinary moments and things to do. This Ordinary Time, let us embrace those moments and the people in them with extraordinary love in our hearts.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
New Year's Resolutions, Body and Soul
It's 2014, and to catch up on the last several months of non-blogging, I don't have a hernia...yet, I don't have testicular cancer, and I'm sick of fear. Last year, 2013, was the year I think I discovered a lot of my fears, named 'em and claimed 'em. I've heard it said you have to know fear to discover courage, so this year is the year I discover the courage I need to face down these paralyzing fears and live.
I had meant to blog a month ago, at the start of Advent, which begins the new liturgical year in the Catholic calendar, as I make a lot of my more religious New Year's resolutions then. I'm off to a decent start on those, and I hope to grow a lot more as time goes on. My resolutions for the soul in liturgical year 2014 are:
1) Thank God every morning when I wake and each night when I go to bed. I've often been God's ungrateful little brat in my prayer life, and I think just two little thank You prayers each day would do wonders in improving my attitude.
2) Attend weekday Mass when possible, as well as Adoration. During the Christmas break, I got to Mass the day after Christmas, which is my Mom's birthday (remembering you at the Altar, where it counts), and I hope to take special advantage of that at times when school's not in session.
3) Daily Rosary and Divine Mercy Chaplet. I'm always in a better place, even if the world is crumbling around me, when I'm faithful to those devotions.
4) Be less grumpy and more pleasant, even when people and life are not.
Now on to my temporal ones. I was going to get a whole big workout routine going, but then I realized getting involved in those things always seems to be going through the motions with me. So I decided to live by the motto, "I'm corporeal, not athletic." Sounds healthy, right? That said, in all seriousness, I'm going to eat healthier (specifically more fruits and vegetables and less junk), and exercise three times a week. Even if there's no specific routine, I figure fifteen minutes of cardio and fifteen minutes of some sort of strength training to start. Get moving and active, and the routine will come, and stop stressing and obsessing about it.
Last summer, I recorded four original acoustic songs. I resolve to get those released as an EP. I'll keep you posted on it. I also have a plan to record and release a Christmas album (combined originals and traditional songs). It will be an a capella compilation, and I already have the interest from the rest of the quartet. The plan is to record over the summer, and have it ready for release by the fall.
Begin at least one thing off my "I want to learn" list. Oh, and I recently wrote down a list of things I want to learn, whether it's a skill, a language, religious writings, political writings, economic writings, etc. I want to get a serious start on at least one thing. When I make progress, I'll share it.
The last thing originally on the list, well I probably gave myself enough to cry about last year by getting into putting myself down. Enough of that! No more scrawny talk, no more weak talk, no more obsessing over past mistakes. Somehow, sometime this year, at least once, I plan to give myself a reason to weep for joy. I'm building myself up, not out of a sense of superiority, but out of respect for myself as a child of God. If Jesus calls me to love my neighbor as myself, then I should have a healthy, unconditional love for myself, so as to love my neighbor better.
One other thing, added right before the end of the year, is to be a lot stricter with my household budget. Without going into public detail, we're careless about what we spend. There are going to be a lot of spending cuts in the Mankowski family. Hey Congress! Mr. President! If you have the NSA monitoring my family for some of my writings, I urge you to pay attention now. This is what we do. If we can't afford something, we'll either eliminate or reduce it.
That said, it's almost lunch time. Time for a quick workout, followed by finishing off some leftovers with a side salad, so I'm not throwing away food. Happy New Year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)