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Of Melodies and Messiahs

Friday, December 23rd, 2011

The time in and around Christmas has always been one of my very favorites, and for many reasons – the festivities and food, get togethers with family and friends long distant, the decorations, the well-wishes that come from near and far – and even the shopping believe it or not (I love to go into the stores when they are abuzz to pick out “the perfect gift” for loved ones!) But probably as much as any of these, it is the music that accompanies the arrival of Christmas that I love the most. Christmas songs at this time of year can seem ubiquitous of course – some very sappy, and others very trite (“Grandma got run over by a Reindeer” comes to mind…). And yet, for those songs that maintain their focus on the real “reason for the season” – the birth of Our Lord Jesus in that stable in Bethlehem – there is still something good and wholesome and profound in walking all around the city and hearing everywhere you go music that heralds the arrival of Our Savior.

 

I have some favorite Christmas songs of course; on the top of my list has always been “Do You Hear What I Hear” – which I always thought was a “traditional” song, but in doing some research for this post discovered was first written in October 1962 making it just a little bit older then I am – how is that for a little bit of unwelcome information!  Interestingly, the song was written in the midst of the Cuban Missile Crisis as a plea for peace in a world threatened with nuclear annihilation. The reason that I love this song in not only for its melody – which of course is beautiful – but most particularly for its message: the lyrics relate the story of Jesus’ birth but actually do so in a very ambiguous manner. Jesus’ name in fact is never actually mentioned. Instead He is spoken of as simply “the Child” – the Child who is simultaneously  “shivering in the cold”, “sleeping in the night” and who will bring us “goodness and light”. The anonymity of the Christ Child in the song is to my mind reflective of the circumstances of Jesus’ actual birth – far, far away from the political, religious and economic power centers of Rome and Jerusalem in the tiny little backwater village of Bethlehem, and not even in an inn, but in a place where they kept the animals. The song continues to reflect the humble circumstances of Christ’s actual birth in the manner that it relates how the news of Jesus’ arrival is passed along – beginning with the lowly little lamb – most certainly one of the least of God’s creature – up to the Shepard Boy, who then tells the mighty King, who eventually proclaims the message to people everywhere. In spreading the word of Jesus’ Nativity, the song very much takes the route that God Himself actually takes in the Gospels: beginning in the stable, moving out to the Shepherds in the fields, then on to the Magi from the East and then out to every corner of the world. In a very sublime way, this simple song communicates God’s gentle ways of speaking to the human heart – not with bombast and ostentation, but instead in the beauty of simplicity and honesty.

 

Another favorite at Christmas is a bit more offbeat – not so much for the song as for the version that I like. The song is “We Three Kings of Orient Are“, and it too is beautiful, and it is also “traditional” in that very real sense, being that it was written in 1857 – making it considerably older then me thank goodness, and sharing with me only the fact that our origins both trace to New York City. There are very many magnificent recordings of this song and I appreciate them all, but the version that I most particularly like is the one released in 1997 by the New York down-town Rock and Roll song-writer and performer Patti Smith on the album “A Very Special Christmas 3”  - which was issued by the Special Olympics organization to raise funds for their excellent programs for special needs children. Smith’s rendition of the song is a bit different from the others that you sometimes hear – very atmospheric in nature; the song intersperses verses from the Gospel of Matthew regarding the visit of the Magi to the crib in Bethlehem (Matthew 2: 9-15) with the verses of the traditional song sung in a very foreboding, gothic manner. Melody is a very powerful conveyor of mood, and to be quite honest I think that this almost off-putting arrangement that Ms. Smith couples the lyrics and Matthew’s Gospel account to communicates very effectively the very humble, vulnerable and dangerous circumstances of Jesus’ actual birth. When recounting the Christmas story – which has been sentimentalized by the media and trivialized by commerce – we need to remember that Mary and Joseph lived within a Palestine that was occupied by the ruthless forces of the Roman Empire, the journey that they took from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the orders of the dictatorial occupying power Emperor Caesar Augustus was a long, dangerous and arduous one – especially for the pregnant teenage Mary. Upon arriving in Bethlehem of course the Holy Family found themselves homeless, and were forced to take lodging in a dirty animal stall that would today probably be comparable to giving birth in a commercial garage. Then upon the birth of the Christ Child, there was the threat of death from King Herod the Great – a thug and local puppet enforcer of Roman authority so threatened by this humble birth that he murdered countless other children in a fruitless attempt to retain his worldly power. As a response to this very real threat, the Holy Family was then forced to flee to a foreign country, which of course would render them as refugees in today’s world. This is the actual story of Christmas – without the sentimentality and saccharin coating we sometimes try to place upon it. Perhaps we do so because we do not want to imagine Mary, and Joseph and Jesus Himself in such humble and vulnerable and dangerous circumstances – perhaps it frightens us to do so. But being frightened by the circumstances of Jesus’ humble birth is the exact opposite of what God intended to communicate on that first Christmas night. We need to recall that the first words that the angels heralding Jesus’ birth spoke to the shepherds in the fields were “Do not be afraid!” By choosing these exact circumstances in order to become flesh and blood, Jesus is teaching us all a lesson: these circumstances never diminished the inherent human dignity of His Holy Family – no, instead they show us that human dignity is never dependent on where one is born, on whether one has a home or not, on whether one is rich or poor, on whether one is welcome or unwelcome. Jesus’ birth into difficult circumstances should remind us all that – like Him – every person we encounter must be valued as preciously as we would value the Christ child Himself – this I believe is and remains the true message of Christmas.

 

It is my prayer that this Christmas, you all may find the Peace, Joy and Hope that was born to us in that humble stable on that first Christmas day and that these gifts from God remain in your heart throughout the coming year. A Blessed Christmas!

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Gratitude for Things Unearned…

Wednesday, November 23rd, 2011

Late November is upon us – and as with every year, the autumn days grow shorter, the air gets cooler, and the leaves fall off the trees. But before those naked brambles are adorned with the bright festive lights that will mark the beginning of Advent and the approach of Christmas, we here in the United States are blessed to celebrate what is our unique inheritance from our Puritan Pilgrim forefathers and foremothers – the wonderful feast of Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is the holiday that gives us a welcome respite from the over-all business of our lives, where we are encouraged to take the time to reflect on the state of our little corner of the world and give thanks for those things that we have been bestowed with – much of it with little or no effort on our own. Now of course, Thanksgiving does not require of us a willful act of amnesia: this has been a decidedly difficult period for many – here in New York, in our country, and around the world. A lot of people are struggling: unemployment is stubbornly high, economic growth remains persistently low, and “responsible government” seems to be a contradiction in terms. Still, there is a tremendous number of things that we as a global community ought to be thankful for; on the whole, the world’s population is healthier, wealthier, smarter and – believe or not – more peaceful then it ever has been before in recorded history. Democracy and freedom are spreading – aided significantly through the advent of social networking – and ever-increasing numbers of people globally are gaining access to those things that they need to lead a more dignified and human life. Now, this stated does not mean that we do not have significant challenges ahead of us in addressing the needs of those still too many who live lives of unnecessary suffering: however, we would be remiss if we were not incredibly grateful for the abundance with which we have been bestowed.

As it turns out, such feelings of gratitude appear to be a “gift that keeps on giving”: recent psychological studies seem to indicate that an attitude of “giving thanks” bestows upon us better health, sounder sleep, less anxiety and depression, higher satisfaction with life and kinder behavior towards others. In short, it seems that a posture of gratitude appears to be “hard wired” to our own well-being. This actually makes basic sense to me: I have always felt that the “grass is always greener” syndrome leads us to – to use a contemporary term – an “unsustainable” attitude towards living. For myself, in taking stock, I can honestly say that I have so very much in my life to be grateful for: my work, my home, my freedoms, my faith – but most particularly, I am especially grateful for the most precious gifts that I have: the people in my life – my family and my friends – and the oceans of love that they provide me with, which pours into my soul and sustains my very being. Without each one of these precious gifts, I could honestly say that I would not be the man that I have become today – hopefully more for the good then the ill! I am mindful of the fact that this love is a gift and is – to a significant degree –unearned. In fact, it is this unearned character that gives this love it characteristic as gift. And it is this particular characteristic of gift that brings me to perhaps what some may see as a particularly peculiar thing that I am most significantly grateful for this Thanksgiving – the only thing in my estimation that enables this gift that is love to keep on flowing – and that is the gift of forgiveness.

Forgiveness – like love itself – can be worked earnestly towards, but it can never be guaranteed. Like love, forgiveness is in the purview of the bestower to grant, and in this sense it is a gift: completely unearned. On a fundamental level, forgiveness is – to my estimation – one of the most essential components of human life: as important to the flourishing of the soul as water, or food, or air is to the body. Forgiveness frees the forgiver, and is completely restorative of the forgiven – it can even be transformative. So essential is forgiveness to human flourishing that the Lord Jesus Himself raised the very act of forgiveness to the level of a Sacrament in Reconciliation: God’s love reaching down to unburden our souls and restore them to their full dignity. Forgiveness truly is the prerequisite of the peaceful heart.

In my line of work – support for the social mission and ministry of the Church – one phrase that is often repeated are the words of Pope Paul VI in his message for World Day of Peace in 1972: “If you want Peace, Work for Justice”; thirty years later, Blessed John Paul II on the occasion of the World Day of Peace in 2002 very wisely added to his predecessors phraseology by telling people that there is “No Peace without Justice”, but adding that there is “No Justice without Forgiveness”. Perhaps Pope Paul VI did not add that second phrase to his World Day of Peace Message because he was writing at a more innocent time, but I think – because of the particularly harsh conditions that Blessed John Paul II lived through: the Nazi take-over of Poland, the Holocaust and other atrocities of the Second World War, and life behind the Iron Curtain during the totalitarian communist period of the Cold War – Pope John Paul II was particularly cognizant of the importance of forgiveness in world affairs – from the personal to the societal. It’s my prayer this Thanksgiving that we take this wise and saintly man’s words to heart.

So this Thanksgiving; I ask you dear readers to please give thanks for – and practice – the gift that is love, the gift that is forgiveness, and to please be ever grateful every encounter with every single human person that you meet along your way.

God bless you all!

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Give Them Something to Eat…

Monday, November 7th, 2011

Dear Readers…

Sorry about the little delay in posting, but like so many others lately I have been – if you’ll pardon the ubiquitous pun – a little “pre-occupied”.

In this pre-“occupation” I am seemingly in good – and teaming – company. Whether one counts themselves among the under-employed, debt-ridden and under-insured members of the 99% of the “Occupy the–Fill-in-the Blank Movement”, the over-worked and over-taxed 53%, the 18th Century Costume Wearing over-regulated Tea Party Movement, or even the Pontifical Council of Justice and Peace at the Vatican in Rome; it seems that just about every-body lately is pre-occupied thinking and talking and complaining about the dismal state of the global financial system. While there is no unanimity amongst those complaining about the state of the world’s finances on how to best fix what is wrong, there definitely seems to be a consensus that things are seriously awry and that we need corrective action – sooner as opposed to later.

I actually went down a number of weeks ago with a friend to visit Zuccotti Park in Lower Manhattan and see for myself the goings on at the “Occupy Wall Street” Movement’s (or OWS) ground zero as it were. I had been reading a lot about the protests for several weeks from various sources, and I wanted to see for myself exactly what was going on that was sparking so much interest across the globe. What I witnessed there was a collection of people – from various walks of life and different age groups – who felt significant alienation from the direction that their society was taking, as well as a certain inability to control the powerful forces that were shaping society in what they felt to be very detrimental ways. To a certain extent, these “Occupiers” – although politically far removed from the conservative Tea Party Movement – were united with that other movement in a spirit of disenfranchisement: feeling that the world is changing in fundamental ways that are beyond the abilities of ordinary people – the 99% if you will – to control. This is certainly a feeling that I in my more despairing moments could commiserate with, and because of this feeling I – for one – was not surprised when the “Occupy Movement” sprouted legs and wings and spread to over 900 cities across the globe.

I will blog more about OWS and the events in Zuccotti Park in future posts, but for now I’d actually like to tell you a bit about another place in lower Manhattan – one of my favorite spots in the city actually, and a place only about 4 or 5 blocks west of where OSW is located – on the banks of the Hudson River in a small park located in Battery Park City. It is there that you will find New York City’s memorial to the great Irish famine that occurred from 1845 to 1852 – which began with a blighted potato crop and was exacerbated by a confluence of political inaction that increased an already desperate situation. Fully one-third of the people living in Ireland at that time – one half million – died of starvation, and another third – of whom I am a living descendant – emigrated in a great diaspora out to any ports that would welcome them all over the world. The memorial itself is beautiful: a rugged half-acre of cantilevered landscape thickly planted with native Irish flora and plants growing in fallow fields, along with the remains of an authentic, famine era Irish cottage; beneath is a stratified base of glass and fossilized Irish limestone that creates a space where accounts of historical and contemporary sentiments about hunger world-wide are etched in the glass and broadcast from an audio installation overhead. All in all, this space does what memorials at their best are supposed to do: it raises public awareness about an event that happened long ago that led to the Irish Famine of 1845-52, while encouraging its viewers to address the causes of current and future hunger world-wide.

Hunger has been in my thoughts a lot lately, primarily because for the past week I – along with our Executive Director Msgr. Kevin Sullivan and several of my colleagues here at Catholic Charities – have been participating in “The Food Stamp Challenge”, an annual campaign sponsored by the “Fight Poverty with Faith” Mobilization – of which Catholic Charities USA is a partnering organization – which ran between October 27th to November 6th; the goal of the Food Stamp Challenge is to encourage participants to live for one week on the average national benefit given to those who are on the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, which roughly translates to approximately $31.50 per week, or $4.50 a day. Let me tell you – that’s not a lot of money…especially here in New York City, and its not easy to restrict your shopping budget for a week to what many of us might pay for a single meal in a restaurant. Being on such a restricted budget certainly presented it’s challenges, but armed with a shopping list and a calculator, I set out to the supermarket to plan out my meals for the week returning with staples that consisted mostly of oatmeal (store variety), brown rice, frozen vegetables and on sale chunk light tuna (in water of course!) These were the mainstays of my diet & accept for a Saturday night treat of a 10-piece McNugget (no fries or soda); I pretty much stayed to the challenge, winding up with just under $5.00 by weeks end. During the challenge – while I have to admit that I was not REALY every truly “pangs in the stomach” hungry – what I can tell you is that the cuisine I was eating left me definitely uninspired. While oatmeal (made with water and no milk), dry canned tuna, brown rice and frozen chopped carrots, beans, corn and peas might be healthy, they are not the tastiest things to eat on a daily basis. In fact, to give myself a little flavor, I used to use packets of soy sauce I had saved from Chinese take-out and add it to the brown rice and vegetables – that definitely gave it a flavor, with all that sodium, I shudder to consider what my blood pressure must be now!

All in all though, I am glad that I have taken the challenge, and I certainly do not want to complain: it seems to me that there is something unseemly about complaining about a situation that you voluntarily take on in order to attempt to understand the reality that others live but have little choice about. In fact, the past week’s experiences reminded me a little of the time that I spent in Africa last September, when we were staying in some of the guest houses with larger groups of people back in Tanzania. Often, the dinner meals that were served were put out at one time to feed all who were staying there, and we would all line up cafeteria style to serve ourselves from whatever was being prepared. I almost always found myself at the end of the line, and sometimes when I got to the front, whatever the meat that was being served was gone, and all that was left was white rice and sauerkraut (not a favorite), which I would combine on my plate and eat because I was hungry. Then – as with last week – I found after eating such a meal that I definitely was not hungry, but also not fully satisfied either; and yet – then as now – I did not complain about my meal because having been in Ethiopia in the days before – to witness first-hand the tremendous work that Catholic Relief Services does to provide food assistance to that drought ravaged region in the Horn of Africa – it would have been not only unseemly but obscene to do so.

The Food Stamp Challenge this year comes at a time of great challenge to our financially-strapped nation and its historic moral commitment to feed the hungry at home and abroad. As many of you are aware – in an effort to address the burgeoning budget crisis here at home, the Congressional Joint Select Committee on Deficit Reduction is working on producing a plan to reduce the deficit by $1.5 trillion dollars; the day that this deficit reduction plan is due is – ironically – the day before Thanksgiving. Many anti-hunger advocates are concerned that the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program that provides food stamp assistance to those struggling to put a meal on the table might be a target for massive funding cuts. In addition, another area that appears to be ripe for budget cutters is slashing financing for the State Department and its related agencies – this at a time of desperate humanitarian crises across the world; life saving, poverty-focused international assistance that fights hunger, disease and poverty makes up less then 1% of the U.S. Federal Budget, and yet the Unites States Senate is currently looking to drastically cut this funding. Sadly, it seems clear that reducing the federal deficit by 1% will not balance the federal budget; in fact, the one thing that such action seems certain to do – at a time that 12 million people in East Africa are facing malnutrition and starvation – is cost lives.

Through my work, I have been blessed to witness how such U.S. government assistance helps Catholic Relief Services and other similar agencies quite literally save live overseas, and how back home similar assistance helps Catholic Charities ensure that the families of those trying to make ends meet don’t have to literally skip meals as they struggle to pay their bills from month to month. In a recently published book “Three Famines: Starvation and Politics” about three of the greatest famines in history: the Irish Potato Famine of 1845, the Bengal famine in India in 1943-44, and the Ethiopian famines of the 1970s & 80s, author Thomas Keneally writes persuasively about how politics helps to turn a crop failure into a famine. As Keneally notes, famine is caused less by a failure to produce food then it is by a failure to distribute food correctly – mostly because those in power feel they are not accountable to the starving. Unfortunately today, the hungry do not have a large and vocal constituency: and that’s where we come in!

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops and Catholic Relief Services are both now currently advocating with both houses of Congress and the Administration to ensure that needed hunger-related assistance – both international and domestic – is not compromised in the current deficit reduction debate; to add your voice to these efforts please press the links here and follow the related instructions; in this way you can help to ensure that the words of the Lord in the Gospel are made manifest when he said to “give the people something to eat”. After all, for Christians feeding the hungry is not some peripheral “nice thing” that we should do if we’ve got the time – its literally part of our “final exam” that Jesus told us about on the Sermon on the Mount, along with clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger and caring for the ill. Since we already know what we are to be graded on, there is really no excuse for us to get this one wrong. In fact, no less an authority then the Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, in his message for World Food Day back on October16th went so far as to say that “liberation from the yoke of hunger is the first concrete manifestation of the right to life, which – despite its having been solemnly proclaimed – is often very far from being fulfilled effectively.” Its up to us to remedy this situation – to ensure that what has been solemnly proclaimed is fulfilled effectively…….While the rest of the world’s attention is focused on the 99% fighting the alleged evils of the top 1%, with the 53% somewhere in the middle, lets be sure that our attention is focused on the 15% who live here below the poverty level – and the much larger percentage of our brothers and sisters who do across our world.

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Without You, The Church is Not Whole…

Monday, September 19th, 2011

(In honor of this year’s International Week of the Deaf (September 19th thru 25th, 2011) – and in solidarity with our Deaf brothers and sisters both here in New York and across the globe – I have asked my colleague Sister Barbara Ann Sgro, Coordinator of Deaf Services for the Hudson Valley, to reflect on her work with and for the Deaf community here in the Archdiocese)

I am used to being asked questions about my religious vocation. There seems to be a natural curiosity for people when they first meet religious Sisters as they probe, “Why did you become a nun, what do nuns do?” Very gently I take the time to explain that I am a Sister, not a nun and that there is a difference between the two. I then proceed to share a little bit about my vocation. So some months after I began my current ministry as a Pastoral Worker with the Deaf, someone I had recently met said to me, “I’d like to ask you a question.” I was prepared, or so I thought …

The “someone” was Deacon Patrick Graybill, a Deaf Deacon from Rochester, NY who is highly revered in the international Deaf Community, and his question was loaded. “Why,” he basically asked, “do you, a hearing person who is still learning American Sign Language (ASL) want to work with the Deaf?” After some seconds (which felt like hours) of processing his question, I responded, “Because without the inclusion of the Deaf, the Church is not whole.”

Deacon Patrick smiled and gave me a quiet nod of affirmation. I relaxed a bit, but truthfully, I’m not sure why. Giving Deacon Patrick the wording of that answer was the easy part; unpacking it is the ongoing challenge of my ministry that I will share with you.

I came into Deaf ministry equipped primarily with a deep love for God’s people, particularly those whom society holds on its margins. I’m not sure the sign language I knew at the time really counted, I had taken an intro class in my early college years as part of my study for working with adults with intellectual disabilities. I knew words (or signs) like eat, toilet, and help. These hardly qualified for everyday conversation.

One of my first challenges was finding out that using the respectful “people first language” that was so much a part of me (e.g., people with intellectual disabilities, people who are deaf) was not the proper way to go. Getting to know the people I minister with taught me that if I was to be an effective pastoral minister, I had to let go of my idea of deafness as a disability. To them, being referred to as Deaf is a positive thing. It’s a source of pride and identity; it is not offensive at all. I was truly amazed by how readily the Deaf welcomed me into their world of Deaf Culture (We’ll talk about what that is in a few minutes.) Everyone was willing to “teach me” but I knew I couldn’t just rest in that. I sensed how important it would be for me to “earn my keep.”

Now here is where hearing people like me have to sort out some confusion. There is the physical condition of being born deaf; that gets a small “d”. But on the other hand, when you talk about someone in relation to his or/her identity within the Deaf Culture that gets a capital “D”. It was hard for me in the beginning to get used to referring to people as Deaf. But now I get it.

Deaf Culture also values Deaf schools and has its own social etiquette rules, e.g. it is actually not rude to walk between two people signing with one another. Deaf Culture is also built around the native language of the Deaf—American Sign Language (ASL). I often hear people say how beautiful this language is. This is true for me also, but even more true is that it is capable of expressing so much more than words ever could. I never realized before how different ASL was from Signed English, which is basically a word for word translation of English. ASL is a true language in and of itself, whereas Signed English is not a natural language but created in hope to make English more visible with one’s hands.

The more I learn about Deaf Culture, the more I realize how “Christian” Deaf Culture can be. I say this because it is rooted in community sharing and caring and respect for one another. I feel Deaf power at its best can be aligned with the social justice taught by Jesus—used for the common good of the community and not for personal gain.

Self –advocacy is another important part of Deaf Culture. Some of us may remember the Deaf President Now protest at Gallaudet University in 1988. Gallaudet University was the first institution for college level liberal arts education of the deaf and hard of hearing in the world. At that time in 1988, the University was seeking a new President. There were several highly qualified candidates. All of them were deaf except one. The students advocated for a Deaf President who culturally understood their needs. Then the hearing candidate was hired. The students held a week-long carefully-engineered protest. At the end of the week, the school replaced the new hearing President with a Deaf President. The University responded in a manner that was socially just.

The need for social justice is so much a part of the Deaf experience. Having the privilege to be in pastoral ministry with the Deaf, two of my primary responsibilies are to support the faith-life / religious and sacramental education of the Deaf and to ensure that Deaf are respected in ways that are socially just. These are very challenging tasks.

How can the Deaf live the Good News in fullness if their access to their Church and the Good News is limited? We are socially conditioned to understand that access basically means ramps, automatic doors and ample seats at the end of a row. But doesn’t access also mean having the opportunity to fully participate in one’s faith? Deaf people are often called “eye people.” Why? Because they take in everything visually. How can we challenge ourselves to make the Gospel more accessible using their primary input mode? I wonder in what ways we can make our Church buildings and our environmental designs more visually accessible. I also wonder how we can challenge ourselves to be more open in inviting the Deaf to their right to taking more active roles in our liturgies.

In 2009, the Pontifical Council for Health Care ministry focused on the hearing-impaired person in the Church. One of its outcomes is that we need to make the Gospel more accessible to the Deaf. Throughout our Archdiocese we facilitate religious education and adult faith formation programs. I have many questions. How might we dream and plan programs that are accessible to the Deaf? How can we tap into the rich faith of the Deaf so that the leaders among them can rise? How can we be more socially just in welcoming the Deaf into their rightful places in the Church. We definitely have technology to our advantage here.

There have been twelve Deaf priests and several Deaf deacons ordained in the United States since 1977. Amazing you are probably thinking, I’m thinking there are many more vocations out there. Their stories are powerful and filled with overcoming struggle. I am hopeful that we have the resolve to change this for the future generations to give glory to God. There is so much deep faith and so much more to be untapped.

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Decades…

Saturday, September 10th, 2011

When I was a younger man attending Manhattan College in Riverdale New York (feels like 1,000,000 years ago!), my maternal grandmother – a petite and beautiful woman, with model-strait posture who very much resembled Katherine Hepburn who was born and raise on a farm in rural Western Ireland before World War I – lived with us. Because of proximity, she had a tremendous impact – though indirect – on my up-bring and on me becoming the person I am. That impact extended out from me and my family to our circle of friends and acquaintances – particularly the group of friends that I had at college. I can’t begin to tell you how many times my grandmother’s little snippets of Irish country wisdom – from things like “Self praise is no recommendation” directed at those whose view from the heights of their own pedestal had become a little too clouded, to “wish in one hand, wee in the other and see which one weighs the most” some toilet-training humor directed at me when I was a little too busy dreaming and not quite busy enough studying – brought delight to my friends, not only for their wry humor but also because of the underlying truth that gave these sayings their foundation in a knowledge earned through a life well lived. Even today when I get together with my college friends we still reminisce about these sayings and how true over time many of her lessons have proven.

My grandmother had other saying of course, one of which was “time heals all wounds” – not her’s really as I’ve heard it repeated often by others in many context. She would always try to sooth someone’s pain away by gently assuring them that – no matter the hurt – the passage of time was the salve that would close their wound forever and take all the hurt way. As with her other sayings, I never doubted the veracity of my Nan-Nan’s statement – but now, to be honest, I am not so sure. It’s not that I think that my grandmother intentionally told me something that was untrue – I can honestly say that I know for a fact that this women NEVER lied to me about anything in all our time together – its just that now perhaps my perspective has changed; all the more-so as I write this blog post from my Office in Manhattan in the days approaching the tenth anniversary of the terrible events of September 11, 2001.

As anniversary’s go of course this is one that many of us – particularly those of us who were in Manhattan on that day – wish that we did not need to remember; so changed did our world become – both by the events in Manhattan and Washington and Pennsylvania on that particular day, and the consequences felt around the world because of those events to this very day – that it is with trepidation that we approach September’s coming around on the calendar. In many ways for a lot of us, such reactions are not intellectual but quite literally visceral: this was brought home to me in an all too real way only two weeks ago, on Tuesday, August 23rd. On that day as many may remember – at 2 O’clock p.m. – the Mid-Atlantic region experienced an earthquake that measure 5.8 on the Richter Scale, an unusual occurrence for sure, that interrupted cell-phone service, disrupted train travel, and caused tens of thousands to evacuate from their office buildings in some of the country’s largest population centers. So unexpected and nerve-rattling was this event that news of it spread quickly on the news-wires from coast to coast and across the globe. Thankfully no lives were lost in the event, but many structures were sadly damaged including the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. and several buildings in Catholic University of America.

Ordinarily at the time that the quake hit I would be sitting where I am right now – at my desk at the Chancery Building in Mid-town Manhattan – and probably would’ve joined the many other New Yorkers who quickly evacuated their office buildings for the street; but on that day I was fortunate enough to have had off, and was sitting in my apartment reading. I had been out earlier in the day enjoying the beauty of summer in late August: it was -I remember – a beautiful cloud free day, clear blue sky, low humidity, warm but with a cool breeze blowing. At the time of the quake I was sitting on my bed (as a studio dweller, there honestly are not many other places in my apartment to sit and read) and as such, did not experience the shaking sensation caused by the quake – most probably because the springs absorbed the shock. As a result, I was unaware that anything had indeed occurred. The first clue that I had that something was amiss was that in the span of about five minutes I received several phone calls in succession on my cell phone – from my family in Westchester, and several friends; oddly as I attempted to pick up the calls they were dropped, and when I attempted to return the calls the service was dead. At first I was perplexed, but as I sat and contemplated the coincidence of receiving these multiple calls – coupled with the lack of cell phone service, and the beautiful cloudless weather outside – my confusion turned to anxiety: I remembered this feeling….I had been in this place before. Quickly, I turned on the radio to find out what was going on, and was frankly – oddly – relieved to discover that the proximate cause of these coincidences was a minor earthquake and nothing more sinister.

Later on that evening and in the intervening weeks, I have gone back to this seemingly simple occurrence and have been surprised at my reaction: I’m usually not a person that jumps to conclusions or immediately assumes the worst in a situation…but given my experiences that afternoon – the inability to communicate with others, the feeling of helplessness in not knowing what was going on, and, oddly enough, the magnificent weather on that day – it was not my mind but something much deeper inside me that took me back to that place that I did not want to be in – a place that perhaps I sought to forget, but that my body remember all too well. It took this seemingly innocuous event – an earthquake where thankfully no one was seriously hurt – to get me to understand that no matter how much we think we have “moved on” there are some things that we cannot help but remember, and that perhaps- just perhaps – this is not such a bad thing. After all, much of what we do religiously as Catholics are acts of sacred “remembering” – everything from our participation at the Mass, where the words of the consecration of the Blessed Sacrament literally implore us to remember in our hearts and in our heads the great sacrifice that Our Lord Jesus made on our behalf, to the recitation of the Holy Rosary, where every Decade asks us to contemplate the events of the life of Our Blessed Mother: the Joyful, and the Glorious, but the Sorrowful as well. In Her ancient wisdom, perhaps the Church understands all too well not just the importance but the necessity of such remembering for we human beings, and offers in Her actions of sacred remembrance a path for us to follow approach the Tenth Anniversary of September 11, 2001.

As we remember this day, our feeling will of course return naturally to a place of tragedy, of loss, of tears, of pain that our wounds still cause us, but in remembering perhaps we should try equally to also remember – and especially honor – the place of the selfless acts of bravery, of honor, of devotion, of love, of condolence and of generosity that that day, and its aftermath, also represent. In remembering the events of 9/11, we have not only much to honor – the memory of all those we lost that day who will live forever in our hearts – but also much to be grateful for: the heroic example of our First Responders, the simple acts of compassion between strangers so evident on that day, and the generosity from those around the nation and the world who reached out to our wounded city at the time of our greatest need and offered help and prayers and love as we struggled to recover.

Perhaps the words that my grandmother spoke to me all those years ago – that “time heals all wounds” – was not literally true; time may not literally heal all wounds. What time does definitely do however is change things. So much has changed in the decade since 9/11 – in both my personal life and the world. For me, this decade has seen me leave the suburbs and – perhaps counter-intuitively – move into the city, this has in turn opened up my world tremendously, and allowed me to meet people from around our nation and across the globe. In the decade since September 11, 2001, I have developed many new wonderful friendships, and conversely have lost some of the people who were closest to me on that day. I miss them of course still – but my new friendships have given me a strength and support system that has sustained me over the intervening years. Change is always hard, but without change growth is not possible. As time inexorably changes things, as Christians, perhaps it is our role to be the balm my grandmother spoke of in her saying – to be the ones who “heal the wounds” that time creates; to work to see to it that change is for the better. In ways great and small this has always been the Christian story, and continues to be in the 21st Century. That is my prayer this Anniversary, and one for which I have hope. So much has changed in the decade since September 2001- some for the good, much for the ill – but in looking back over this decade, as obscure as it can sometimes appear going forward in time, I trust that God’s hand is at work….in fact, I know that it is…I have got the proof…for you see two weeks ago – when after the earthquake I was alone and confused  and fearful in my apartment in New York City and returned to that place I did not wish to go, the frantic phone calls that I received to check on my well being came not only from family and friends here, but from Saudi Arabia as well.

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Why Do You Look for the Living among the Dead…

Friday, April 22nd, 2011

One of the things that I think sets New Yorkers most apart from people from many other parts of the country is our distinct appreciation for the concept of irony – whether its in our humor (it’s no coincidence that the sitcom “Seinfeld” – perhaps the most ironic comedy ever produced on television – is set in New York City), or in recognition of the sometimes circuitous journey that life take us on, New Yorkers appreciate irony like almost no other people on Earth. Given this fact – and considering that I am a born & bred New Yorker – I have always found the events of Holy Week extraordinarily powerful. It is a week of events that to the common observer appears to begin with Earthly exaltation ending five days later in apparent weakness, humiliation and death…..and yet to believing eyes, these circumstances are quite the opposite – the events at the culmination of this most Holy of weeks signifying not the destruction of a particular life that those in authority in that time and place had intended – but instead, the beginning of life renewed for all of us; a sacrificial gift of love that created hope of life renewed for us all. It is for this reason that we Christians call the Friday of this week “Good” Friday – it is not because the things that happened to Jesus on that day were in any sense good: the conviction of an innocent man for reasons of politics and religious intolerance, His scourging and torture, and His eventual execution by the means employed by the governing authority of that day on a Cross, are by no means “good” things – neither today nor 2,000 years ago. No instead, we Christians call this day “Good Friday” because it was on this day that Jesus Christ took on the means employed by the governing civic and religious authorities of his day who intended to utterly humiliate, degrade and destroy him by those means, and yet – by the power of His loving sacrifice – He transformed these terrible events into the birth of hope for the world that has endured for the over 2,000 intervening years since that day when those in authority thought that they had finally “taken care” of what they considered to be their “Jesus problem”.

This thought about the irony of the fact that we Christians dare call the day of Jesus’ loving sacrifice “Good” Friday hit me recently when a colleague of mine – after I had returned from the Sirius/ XM studios with our Executive Director Msgr. Kevin Sullivan after the taping of one of his “JustLove” programs – asked me about the topics discussed on the air that day. I responded to her that that day, we had highlighted one of our “Catholic Charities Around the Nation” segments, and that the topic that we had discussed was a shelter – operated by Catholic Charities of the New Orleans Archdiocese – that assisted those who were victims of sexual assault and domestic violence to remove themselves from their abusive situations and begin to rebuild their lives in an atmosphere of support and respect. In response to my statement, my colleague challenged me how I could maintain a hopeful disposition when discussing a topic as horrible as sexual assault and abuse. To be honest, her question left me very shaken – and I truly had no adequate answer for her at that moment; she got me thinking not only about sexual assault and domestic violence, but about many of the topics that we had discussed during the show for the past several month – of the aftermath of the earthquakes in Haiti and Japan and the overwhelming toll of death and destruction that occurred in these places, of events like the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire whose 100th anniversary just occurred where many young working immigrant girls lost their lives due to a desire for profits over safety, of the tragedy of the shooting in Tucson in January that took the lives of 6 innocent people including a 10 year old girl born on September 11, 2001 – all these things terrible –and like those things done to Jesus that Friday  2,000 years ago – none of them in any way or any sense “good”.

My colleague’s question continued to haunt me for some time; like any good one, it had me search deeply within – asking fundamental questions about human suffering, about pain, about loss, about love, and about God. Blessedly, this searching on my part happened during the later stages of Lent and Holy Week, when our attention turns to Jesus’ own suffering and death. Answers to these questions are of course never easy, even those who were closest to Jesus during His life on Earth remained confused when confronted with His profound suffering, of His undeserved death. In Scripture, after the events of Good Friday, the women who accompanied Jesus – Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary the mother of James, all while the male disciples were in hiding – went to Jesus’ tomb to anoint His body with spices as was the Jewish burial custom of the day. I am sure that they were all three troubled by questions as they walked together to that tomb – questions about suffering, about pain, about loss, and about God – and they sought answers. When they had reached their destination, they found Jesus’ tomb open and empty. In answer to their questions, a messenger from God appeared to the women and asked them “Why do you seek the living among the dead”, informing them that Jesus was not there – and reminding them of Jesus’ words to them that His suffering and death would not be final, but that He would be raised up. God’s messenger did not then dismiss the women upon proclaiming Jesus’ triumph over suffering and death, instead he called them to action – enjoining them to “go quickly and tell the disciples, “He has been raised from the dead, and He is going before you to Galilee”….for Jesus Himself at that time was not standing still but was on the move ahead of them…

Here at Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of New York, our motto is “Providing Help. Creating Hope.”; that motto is included in our logo, and appears in the shadow of a Cross. It is here, in reflecting on the words of this motto – in the shadow of the Cross, on this Easter weekend – that I believe I can begin to find an answer to my colleague’s question. If we, like the first Christians – those women who witnessed both the terrible suffering and underserved death of Jesus as well as His Resurrection from the dead  – can respond in action to the terrible suffering of this world, perhaps we can play a small part in creating the Hope that His loving sacrifice and Resurrection laid the foundation for on that first Easter weekend 2,000 years ago.

A Blessed Easter to you all!

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