So I was walking the dog last night when a man was looking at my very cute doggie and asked what his name was. I told him “Haze” and since he was kind of creeping me out I kept walking. He said, I’d love to have a dog like that, he’s very cool.
I thanked him and told him that I was indeed very lucky and that I wouldn’t sell this little ball of fur for any amount of money.
And then I wondered if that were true.
Fr. Pat Keleher, the Pastor at the North Campus Newman Community told me a great story over lunch the other day:
A man bought a house and moved his family, a wife and new baby, into the home and all was well with the world. He paid about $200,000 for the home and was quite happy.
A man showed up a few days later and told him that he really wanted to buy the house. The man flatly told him that the house wasn’t for sale and that he just moved in. But the man was insisting, “No, I really want to buy it!”
Angrily, the new home owner told him a bit more sternly, “I told you…it’s not for sale, buddy!”
Then the man simply said, “Well, I’ll make you an offer anyway. Would a million and a half dollars be enough?”
Sold!
So back to my dog…I wondered if that man who was enamored by my dog offered me an overwhelming price for him, would I have accepted it? The truth is that I love that dog so much that I think I’d turn him down. Call it an unhealthy attachment, if you will, but by the same token, if there were someone out there that I thought needed Haze more than I do—or if I thought they could give Haze a better home than what he has with me, that might be a more compelling reason for me to give up my pal.
Notice, I said “might.” Mostly, because I really think I’m the best person for that chihuahua and he’s been my loyal companion too.
What else wouldn’t I give up for riches? Obviously my wife (Robert Reford, keep your indecent proposal to yourself) and my marriage is one. My parents and sister and other family members are obviously others—but they are people and relationships and not possessions, if you will. The truth is that there isn’t a whole lot that I wouldn’t give away for that kind of proposal. My master’s degree diploma might be one and the first copy of my book another. Pictures could be another, especially if I have no other copy. My wedding ring and our wedding album might be other items. My job in ministry would be another.
What would I give up rather easily? If I got that home offer, I’d move very quickly. My car, my iphone, this very computer–they are all transient purchases, means to an end with little sentimental value.
I think as I have matured, I have been able to let go more easily of things and grasp on more tightly to relationships. A sign of maturity? Perhaps?
What would you let go of easily? More difficultly? Not at all? What if someone offered you a boatload of money for your job? Your car? Your family home? Would you bite?
The lack of blogging on my part is inexcusable. So I won’t bore you with dishonesty. The truth is that I’ve been choosing to spend my time differently these past few weeks. So here’s what I’ve done and where I’ve been:
1) My parents celebrated 60 years together and I spent some time traveling to Yonkers (just North of NYC for those non-New York types) for their celebration.
2) Preparing for the semester: The med students have been around for nearly 2 weeks now. I’ve spent 2 days with them in the gross anatomy lab but would like to get back there and spend some more time with them. Some students at mass who are med students came over to me and mentioned that they saw me in the lab–so it’s good visibility for me. Now I need to connect them to our community here at mass.
3) Spending time with wife and dog: I’ve been trying to prioritize my marriage, inspired by my own parents’ marriage. Soon the demands on my time will be huge. So while I still can, I’m spending a lot of time with Marion and Haze the dog. We even took in a Buffalo Bisons game.
4) Lastly, I’ve been on a retreat of sorts. An intentional inner one of deciding what direction I’d like to take the semester, what my own ministry looks like and who needs to be involved besides me in this ministry to the students and the faculty at UB. What side projects I can keep and what I need to say “no” to for ministry to be prioritized. It’s been a fruitful August.
So blogging will remain part of my life. I’ll mostly blog at the end of the day in the wee hours of the morning and it will probably take on more of an Examen feel to it. What happened today? Where was consolation and where was desolation and what do I need to tell God about it (and y’all too)?
Gloria Mwez, a Catholic volunteer here in Buffalo this past year did this thank you video for her community. Looks like they made quite an impact on her. For the easily offended there is some vulgarity in the song she chose in this video. She also had a great cameraman–me.
Have you considered doing a year of service? Check out CNVS.org to see some communities that you just might find interesting.
This past week the newspaper and news stations have been flooded with tons of stories about the protests regarding the building of an Islamic Cultural Center on the site of the September 11th attacks.
Let me go on record to say that building such a center would be a smack in the face. Not to Americans, mind you, nor would it be an outrage to those who lost their lives that day nor their loved ones.
It would be a sharp blow against terrorists.
Al Queda and other Jihadi forces are simply trying to paint America as a place where Islam is hated, where our culture rails against that religion and their tenets. Idealistic young people are often called to the side of the Muslim extremists because they too, feel that America doesn’t want them, that America rejects them for who they are and for what Islam stands.
The result is the worse kind of religious intolerance: terrorism.
Perhaps those protesting might keep that same kind of intolerance in mind when they shout things like “No clubhouse for terrorists.” That only gives radicals further traction in their encouraging new recruits to their hatred against Americans. Anwar al Awlaki the radical extremist behind the Fort Hood attacks has been pushing his message that the United States is at war not with terrorism but with Islam itself and young people have found that message attractive. From NPR:
Brian Fishman is a counterterrorism research fellow at the New America Foundation. He’s been tracking Awlaki for years and is concerned that the latest controversy over the Islamic center will end up making Awlaki look prescient.
“Over the past nine to 12 months, Anwar al-Awlaki has tried to promote this notion that the West, and particularly the United States, will turn on its Muslim citizens,” Fishman said. “And some of the anti-Islamic tone that has been going around the country in connection with the mosque debate feeds into this notion that people like Anwar al-Awlaki can take advantage of.”
In a nation that celebrates freedom of religion, a notion by the way, that these extremists hate, I can only imagine that the pictures shown of people opposing a simple community center, a YMCA-like structure with a Muslim base instead of a Christian one, simply fuels the fires for folks like Anwar al-Awlaki.
Can we celebrate the freedom that we espouse? Can we show the world that we value peace over hatred? Can we show extremists that we are tolerant of religion and that their hatred of American freedom cannot win out over that same freedom?
In the end for us Catholics, it comes down to that constant age-old question that we at Googling God, keep bringing up:
Who is too hard for us to love?
Can we respond to hatred with love? Can we build a community center, centered on tolerance for Islamic culture or will hatred tear as further and further apart?
I’m not sure Jesus would approve of the latter.
A final thought: I wonder if a proposal to build a Wal-Mart on the site would be met with the same sort of disapproval? Or a strip joint? Or a Catholic Center?
God’s working hard here trying to inspire us all to love each other. Will we have the courage to listen?
(Editor’s Note: The top picture is credited to the New York Daily News. I selected it to show a number of things. First, the site is not a Mosque. It is a simple community center. Secondly, learn how to spell dishonor. Thirdly, this is exactly what the terrorists want to display).
I can’t imagine doing anything for sixty years. I have had four jobs in my lifetime, the last one lasting for a bit more than 9 years. I’ve been married for a mere 8 years. And for forty straight years the only thing I can say that I’ve done consistently is turn oxygen into carbon dioxide.
But in 60 years my parents have seen much. They’ve raised two children and lived through the disappointment of two miscarriages. My sister and I are 16 years apart and that had to be an interesting dynamic for my parents.
My father was drafted for Korea. I can only imagine my mother’s fear and my father’s bravery. Thankfully he flunked the physical because of rheumatism. I say thankfully because his four friends came home dead–giving their lives for their country. The army’s loss was my family’s gain as my dad worked for years as a school custodian, finishing that career as the chief custodian in a public school. He was the clear breadwinner in the family and he was able to send me to college somehow and my sister was able to return to school as an adult. Both of us ended up with master’s degrees.
My mother worked in the famed Yonkers carpet shop factory for sometime early in her marriage. After having my sister, she didn’t work anymore (or at least not much) and she was content to simply be mom. For most of my life, I remember Mom being sick and shuttling her to and from the hospital. As a child, the refrain of “My mother is in the hospital” became constant and the response was always an incredulous “AGAIN?” from my friends and teachers. Rheumatoid Arthritis (which is thankfully now getting much more attention as a deadly disease, a slow killer) was the big problem, along with a severe asthmatic condition and some angina. Later in life a colon rupture placed her life in serious jeopardy and somehow my tough mom has made it all this way. Look no further for the family hero.
Then again, my father is right there alongside her, never leaving her side with a dedication to her and to marriage that is simply inspiring. It would have been very easy for dad to give up, to let fear and his own discomfort get the best of him. But he hung in there and still serves as mom’s primary caretaker. I’ve only seen this man cry twice. Once when we thought mom was going to die and once again, when she survived.
Now that’s a dedicated husband.
When I asked them, in my own first few years of marriage how they were able to stay together all these years, their response was simple and almost identical:
Mom: “Well, you just do it. You stay together. You stick together and stay united and with that you can get through everything. Most people today run and look for a better deal. They don’t find it. They just keep better dealing everyone they marry.”
Dad: “Well the idea is really to be united, which doesn’t mean you have to agree all the time, but it does mean you have to live with the consequences of how you work that out. How will you try to come up with something that you can unite around and present that to those you love and meet? No matter what, you have to stay together and that unity makes the marriage work. So whatever you unite around, you stick with that. You LOVE each other–that’s the main thing and that love pushed you to stay together. How will I love her today? What will I have to deal with to love her more today? How did she love me today–whooo–that’s always a good reminder–and how does that make me feel about her?
In short, love can be enough. Come what may, commitment on the part of two people to each other takes a lot of work. It’s not always fun and games. My parent’s are close to being the last remaining relatives of their generation (In fact, my dad is on his side of the family. My mother has a younger brother and his wife who are still alive and well–and she was one of eight children).
Lastly, my parents were my first teachers of faith and I’ve come to the conclusion that the sociologists got it right when they claim that religion taught in the home is the biggest indicator of a child’s religious commitment. I know my parents were very dedicated Catholics. My father gave a good deal of his free time to the church in several ways. My mother has a great devotion to Therese of Lisieux, the little flower. And my sister teaches religious education and has served on her parish council and I have been a religious professional now for over 10 years. Religion was taught by my parents not merely through their example or even their practice but more formally, they’d make sure that I read things and watched movies and were shown what rituals were and made sure I was an active participant. My mom in particular made being an altar boy sound very exciting and my dad made sure that I got to my assignments. Even today they remind me to pray and I think it’s those prayers that have made me more closely united to them as well as to God.
We will celebrate as a family on Saturday. But the real celebration has already taken place. They’ve celebrated their marriage for 60 years.
During my examen today, I thought about a consolation moment from today and this scripture quote came to me from this weekend’s gospel which was read at our staff meeting.
“For behold, some are last who will be first,
and some are first who will be last.” — Luke 13:30
I was discussing this at a staff meeting and a story from Nicaragua came flooding back to me. I’ve blogged it before but it’s worth re-telling.
I was asked to “monitor lunch” for the children at the orphanage. In fact, one child was given to me as my responsibility: Maria Delores, a child with cerebral palsy. Maria Delores had a bad right hand, clawed, for lack of a better term. The staff was giving her serious physical therapy, hoping that they could rehabilitate the hand for at least partial use.
So I was told that I needed to get her to eat with that same hand. But Maria Delores was stubborn. Or so I thought.
A staff member saw that Maria Delores wouldn’t eat for me. But then she helped me understand why she wouldn’t eat.
There was no plate for me.
And when the staff member returned with a plate for me, Maria Delores took her clawed hand and shared her chicken and rice with me.
That week, we all helped to feed Maria Delores and the other orphans. We brought lots of resources and dollars to the organization. But I think I got the most sustaining meal of all—a meal that Maria Delores was fed by for ages.
Poor people often teach us much more than we offer to them. And while we’ve fed a lot of orphans, the stories that we come back home with, often provides spiritual food that continues to feed many others.
Can you be open enough to allow your heart and mind to be touched by someone that you were sent to help? Could you be humble enough to consider that there may indeed be something that might be calling you?
In any event, it is often the tiny morsel that gives the most feeding…a kind word…a small expression….a poor child in Nicaragua.
Indeed all are gift and so I wait, for God to come again…and show me more.
La Lupe, a blog on BustedHalo® by Vanessa Gonzalez Kraft discussed an interesting point: How much do you tell your family about your decisions?
I recently had a conversation with an old friend who was thinking about making some major life decisions without telling her family about it. She knew they would disapprove and she didn’t want to deal with them. She justified it by saying that she believed in what she was doing and just wanted to do it and tell everyone later.
This is a tough issue. There is great tension between wanting to be independent, to be your own person, to make your own decisions and your responsibility to your family.
After 25 years of having to figure out what to share and not share with my family, it’s still a tough call each time. I know that I don’t want to have to lie to my family so I try not hide things that I’ll have to lie about to cover it up but at the same time I don’t tell them every detail about my life. It’s one thing to get a tattoo that you never tell mom about because hopefully she’ll never see it. It’s quite another thing to elope and move out of state saying adios to the family through your rear view mirror as your drive away.
But having to hear them talk and talk about why they don’t like something that you believe in wholeheartedly can be sometimes hurtful. Usually, though, it is just downright annoying.
It seems like an obvious question for the millennial age to add to the conversation here: How sad is it that we blog stuff to random strangers and acquaintances but can’t tell those who should be close to us certain things?
Is there anything on your facebook page that you wouldn’t want mom to see? Have you blogged about grandma behind her back? Are you in the midst of a major life decision but think that the family has nothing to contribute to your thought process–but you freely post a question about it on facebook?
If so, why might we be that way? What does it say about us and how different is this from just 20 years ago? Any thoughts?
I wondered how I’d feel about this, since my wife and I can’t have kids and yes, indeed, the feelings are mixed between personal sadness and grand elation.
A number of friends I have often take the bitter pill when they hear of the success of others when things aren’t going well for them. Others hate to hear “I have a boyfriend and he’s great!” when they are alone. I suppose when people are smitten by the love bug that others can find their romantic bliss disgusting infatuation.
But isn’t this a bit of a spiritual misnomer?
Shouldn’t the joy of others bring us joy? Shouldn’t the birth of a child always be a happy occasion even if it isn’t my child and even if that won’t ever happen for me? I’m looking at a little baby in Logan Airport right now and his mother looks filled with joy (and maybe in need of a bit of sleep).
Perhaps what really got me in touch with this was this recent video, that my friend Michelle Larkin (nee Gillan) from my Fordham days posted of her and her newborn child Reece on Facebook.
There’s no embed but once “mom” starts talking HERE I tear up instantly.
Michelle was the first friend I met at Fordham and when I see the joy on her face that is brought to her by this child, how can I not be happy? How can I possibly focus on my own loss of knowing that I’ll most likely not have a similar experience (well, I’d have the experience that her husband Tim is having!)?
Perhaps when feelings of loss come to us naturally when we experience the joy of others, we might notice that we haven’t grieved our own losses properly. Perhaps something is missing in our lives that we might not have control over and we need to ask ourselves “what else is offered?” to ourselves.
Not having a child gives me more time for the students at UB, young adults in volunteer organizations and others who I minister to. In a sense I am giving life in a different way to them and to my wife and even to that little ball of fur called my dog.
What else is God calling me to if he is not calling me to what Michelle and Tim and other parents have?
I don’t always know. But I always trust that it will be wonderful
This is probably a good question for my foodie friends but isn’t the word “deluxe” standard for “with fries” in any diner?
Example: cheeseburger deluxe
I asked for one in a Buffalo diner and got a strange look from the waitress. In fairness, because I am nothing if not the king of fairness, it was not on the menu!
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cute doggie and asked what his name was. I told him “Haze” and since he was kind of creeping me out I kept walking. He said, I’d love to have a dog like that, he’s very cool.
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