Valuable Kisses on Valentine's Day

It seems that somewhere around January, soon after New Year’s Day, the Valentine’s Day decorations went up. Oh the thrill of it all (sarcasm intended)! As a priest who has made a promise of celibacy for the sake of the gospel (Cf. Mt 19:12) the thought of Valentine’s Day just didn’t get me all…well you know. Although the day is named after, or attributed to, a real person – St. Valentine, there is not a liturgical celebration of St. Valentine as there is for St. Ann or St. Terese. In other words, there is no mention or reference of St. Valentine in our prayers for Mass that day. Moreover, because Valentine or Valentinus was such a popular name and due to the 1500 years of development in the celebration of the day there is not too much certainty about who exactly this particular Valentine is that we celebrate.

I realize that the majority of people who went shopping for Valentine’s Day were not walking around the malls equally troubled by this question as I was. In fact, I would guess most didn’t realize that it is a day to glorify God and celebrate the holiness of a real Catholic martyr. At least with St. Patrick’s Day I can make an attempt to remind and refocus people on who this person was, why he is a saint and what St. Patrick means for us in the year 2008. But how can I celebrate St. Valentine’s Day as a celibate priest with little knowledge of who Valentine was? Although the idea of completely blowing off St. Valentines as a greedy scheme for businesses to make more money was tempting I felt somehow I’d be missing out on something valuable. As I sat down and ate some of those colorful tiny heart-shaped candies that read “Be my Valentine” I did some thinking.

Valentine was a popular Roman name that means worthy or valuable (valor, vale la pena,) Names are very important like Immanuel (God-with-us) or Jesus (God saves). “Love” is also a powerful and important word and rightly used more reservedly in other languages than in English. For example, McDonald’s has the slogan “I love McDonald’s”. This is not translated Yo Amo (love)…but rather, me encanta McDonald’s. While the meaning is very similar it guards or reserves the word “love” or “amar” to very close relationships between people (not hamburgers and fries – though those fries are gooooood).

It is believed that St. Valentine was a 5th century martyr. What makes this difficult is that there were a lot of Christian martyrs during this time and many were named Valentine. Although this uncertainty rattled my scrupulous mind at first it also led me to find the real heart of St. Valentine’s Day. A martyr is someone who gives his life – his whole life - for another, namely Christ. Jesus - God saves - is the King of Martyrs. He lived up to his God-given name. He saved us by dying for us. Jesus himself said “there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friends” (Cf. Jn 15:13). And while it is easy and of no credit to us to love those love us (Cf. Jn 6:32) it isn’t as easy to die for them whether by the little sacrifices daily life asks of us or the ultimate gift of one’s life.

Jesus, St. Valentine and all martyrs by that or any other name lived up to their name and showed us true love. “For if before men, indeed, they be punished, yet is their hope full of immortality; chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.” (Wis 3) “They were found worthy”, that is, they were true Valentines. Jesus, St. Valentine, and all the martyrs give us a model and the gift of true love.

On February 14th I was caught up in gazing at the heart of my claddagh ring which I bought in Claddagh, Ireland, weeks after my ordination to the priesthood. I didn’t want a wedding band but I did want something to reflect my consecration to Jesus and his Church. Reflecting on the heart of the ring with the heart turned inward to show that my heart is spoken for I was reminded that when I made a life-long promise of celibacy I did so because I was invited to do so by a living and personal God. I most certainly did not decide to say yes to celibacy because it’s a requirement of Catholic priests. That wasn’t good enough for me – not even close. (I’m not totally crazy!) I said yes because I wanted more, not less, and I felt called to trust that celibacy would open up a unique door to true love, a personal warm love worthy of giving up a wife and family. This invitation to celibacy didn’t come by way of a sweet heart-shaped candy or a box of chocolates but it truly was and is a call – a vocation. St. Valentine’s Day reminded me that I have a living and true Valentine who is truly worthy of love. And what a promise he has made to me: Jesus said, "Amen, I say to you, [Brendan], there is no one who has given up house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands for my sake and for the sake of the gospel who will not receive a hundred times more now in this present age… and eternal life in the age to come” Mk 10:28). Celibacy is certainly worth it.

Mass on St. Valentine's Day began like every other Mass: I processed in, approached the altar and…oh yeah, I kiss the altar. This is no mere ritualistic gesture. Before even saying a word the priest begins by kissing the altar. But the kissing is far from over. After reading the Gospel the priest again kisses the book of the Gospels saying inaudibly “May the words of the Gospel wash away our sins”. Why a priest does this would give us hours and hours of material for reflection and prayer. Before receiving Communion we also offer one another the "kiss of peace" which generally means a handshake or hug. Simple though this may be it is an expression of selfless love. Finally, after I gave the final blessing and proclaimed those well known words “Mass has ended, go in peace” a fourth kiss, once again on the altar. After Mass, I took off my stole and kissed the cross embroidered on it. The greatest form of worship and love begins and ends with a kiss. What a great model to follow in our own lives.

Looking for true love? Love Christ. Be a saint.

Your Valentine,

Brendan

Fr. Brendan’s Blunders

Have you seen those commercials for Southwest Airlines where someone does something really embarrassing and then the announcer says “Wanna get away? Here are my “Get away moments”

“He’s Not Dead Father”
Every Mass that is celebrated is offered for someone; often it is offered for someone who has died. During the liturgy the priest mentions the name of the person. For example, “We pray for John who in baptism died with Christ, may he also share his resurrection.” Well, at one particular Mass I looked at the little sheet of paper on the altar with the name of the person for whom Mass was being offered and read “for Michael who died with Christ…” It turns out that Michael’s parents were at the Mass and came up to me afterwards and thanked me for offering the Mass for their Son as they requested. They said “only one thing Father, Michael’s not dead, he’s just fine, we were just having Mass said for our son.”
- Wanna get away? I apologized and we laughed about it.
- Lesson learned: Look CLOSELY at the name on the sheet to see if it says “deceased” or “special intention” next to the name.

Junk Wanted
While reading the announcements at Mass I was supposed to read: “please bring in your used items for our parish rummage sale”. Instead I mistakenly read “please bring in your useless items”. Opps

Mistaken Identity
There was a child who came into confession and knelt behind the screen and made his confession. Toward the end I invited the boy to recognize that every moment of his youth is a preparation for him becoming a good husband and father in the future. I added, “perhaps God will invite you to become a priest; wouldn’t that be great?” With some hesitation and doubt he answered “Yeah” I assigned him a penance and said goodbye. Then a girl with long hair and a dress peaked around the corner of the screen and cheerfully said “Bye Father”.
- Wanna get away? I had just invited a girl to become a priest! Ahhhh.
- Lesson learned: Unless the person behind the screen has the voice of a linebacker don’t mention priesthood, invite them to open to God’s call will in their lives – whatever that may be.

Lost in Translation

She Ate People?
During a Mass in Spanish I was preaching about Mother Theresa of Calcutta. I pointed out that she was often ridiculed for caring for the poorest of the poor. Her critics said she wasn’t making a difference or solving world hunger. I meant to say that Mother Theresa simply feed and cared for one person at a time, one by one.” In Spanish I said “Madre Theresa comió a una persona a persona, persona por persona” Rough translation” Mother Theresa ate one person at a time, person by person.
- Wanna Get Away?
- Lesson learned: ??? Should I have put a correction in the bulletin the next Sunday announcing that, in fact, Mother Theresa actually did not eat people but fed them?


Torture and Turtles
Just last weekend we read the beautiful story of the martyrdom of the 7 Macabee brothers and their mother. In Spanish I tried to speak about how this family remained faithful to God and one another even though they suffered torture. In Spanish I said “…ellos sufrieron la tortuga” Rough translation: they suffered the turtle. In Spanish torture is la tortura and turtle is la tortuga. One stinking letter!


Holy Eyes!
At a baptism - in Spanish of course - I prayed over these darling infants and intended to say “Father bless these children…” This time I was reading the prayer so I was assured to get it right…right? Wrong. It seems pronouncing the right word wrongly isn’t any better. I mispronounced hijos and confidently prayed “Padre bendice estos ojos”. Translation: Father bless they eyes”
Wanna Get Away? Anwer: Yes!
Lesson Learned: People are very, very forgiving.

At Least I’m Not Alone

How About a Kiss?
A priest told me that when he was in South America as missionary he too was just getting to know Spanish. When a person celebrates the Sacrament of Reconciliation and Penance (Confession) they are often invited to say an act of contrition. In Mexico this is Un Acto de Contricion. However, this particular Spanish-speaking country had a common act of contrition that is named after the first word of the prayer: “Pésame”. This priest was told by another priest to invite the penitent to pray this by saying to him or her “Pésame por favor” meaning please say the pesame prayer. Well me friends, in Spanish the “p” and “b” sound pretty similar. Apparently this poor priest said to his first penitent “bésame por favor” with a “b”. The man gave the priest an odd look so the priest repeated a little louder “bésame por favor” so the man leaned over and kissed the priest. Besar is to kiss.

PESAME:

Pésame Dios mío y me arrepiento de todo corazón de haberos ofendido, pésame por el infierno que merecí y por el cielo que perdí, pero mucho más me pesa porque pecando ofendí a un Dios tan bueno y tan grande como vos. Antes querría haber muerto que haberos ofendido y propongo firmemente no pecar más y evitar todas las ocasiones próximas de pecado. Amén


Oh My!
An American-Vietnamese priest friend of mine grew up in the U.S. and struggles with preaching in Vietnamese. Vietnamese is immeasurably more difficult than Spanish. The meaning of words can change with the intonation of your voice so that if your voices goes up at the end of a word it means one thing and if your voice goes down at the end of the word it means something completely different. Completely. This priest was preaching about how God gives his people nourishment. He mentioned nourishment quite a few times, that is, until someone explained to him that he was pronouncing the word incorrectly. As result the priest was actually saying that God gives his people Viagra. Oh My!

Memorable Moments in Ministry

In the Beginning…

I remember moving into the parish - my first. Trying to remember which key opened which door, learning how to lock the church, fearful that I would enter the wrong security codes and set off the alarm and not know how to turn it off. I wasn’t just starting a new job. Becoming a priest and moving to a new city, into a new house, and a church with 5,000 families was more akin to getting married, starting a new career with a new company, moving to a new city and having children - alot of them - all at the same time. I moved into the parish in July and my pastor reminded me he was going on vacation in August. As August approached I asked him when in August he would be gone and, to my great distress, he replied “August”, the month of August! Three weeks in a parish, new vocation, new job, new people, new everything and I’m in charge for a month? Fear. Well, before August came around I realized how much the pastoral staff knew and did. The parish didn’t – and doesn’t - rely on me. No fears.

On my first Sunday at the parish I celebrated the two Spanish Masses. It was my first time ever celebrating Mass in Spanish. During the first Mass I looked out over the crowd of about 900 people of dark complexion and wondering "why am I, the only person here who can’t speak Spanish, doing all the speaking"? Then I remembered that a priest isn’t merely a public speaker but one ordained to proclaim the Gospel and celebrate and offer the Sacrifice of the Mass. I am here to speak the words of Christ himself and to represent Christ. Indeed the homily is a privileged opportunity to connect the Word of God to the lives of the community and to lead the people into the mystery of the Eucharist, the Bread of Life, but God's Word in the Scriptures and God's Body should be the focus of attention, not me.

I will never forget my first funeral, it was in Spanish. Did I mention earlier that I knew very, very little Spanish? And I really expected to celebrate a Funeral Mass for the first time in a foreign language? The reality that I am the only Spanish-“speaking” priest in the parish was a terrifying reality. In case the above reality was not daunting enough it was a funeral for a still-born. I’ll never forget watching the father of the baby process into the church holding the tiny coffin of his tiny baby.

My First Wedding, Opps.. I Mean Boda.
You might be seeing a trend here. My first wedding (in Spanish boda) ever: Spanish. I quickly found out what a lazo and las arras were. I’m sure I butchered the language but in the end they were validly married. I had to remind myself that the wedding wasn’t about me it was about them – God, the couple and their family and friends.

Anointing of the Sick...Close to Home
Within a few months of priesthood my pastor asked my to anoint him. He was going to be having a surgery the next day. Me anoint my pastor? He is twice my age, has been at the parish for over 25 years and has anointed more people than I could imagine. What if I mess up? Do I give a homily? The Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick was still very new to me and I relied entirely on the book to read the words and gestures for the rite of anointing.

You probably haven’t thought about this before but it’s hard to hold and read from a book held in one hand while holding the sacred oil in the other and to anoint the head and hands of the person all at the same time! The pastor was patient and understanding. By the way, I didn’t preach, I was moved however, by the experience of being asked by my first and new pastor to anoint him. The Anointing of the Sick – like every Sacrament - is a very personal encounter with Christ through the person of the priest. After placing my hands on his head in a moment of silent prayer as the rite calls for I spoke Christ’s words of healing and forgiveness over him: "Through this Holy Anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Freed from sin may he save you and raise you up." At the same time I placed my thumb in the oil and marked the sign of the cross on his forehead and the palms of his hands.

In the first year of priesthood my mom found out she had massive blockage in 3 arteries and needed a triple-bypass as soon as possible. Combine the experience above with the reality of this being my Mom. I never cease being a priest but I’ve always been a son; being a priest to my Mom was a new and indescribable experience. My Mom had given me life 36 years earlier and now I was truly giving her Life in a way that very few sons have been able to do, not by any merit or power of my own but by virtue of the gift – God’s gift – of ordination. Perhaps this is a stretch, however, as a the Virgin Mary gave birth to her Creator by the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit and her consent so too was the gift of God himself truly given to my Mom through the power of Christ through me his priest.

One day, a couple of months after being in the parish, I received 2 calls at the same time to anoint two different people. I knew where one address was but looked up the directions for the other. When I walked out of the rectory, to my frustration, I saw a long line of cars waiting to pick up their children from school and my car was blocked in. I waited about 15-20 minutes for the cars to clear out and left to anoint the first person. After the first anointing I called the house of the second person to let them know that I was on my way. The person who answered the phone cried and said “he just died a few minutes ago.”

"Father Forgive Me"
It’s one thing to practice confession scenarios in the seminary and a completely different thing to really forgive sins. I will not forget a man who knelt behind the screen in the confessional and in a voice that revealed his very old age said “Father forgive me for I have sinned.” Wow. Can you try to enter into the profundity of that experience. An old man calling me “Father” and the reality that I really am Father, Fr. Brendan. I forgave his sins, not in my name but “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit." Amen!

People have the tendency of speaking quickly and softly when confessing their sins. Who wouldn’t? The problem is when you add Spanish into the mix. I can only say “mande?” or “lo siento pero no entendi” (“What” or “I’m sorry I didn’t understand”) so many times! Here again, I was reminded I’m not here to talk but to listen, to receive the person’s sins, the person’s very self, and to bestow upon the penitent Christ’s words and the reality they confer. As my Spanish has improved I can understand and respond a little better, however, I pray that I will always remember this first experience of why the penitent is there and why I am there: they confess and “I absolve you from your sins”.

I sometimes have the temptation to diminish the important role that I have as an instrument of God. There exists only one Priest and that is Jesus. He has willed to share his one priesthood with those he himself has called and chosen. However, the priest is not a mere puppet, repeating words and actions. Rather, Christ exercises his priesthood in and through the person, the whole person/humanity of the individual priest. It took a 7 year-old to teach me this lesson. At times I invite the penitent to recognize the presence of God in the confessional, to make sure we both realize that the penitent has not -or should not have- come to the this Sacrament to see me but to see Christ who is present here and now. This is true, of course, but it can tend to separate the integrity and unity of the priest. These two realities - Jesus Christ and an ordained priest -are infinitely different and distinguishable but they are also infinitely inseparable.

In this case, a 7 year-old girl walked into the confessional and hopped into the chair a few feet in front of me. I said “Hi” and she returned a big smile and said “Hi”. I asked her “how many people are in this room?” She looked around as if to say "is someone hiding here" and then responded “two”. I smiled back and asked “then where is God” and without hesitation or thought she quickly responded “where you’re sitting” Wow. After 9 years of the seminary I am learning from a 7 year-old about God and the theology of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. She is right of course. God is not a third person in the confessional. Where the priest is, there is Christ. “Out of the mouth of babes you have found perfect praise.” (Psalm 8)

Another memorable experience of confessions was during a weekend Confirmation retreat. For about 3 hours or more I heard the teenagers’ confessions one after the other until 2am. While parents are often baffled and frustrated by the lack of communication of their teenagers they shared the very sacred depths of the lives with me, with Christ. We all left that confessional forever changed and transformed.

My Pride and Joy
I have long had a devotion to St. Brendan, my namesake. I take pride in this name because it is very Catholic and very Irish. For that reason, I am known for suggesting the names Brendan or Brenda to families expecting a child. They usually laugh; I hope.

There is a lovely Hispanic family in the parish who selflessly love and serve their family and parish. When they told me they were expecting another child I naturally suggested that Brendan might be a good name, although they don’t speak much English and like most Hispanics have an impossible time pronouncing the name correctly. When the baby was born they called me to say they had named their baby boy Brendan. I laughed, they didn’t. After they assured me it wasn’t a joke I asked why they named their son Brendan and they said they – the parents – couldn’t decide on a name so they asked their 3 children and they unanimously said “Brendan, after Fr. Brendan.”. I baptized Brendan, my pride and joy October 20, 2007. We will always and forever have a very special bond. He is named after me, I baptized him, we are Christian brothers, and we have the special intercession of St. Brendan. I wonder how many other Mexican children have the name Brendan?

First Communions
I will always cherish celebrating First Communion Masses. What an honor to be the priest who through the power of the Holy Spirit changed bread and wine into the Bread of Life for these children for the first time. You can’t take away “first times”. I will always be the priest who celebrated and gave them the Eucharist for the first time. It was an honor and will be every first time.

1,052nd Place.

God has been very good to me and has entrusted me with many gifts including the ability to play sports. I was kicking a soccer ball from the time I was able to walk and played from pee-wee through my first year at Mater Dei High School. I began playing basketball when I was in elementary school and still try to play once in a while. I even tried baseball for a couple of years and a year of football. Throughout the years I accumulated a lot of trophies, many of them for 1st place.

Now that I am a priest it is very hard to play team sports because I work weekends, have meetings most evenings of the week, and have one day off - a weekday, of course. A priest's schedule doesn't seem to have much of a rhythm to it. Sometimes I have morning Mass other times I have the evening Mass; sometimes I have a funeral, emergency sick calls, people who just come in want to talk to a priest etc... In the seminary it was easy to get a group of guys together to play basketball or soccer. Now it is almost impossible.

So, being a new priest I have had to find new ways to exercise and have fun. This isn't just a matter of recreation but of physical, mental and spiritual health. I'm not much of a gym-kind-of -guy. So what I had difficulty figuring out was what to do. I tried jogging but found it to be rather boring. It might be a little more tolerable if I could find someone to jog with but this seems to be impossible given my unpredictable schedule. Finding no alternative, I jog. But then something happened that changed everything.

My sister-in-law, knowing that I was jogging (though not seriously), told me she had signed us both up to run a half marathon. http://www.memorialhalfmarathon.com/index.php Umm, that's 13.1 miles! I was inconsistently jogging about 3 miles a few days a week. Well, she had already signed me up so I figured I better get busy training. I started jogging consistently 4 days a week perhaps 3-5 miles each time and had about 10 weeks to train.

My pastor graciously agreed to celebrate the morning Mass for me the day of the race so that I could participate. I was a bit nervous - I'd never run a race before and my sister-in-law had to cancel because of a surgery. So, I jogged alone.

I woke up at 5:45am, ate breakfast, stretched a little and drove to Laguna Hills. I parked my car and picked up my bib and a required GPS device to put on my shoe to prevent cheating, and to track the runner's time. What surprised me at once was the variety of people that were there - all ages, sizes, and shapes. http://www.brightroom.com/view_event_photos.asp?EVENTID=18442&PWD When the race began I waited for the crowd of runners to start first and then I crossed the starting line with those in the back. The next thing that surprised me was how slow people were jogging. It was actually hard and somewhat unnatural trying to keep their slow pace especially because I’m 6’3”, but I did.

At one point I looked in front of me and saw a lady in her late 40's who had a hat on backwards that said "yeah I'm slow but you're behind me" Ouch! It was true though. There were various small groups of runners who belonged to a runner's club called A Snail's Pace. What bothered me was that they too were in front of me. Isn't there something wrong or unethical about that? Shouldn't they be required to run at a snail's pace? And if they're running at a snail's pace and I am behind them, what pace am I running at? 11 miles to go.

Looking back on the event I realize I didn't pick the best venue to begin my racing career. The race took place in Laguna Hills. The name should have clued me in that there just may be...HILLS. Isn't 13.1 miles enough? Now I have to jog up hills - you've got to be kidding me. What did help me was the fact that quitting was not an option. This is not a reflection of my courage or determination to finish the race. Rather, finishing the race was the quickest and only non-humiliating way to get back to my car!

At mile four I was doing alright, probably because I was still keeping the slow place of those around me. I had no idea what a "good pace" was anyway. I trusted they knew more about running than I did. It was at this point that I looked to my right and across the ravine I saw the runners at the front of the race. They were at mile 10 and running - really running, not jogging. How? I just told myself that their bodies must be different than mine. What else could explain it?

At mile six I was pleased with myself for still being able to jog. Six miles was the farthest I had ever jogged during my "training". I was sweating and feeling sore already. After all, I had just jogged 6 miles and some of that was uphill! Then a little depression set in. "I'm not ever halfway done", I said to myself. “Oh well, step by step, it’s the only way to my car.”

A little later the course started to curve at which point I became aware for the first time that there were actually people behind me. Huh!?! I hadn't thought about that. I passed a man in his 60's jogging with a large American flag - pole included. In case that wasn't enough, he was barefoot!!!

I grabbed water every 2 miles trying to figure out how to jog and drink at the same time - not easy. Some of it ended up in my eye, some of it went up my nose, and I choked on the rest. It was not one of my most graceful moments. But, then again, I wasn't going for graceful. Heck, I wasn't trying to compete. My goal was simple: survival. As if praying the rosary I chanted in a mumbling voice "I ...must... get...back... to... my...car." (pant, pant).

I remember seeing the 8 mile marker and I couldn't believe it. Eight miles! I had NEVER run 8 miles before. I had just jogged for 1 hour and 30 minutes non-stop. Well, the hills - as in Laguna Hills - returned. My heart cursed me in no uncertain terms; my muscles were mad and fighting against me, begging me to stop. I had the advice of a friend ringing in my ears - "don't stop" just keep running. I began my jog up the hill (the distinction between hills and mountains seemed so minuscule) and I found myself at a walking pace. I was jogging but my body wasn't. I think I can, I think I can. NO WAY! My options became simple – have a heart attack or stop. I stopped.

A sense of failure and defeat crossed my mind while my body took revenge on me! I squatted down to stretch my legs and bend my knees. When I attempted to get up I felt like I was squatting 1,000 pounds and drunk at the same time. My legs were very wobbly. I continued to walk up the hill as fast as I could. I had to get to my car. For the first time people began to steadily pass me - including old people. How are they still jogging, I asked myself?

I walked the next two miles (8-10) and then alternated between walking and jogging the following 2 miles (10-12). The mile markers came slower and slower. I know this makes mathematical sense - the slower one goes the longer it takes to reach a mile - but it was exhausting mentally as well as physically. At every turn I thought "the mile marker must be right around this corner". But it never was.

Finally: mile 12; only 1.1 miles to go. I sucked up all the energy and will I had left in me and jogged the rest of the way. I could hear the crowd at the finish line, though I couldn't see them. The last stretch to the finish line was up another hill; I called it Calvary. I ran up the hill and through the finish line. Ahhhhh. I immediately stopped my stopwatch: 1 hour and 20 minutes. I did it! I was so thankful. I thanked God about 1,000 times, sat on the ground, stretched, then ate a banana and drank some water.

After waiting a few weeks for the results to be posted on the internet I went on line to see how I did. Did the official time agree with my stopwatch? How did I do in comparison to the other runners? I scrolled down the list. I scrolled down some more and more and more from 1st place downwards looking for my name or bib number. I couldn't find it. There were 1,417 runners! I nervously searched again and finally: Brendan Manson of La Habra, bid #1111. I came in 1,052nd place! (No, that is not a typo: One thousand fifty second place.) http://results.active.com/uploads/txt/44837.txt

Wow. I've never been in 1,052nd place before but I couldn't be more proud nor grateful. My medal - yes, you get a medal for 1,052nd place - hangs on my bulletin board in my office. Also, I have intentionally never reset my stopwatch either. It still reads: 2:20:59.

For more pics: http://www.brightroom.com/view_user_event.asp?EVENTID=18442&PWD=&BIB=1111

Some observations from the race:

-I couldn't have finished the race if I hadn't kept the very slow pace of those around me. Had I tried to go at my pace I would have burnt out and perhaps injured myself.
- One man's snail pace is another man's jogging pace.
- Running is as much a mental sport as it is a physical one.
- Determination will carry you a long way, even barefoot.
- There's no such thing as too old.
- Take one mile at a time.
- Pray before, during and after the race.
- What will I do when it hurts? Run or stop?
- I never ever thought I could finish a half marathon (13.1 miles) in a respectable time, but I did. - Will I start training for the L.A. marathon in March? 26.2 miles! It too seems impossible.
- Things are usually easier when you do them with others.

Saint of Darkness - Mother Teresa

Ten years after her death Mother Teresa seems to be stirring up some controversy. The controversy is so significant, in fact, that many major television networks, magazines and radio programs are covering it with much interest and mystery. Mother Theresa even made the cover of Time Magazine: The Secret Life of Mother Theresa. http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1655415,00.html

The controversy? A new book: Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light which contains the personal correspondence of Mother Theresa which reveal that she suffered from spiritual dryness questioned the presence of God in her life. This is spiritual experience is commonly referred to as a dark night of the soul. What is unique here is that Mother Theresa's "night" lasted about 50 years! And would have guessed? In such a state one does not feel the love or presence of God; one may feel abandoned by God and even question God's existence. While most of us have probably struggled and suffered moments of this in our lives the world seems surprised and even scandalized that a woman who will most likely will be canonized a saint in the next few years endured the same struggle as the rest of us.

Here is an excerpt from one of her letters that gives us an insight to her suffering:

"Lord, my God, who am I that You should forsake me? The Child of your Love — and now become as the most hated one — the one — you have thrown away as unwanted — unloved. I call, I cling, I want — and there is no One to answer — no One on Whom I can cling — no, No One. — Alone ... Where is my Faith — even deep down right in there is nothing, but emptiness & darkness — My God — how painful is this unknown pain — I have no Faith — I dare not utter the words & thoughts that crowd in my heart — & make me suffer untold agony. So many unanswered questions live within me afraid to uncover them — because of the blasphemy — If there be God — please forgive me — When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven — there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives & hurt my very soul. — I am told God loves me — and yet the reality of darkness & coldness & emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Did I make a mistake in surrendering blindly to the Call of the Sacred Heart?"
— addressed to Jesus, at the suggestion of a confessor, undated

Your reaction?

I have been dumbfounded by some of the responses her letters have received. Some have called Mother's Theresa's "secret life" hypocritical and claim that these "secret letters" are a scandal to her life and the Catholic Church. What? Once again, a secular society shows their absolute ignorance of things divine and spiritual. It is true that Mother Theresa questioned her own hypocrisy: "I spoke as if my very heart was in love with God — tender, personal love....if you were [there], you would have said, 'What hypocrisy." However, what some claim to be hypocrisy is quite the opposite, it is heroic saintly love.

Can you imagine what life would be like if we all went around only speaking and acting according to how we felt? Try that on your boss some day, or in your marriage, or with your kids. In fact, I think many do just that as evidenced by our increased secular and divorce-mentality society that says "just do it...if it feels good". Implied, of course, is "and don't do it if you don't feel like it". A hypocrite is one who believes one thing but says and does another. On this account, Mother Theresa is not only acquitted but commended. She was woman of deep faith and heroic love for God and his poor, only without the loving sentiments to go with it.

Although this darkness and doubt that surrounded 50 years of her life is getting all the press, imagine how much greater must her faith and love been to be able to securely and even joyfully carry her through her pilgrimage on earth to her Light. Jesus gave us the parable of the fool who built his house on sand. "The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. And it collapsed and was completely ruined." (Mt 7:26-27) Mother Theresa's house of faith was built on rock: "The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. But it did not collapse" (Mt 7, 25). In fact, Mother Theresa's house of faith flourished so much that she became recognized all over the world by Christians and non-Christians alike as a modern day saint.

Mother Theresa's letters detailing her longstanding spiritual struggle has shaken or perhaps shattered many people's idea of what a saint is. A saint is someone who loves like Christ. Therefore, to be a saint one must know Christ and be profoundly united to him in his Word (Scripture) and the Sacraments, especially the Eucharist and Reconciliation, and must live out this personal relationship with him in one's daily life though one's actions and words.

So what does a saint look like? "For every tree is known by its own fruit." (Lk 6:44) Notice, Jesus doesn't say that we are known by how we feel, but by our fruit. Jesus said this right after teaching the crowd about Christian discipleship. He taught them the Beatitudes, to love your enemies; to do to others what you would have done to you, to be merciful and not to judge one another. In others, a Christian is not merely one who believes in Jesus and agrees with what he taught, but one who lives it out. "For whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother. (Mt12:50). There has never been any doubt that Mother Teresa did the will and work of God and did so with joy despite her spiritual darkness. This makes her all the more holy because it required nothing less than heroic love. Her ministry of working with the poorest of the poor was incredibly hard physical and spiritual work and required a miraculous amount of faith and virtue.

Lessons to Learn from Mother Teresa.

Most of us struggle with faith; that is part of the nature of faith. There was a man who approached Jesus and said "'Teacher, I have brought to you my son possessed by a mute spirit'. Then [Jesus] questioned [the] father, 'How long has this been happening to him?' He replied, 'Since childhood...but if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us." Jesus said to him, “‘if you can!' Everything is possible to one who has faith." Then the boy's father cried out, "I do believe, help my unbelief!" (Mk 9: 17, 22-24) I wonder of that was Mother Teresa's prayer; it is sometimes our own, and it is a holy faith-filled prayer. Remember, neither God's existence nor his love for us cannot be judged by our feelings. God has always and will always exist and he will always be closer to us than we are to ourselves. Sometimes will feel God's love - spiritual consolation - and other times we feel nothing - spiritual desolation. St. Ignatius has much mission wisdom to offer to us in this respect: http://www.ccel.org/ccel/ignatius/exercises.xix.i.html

While the length of time that Mother Teresa carried her cross of spiritual desolation is quite rare, her experience is quite common. Not only did St. John of the cross, who wrote a book entitled Dark Night of Soul, St. Therese de Lisiuex, Dorothy Day, and St. Theresa of Avila suffer tremendous spiritual darkness but so did Jesus. This can be reasonably concluded from his 40 days in the desert, the Garden of Gethsemane (Take this cup from me, but not my will but yours be done") and of course from the Cross "My God, My God why have you forsaken me"? Jesus was suffered physically and spiritually. He wasn't feeling full a lot of love but pain and desolation, nonetheless, he "gave himself up to death, a death he freely accepted" (Eucharistic Prayer III). When Jesus told us that the cost of discipleship meant taking up one's cross and following him this included the cross of spiritual desolation, of loving through the dark night of our lives.

Prior to Mother Teresa's 50 years of spiritual dryness she was also blessed with extraordinary, supernatural consolation. In her early letters, she speaks of having received visions of Christ and hearing his voice as distinctly and surely as we hear one another's voice. This sweet encounter with Christ would nourish and sustain her for the rest of her life. Although the sweetness of these experiences would later be replaced by dynes, they were - then and forever - real and would sustain her for the rest of her life. She had consecrated her life to Christ to be like Christ to be united to him and closely as possible and suffering - the cross - is the most painful and fruitful way. The resurrection only comes by way of the cross.

Mother Teresa's letters teach us how to pray like a saint. How many of us say "I don't feel anything when I pray" and assume they're not "doing it right" or that they're not the "praying type". Mother Teresa and her sisters spent 2 hours in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament every day. Prior to the publication of her letters many probably assumed she enjoyed prayer and was probably gifted with some special consolation. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Mother Teresa teaches us that we don't pray in order to feel good nor can we judge the value of our prayer based on how we feel. She teaches us about real faith. Prayer is act of love and faith in a God who does exist and listens and answers us according his will, not ours. She teaches us perseverance. It's easy to pray when all is well and feels well; it takes faith, hope, love and courage to prayer when you don't feel a thing - for 1 day or 50 years!. The fruit of prayer is not consolation - although God sometimes gives us that grace - but fidelity lived out in loving service to one another, with a preferential option to the poor.
Mother Teresa teaches us about relationships. Our love for one another and for God often mirrors one another. We can learn from Mother Teresa not only how to love God but how to be faithful and loving to one another even when are void of all sentiments of love. Fidelity requires us to love and live up to our promise to love, honor and respect our spouse till death do us part; to love our parents and children who are not always reciprocal in expressing their love; to Christ in the poor - "whatever you did for the least of my brethren you did it for me" (MT 25:40), and when I was hungry you gave me to eat..."(Mt 25:35).

Many men and women throughout history have been inspired and converted to Christ through reading the lives of the saints "on whose constant intercession we rely for help (Eucharistic Prayer III). Read the life of Mother Teresa, read her letters, read a book on the lives of the saints, it should sit next to your bible and the catechism. Together with the Sacraments we are strengthened in faith and love to go out into our corner of the world - our home, schools, and places of work and play - to be Christ for one other.

Time Magazine quotes Mother Teresa saying "If I ever become a saint, I will surely be a saint of darkness". What a wonderful saint to pray to in our times of desolation and darkness, not to take it away but help us love through it with love and joy. She is a saint of divine Light.

Be a saint!

Mother Teresa, pray for us.

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Thanks to Dr. Paul Ford for passing along the following incredible radio interview with Father Brian Kolodiejchuk, editor and co-author of "Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta," principal advocate for Mother Teresa's cause for canonization, and co-founder of Missionaries of Charity Fathers and Reverend James Martin, Associate Editor of America Magazine and author of "My Life with the Saints": http://www.onpointradio.org/shows/2007/08/20070830_a_main.asp

I Sang and I Cried

I hadn't really performed live music in public for about 14 years....that is, until Friday. I joined another guitarist, pianist and about 20 friends at a local bar & restaurant to play some music. We all had fun!


There was a parade on the street outside the church Saturday morning which meant we couldn't have Quinceaneras or weddings in the morning. In other words, I got to sleep in a little longer than usual. Saturday was also the the memorial of St. John Vianney, the patron Saint of parish priests. I went to confession, returned some phone calls and emails and then celebrated Mass in the rectory chapel with a friend. I spent some time in prayer reflecting over the readings for the weekend and worked on my homily. I heard confessions from 4:30-5:25 and then celebrated Mass at 5:30. I was back at the rectory at 7:00pm, changed clothes and headed over to a friends house for a party. For the second night in a row - and yet only the second time in 14 years - I was playing some live music in public. We managed not to embarrass ourselves too much and enjoyed the music and seeing some old friends.

Although it had been a LATE night I was outside the church with a cup of coffee greeting parishioners coming to the 7:45am Mass. I did the same for the 9:30 and 11:15am Masses and listened and spoke to a lot of people. I was so glad to see a young couple that I married last year coming out of the church. We talked for a while until I noticed there was a homeless man waiting patiently to talk to me. I walked over to the office with him to help him get a hotel for the night. A lady who frequently comes to the church with her children sought me out looking for money to get into an apartment. After addressing that I walked back in the office and found a man and woman in tears waiting to speak to a priest. They told me what I've heard too many times already in one year of priesthood: "my son was murdered last night ." I could feel my heart sink. They were still in shock, unable to really comprehend that their 31 year old son was shot to death just hours earlier. After praying and spending time with them I went to the kitchen ate a sandwich in about 3 minutes, changed clothes and went to the gym. I ran 5 miles and felt like I had the energy to run another 10! As I sat in the locker room I felt a rush of sorrow that almost drew me to tears. I don't know why! What was it about this couple and their son - if that's what it was -that was affecting me so much. I've been in similar situations before; why was this one really getting to me?

I returned to the parish to celebrate the 5:30pm Mass. From the very beginning I struggled to keep my composure - not a common occurrence for this Irish priest. I began my homily the same way as did at the previous Mass until I mentioned my meeting with this couple. I had to pause a moment to catch my breath and composure as I struggled, though successfully, to continue my homily. The church was silent, absolutely silent.

I begged the congregation not to be like the fool of the Gospel who hoarded his bountiful harvest for himself but to give, give, and give, recognizing that everything we are and have is a gift from God to be generously and gratefully placed at the service of others.

During the Eucharist Prayer, words such as Son; This is my body; this is my Blood; given up; shed for you; See the victim whose death has reconciled us to yourself; Gather your children wherever they may be, struck me. It was a beautiful but painful conversation with the Father. As I distributed Communion I wasn't able to get the words "the Body of Christ" to come out every time. I saw that I wasn't the only one with tears on my cheeks and a runny nose.

After Mass, the line of people formed and I blessed people - young and old - religious articles, and listened to people's joys and sorrows. A kind couple invited me to dinner and I gratefully accepted. Off to El Torito Grill for some good food, a tall blended drink, and a lot of talk about Angles' baseball. Refreshing - until I got home.

I had a voice mail. It was my Mom. I didn't listen to the voice mail, I just called her back. "You're aunt June died".

That was my weekend.
I sang and I cried.

The face of a priest