Walking with someone through the last moments of their life is a fairly rare occurrence, unless you're a priest that is. Death does not always give due notice and so it often catches many by surprise although, paradoxically, it is one of those very few things in life we know will happen. Perhaps we will be able to say that final goodbye to one of our parents or loved ones but certainly not all of them. It is the "when" that catches us by surprise, of course, not death itself. And so it is a special grace for the one dying and their loved ones to have some proximate warning that he or she is dying so as to prepare as best as one can.
How many times have we prayed to Mary: "pray for us now and at the hour of our death"? She certainly assists us now and will do so at the hour of our death whether this comes suddenly and without warning or is somewhat anticipated. Nonetheless, what a blessing it is to have the grace to prepare oneself to meet Christ face to face at the moment of death. I would like to share just one of those moments with you.
On a day not long ago I received 2 messages within a very short amount of time. Written on red paper to indicate a "sick call" I looked at them and they were both said urgent "not sure how long he will live". I went to the first house. It was man I had anointed about 6 weeks earlier. I remembered him because there was something very dignified yet simple about him. He didn't have the sophisticated look of a rich man but of a man full of virtue. As the message indicated, he didn't look well. His eyes were half open at best. He sat in his chair noticeably uncomfortable as he repeatedly tried to reposition himself although he didn't have the strength even to budge. He slowly mumbled out the words that he was dying. When I asked him how he felt when he thought about dying he said "happy". This wasn't the "happy" of a desperate or bitter man who had given up his struggle to fight on. Rather, his was a "happy" of man who knew where, or rather, to Whom he was going. I didn't need to ask him to explain.
As I prepared to administer the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick, probably his last time, I told him not to worry about making the sign of the cross or trying to say the responses. Instead, "your heart can do the talking", I told him. His care giver was in the room, a woman in her 40's. I began: "The grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you". After a pause, he gathered up his energy and breathed out "and also with you". I wasn't about to tell not to talk. I spoke to him about the grace of the sacrament, how it was Christ himself who was lying hands on him and anointing him through me. I mentioned that all of his sin were forgiven and through the prayer of Apostolic Pardon all debt due to sin loosed. In others words, our Lord had come to get him himself, maybe today maybe in 10 years but he's good and ready.
At the end of the rite of anointing I said "let us pray in the words Christ taught us". As I began the Our Father I realized he was once again gathering his strength to join his voice to mine. I waited and we slowly continued together and prayed the Our Father to our Father.
That is dying with dignity. It has nothing to do with the suffering, the tubes and the like, it has to do with the man connected to them.
I realized it had been a half hour and that I had another man gravely ill to anoint. I arrived at his house within 5 minutes and meet several people inside. Two of his daughters, 3 other younger relatives, a hospice worker, and nurse were waiting for me. I entered the room with the family, pulled up a chair next the man lying in his bed with his oxygen mask. His breathing was deep and intermittent. He was struggling to breath, gasping. It didn't take a medical degree to realize death was quickly approaching.
I asked the family if their dad was responsive and they said "no", that he didn't make any physical movements or reactions to their words. I told them that while his body may not be responding he very well might be quite conscious nonetheless. Sitting in the chair next to the man I held his hand and introduced myself to him. "Hi, 'Jim', I am Fr. Brendan from Our Lady of Guadalupe Church and I have to come anoint you and prepare you for God." Then, I invited the family to participate with me in praying the Rite of Anointing of the Sick. All of us slowly and solemnly made the sign as if we were learning how for the first time. I turned to the side and greeted the Italian family who energetically responded "And also with you". Next I encouraged the dying man and the family to join me in calling to mind our sins and ask for God's mercy. Once again they actively responded..."Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy".
...And the man stopped breathing.
The daughters let out a big sigh. "Oh my God, he stopped breathing" As they called in the nurse I immediately stood up, leaned over the man and anointed him while praying the formula of anointing: Through this holy anointing, may our Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. Amen. So that freed from sin he may save you and raise you us. Amen" Just then the nurse rushed in, listed to his heart with her stethoscope and gave me that infamous look you see on TV where they just shake their head once very slowly without saying anything.
The first thing I remember hearing from one of the daughters is "Thank you, thank you Jesus". The other daughter then echoed the same prayer. I understood. This was exactly my first words when my grandma died. Perhaps their reasons were a little different than mine but I understood. The told me several times within the next 10 minutes how grateful they were that a priest come and anointed their father. I, in turn, thanked them for calling me. It was an emotional time for me too. I was caught up in it all myself.
I sat back down in the chair after the nurse noted the time of death and the initial shock of the family passed. Once again, I invited the family to continue to pray with me for their father. We continued with the beautiful prayers for the dead. It reminded me that death is a passage, something more profound and personal than the time of death. This was Jim's passover and we were going to join him as much as we could through prayer. We invoked the saints, we gave thanks, and commended to him to God.
What a beautiful death!
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen!
Friday, April 25, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Ghostbusters 101
I don't know if I was "sick" the day they taught us about ghosts in the seminary but I found myself ill-prepared the first time I was called to a house because they said they had a ghost. Ummm, OK. Do I grab a bible, rosary, holy water, is there a special prayer for Ghosts somewhere? Should I look under "G" for ghosts or "S" for spirits? What a minute! Do ghosts exist?
I had never given much thought about the existence of Ghosts before. I suppose my philosophy was: as long as they don't bother me I don't care too much whether or not they exist". Now that I am a priest the question has been forced upon me. I can't stand in the shadows and be nonchalant about it. People have called me at least a dozen times in the last year and half to do something.
Is there a ghost litmus test that I can give so that I can know whether there really is a ghost in their house? Wouldn't that be great? "Sorry, ma'am the test came back negative. No ghosts here" Or "Yes, my analysis shows there is ghost. Now I will......" What; what will I do?
Here is my first memorable ghost story:
At a catholic school function a parent I knew told me she had a ghost in her house. She seemed like a "normal", rational person, no more crazy than myself. The woman told me that the spirit didn't appear to be dangerous but there was no doubt that a ghost was in their house. Her husband, children, and neighbors had all experienced things moving, lights be turned off or on, strange sounds and the like. I thought nothing of this. I had no opinion on ghosts. I neither believed nor disbelieved in them...until this night.
I agreed to go over to their house that night with another family and some friends of theirs. After some social time we decided to address this ghost situation. The family told me that the previous owner was a women who lived there for many years and loved hosting parties in her home. Furthermore, the ghost seemed to always be present in or around the dining room. So, we gathered around the dinning room in a circle. There were about 12 of us. The lady next to be said "let's join hands". I immediately responded "No! This isn't a seance; we're going to prayer to God".
Not having any idea what to do, no text, no ritual - I prayed something like this: "God of love, you created us in your own image and likeness and you call us to yourself. I ask you to call your servant home to you now. Mary (the former owner and supposed ghost) don't be afraid of God. God is love and he calls you home. Let go of whatever is keeping you here. What awaits you is a God of love and mercy. Trust is him and go home. Leave this house now and let this family live her in peace. In name of Jesus leave this home and return to the God who created you."
Next, I asked for a bowl with water, blessed it, and went around the house blessing each room. As soon as I began I was so cold that I couldn't keep the water from spilling out of the bowl. I was shivering. I thought NOTHING of it, understandably assumed I was just really cold. After blessing the rooms we all returned to the dinning room for a final prayer. It was then that I looked at the lady to my left who owned the house. She was wearing a sleeveless dress. It immediately caught my attention and so I asked her "aren't you cold?" She said "no". I said, "I am freezing".
I left soon after the final prayer and when I got into my car I remembered that that this freezing sensation is often associated with ghosts. Was it a ghost? I don't know. However, the family tells me that they haven't experienced the ghost sense the blessing.
There are have been a couple of other ghost experiences that seemed really credible. What I do know is that God is more powerful than anything we will ever encounter. For that reason I have not been afraid at all. I don't come with my power but with faith and the power of God, the intercession of his mother, the saints, and the gift of my baptism and ordination.
I should add that I have never experienced anything that I would describe as demonic. That would be a different story completely.
What dumbfounds me are the countless calls that I receive from Latinos who tell me that they have a ghost in their house, they've seen a demon, or there's a shadow following them or their children. I never want to be cynical but the calls are so common and the stories so odd. Is it superstition or a psychological manifestation of some other problem? These calls are usually masked under the question "Can you bless my house". After a year or so of priesthood I have finally smartened up enough to ask them if they have just moved into their house or apartment and they almost always tell me "no". Then I ask them why they want their home blessed and they always tell me because they "see things" or something strange in going on in their house. Errrrrrrrr.
My next move is to ask them if they are baptized, go to Mass on Sunday's, have gone to confession recently and pray daily. The answer is usually "no". I also ask if anyone in the family is involved in superstition, palm readers, witch doctors (not uncommon among Latinos) and the like. As any good doctor would do I assign a healthy spiritual diet of the sacraments and prayer for 3 months and tell them to give me a call back if the problem continues. The medicine seems to be working.
Back to the issue - why all the sightings? Why are they almost all Latinos? One of the common things that several families have described to me is the experience of being held down in bed as if someone was sitting on their chest. They tell me they can't move and can hardly breath. After so many calls like this the similarity interests me and at times frustrates me. More than anything I wish to understand better so that I can serve these people better.
What do you think?
I had never given much thought about the existence of Ghosts before. I suppose my philosophy was: as long as they don't bother me I don't care too much whether or not they exist". Now that I am a priest the question has been forced upon me. I can't stand in the shadows and be nonchalant about it. People have called me at least a dozen times in the last year and half to do something.
Is there a ghost litmus test that I can give so that I can know whether there really is a ghost in their house? Wouldn't that be great? "Sorry, ma'am the test came back negative. No ghosts here" Or "Yes, my analysis shows there is ghost. Now I will......" What; what will I do?
Here is my first memorable ghost story:
At a catholic school function a parent I knew told me she had a ghost in her house. She seemed like a "normal", rational person, no more crazy than myself. The woman told me that the spirit didn't appear to be dangerous but there was no doubt that a ghost was in their house. Her husband, children, and neighbors had all experienced things moving, lights be turned off or on, strange sounds and the like. I thought nothing of this. I had no opinion on ghosts. I neither believed nor disbelieved in them...until this night.
I agreed to go over to their house that night with another family and some friends of theirs. After some social time we decided to address this ghost situation. The family told me that the previous owner was a women who lived there for many years and loved hosting parties in her home. Furthermore, the ghost seemed to always be present in or around the dining room. So, we gathered around the dinning room in a circle. There were about 12 of us. The lady next to be said "let's join hands". I immediately responded "No! This isn't a seance; we're going to prayer to God".
Not having any idea what to do, no text, no ritual - I prayed something like this: "God of love, you created us in your own image and likeness and you call us to yourself. I ask you to call your servant home to you now. Mary (the former owner and supposed ghost) don't be afraid of God. God is love and he calls you home. Let go of whatever is keeping you here. What awaits you is a God of love and mercy. Trust is him and go home. Leave this house now and let this family live her in peace. In name of Jesus leave this home and return to the God who created you."
Next, I asked for a bowl with water, blessed it, and went around the house blessing each room. As soon as I began I was so cold that I couldn't keep the water from spilling out of the bowl. I was shivering. I thought NOTHING of it, understandably assumed I was just really cold. After blessing the rooms we all returned to the dinning room for a final prayer. It was then that I looked at the lady to my left who owned the house. She was wearing a sleeveless dress. It immediately caught my attention and so I asked her "aren't you cold?" She said "no". I said, "I am freezing".
I left soon after the final prayer and when I got into my car I remembered that that this freezing sensation is often associated with ghosts. Was it a ghost? I don't know. However, the family tells me that they haven't experienced the ghost sense the blessing.
There are have been a couple of other ghost experiences that seemed really credible. What I do know is that God is more powerful than anything we will ever encounter. For that reason I have not been afraid at all. I don't come with my power but with faith and the power of God, the intercession of his mother, the saints, and the gift of my baptism and ordination.
I should add that I have never experienced anything that I would describe as demonic. That would be a different story completely.
What dumbfounds me are the countless calls that I receive from Latinos who tell me that they have a ghost in their house, they've seen a demon, or there's a shadow following them or their children. I never want to be cynical but the calls are so common and the stories so odd. Is it superstition or a psychological manifestation of some other problem? These calls are usually masked under the question "Can you bless my house". After a year or so of priesthood I have finally smartened up enough to ask them if they have just moved into their house or apartment and they almost always tell me "no". Then I ask them why they want their home blessed and they always tell me because they "see things" or something strange in going on in their house. Errrrrrrrr.
My next move is to ask them if they are baptized, go to Mass on Sunday's, have gone to confession recently and pray daily. The answer is usually "no". I also ask if anyone in the family is involved in superstition, palm readers, witch doctors (not uncommon among Latinos) and the like. As any good doctor would do I assign a healthy spiritual diet of the sacraments and prayer for 3 months and tell them to give me a call back if the problem continues. The medicine seems to be working.
Back to the issue - why all the sightings? Why are they almost all Latinos? One of the common things that several families have described to me is the experience of being held down in bed as if someone was sitting on their chest. They tell me they can't move and can hardly breath. After so many calls like this the similarity interests me and at times frustrates me. More than anything I wish to understand better so that I can serve these people better.
What do you think?
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Recent Sightings
Well, I thought I'd touch base and share some recent sights and perhaps even insights.
Lessons from a Funeral
One sight that has not left my mind comes from the funeral from a 10 year-old: the face of the grieving young mother. This was her baby. I remember the the pall bearers unfolding the pall over the casket as is always done only to realize that the coffin was too small for the pall - they couldn't unfold it all the way. The sight of the small coffin remains in my mind even now. An important insight came from all of this. After blessing the body at the beginning of Mass I led the procession into the chapel. As I help my head up I noticed that I was leading the procession of crying friends and family to the altar and towards the large beautiful bronze crucifix that hung behind it. It was as we were walking toward Jesus Christ himself to present the dead child - his child - to him. Like the dead the Lazarus, there appeared to be no hope, nothing to pray for. "[Lazarus] has been dead 4 days already", Mary said to Jesus. What could Jesus do? He raised him from the dead. So too, this same Jesus reminded me during that short procession that we were truly walking toward him with his child and that, despite all appearances, she too would be called out from the dead into everlasting life. Life for this child did not end with death because Jesus destroyed death by his dying and rising.
Confession with a Twist
A priest recently had a startling experience while hearing the 1st confession of a child. After hearing the boy's confession the priest gave the child his penance, bowed his head, closed his eyes, raised his hand in blessing and prayed the formula of absolution: "God the Father of mercies, through the death...." !SLAP! The priest was startled as his hand was slapped. It turns out the boy didn't know what to make of the priest's hand hanging up in the air like that so he figured the priest wanted a "high 5". He got one!
My Condolences!
From time to time the phone messages really pile up. Funerals, counseling, weddings, quinceaneras, etc... The cycle continues as the game of phone tag ensues as new messages and visitors come in. I hope you can understand how I might get things mixed up from time to time. I called Mary (names are changed for confidentiality) to offer my condolences over the loss of her father and to help make funeral arraignments for the Mass. This was very much on my mind during the day. Finally, Mary called back later in the day and said "hi, Father, you called me?" "Yes, I said, I was calling to assist you the arraignments for Mass?" She paused and responded somewhat harshly "arraignments? that sounds pretty morbid!" I said "well, yes its a funeral". She stumbled over her words and finally spit out "what? I'm getting married!" Opps. Apparently, this was a different Mary.
What did you call me?
True Story: A priest-friend in New England was going through the newness of his first year as a priest. He was nervous. He had been told about the large crowds that would be attending the Ash Wednesday services - his first as a priest - and wanted to make sure he was well prepared. Mass was a prayerful experience all was going well until the blessing of the ashes. Father stood up and invited everyone else to do the same. He approached the ashes and in a confident voice and holy water in hand he said "Heavenly Father please bless these Ashes", except he missed the "h".
Focus, Father
On Sunday or Monday I read through all the readings for coming weekday Masses. Then, the night before, I read the readings for the Mass of the following day and begin to put some ideas together for a homily. When I get up in the morning I think and pray about the readings as I shave, shower, and get dressed. At times I get a little too caught up in my reflections. Recently, at the end of my morning routine I was tying my first shoe when I realized I had forgotten to put my pants on. Boy, that would have woken everyone up for the 6:15am Mass!
A Tough Morning!
On a recent day off I slept in until 7:30am, prayed and went out for a nice leisurely breakfast while reading the paper and sipping on my third cup of coffee. Next, I went to a driving range and hit some balls for about 45minutes. (not pretty) The next stop was Best Buy to see how I could spend my $50 gift card that I received for Christmas. Well, after getting home at about 11am. I looked in the mirror - something I should have done earlier apparently - and found my zipper WIDE open and a little gift from a bird on my shirt. Yes, that's right. Somehow, I managed to get...pooped on without even noticing it -right over the Angel's logo on my shirt!
It's not always a pretty sight my friends!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
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
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.” (
On February 14th I was caught up in gazing at the heart of my claddagh ring which I bought in 
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
Sunday, November 18, 2007
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.
“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.
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.
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!
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!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
1,052nd 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.
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