Chauwa

Chauwa
Originally uploaded by john.duffell

Mr. Frank Chauwa! This fellow could be me, if I had been born in the Namitembo area. He's a catechist, a full-time lay person working for Fr. Owen and the people of Namitembo. Catechists are to the Church of Africa as deacons are the the Church of the U.S.

My son John took this picture the other day -- I found it on his flicker account.

Grains of Wheat

This past weekend it was my turn again for the homily. I spent a couple of weeks reflecting on the gospel (John 12, 20-33), and intended to write about the beginning: "We want to see Jesus." I was all prepared to ask if this is the reason that people came to Mass, and to take a look at the Mass as we celebrate it at St. Bridget, and ask aloud if we were doing our best to enable people to really see Jesus -- from the moment someone walks in ("How well do we greet people -- with the Spirit?"), to the times when the scripture is read ("Do we PROCLAIM it so that people can really understand and see God, or do we just read it?"), to the homily ("Is the homily making Jesus ALIVE TO US?"), to the Eucharist ("Do we really sense the REAL PRESENCE?").

But somewhere along the line, I was ambushed by the Jesus I saw & heard, and felt the heaviness of his words, spoken with the feeling of his approaching death. So that's what came out.

Good morning. It’s a pleasure to be with you this morning. How’s your Lent coming along? I hope that when we began Lent, you had some goals for yourself, whatever they were. As for my Lent, I promised God that I would take better care of my body, that I would exercise more, eat more carefully and mindfully; and that I would take better care of my soul, especially that I would come to daily Mass a lot more; and that in all those things I’d consciously try to listen to what God was saying to me and my life. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to make a weekend retreat last weekend with my fellow deacons and their wives, and I want to thank you for praying at Mass for me and for Joan last weekend when we were on that retreat. I know that a good many parishioners have made retreats this Lent – the parish sponsored weekend retreats for both men and women, and we also had Fr. Bob Kennedy here with us, for Mass last weekend and an open parish retreat this week, and we counted at least 135 parishioners who made parts or all of those retreat days.

But however this Lent has gone for you, today our scriptures remind us that we’re getting close to the end. In fact, this passage from John’s gospel takes place immediately after the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem that we celebrate next week on Palm Sunday. One minute, the Pharisees are surveying the crowds cheering for Jesus and griping to each other, “Look at that, the whole world has gone after him.” And immediately after that, our scriptures tell of these Greeks we meet today, who have come to Jerusalem and who now come up to the disciples and say they would like to see Jesus.

Now, wouldn’t you expect that there would be some residual excitement, some euphoria, among the disciples or with Jesus, after such a triumphal reception by the crowd? But that’s not where Jesus’ head is. It could seem like it at first, because he says “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” But we know, don’t we, that Jesus is not talking about a glory of adulation and acclaim. And we know that Jesus is not really talking in the abstract when he says, “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it remains but a grain of wheat.” He’s talking about his own coming death. And it’s not just a rhetorical question when he asks aloud, “What should I say, ‘Father save me from this hour?’” He’s thinking, the hour of his own death; and so he answers his own question, “No, it is for this reason” – to offer up his own life —“that I have come to this hour.”

So this passage today is not at all just an abstract teaching for us to play around with in our mind lightly. Jesus means what he says today, it’s weighing heavily on his mind -- and he’s going to demonstrate what he means, in just a few short days. So, does that help us to take these words more seriously? It might even be a worthy meditation for the rest of our Lent, John 12, v 20-33.

And what about the words, “Those who love their life in this world will lose it”? In other words, “Those who love this life, those who hang onto this world, as if it were the only world they had; those who value this life in this world more than they value the eternal life we are all made for” – they will surely lose it. But those who offer their lives up … they will save it, they will know eternal life.

Now if you believe that, and I hope you do, I would say that you’re probably in the minority – at least here in the United States, and much of the western world. From my observation, people who live in societies like ours tend to be extremely passionate about activities like making money, getting ahead in the workplace, buying lots of stuff, and having a great time. That’s where their focus is. And in the same way, I think we all know of men and women who are extremely passionate about their physical health and appearance – who wouldn’t miss a workout at the gym, who get all kinds of plastic surgery, and who are incredibly strict about their diets, and if you ask them about reps, or calories, or the best personal fitness coach, or good plastic surgeons, they can go on for hours. But what happens if you ask any of these same people about the last time they went to Mass or the sacrament of Reconciliation, or the last time they read scripture on their own, or prayed seriously, or made a retreat? All too many would shrug, or scratch their heads. You might as well be talking a foreign language. They neglect their souls.

Of course it’s good to provide for our families, and it’s important to take care of our bodies, they’re temples of the Holy Spirit, after all. But this gospel goes right to the heart of things and makes us face what we would like not to face: Who are we? What means so much to us that we’ll die for it? Who or what is larger than ourselves? What must we let go of, in order to grow? For whose sake will we give our lives and thus save them? Or will we desperately cling to the lives we want so much, only to wind up losing them?
You and I are rich, my friends. We have been endowed by God with the most priceless of all possessions, life itself. God made us in God’s own image, and that is our real life, the indefinable something that makes us who and what we are. And any one life is worth more than all of the money in the world. But life is not for keeping. We’re grains of wheat. Life is for giving away.

It’s easy to demonstrate how true this is. Keep all of your friendliness to yourself, never share it with another human being, and you will eventually find yourself with no friends at all, none. But give your friendliness away, be generous with your words of encouragement and deeds of kindness, and you will find yourself with more friends than you ever dreamed possible. The same is true with faith; with hope, with love -- and especially with our very life, life itself. Cling to it, keep it for our self, and our life will dwindle and die. But offered to God and given for others, it will multiply until only eternity can contain its abundance.

Life is not for keeping. We’re grains of wheat. Life is for giving away.

It’s decision time. That’s what this gospel is about, and why this passage found its way into our tradition. It’s a good meditation for the rest of Lent.

Blessings -- and may the rest of your Lent be filled with the experience of the Lord.

A Retreat with the Bishop

This past weekend I had the opportunity to gather with the other deacons and their spouses at the Palisades Retreat Center, for the annual Deacons Retreat. This year the retreat was led by Bishop Eusebio Elizondo, one of our auxiliary bishops (follow the link to see his picture, along with a bio). I've had two other retreats led by bishops, one by Archbishop Hunthausen and one by Archbishop Murphy, and both were excellent.

But one never knows what to expect. I did have the unexpected pleasure of riding to Paulsbo with him the weekend before, to the Forum on Immigration (see earlier posting), and I knew him to be a man of some passion. It was actually delightful to experience that same passion coming through during the retreat.

It is simplifying things to summarize a retreat experience, but I'll just say that he gave us many opportunities to reflect upon what being a deacon meant, especially as we move through Lent toward Holy Week and Easter. He gave three talks, on what the Passion/Death/Resurrection had to say to us deacons as 1) husbands, 2) ministers within the Church, and 3) ministers within the liturgy. In each of the three, we were asked to think and pray about what it meant to offer ourselves wholly, without reservation, just as Jesus did.

What does that mean within marriage? Being a husband is more than a role, more than an arrangement or "contract." How do we go beyond those, to loving in the way Jesus did as he moved to & through death? What did that mean for each us present at the current times of our individual lives? What did it mean in my own life, with Joan and I as "empty nesters," and very taken up in careers that are very consuming? How do we give ourselves to each other when there seems, ironically, to be less & less time than when we had children at home?

What does that mean within ministry? And what does it mean within the celebration of the Mass? The last was the easiest to get concrete about... the bishop talked about taking very seriously everything that we say & do... that the mystery wasn't a scripted play that we walk through, but a reality we should LIVE. If we don't LIVE IT, it will be empty, however "well-done" it might seem from the outside. To walk through a script was to "act as a professional" -- and he reminded us that we weren't "hired guns," expected to put on a good show, but ministers who were expected to be LIVING & EXPERIENCING THE TRUTH of the liturgy. To say "The Lord be with you" as a prayer, not a formula... to experience the Consecration as a living reality, not as a symbolic remembrance of the Last Supper... to experience Communion as really consuming Jesus, to make us more like Jesus, and not going through a mere re-enactment, however reverently.

I came away with the strong sense that this period of my life was not a time to be "retiring" (that's a pun). It's a time for PASSION, the passion that came so easily in my 20's or 30's -- but without, let's say, the sense of righteousness that was so tempting then.

Something to ponder over. It's important to take time for retreats, every so often.

Of Life and Death

I'm feeling a little somber today -- the result of the two recent deaths in the parish, and the feelings/circumstances surrounding them.

The first was the accidental death this past weekend of a 42-year old man, John Safka, who left behind three young children, all enrolled in Villa Academy, the Catholic school across the street from the church. It was a tragic snowmobile accident, taking place during a weekend outing with friends. John was well-known and well-loved, and the church service was utterly packed with people. I think this is one of our secret fears as parents, that something might happen to us or to our spouse, something that would keep either of us from being there for our children. You could almost see those feelings among the people gathered -- it was part of the sorrow and bond with John and his children. I felt almost in a daze myself: "How is this happening?" Our community is a very supportive one, and I'm sure that people will go out of their way to surround the mother and children. But even with that good support, this is a huge blow.

Our pastor, Fr. Tim Sauer, tried right away in his homily to confront that awful question "How is this part of God's plan?" But I think there's an emotional element to that question that defies any logic or theology. My answer to the question is simply, "I don't know why things like this happen." I don't. But after sitting with that answer in silence, I still find myself able to affirm that I DO believe that we have a good God who does love us...

The second death was of a man my age (early 60's), Keith Liner, who died after a battle with cancer. Keith left behind a wife and daughter in college, and a strong heritage of service. His personal history included twenty-one years with the Marines, as a decorated veteran; and then after his daughter was born, nineteen years more with the Seattle Police Deparatment.

I didn't originally know Keith as well as I had John, but I had the honor of spending time with him in the hospital, and time with his family after his death, preparing for his funeral with them. He was a man who faced his death with a humble faith, and richly expressed his love for his family before he died. He had a deep respect for those with whom he served, and that respect was reflected in the honor and ceremony with which they said goodbye. I could not help but observe that solemn rituals are not the exclusive property of the Church. Rituals are part of human behavior, aren't they? Especially when we want to say things for which words fail.

Immigration Reform

This past Saturday I attended a Forum on Immigration sponsored by the Archdiocese of Seattle. They're sponsoring a series of them; I had to get up at 5:15 a.m. for this one, taking a ferry ride to Paulsbo for it, because the scheduled forum closer to home posed a schedule conflict for me.

In announcing these gatherings, Seattle's Archbishop Brunette had written to all the parishes about a few of the difficulties that our brother & sister Catholics live with. In his letter he casually highlighted one parish where people are now afraid to come to the Spanish-language Mass, out of fear that Immigration and Customs and Enforcement (ICE) would grab them after Mass. I came hoping to learn on a deeper level what the Catholic bishops have to say about immigration reform.

The forum was attended by about 60-70 people, mostly from the parishes in the area. There was a wealth of material distributed, especially a "Parish Resource Kit" produced by the Catholic Campaign for Immigration Reform, part of the USCCB Committee on Migration. The bishops' call for reform includes the following elements: 1) Global anti-poverty efforts -- so that there would be more incentives to stay in one's home country; 2) Expanded opportunities to reunify families -- current practice often breaks them apart; 3) a Temporary Worker program, with a path to permanent residency which is achievable/verifiable -- foreign workers provide valuable labor in many areas; 4) Broad-based legalization -- if candidates can demonstrate good moral character and have built up equities in this country; and 5) Restoration of due process -- immigrants in recent years have been subject to detention for months without charges, secret hearings, and ethnic profiling, policies which confuse immigration with terrorism.

The materials distributed highlight five rights, that fit in with these elements: 1) Persons have the right to find opportunities in their homeland; 2) Persons have the right to migrate to support themselves and their families; 3) Sovereign nations have a right to control their borders; 4) Refugees and asylum seekers should be afforded protection; and 5) The human rights and human dignity of undocumented migrants should be respected.

I was very touched by the personal witness given at this gathering -- families who testified to members being detained indefinitely (read: imprisoned) without representation, waiting hearings. Some fled persecution in their home country and have reason to fear for their lives if they are deported. Bishop Elizondo spoke very persuasively and passionately about the injustice of our current system and policies. It was repeatedly described as a "broken" system.

The Story of Isaac

Well, last weekend's homily was about a reading that never fails to hit me really hard: the one in which Abraham is told by God to sacrifice his son Isaac. It's usually the custom to speak about the Gospel, which was Mark's account of the Transfiguration. But, as you will see, I chose the story of Isaac.

Good morning! If you listened even slightly to our three readings today, you may have found all three of them familiar. Our gospel story of the Transfiguration is heard every Lent, whether from Mathew, Mark, or Luke. Our second reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans is very often chosen for funerals.

But it is our first reading today that has captured my attention and imagination. It’s one of the first Bible stories I learned in grade school, though in today’s world the subject matter, to some people, might make it off limits for teaching it in school.

The passage is shortened, so we don’t get the background. The promise that we hear at the end of this passage, that Abraham’s descendents would be as numerous as the stars of heaven and the sand on the seashore – that’s a repetition of an earlier promise. God had already promised that to Abraham when Abraham obeyed God’s call to leave his homeland. And this son right here, this son Isaac is Abraham’s only son by his wife Sarah, conceived in her old age, a miracle baby! So Isaac was clearly not only dear to him as his miracle child and his only son, but Abraham understood Isaac as the fulfillment of God’s promise to him, that he and his descendents would become a “great nation.”

They travel three days to get to this mountain. Isaac doesn’t know at first what’s going on, he’s just helping his father. They leave their servants at the foot of the mountain. And Isaac himself even carries the wood for his own sacrifice on his shoulders. And as they climb the mountain, Isaac cries out, “Father, the fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” And the only answer Abraham can give is, “My son, God will provide.” But Isaac must have guessed that something dreadful was up; he must have been able to see it in his father’s whole bearing. And when everything was ready, the altar built, the wood laid out – his father tied him up, and laid Isaac on the wood. The scripture doesn’t say whether Isaac was gagged or could speak; I can imagine it either way, and either way it’s horrible. And Abraham reached for the knife, picked it up… and then God intervened.

It is true that this is a story of faith, a story of a man being faithful to God under the most extraordinary conditions. But it is still a chilling, chilling story. I have always thought so, even as a child. If we were to read of something like this taking place today, of course the child would be taken away and the father would be locked up somewhere, for a very long time. And if the father, in his defense, were to say that he was following a command from God, that would bring a very predictable response. Delusions – Religious crazy. And unfortunately we do have plenty of examples in modern life of people doing unspeakable things in the name of God.

The one thing that makes this story understandable from our modern perspective is that there’s no question in Abraham’s mind (and in ours, as a people of faith, hearing it as a faith story some 3000 years later) that this was the voice of God. But our experience today of hearing God’s voice is generally much different. Ours is not usually so clear and certain. So one real question for us from this story today is, how do we know when we’re hearing the voice of God?

This is one of the most serious faith questions we can have. Our tradition is rich with people who have experienced unmistakable calls from God – mystics and missionaries, hermits, saints, poets. I think most of us can honestly say that we do hear the voice of God, to one degree or another. But how do we know?

Our modern world is very seductive – intentionally so. There are voices out there all the time, trying to get us to do their bidding. Images in magazines and on TV lift up fun and excitement, pleasure, glamour, wealth, power … images that beckon to us in all kinds of ways.

And if that weren’t difficult enough, there are inner voices too, that make it hard to hear God’s voice. THIS is what I want. THAT is what I need. THIS feels right to me. But if I do THAT, this other thing could happen. And there are spirits of darkness and doubt, spirits of pride or desire – sometimes seductively masquerading within us as spirits of light and goodness, clouding our conscience.

Which voice is God’s, and how do we listen for it? How do we know God’s voice when we hear it? And then, can I find the strength to do what God’s voice tells me? Those are great Lenten questions! I wish we had a whole weekend for those questions, because those are questions for a retreat, not for a homily. But I can tell you, very simply, that helping people to answer questions like that is one of the most important functions of our faith. Our Catholic faith gives us a perspective, a tradition, and a community within which we can more readily be able to discern the voice of God. It gives us keys to forming a good conscience, to leading a life of integrity. It gives us a firm place to stand, good solid ground for the soul. And if any of you would like to talk about those questions sometime, well, that’s why Father and I got ordained. That’s why Joe Rinaldi is in Youth Ministry, and Marnie Russell in Faith Formation. We love to talk about questions like that!

I’d like to close today with one final reflection. Every time I come across this scripture story, I remember a haunting song about it, written Leonard Cohen, a musician and lyricist from the 60’s and 70’s. You can find all the words if you want if you Google “the Story of Isaac.” It’s written from Isaac’s prospective, describing his father, strong and holy, with his eyes shining, trying to explain to Isaac he’s had a vision, a vision which commands him to take a blade in his hand. But when the altar’s finally built, the song turns to today, to those in our own modern world who sacrifice children Isaac words are these: “You who build these altars now, to sacrifice our children, you must not do it anymore.” The song does not identify which children. But it’s about unborn children sacrificed by abortion on the altar of personal choice. It’s about the children of Iraq, or the innocent children of the Gaza strip who made up a third of the victims of so-called surgical strikes. It’s about the children who comprise the largest category of poor everywhere, in our own country and in the world. It’s about children who are always the most vulnerable and forgotten victims of violence or war.

This is one very disturbing scripture today. We shouldn’t let it overwhelm us – we are a people of hope. And sometimes it’s good to be a little disturbed.

When I gave the homily, I sang Isaac's words. Not because I have a great voice, mind you! (Although mine is at least as good as Leonard Cohen's!) But because I think that really catches the attention and helps people remember the point.

Feeding the Hungry

One of the delights of being on a church staff is being around when truly noble things take place.

St. Bridget has had a partnership with Namitembo parish in Malawi since early 1997 (see one of my earliest blogs, on 12/13/06). I've visited four times; my wife and younger daughter came with me once and my youngest son John came with me once. John is now in a 2nd year of volunteering there.

Last winter (our winter, not theirs), during the Malawian planting and growing season, the rains abruptly stopped in February, relegating the maize harvest to about 40% of the previous year's supply. Seeing a serious food shortage developing, we put out the word to the people of St. Bridget and their friends. We collected funds and sent over $30,000 to Namitembo, to be used when people began running out of food.

In January, our newly retired kindergarten teacher, Ann Nachtigal, went to Namitembo with her husband Chet, to visit and work with the people and in the schools for about four months. She has written a very simple but heartwarming letter about the distribution of food and funds, and took lots of pictures. I'd really love for you to read her first-hand description of what happened.

I wish I could have been there. A big THANKS to everyone who contributed time or funds to make this happen.