I composed a blog last Monday but by some miscalculation it flew off into cyberspace and seems to be irretrievably lost. Perhaps the angels grabbed it to save me embarrasment! Every so often a happy accident seems to save us from a mistake we are not seeing. One of my favorite lines from the breviary is, “Lord, forgive me for the sins of my youth and stupidity.” Young  I am not but stupid I can freely admit to. I suppose we all are sometimes. A poorly composed or delivered homily, a slip of the tongue when speaking to fellow Christians, too much haste with the sick or lonely, messing up my daily schedule so that someone’s need is not met, and dozens of other things are the everyday flaws in my life as a disciple. I can only learn from my mistakes and place them in the loving, forgiving and amused hands of the Lord. I love the old French saying: Qu’il est bon le bon Dieu! Who is the perfect Christian? Without judging, I suspect that you, along with me, have an imperfect record of ministry to send up to the Lord. Laugh and learn, and go on! Do you suppose the Lord in multiplying bread for the five thousand, made a mistake and created too many, hence the twelve basket overflow? Probably not, but if humanly he  had, what a wonderful lesson for us, the struggling but flawed followers of his word. Be comforted, how very much the Lord loves us. Amen. Amen.

I have said this often, but it is always true: my favorite psalm is 131. It is short but very rich. Whenever things become burdensome or I find that I must be busy about something I’d rather avoid, I recite the paslm to myself. When the ouches of being my age begin to demand more attention than I want them to, I remember, “Like a child rests in its mother’s arms, Lord, so will I rest in thee”. Learning that internal peace and quiet that we find in the Lord is essential to survival sometimes. I often give that psalm as a penance to people in Confession who are torn up  by guilt or anger or fear or any of the other residue of sin. Rest in the Lord. I try to find a silent corner where I live and take as comfortable a seat as I can find, breath a deep breath and whisper, “Here I am, Lord, here I am”. Then I sit still and let God talk to me. His talk is usually just silence, but it is a silence so filled with peace and quiet, so steeped in confidence in his love for me that whatever the boiling point was, it is stilled as surely as that day he quieted the roiling sea for his anxious disciples. The Lord’s power is quiet, as quiet as that whispering wind outside Elijah’s cave. Try it. Just tell Him that you are there and let him speak to you: Like a child rests in its mother’s arms, so rest in Him.

Things are moving towards harvest. The corn may not be quite as high as an elephant’s eye yet, but it is definitely moving in that direction. The tomato plants I have been fostering have little tomatoes on them, not nearly ready for picking yet, but on the way. In a sense they are symbols of the spiritual life for me. It is very difficult to see how close to harvest we might be, but we must always have the confidence that we are on the way, nurturing it with prayer, meditation, the sacraments and an ever readiness for ministry. Some days I feel like a little kid saying’ “Are we there yet?” We can get so wrapped up in straining to see the goal, that we may be missing the joyous, grace-filled journey on the way. Every morning I look at my infant tomatoes and think that they have grown a little, and that makes me happy. Every morning when I begin Mass I think that I am one Mass closer to heaven and I am glad for this one Mass. I could look at each day as another day of drudgery, preparing classes, dragging my way through office hours, doing the same old chores once again. Isn’t it okay to feel like the disciples on the way to Emmaus, unknowingly walking with Jesus, and their hearts  burning with joy! Isn’t there some old chestnut of a song, “You’ll never walk alone.” Think of that as a promise from Jesus, and how then can the trip be anything less than a pure joy?  Walk with Jesus!

In the four week cycle of the psalms in the breviary, we hit on psalm 29 with one of my favorite verses: “Vox Dei decorticat silvis”. I have seen various translations of that Latin but all reflect the power of God, “The voice of God strips the bark from forest trees.” is my favorite. Last week I drove across the southern border of Michigan from the center into Ohio and then through farm land to Findlay some one hundred miles or so in all. It is such a delight to view the countryside. The winter wheat is golden brown and close to harvesting, the corn, certainly “knee high by the fourth of July” as the old farmers would have said it, is a deep luxurious green, and the soybeans, just above ground are a fair blush of pale green. Those are the three major crops around this part of the country. I don’t know how you can see all that without  recognizing the power of God. In the order of the universe, reflected in a field of corn, how could we think that god is not or is only some remote being who has no immediate concern for this earth. I would like to think that there are no atheists in a cornfield. Saint Irenaeus, whose feast is today, says that we can see God in  his acts. Indeed, how can we not see God in his acts! If you have the time (and make the time!) take a drive in the country today and in your head and heart sing a bit of “How Great Thou Art”. That’s God’s gift for you today.

It is John 21:1-3 that caught my attention this morning. It is after the resurrection and the apostles have been told to go to Galilee and wait for Jesus there. Peter, Thomas, Nathaniel, James, John and two unnamed apostles are there obediently waiting, but perhaps more impatiently than obediently! They really don’t know how Jesus will appear and as the waiting goes on, Peter suddenly says, “I am going fishing”. The others decide to go with him. Of course, while they are frustrated in their occupation, they do not notice that Jesus has appeared on shore, right where they were supposed to be waiting. I can’t help but think that we tend to live out our spiritual life in the same way. The Lord does not appear where or when we expect and so we begin to turn to other things, the things we know. Those are almost always material things. Prayer, meditation, contemplation are less important than our own “fishing”, whatever our form of material distraction may be. Of course it is frustrating. Jesus is waiting for us elsewhere! In John the story has a happy ending: : “Children, have you caught anything to eat?” It is the naive, young “disciple whom Jesus loved” who recognizes the voice and cries out, “It is the Lord”. Peter, splashing through the water to Jesus pulls them back to their rightful task, wait for Jesus. Our own story can have a happy ending as well. Listen carefully, you will recognize his voice. “It is the Lord!

Summer break is upon us. I have a hiatus from my teaching at Sacred Heart Seminary and from the work I had been doing in two parishes. I am living at my retreat near Lake Columbia in the Irish Hills in south central Michigan but traveling the approximately one hundred miles back to the seminary regularly to meet with spiritual directees, collect my mail and take care of the usual and seemingly endless tasks that go with teaching these days. I get up early each morning to pray Matins and Lauds (Office of Readings and Morning Prayer, I am old fashioned in naming them!) in the little chapel here at Lacus Leonum. I named my retreat that because it is Jerome’s slightly askew translation of “Lions’ Den” and because it is where Daniel is. Matins and Lauds is then followed by Mass and later the daytime prayer. I recently read St. Augustine’s words on praying the psalms, and it made me realize why I am so happy when praying the psalms. It is almost as though God were singing to me in his own special poetry. I hear David and those wondrous patriarch’s singing back to him and it is a concert whose beauty is beyond description and imitation. There is a window in my chapel that looks out on the green hills and blue water of the lake, more magnificent than any stained glass could be, and I understand a bit what St. Teresa of Avila meant when she said, “All the way to heaven must be heaven because He said, ‘I am the way’.” Whereever you are and whenever you can, open your Bible to the psalms and listen to God’s symphony. I guarantee wonder! Amen! Alleluia!

Exam week is finished here at Sacred Heart Seminary, and students are packing to go in many directions. Some are headed to Mexico to an immersion experience in Spanish, some are head for Rome, or Israel, or parish ministry, and some are going for the IRP course in priestly spirituality. A number are taking the spring semester here that begins next week and a few are headed for a variety of ministries such as counselor at a Catholic camp. The “good old days” of having the summer free is long gone. These young men have been through a very thorough scurtiny before entering the seminary, and now as seminarians go through very rigid demands in their formation. Both formators and spiritual directors will follow their progress and help them make the proper decision as regards their future in ministry. It is tough preparing for the ministry these days, the marines have nothing on us! Even their summer training in preaching is aptly called the “preaching boot camp”. I consider it a great privilege to be part of their way towards the priesthood. They do need our support in prayer, and our deep concern for the Church means that only the best should be promoted to her service. We must learn from the past that the laying on of hands be done with great care and high demands.If you wonder at our focus, read Paul’s letters to Timothy!

I have been asked if I would like to teach a course on aesthetics in the future. At my age contemplating new ventures for the future may seem presumptuous. However, I have not reached a conclusion on when creative juices should be turned off. May I safely say, never?! The request comes from someone who has a copy of the CDs of my sacred art and architecture course. In that I have been circling around the concept of beauty in this postmodern age. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” is such patent nonsense that defining what beauty isn’t is remarkably easy. Defining what it is presents much more of a dilemma. I know it involves at least three things: the intent of the artist, the art produced in whatever form, and the one who perceives the art and completes its realization. I immediately jump to the Holy Trinity in some symbolic fashion. After all, the Father-Creator is the supreme artist and his supreme work is the Son, the Divine Word (Who proceeds from the Father), and the whole reality is bound together by the Spirit of Love. All are divine and co-equal. A theology of beauty must begin there. When applied to Church architecture, an imitation of the beauty of the Trinity, perhaps we can begin to understand why some postmodern church architecture so widely misses the mark. Not only does it not imitate the integrity, proportion and clarity of the divine but it lowers itself to an imitation of the purely secular. No wonder that we sometimes ask ourselves, upon entering some postmodern churches, “Is this really a church?”. I remember going into a church down east that was essentially a brick lined cube with no decor other than the bare brick. There was not even a crucifix. A severe block of stone served as an altar, another as an ambo and a third as a presider’s “stool”. There were no pews, kneelers or anything other than what looked like kitchen chairs scattered around the “gathering space”. It was indeed a gathering space but hardly a praying space. It might as well have been a warehouse. If the art is not legible, that is, if the receiver cannot “read” the art, how does it fulfill its purpose? Religious art, after all, is didactic by its very nature. It ought also to be “finished” art, and not some flimsy, inauthentic and ragged production. It ought to be fitting for the house of God. Finally, it should show some theological wisdom, that is, it ought to lift us to higher things. It is not a football stadium, it is a church, a place of God, a gathering of God’s people. Perhaps I rant a bit much, but I want a church to be a church, beginning with its very doors…doors that say, “Introibo ad altare Dei”, “I will enter unto the altar of God”. What think you?

I have a t-shirt that says boldly, “Warning: Irish temper and German stubborness.” Since I am half German and half Irish, I intended to wear it this morning but had second thoughts about showing up for Mass in a t-shirt! I am old-fashioned about clerical clothing perhaps, but I wear the collar except when recreating. When I first arrived at my last parish, a religious sister noted that I always wore the collar and black suit while “working” and in a stage whisper to another staff member said, “Must he always wear black?” I am not judging any other religious or cleric by my insistance on wearing my clerical garb, but it is a sign to others that I am available and in uniform, ready for whatever task my ministry calls me to. After a   few weeks around my parish, I was greeted everywhere with a “Hello, padre” even by people who were neither Catholic nor Christian. After a few months, they stopped to talk, or to call “Hey, Padre” from the other side of a store, even when I was “in mufti” as they say, in my off-duty garb. Is a priest ever “off duty”. I suspect not. In the end, perhaps the sign value of clerical garb is more for myself than for anyone else, to tell me that I am on duty. It may be a bit like the doctor who wears a stethoscope around his neck even when not using it. It screams “doctor” to whomever but above all to himself. After the abuse scandals broke into the news, many priests stopped wearing the collar in public out of embarrassment or just to avoid confrontation. I never stopped wearing it, and more than once was confronted by some malicious individual. Eventually that passed, and I am and always have been blessed in being able to stand before the world as a priest. That is not for the sake of pride, it is for the sake of ministry. The Lord called and I did not answer, “Yes, Lord as long as it is not uncomfortable!” I may have many flaws as a priest, but my “yes” is not one of them.

This weekend we are celebrating “laetare” Sunday. The entrance antiphon that we sing as the liturgy begins opens with the word “Rejoice”, for the Latin “laetare” which is where the title for the Sunday comes from. It is the middle of lent and the church wants us to rejoice in the pilgrimage we are making with Jesus through his last preaching tour, his agony, suffering, trial and death. Despite the bleak aspects of the pilgrimage at this point, we remember that this turmoil leads to resurrection and ascension. The reality behind this rejoicing is hope, trust. Psalm 131 expresses so very well the trust we feel   (the translation  is my own): “Lord, my heart is not proud, my eyes are not on great things, things too great for me. Instead, I have quieted my heart. Like a child rests in its mother’s arms, so do I rest in You. Child of Israel, trust in the Lord, now and forever.” Lent is, by its very nature, a somewhat dismal period of mourning over our weaknesses and need for repentance and reform. But just as the sun is so welcome in the midst of a grey winter, Gaudete is welcome as a burst of light  renewing our trust in a God who not only forgives, but refreshes and recreates the children He loves. This weekend, the church’s ministers vest in rose-colored robes to mark this exuberant burst of hope. You are the Lord’s child. You cannot imagine how much He loves you.