The Resurrection: Eyes on Jesus

Excerpts from the gospel reading for the day is one of the most excellent:

That very day, the first day of the week, two of Jesus’ disciples were going to a village seven miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus, and they were conversing about all the things that had occurred. And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. He asked them, “What are you discussing as you walk along?”  They stopped, looking downcast.

One of them, named Cleopas, said to him in reply, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know of the things that have taken place there in these days?”

And he replied to them, “What sort of things?”

They said to him, “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, how our chief priests and rulers both handed him over to a sentence of death and crucified him.  But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel; and besides all this, it is now the third day since this took place.  Some women from our group, however, have astounded us: they were at the tomb early in the morning and did not find his Body; they came back and reported that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who announced that he was alive.  Then some of those with us went to the tomb and found things just as the women had described, but him they did not see.”

And he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are! How slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?”  Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the Scriptures.  As they approached the village to which they were going, he gave the impression that he was going on farther.

But they urged him, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”  So he went in to stay with them.  And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them.  With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight.  Then they said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?”  So they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem where they found gathered together the Eleven and those with them who were saying, “The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!”  Then the two recounted what had taken place on the way and how he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

Luke 24:13-35

In his homily, Monsignor made a couple astounding points.  "[The disciples'] eyes were prevented from recognizing him," Monsignor conjectured, because they were "downcast."  The disciples were not looking for Jesus in those darkest days of human history; they were looking at the ground.  They thought that He was done and that they were abandoned.  We must not focus so much on ourselves and on our own problems that we miss Jesus even while He is there with us, teaching us, and setting our hearts aflame - if only we will look to Him and listen.

 

I would like to point out that the disciples actually recognized Jesus for who He is in "the breaking of the bread," the Eucharist.  Hearing the Word of God explained to them prepared them to receive the Word of God into their fellowship and into their very bodies.  I would also like to point out that the disciples conversed with Jesus, frankly expressing their troubles and their doubts to Him.  That honesty is part of sincere faith for those who have troubles and doubts.

If we bring our even our dashed dreams and deepest despair to Jesus, who knows what he might make of them?  Keep praying.  After you have said your peace, listen in prayer.  Speak with other disciples.  Read the scriptures.  Confess your sins, if needs be.  Visit the Eucharist at church, hear Mass, receive communion.  Don't give up on Jesus, and try not to be downcast, but fix your eyes on Him and look for Him.  He is risen!

(Lastly, here's a link to the Men of Emmaus, a Catholic fellowship for men based in Gaithersburg, Maryland, for those of you who might be looking for fellow disciples and who live in the area.)

Lars and the Real Girl

Lars and the Real Girl is an independent film staring Ryan Gosling.  The movie's central character, Lars, is a man that everyone in his small Minnesota town has decided is just different.  Reclusive and antisocial, but still perfectly civil, Lars goes to work, goes back home, and goes to church, all the time minimizing social contact, and certainly physical contact with other people.  He lives next door to his brother and sister-in-law and even tries to minimize contact with them.  His brother, and presumably much of the town, thinks that he just likes to be by himself.

That is, until Lars orders a girlfriend in a box: a more expensive cousin to the inflatable kind.  When Lars introduces his girlfriend to his brother and sister-in-law, they think he's lost it.  In reality, Lars is just beginning to thaw a little, break out of the long winter of his soul.  As the movie continues and the various personalities unfold, Lars' history and personality begin to unfold as well.  Gosling does an excellent job of offering peeks into his character's heart and mind.  The other members of the community each decide how they are going to respond to Lars' very real delusion about his not-nearly-so-real girlfriend.  The plot thickens as a (real) coworker of Lars makes more obvious her feelings for the oblivious introvert.  Hilarity and poignancy intermingle and flow back and forth throughout this movie.  The simple plot and the somewhat more complex, yet still comprehensible characters show in very natural, concrete, un-preachy terms how mercy leads to healing.

I highly, highly, highly recommend this movie.  I bought it used and can safely say it is one of the best movies I've ever seen, and easily the best $5 I've spent in a full year.  Click the picture to find it on Amazon.com.
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My Gaudete

Today is the third Sunday of Advent, named on the Church calendar, as many Sundays are, for the first word of either the Epistle or the Gospel of the day, according to the lectionary before the liturgical reform. I believe that most of these readings now make up the Sunday readings for year A of the lectionary cycle. The epistle reading for today (Phil 4:4-7) begins, "Rejoice in the Lord always." The command form used in Latin to mean "rejoice" is gaudete. Hence, Gaudete Sunday. It is upon this Sunday of Advent that a little of the gloomy blue
is drained from the priest's vestments, leaving them rose in color ("It's not pink!" they're often heard to say).

And it was upon this Sunday, at about 2 p.m. I found myself unexpectedly standing in the rain along 16th St. NW, a heavily trafficked corridor, next to the-wreck-that-had-been-my-car-only-minutes-before. It was cold, and I was dressed nicely for a community service activity to which I had been running late, at which I would now be unable to attend, waiting for a tow truck and a ride from my roommate. It was only seconds after the car accident that my brain whirred, "I don't have full-time work. I don't have much savings left. My car is totaled. How can this be? Why me?" When I saw that the other driver was uninjured (as was I) but that her car had only some scratches and cracks in the bumper, my sense of the world's mocking unfairness only increased. But now, fifteen or twenty minutes after the accident, as the rain drizzled on my forehead, I realized, "This has all happened for a reason." In that moment of a grace, I felt a thorn or splinter remove from my heart, and the self-pity evaporated. The self-pity and the fear were alleviated. One moment they were there, and at the next they were not. Instead, a confidence of the all-encompassing providence of God's will began to penetrate into my heart.

Then a confirmation came to me from God. Actually, she drove up. She was an Ethiopian woman, and she rolled down her window and said me, "Are you alright?" When I nodded, she burst into a smile that chased away the clouds in my heart and made me smile as she cried, "Praise Jesus! I am so glad that you are well! See, it is a miracle, and for some purpose. Do you have anyone coming?" I told her my roommate was coming. She smiled and said, "It is for something. Do not forget that Jesus still has you!" And she drove off.

If I did not get the message, another Ethiopian woman drove up. I'm not kidding here. The odds seem slim, but it makes me wonder if the services of an Ethiopian church were letting out. She rolled down her window and told me that she liked my bumper stickers. Ending abortion is a passion of hers, she said, and that I should not worry about distractions and turmoil the devil will send to me. "You are well and God will bless you. Trust Him! Do you need to use my cell phone?" I thanked her and declined the favor, telling her that my roommate was on the way and so was a tow truck. She smiled and wished me well.  I noted that her car as well as the first Ethiopian lady's both had dents in them from collisions.  They had experienced my little trauma, and quite probably far worse.  But how they smiled!

After the tow truck took brought my car back to my home, and my roommate brought me back in his car, he and I went to Mass together. The priest punctuated a theme that my roommate and I had been discussing just a day or two earlier. Christian Joy is not a giddy thing, or a naive thing. It is not an emotion any more than love, he said, but it is an anchoring virtue, a continual knowledge or memory of the presence of God in our lives and in the events of our lives. Joy makes the deaths of loved ones tolerable, and weddings not merely happy, but hopeful and passionate. It makes births beautiful and injuries feel passing. Joy maintains an equilibrium, and without negating anything, accentuates the good in how we perceive everything. It does not dispel the troubles around us, but keeps them from penetrating too deeply into us. It keeps God in the back of our mind and disposes us to respond to Him in the events of our lives, rather than to our own emotional responses. We Christians make a grave mistake if we confuse joy with an emotion. If we think we are sinning by being sad, somehow disobeying the command to rejoice; or that we are "in grace" or consolation when things are pleasant, then we shall never see the face of God because we will have already forsworn the Cross without even noticing. Because joy is a knowledge and a decision, it is also a virtue, one that we can pray for and practice.  Joy is a virtue obviously connected to the virtues of faith and hope.

So though I felt sad at my loss, and still feel a bit of trepidation at the possible outcomes of my situation, my heart keeps gravitating, almost on its own, but really under the impulse of grace and the discipline of training, toward gratitude and trust. I am grateful that I have family and friends who care about me, limbs that are healthy and strong, a mind that is sharp, and possibilities unfolding before me, albeit slowly and in their own time. I am grateful that nobody was injured, rather than upset that my car will probably be totaled for a pittance. I am grateful for the gift of faith to see God's love even in darkness and in rain. I am grateful not to feel overwhelmed, but supported and protected.  And I have not given up waiting to see how Jesus is acting in my life.  I hope that you, dear reader, have not either.

This Gaudete Sunday, some key lessons were driven home to me, if you'll forgive the pun. Some other food for thought has been churning around in my head. I also have reason to believe from past experience that this day will turn out to have been a significant and good one when I reflect back upon it.

It's Not Too Late to be Thankful

Thanks, Luce!

By the Mines of Moriah

We spent the day in Moriah, New York, nestled among the Adirondacks, east of the High Peaks region and near the southwestern shores of Lake Champlain.  The people there were extraordinarily friendly, and mostly seemed supportive of our candidate.  It is amazingly rural - a half hour from the nearest large road.  The people are proud of their cultural heritage here, and proud of America.  They feel that things aren't going so well, but do not believe that America is "broken."  They'd mostly like our leaders to leave things alone.

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The community was founded upon mining, but I do not know what they do now.  A lot of the people are from here, but like my own neck of the woods, the area has experienced some growth through the gradually immigration of folks from other parts of the country.

We ate a hearty Election Night Harvest Dinner in a Baptist church hall, at the invitation of the mayor and at the expense of a local well-wisher who calls himself Brett the Mountain Man.  It was a really nice evening and a nice way to finish a day of meeting local townsfolk and even more people come in from the countryside to vote in this local population center of four or five thousand people.  The mayor, who was probably five or ten years younger than my dad, and vigorous, sat next to a widower who was much older but only a bit quieter.  The widower told us how a ninety-four year old neighbor of his had had both of his legs amputated after a quadruple bypass surgery had wrecked his circulation.  "Shame and a waste," said the mayor.  "When my heart gets like that, I'd rather just say a quick rosary and then go to meet my Maker."  Why make such a big deal of trying to save an old man from living his last days?  Doctors may sometimes be more afraid of death than their patients.

We sat next to one woman who has lived her entire eighty four years here, and more than sixty of them with her husband, who died only last December 18.  I will try to remember this kind woman and her husband in my prayers that day this year.  She was visibly choked up a bit when we discussed him briefly, but she mostly expressed gratitude to God for His kindness in giving her "such a loving man for so many years."  The mayor and her elderly neighbor, the widower, listened sympathetically as she told us just a bit about him: "He never said an unkind word about anyone, never so long as I knew him, which was all my life."  She told us about a young priest that used to visit their family when she was caring for their child and babysitting her nieces and nephews.  Though her family is Methodist, she said that the priest was always very warm with them and told them he felt very welcome in their home.  "Well, he was," she said, "He was most welcome.  What a fine young man he was."  The widow, the widower, and the mayor were excited to see young people (us) caring so much about politics and about the state of the union that we would drive all the way up from Maryland.  We were encouraged by their hospitality and functioning, albeit small, community.

There weren't many young people here, in this place without few jobs, and none for folks with degrees - except for perhaps the mayor and a nurse or teacher.  Some young men drove by in pickups and waved, giving us thumbs up.  The ones who drove by in inexpensive sports cars were less visibly supportive.  I wonder if there is a correlation.  Young women mostly drove by packed in small American or Japanese imports like Kias and Hyondais.  They mostly waved or didn't seem to notice us.  The shopkeepers were immensely friendly in Moriah, where we got early morning coffee, and in Port Henry, where we got our brunch and late lunch.  Like the waiters and shopkeepers I encountered in Germany, they did not overdo it, nor did they seem interested only in making a sale.  They lacked either the sicky-sweet attentiveness or the condescending, distracted rudeness that alternatively characterize the staff at accommodations in the DC area.  Like the staff in mountainous Bavaria, these mountain folk were genuinely friendly and interested in their customers, but no more so than they would be with a stranger or loose acquaintance on the street.  The ones we met on the street though, were eager to exchange phone numbers or email addresses.  That made me think faintly of Mexico on my earlier visits, when the internet was still new there.  Brett the Mountain Man joked about his internet connection being delivered by pack mule.

I'll miss it. But maybe I'll return. I've no doubt I'd be made to feel welcome.

First News on the Marathon

Here are some initial pictures that I raided from the Facebook of my friend Dave Brewster.  He and I met last year during the marathon.  One of the womenfolk (thanks, ladies!) of his family that came to cheer for him took these.  I owe his dad a huge debt of gratitude for carrying my during the run because I arrived too late to check my bag in.  Here's me at the start.  Dave is in the dayglo yellow shirt a few paces ahead of me.

I got up earlier than last year, but took a wrong turn on the crowded metro system and ended up at the Smithsonian station, getting off with all the 10k-ers.  Realizing my blunder, I reboarded and went the correct way, but the wrong turn cost me about 15 minutes worth of pre-race time.

When I got there, I was confronted by crowds that looked like this.

Now, I wasn't as far back as it appears.  To put it in scale, the red triangle at the lower left is part of the inflatable arch that marked the starting line.  It took me four minutes to cross the starting line from the time of canon blast that started the race.  My roommate, Tom, who got separated from Dave and me, took twenty minutes to cross the starting line.

I felt NO excitement.  ZERO.  That is, until about two days before the race, when I went to pick up my packet.  I grabbed my roommate's too, and seeing our tee shirts and racing numbers, the big "Run for Vocations" posters, I began to get excited.  Going from my team headquarters to the Marine Corps Marathon Expo at the Washington Convention Center to get my free swag only made things worse!  In fact, whereas last year it had been hard to sleep the night before the marathon, this year, it was the night before the night before the marathon where I barely slept a wink.  Now, I am not a terribly jittery person, but this year, about 10 minutes before the race, I couldn't get my fingers to put the goo packs into my little spandex racing belt.  Dave's wife calmly took it from me, loaded the packs in the belt, and handed it back so I could fasten it around my waste.  Erin, thanks!

Around the fifteenth mile I encountered my first acquaintance to cheer for me by name.  I had no clue that Annie was going to be there, but there she was, screaming "Go, Ryan Haber!"  That was a very happy and unexpected meeting.  During the race the Run for Vocations team was out cheering - the organizers, designated cheerers, and those who had already finished the 10k.  Carol Flannery, the team organizer, was among them.  I think we met around the sixteenth mile.  Thanks, guys!  My mom met me at the twenty mile mark.  We hugged, and I spent a few minutes stretching.  She gave me some water to swallow my ibuprofen, which I had kept forgetting to take.  Seeing her was a real morale boost!  She hustled all over the Mall and Rosslyn to see and cheer for me.  Thanks, Ma!  What a sight for sore eyes.  A few meters later I encountered another Run for Vocations crew, led by Msgr. Rob Panke, all of whom went wild cheering.  Thanks, guys!  They told me later that my ma heard them cheering and went over to thank them, as she hustled by to get to the next cheering point.  They also told me that it looked like I was flying.  Lol.  I sure didn't feel like it at that point.

The 14th Street Bridge stunk again this year.  It will always stink.  The MCM Champion, who won the race in 2:21 hrs, said that it stank.  It is about a mile long, including the launch and landing, but it stinks.  It is arched, so it is the second hill of the race, and it stinks.  It is exposed to the sun, without shade, and with a brisk wind off the river, it stinks.  There are very few cheerers because it is inaccessible by car, and it stinks.  LOTS of people start walking at that point, creating obstacles for those still running, and it stinks.  It stinks.  It stinks.  At the start of the bridge, a runner has only 10k left in the 42k race.  But let me tell you what, no 10k I have ever run has stunk that much.  Cramping picks up, dehydration feels more acute, and frankly, jumping to certain death in the chilling Potomac must seem like a plausible option to some of the racers, because it stinks.  About halfway across the bridge, at my second stop on the bridge to stretch for 30 seconds or so, I started sobbing.  It just happened.  No tears came out, but I just shook and sobbed for another 30 seconds or so.  Then I prayed, "Eternal Father, please give me strength.  Help me to accomplish this thing for me and for you and for priests for our Church.  Help me to encourage others whose hearts are wavering.  Please, Father.  Amen."  I breathed deep and looked up.  A spectator was leaning against the Jersey barrier, resting his arms on his bike and looking at me, and at the crowds.  Unashamed, I started to run again.

Like all unpleasantries, it passes if we persevere.  Landing in Crystal City is a bit of a morale boost - tons of crowds cheering, more live music.

On the metro ride home I met a man who was wearing his medal, and proud.  He had a tummy and told me it was his first marathon.  I smiled and congratulated him.  Very much like the Christian life - it is freaking difficult, but surprisingly doable by anyone with a heart to do it, with some friends to help him along, and with some grace and power from God.

Ok, so my stats, from the MCM website, are above at the right.  When I get more pictures in, I will post them.  Thanks for your support throughout my training.  I am grateful to you all, and offered up miles on this race for many of you.  I'm also grateful to my other roommate for meeting Tom and me after the race to carry our bags and celebrate with us.  You have all been in my prayers.  This time around, I think I will try to avoid getting out of shape by signing up for a spring marathon.

Wer Glaubt

"He who believes is never alone,"

Pope Benedict XVI, Regensburg, Sept. 12, 2006

Click the pic to read the story.

Eunice Kennedy Shriver Would Be Very Proud

Sometimes our "culture" can seem more homogeneous than it is, here in the U.S., because of our national media, which tends to project just a few key images. Those images are necessarily a bit stereotypical. Since we all watch the same shows, we tend to absorb, I think, the same national self-image.

But in reality, travel throughout the U.S. shows that even aside from superficial similarities and differences, there are really profoundly different cultures speckling our country.

When I was in Omaha for a summer, I noted something different there, as surely as I did when I lived for a semester in the forests of Westchester County, outside New York City. I note differences in Ohio and Michigan from Nebraska or Virginia. In reality, the very ways of thinking vary across the fifty states as surely as the landscapes.

The Catholic Key Blog posted this article, describing something different going on in the area around Kansas City, MO. One wonders how such a phenomenon starts in a given locality. There must be a story there. In any event, it is a beautiful thing to read about: a local community that somehow came to decide, without voting it seems, but just by knowing, that it would be accepting of people with handicaps. To be fair, America as a whole has come a long way in basic tolerance of people who are weird, unusual, burdened, or struggling. I can see it with my own sister Keelin. When we take her out nowadays, it seems to me that people are much more likely to be understanding (or at least tactfully quiet) of her funny noises or mannerisms than a decade or two ago. Very rarely do others mock her, as was common back then. That is a good thing. Still, something special seems to be happening in the KC-MO culture.

U2 is AMAZING

I went to the 360 Tour tonight with a friend who invited me. It was easily the best $40 I've spent in a decade. U2 really knows how to put on a great show. I'll add more about some of their music and themes in later posts.

Running Intensity

I am sitting at my dining room table typing this, chowing down on a burger, fries, and yes, a post-run milkshake. Twenty miles tonight. I'm really happy. I always am after a good workout. For the distance runs, a good workout is one that I finish. My friend and marathon-teammate David came up and ran with me, but he's recovering from an injury, or staving one off, so he didn't run the last eight miles as a precaution. Running with others is always easier for me mentally. Running solo, my mind starts playing games with me, and at some point, my body almost always launches psychological warfare against my will. Here are some highlights from tonight's run.

Off the doorstep: I noticed two things. Firstly, it was chilly out. Secondly, my ankles were stiff. This could be unpleasant, I thought.

Mile 1: My ankles felt better, but within a hundred yards of starting, I realized that my perennial friend (whatever I ate last, no matter how long ago it was) intended to visit me on this run. There are 35,200 yards in a twenty mile run.

Mile 3: I noticed again that my friend/running partner, Dave, is a good conversationalist. He works on Capitol Hill and always has interesting anecdotes from his office, and knows a lot more about who did what in Congress than I ever will, so I like hearing about those things from him. He also asks me about my time in seminary, and has questions about the Church. He's a new Catholic, and so it is especially fun to answer those questions for him. New Catholics, I thought, have such a beautiful joy and excitement about everything Catholic, and everything is new to them, and so they are very often joyful and excited. Those of us raised in Holy Church take much more for granted, and are perhaps harder to shock with Church shenanigans - but that is probably less for our stronger consciences and more because of our deeper cynicism or boredom.

Mile 8: We finished our second four-mile loop. It was about 8:30 p.m. and starting to get positively chilly out. It's a new moon tonight, I think, and very dark away from the larger roads. Summer's back is definitely broken, I thought, and whatever else comes this month will be a last hurrah.

Mile 10: I noted that I still felt fine. Excellent. Last year, during the 26.2 mile marathon, I felt great at the halfway point. That I should feel fine at the halfway point of this long training run struck me as a good sign.

Mile 12: David had to stop at the end of twelve miles. He waited at my place, icing his hip and reading, while I finished the last eight miles.

Mile 13: The first mile I ran on my own. I felt great. By now, it was getting quieter out as traffic died down. Provided one has slept enough, if one has to run in the city, or at least my neck of the woods, it seems like late at night is the best time to run. Running after midnight is best, even, because many of the signs turn off, and the traffic lights blink, and the cars tuck into their garages for the night as their owners tuck into bed. The world becomes quiet, and still, and even this most densely populated part of the busiest stretch of road in my county, next to the nation's very busy capital, settles down for the night, and it feels like it did when it was a small town and I was a small child.

Mile 14: The first mile where it occurred to me that I might stop. I decided to offer the mile up instead, but I forget for whom I offered it. Well, God and the Blessed Virgin remember.

Mile 16: I offered this mile up for a friend who recently surprised with with a very kind gift. Both the gift itself and the surprise were immensely encouraging to me. A mile for him and his family seemed the least I could do.

Mile 18: This mile was the first where it started to hurt. My legs felt a bit like logs - and I don't mean the sturdy sort of logs, but the heavy sort. I was pushing myself, and please with my splits, but afraid to slow down, to take it easy. The danger with taking it easy is very much the same as the danger with pushing oneself too hard: one might just stop either way. No, a nice, regulated pace is the way to go, and I was having a hard time regulating myself. I offered this mile for Keelin, my youngest sister, who is autistic, and who is always a great source of joy and sorrow bundled together. This mile hurt more as it went along, and I take that - now as I sit here stretching and slurping a milkshake - as a sign that God was pleased with my little sacrifice for her. I found myself rationalizing slowing down, slowing more, slowing to a st... NO! Alone, in the dark, I felt sobs welling up in my chest: love; regret; physical pain; intense, intense determination like I rarely feel. I ground my teeth together, cursed, and growled, "This one's for KEELIN!" and I pushed myself, or maybe my Father in heaven pushed me, back closer to the right pace, even past the pace, I think.

The mile ended and I was very sorely tempted to stop. I was in front of my house. I was taking a brief and dangerous break to stretch. My legs didn't want to bend or straighten, tense or relax, but just wobble. I bent over to touch my toes and stretch my back. Standing next to my roommate's car, all I could see was his car's tire and my legs and toes. I almost stopped. After all, it was more than I had run last week. It was enough that I was closer to being back on schedule. Who would blame me? I was very tired, and it was getting late, and even cold, after all. I started to pray, "Father, give me strength, please. Father, strengthen my legs and my heart. I am so weak and tired, Father." I tried to say, "Amen," and straighten up. I muttered something far less pious, but much more honest, and maybe in that sense, more pious after all: "Sh*t. Let's just do this &%@#%^$ thing." Not the best way to end a prayer, but probably better than ending the run, and so I hope you will see why I think there may have been a grace bundled up with my mutterings.

Mile 19: I offered for my running parter and his wife, who are expecting their first child. I passed a man walking his dog.

Mile 20: These miles were for my sister Megan, her husband, and their babies. They have two under two years old - talk about studs! I passed the man and his dog again, from the opposite direction. He called out to ask how I was doing. I called back, "Finishing up twenty, and I'm feeling fine." The second part was an exaggeration more than a lie. Oddly enough, as in my days back in school running cross country, my last miles were as good as my first.

The whole twenty miles took me 2 hrs, 58 min, 57 second. That puts me at a pace of 8:55 min/mile, which is fast enough to break a 4 hr marathon by a minute or two. That's OK, but I didn't count the stretch breaks into the time, so I'll need to cut those down, as well as pick up the pace a bit.

That's for tomorrow, though. For tonight, I am going to pop a few ibuprofens, say my prayers, and hit the hay. I've got a few things to do in the morning before I can even think of a nap, so I'll definitely need some z's tonight.

A couple other random thoughts:

(1) A couple with whom I am friends ran their first half-marathon today up in Philly. I'm pretty pumped for them, and hope it went really well. They're really cool people and they have a nice little boy, and are a brother and sister in Christ. They've trained long and hard, and, well, it's cool... no, beautiful, to see such things unfold. More studs.

(2) A good friend of mine is a deacon-seminarian. I posted his first homily back in May because I was so moved by it. He is in residence on weekends at a parish near me, and tomorrow will be preaching the midday Mass. The Archbishop has asked every clergyman in the diocese who preaches tomorrow to preach about same-sex marriage. The issue is really coming to the fore here locally. My friend was sharing some of his thoughts for a homily with me on the phone the other night. Golly, what a hard thing to preach about: both the Church's teaching and the Church's love must shine forth, both are doubted by much of the world and many sitting in the pews, and only words can be used. I want to go hear him preach because he will do a good job. Another stud.

Unexpected Gifts

This morning my roommate/marathon-partner, Tom, who is a pilot, took me up on a Cesna for breakfast in York, PA. He's building his flight time and takes these trips regularly. It was a very, very fun time.

After returning home, I drove to visit a friend and his wife for lunch and to help him to prepare to give a lecture at a conference in Peru, speaking Spanish. He doesn't really speak Spanish, but working from his own text translated by the conference organizers, I believe he'll do just fine. It was cool to be able to help him prepare because among the attendees will be a large number of devout families, priests, and a few bishops and cardinals.

When I returned home from lunch and helping my friend prepare for his lecture, I saw an Amazon box sitting on the front step. "Ooooh! Amazon," I thought. I love Amazon deliveries. Even though I am the principal recipient of them at our house, and even though I myself place the orders, deliveries always make me feel special - and I know I am not alone in this, people. But then I grew glum, thinking, "I didn't order anything from Amazon. Shoot, it must be for one of my roommates." I turned it over and read the label, and whaddya know, it was for me, and the return address was that of a friend from my parish. I was too surprised to register. Opening the box, I saw it was a book, Commentary on New Testament Use of the Old Testament. This particular book has been atop my Amazon wishlist since it came out in 2007 and will be a terribly useful reference for biblical scholars for years to come. And this friend bought it for me spontaneously, just because, because he is a kind and generous man - manifested in my mind numerous times long before this, especially with his commitment to the youth of our parish.

I love debts of gratitude. Debts of gratitude are different from debts of account because they are not calculated in dollars and cents and they are not paid back. Rather, they are paid forward, to borrow a nice phrase. They might even be paid forward to the person to whom we feel grateful. But they aren't paid as a matter of obligation, but as a matter of love. A gift freely given inspires in a healthy recipient a free response, in some direction. The repayment or the forward-payment of debts of gratitude is not intended to clear the debt, but to perpetuate it and deepen it, to draw more people into it. There is no tit-for-tat, but rather a response of grace for grace, free gift for free gift, and neither size nor shape are measured against each other. Instead, heart meets heart. Before long, a number of people feel a great desire to give not only their things, but really parts of themselves, as it were, to their neighbors and friends. Instead of lending and repaying money, we invest ourselves and are blessed by others. Gratitude inspires a sort of calculation that is exactly the opposite of either capitalism or socialism. Gratitude builds an economy of love.

There is nothing like gratitude to build those two beautiful forms of charity: piety and friendship. It is really important to do kind and generous things for others. If done selflessly, such deeds are magnanimous and share in the most magnanimous charity ever, that of our Lord for us. It is also really important to let others do kind and generous things for us when they are so moved. The graceful reception of such kindness not only humbles our pride, but may build up the giver's sense of sharing in divine grace, which can only lead to more grace. When we refuse gifts, while there is sometimes a genuine and legitimate desire to avoid unnecessary entanglements, there is also often a refusal to be humbled. What a sad condition!

Lol, all this is to say thanks to those men who blessed me today. I'll put personal notes in the mail. Except to you, Tom. I live with you. That would be dumb. How 'bout I buy you a milkshake after our next run?

Gettin' Back in the Swing

So I just 15 minutes ago finished my 12 mile run. Actually, it was 12.76 miles because that was the most convenient route I could find that would bring me by my house at the halfway point so I could make a pit stop. It took me 1 hour, 59 min, 35 seconds. That's 9:22 min/mi, about 11 sec slowly than my minimum goal for the marathon. I've got 10 or 11 weeks to work on that. Should be doable.

At 80*, the temperature was cooler than the daytime high of nearly 100*. Over the course of this run, I burned approximately 1441 calories. To give you an idea of what that means, somebody my size and weight, with a desk job and not much exercise, should consume 1824 calories in a day to maintain weight.

You wouldn't think that running is a team sport. Oddly enough, though, high schools and colleges do have running teams. My roommate and I couldn't run together tonight, but he will run tomorrow night the same pain and accomplishment that I ran tonight. We encourage each other. That is a real motivation. Two other things motivated me. Firstly, I offered up the run as a whole, and with it each hill, each creaky joint, and each impulse to stop and hitchhike home. Tonight's cause was a close friend, a brother really, who is undergoing some pretty excruciating spiritual turmoil. The other motivating incentive was a chocolate milkshake at the end. (Hey, bro, ya know I love ya, man.)

I am going to the 24-hour McDonald's for a milkshake, to buy some ice at the 7-11 next door, and then to take a cool shower and hit the hay. It's 1:00 a.m. right now.

Also, when I started the run I asked my guardian angel (who is so cool) to remind me when things got rough, especially in the last 4 miles or so, what this is all for. As always, he came through. (Thanks, Father, for giving me such an awesome guardian.) While I was running this song I recently downloaded, "We Are Gonna Be Friends", came up on my iPod and then stayed in my mind. I didn't mind because it's a nice song.

The song led me to reflect on the amazing things my Heavenly Father has given me, how He has lavished blessing upon blessing, and grace upon grace: good weather, legs that work, family that love, good friends, faith and hope, beautiful cool breezes, baseball games and juicy hamburgers. God is so merciful. Please, friends, let's always take opportunities that present themselves to remind each other of our Father's great love for us.

We're all in this together now.

Sharing Life's Journey

I took my godson on the Appalachian Trail for an overnight hike with me last weekend. We found a pleasant flat spot alongside a stream where some people had camped the night before. We told fart jokes and ate trail mix; cooked on a portable camping stove; made a fire to roast marshmallows over; saw some wildlife, including three black bears, though those weren't the most exotic things we saw (this was!); and played a few hands of Uno. All in all, it was a very successful weekend if "success" is measured in friendship, laughter, mutual challenge and encouragement, interesting experiences, shared joy, and ice cream (although ChocoTacos proved elusive).

Actually, come to think of it, that's not a bad standard of success. My godson told me several times that he was very grateful that I brought him hiking with me, and that he'd like to do it again. One day, he will understand how grateful I was that he came along.

Old Loyalties Are Not All Forgotten

Today is the anniversary of the Normandy landings on 6 June 1944 that began the expulsion of Nazi armies from France. It is deeply gratifying to me that, despite political differences, our old friendship with the French is still on solid footing. We are perhaps like a married couple that bickers with each other, but nevertheless will protect each other tooth and nail.

Our friendship with the French goes back at least to the help of the Marquis de Lafayette's invaluable assistance during the Revolution. The Marquis' name is prominent in many places around the U.S., and here in the nation's capital it is especially prominent. He was the principal architect of the District of Columbia, and before that, he helped to train American soldiers to fight the British for independence. He was loved by our soldiers because, though of noble birth, he was humble, approachable, brave, and he helped to galvanize our army's resolve. While touring the U.S. after some twenty years back home in France, the Marquis told Americans in one speech that one day, we might with our idealism and willingness to sacrifice, very well save liberty in the world.

When General Pershing brought the American Expeditionary Force to France to help fight the Germans in World War I, he brought his armies to the grave of the Marquis de Lafayette. There he gave them a speech to remind them of our purpose there, and of our old friendship with France, and how they had come on behalf of America to honor that friendship once again. It is said that, while they were leaving, Pershing's attache placed a flower on the grave and said simple, "Monsieur Lafayette, we are here."

Twenty-seven years later, Americans would again return in arms, again to fight the same enemy, again on behalf of the same broken friend. France's armies had psyched themselves out and given up almost without a fight, betraying their countrymen who prayed German occupation would be brief and not so bad. Four years later, after that nation had been brutalized, its old friends west of the Atlantic returned again. As Lafayette had galvanized our nation's resolve to fight, our armies lifted France up to fight for her freedom as well. Especially in Normandy, that old friendship is not forgotten. We should be careful not to let the agendas and fads of political parties to override that friendship. It may not be too long before either they or we need once again to call upon it for assistance in peril.



Here is an article from the Washington Post.

My own experience travelling to France has been a very warm one. On four separate trips I have been treated uniformly well, despite my bad French accent and my out-of-place American clothes.

The People God Puts

I am from time to time amazed by the quality of the people that God puts into my life, and the timeliness with which our paths converge, and the fruit of the friendships that He gives us in each other. Today is St. Matthias day. St. Matthias was the disciple inducted by the Apostles into their little college to replace the fallen Judas Iscariot (Acts 1:23-26). Can you imagine how unnerving and humbling it must have been for him to be told, "Matthias, we feel that the Holy Spirit wants us to lay hands upon you and to share with you the ministry that Jesus gave to us before he ascended to his glory." "Me?" would be a reasonable, humble response.

I used very often to feel unworthy of my friends. Maybe I am - it's not for me to say. Now, I mostly just feel grateful for them, and that is all the difference in the world, and much better, I think. Reflecting on how much my friends tolerate in me helps motivate me to try to be tolerant with others. All this makes me think that it is probably a good thing to stretch ourselves a bit about who we are willing to be friends with.

Father, I pray You kindle in my heart love for those You bring into my life, so that in each other, we may encounter You, through Your Son Jesus Christ. Amen.



"Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives," C. S. Lewis

Piety and Fraternity

A beautiful excerpt from Abba Father, by Bonaventure Perquin, in my continuing quest to get sued by publishers:

Although [the] knowledge and love of the Father is of its nature personal, it must never be thought of as excluding the knowledge and love of other persons, be they angels or men. For the adopted child knows and loves his Father not only as his own, but also as the Father of countless other children. The Spirit of adoption never allows us to forget the immensity of the all-embracing Fatherhood of God; he will not countenance anything like possessiveness. The Father's love is such that its immensity is perfectly compatible with its intimacy, for though he loves so many, he loves each one for himself as if he were the only child. In this the Incarnate Son is a perfect mirror of his Father, as in all else, because he loved all his disciples and yet his love was perfectly adapted to the needs and the aspirations of each one individually. Thus the inspirations that come to us from the Holy Spirit through the gift of piety give us a true conception of God's Fatherhood, and in this way he gradually widens our vision and our heart until they embrace the vast family of all the Father's adopted children. And in this same family we can include our Lady, while at the same time we love and honor her as Queen and Mother.

All these children who share the adoption are therefore brethren. What an inspiration, then, toward fraternal charity is the prompting of the gift of piety meant to be. How difficult it is to practice this vital commandment unless we really see our fellowmen as children of the same Father and have grasped something of the intensity of the Father's love not only for ourselves but also for them. Then we see clearly beyond any doubt how impossible it is to love that Father and at the same time to be indifferent toward or to hate any of his children. The commandment of charity is the inevitable outcome of the common adoption of countless children by one and the same Father.

"And everyone who loves him who begot, loves also the one begotten of him. In this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and do his commandments (1 Jn 5:1-2)."

The passage is beautiful.

Any devotion, even to the Holy Eucharist or to Blessed Virgin Mary, that is, any outward display of piety, that does not at least gradually expand our heart to encompass those kneeling next to us, has had only a partial effect on us. In the event that we find ourselves practicing some devotion and not living a congruent charity, we should suspect ourselves of superficial or defective love of God. Such a defect is natural enough. All the same, instead of being contentedly self-satisfied, we should add to our devotion a prayer to better love our neighbors. A failure in the love of our neighbors certainly diminishes the credibility of our love of God, as St. John wrote, "If any one says, 'I love God,' and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen," (1 Jn 4:20).

Isaiah 43:1-4

I know I already put this one up (Isa 43:4) but it is so beautiful that it bears repeating, and this time at greater length.

But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel:

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.

Because you are precious in my eyes,
and honored, and I love you,
I give men in return for you,
peoples in exchange for your life."

Father, I am weak, and falter. Please remind me of your love so that I will not perish, but turn to you and live. Amen.

Friends of Jesus, Together, Overturn the World

Ss. Perpetua and Felicity, Martyrs and Holy Wives (Feb 7)

When he consolidated full control of the Roman Empire in AD 197, it wasn't long at all before Septimus Severus initiated a bitter persecution of Christianity because of its unwillingness to conform to the state-sponsored syncretism, or mixing of religions, that he wished to promote. Among the measures he instituted was the prohibition of conversion to Christianity (or to Judaism) under penalty of death. The persecution intensified from year to year: Bibles were burned, Christians were dismissed from the civil service and military, clergy were ferreted out on false pretenses, pressure was brought to bear on wealthy and powerful Christians to renounce the faith publicly.

None of this mounting terror stopped a beautiful, educated, young mother of the noble class of Carthage, in North Africa, from converting to Christianity. Vibia Perpetua entered the catechumenate despite pleas by her father. Her brother, inspired by her example, entered the catechumenate as well. Her pregnant slave, Felicity, was already a baptized Christian and the two rejoiced to be sisters. Within a few weeks, someone informed on Felicity, who was swept up in a dragnet along with her brother, her friend the slave, her catechist, and several of the other catechumens in her group. The lot were taken to jail to await judgment.

While in jail, each member of her family pled with Perpetua. Her father and mother pled. "Father," she asked him, "Do you see that water jar?" When he responded in the affirmative, she replied, "Can you call it rightly by any other name?" When he replied in the negative, she added, "And neither can I call myself rightly by any other name but Christian."

Her husband, who adored her, pled. She was young, and beautiful, and intelligent. A darling of local society. "How can you do this?" he pled. He reminded her of her infant son. She replied lovingly that the best things she could give her child was Christ.

The judge assigned to hear her case pled. He even went so far as to offer to seal the chambers and require that she only allow him to announce that she had made sacrifice to Caesar - but not that she actually do so. He offered to spare her slave for her sake. She replied that her slave was as willing to die for Christ as she was.

Perpetua and her brother were baptized after their sentence was handed down: death. The lot was taken to the colloseum of Carthage, and held there for several days. Because it was illegal to execute a pregnant woman, Felicity would not be put to death until she had delivered. It was in Perpetua's dark prison cell that Christ's revolution came to light. St. Paul had asked Philemon to overlook the status of his slave, Onesimus, for the sake of Christ. Perpetua put St. Paul's plan into action. Perpetua, a wealthy noblewoman, fed, cleaned, and cared for Felicity, her very pregnant slave. And Perpetua served her hand and foot, much to the discomfort of her jailers. Almost two centuries earlier Our Blessed Lord had asked rhetorically, "Will any one of you, who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep, say to him when he has come in from the field, `Come at once and sit down at table'?" (Lk 17:7). Here, Perpetua answers him to the shock of the pagan world - "Yes!" In Christ there is no slave and free, but only love between brothers and sisters. In today's re-paganized world, this leveling of love is again a revolutionary act.

If you doubt that the old Pagan order has been restored in the modern world, sweeping away Christ's revolution, you have only to ask yourself how many would do as St. Perpetua did for her friend St. Felicity. How many post-Christian neo-Pagans (whether they recognize themselves as such or not) make friends with other people who make one fifth their income? The only remains of Christ's revolution in the world are found in the Church. Here in the Church we Christians serve those who, in the natural order of the modern world, would be our servants. Soup kitchens, literacy classes, and all manner of social services are provided to social lessers for the love of Christ.

The judge had offered to spare Felicity for the sake of Perpetua, but in the end, it was Perpetua was who allowed to live a bit longer to tend to Felicity until the slave had given birth. At that time, their children were taken away from them and the two ladies were taken to the colloseum. The Roman world watched in amazement as another round of Christians were happily united to their Lord; this time, to add to the spectacle, a slave and her mistress went together as sisters.

So it is with us. As we allow Christ's love to transform us in our inner depths, we will almost unintentionally push against the artificial boundaries laid down by society, like a child who has outgrown his pants. Around us the seams of society's cold and loveless institutions will strain and rip as they begin to overflow with the love of Christ. Christ's revolution is not fought with guns, or even petitions and votes. It is waged with friendship that defies all odds, prayerful hope in dark prison cells, love that never ceases to sacrifice. Christ's revolution will buckle and explode the narrow walls of our hearts and then the narrow walls of our society. It is like a mustard seed, Our Lord said. Buried under a concrete foundation it will grow and uproot a whole house. It will move mountains. Christ's revolution will, we pray, overturn the foundations of the modern pagan society in which we live, tearing down the thin veneer of Christianity and replace it with a hearty, vital, living Faith in the Living God. Ss. Perpetua and Felicity joyfully lived this revolution in their lives. Pray, Holy Women, that we may live it in ours.

Ss. Perpetua and Felicity, pray for us.

Men on a Journey

An assistant pastor at my parish a few years ago began a group called the Men of Emmaus. It's really a ragtag bunch of Catholic ne'er-do-well hoodlums. At our 7:30 a.m. Saturday morning meetings, our staple has been to read together the Mass readings for the following Sunday. Sometimes we have special speakers in to speak with us. It amazes me how many of them seem willing to come back and speak to us again! The men are eager - sometimes very eager - to explore the meaning of the Gospel and to encourage each other to live out its implications more thoroughly.

These are the sorts of things you might hear in a typical meeting: "How should we vote? Should we bother? I've made mistakes in my past and now I am seeing more fully how they affect my family. How much to give to the poor? Do I do enough around the parish? Let's take up a collection to help pay bills for this man who's just lost his job. Will you be quiet!? How can I witness to Christ in my office without turning people away from Him? It is hard to be the only Christian in my home. Dude, you blew it the other day. Anyone want to go for a hike?"

Sometimes the "encouragement" can stop just short of a fistfight, but what really raises my eyebrow is how even in the near-fistfights there is no (or little) rancor and much love. After our discussions (and sometimes apologies!), we head upstairs for the 9:00 a.m. daily Mass.


What raises my spirits, and gets me out of bed at 7:00 a.m. on Saturday mornings is the effect of our dopey little group. I've been going with varying frequency for a few years now, and it seems to me that something has been changing. In the men, and in the group, I see a gradual groping toward Christ. Men are investing themselves more deeply in their families, turning off the TV and picking up spiritual books, engaging in the Church's apostolate, frequenting the confessional, learning about our holy Faith - all the sorts of things that one would expect to accompany growth in holiness. These things strike me as sure signs that the Jesus virus is circulating among the group. May it stoke in us a fever of burning charity.

Now it looks like we are going to begin to read the Catechism as a group. That's great! The Sunday scripture readings, reflections, and talks are like puzzle pieces of our faith - the raw material and power of our Faith. Organized and systematized, put together into a coherent whole picture, they gain a strength and meaning otherwise inaccessible. That's what the Catechism is for, to help us to organize the Faith in our minds so that it can structure the way we think, act, and live.

Down on a Mat

Our parish youth minister invited me to help out with the Christian Awakening (C.A.) Retreat #28. About 50 teenagers attended the retreat in one capacity or another, with 10 adults chaperoning it.

Some of the teenagers are very impressive as Christians. I have seen them give up their day off to help old ladies move before the Sherriff's deputy arrives to evict her. I've seen them keep vigil with Our Lord into the wee hours of the night. I've seen them pick up their grades, take responsibility for their actions, and set good examples for their peers. I've seen them have a lot of good, clean fun. Other kids going come from very unstable families with absentee fathers, lack of supervision, even drugs or violence in their homes. The amazing thing is the amount of overlap there is in the two groups: kids who come from hell on earth who have begun to fix their eyes on heaven, and so are finding even life here-and-now transformed a bit.

Likewise, some of the kids coming on the retreat did so entirely voluntarily, this being perhaps their second or third annual retreat. Others were pressured by friends or parents using more or less coercive measures.

The Gospel reading for today's Mass (Mon after II Sun of Advent; Is 35:1-10; Ps 85; Lk 5:17-26) coincides beautifully with my experience over the past weekend. The Gospel story is the one in which a paralyzed man is lowered by his friends on a mat through the roof of the house where Jesus is teaching. There were too many people for the man's friends to bring him that way, and so they had to get creative. On our retreat, we found ourselves with too many difficulties to manage on our own. We had to let the Holy Spirit orchestrate what we hoped would be, in the lives of many of these kids, a new creation. The paralyzed man may have had some sort of faith, or maybe not, but that was entirely irrelevant because he couldn't do anything one way or the other about it. But his friends had faith, and they carried him through when he couldn't do for himself. So with our kids: perhaps they believe in God, or a god of some sort - but most of the retreatants had never encountered or gotten to know Him, and even if baptized their faith, the life of Christ dwelling in them, was a vestige of what God would have it be. So it was that the leadership team, adult chaperones, and the more spiritually advanced teenagers had to carry our younger friends to Our Lord. In the Gospel, Jesus sees the faith of the friends and is moved to give the paralyzed man what he needs. On our retreat, Jesus clearly heard our prayers and gave our young friends what they needed.

On the retreat, the talks focused on helping the young people to see themselves clearly and to risk themselves by giving confidence to brothers and sisters in Christ and to Our Blessed Lord Himself. The talks aimed at inspiring conversion and proposing to the young people a new, better way of living that will help them be happier in this life and certain of their destiny in the next. The talks were filled with the living testimony of people they know: parents, parish members, and peers. Small group discussions focused on helping them connect the message they had heard with the daily course of their own lives.

We hope that in the coming weeks and month our young peoples' life of prayer will flourish, their damaged relationships will continue to mend, their wounded souls will continue to heal, and their joyful innocence will continue to be restored. Please pray for them.