Generations and Generations

Okay, one of my readers -- and, believe me, she is one among a tiny band of followers -- informed me that I've been entirely too serious lately:

"Every so often you would post amusing or interesting little tidbits about your family, your childhood, and modern society. I always enjoyed them, but you don't do that anymore." 

I, of course, disagree. I'm still remarkably amusing and ever so interesting, but perhaps I haven't shared this with you as often as I should. So, I will try to soften my posts with an occasional "tidbit" to amuse or interest. 

As we come to a thankful end of 2024, I thought it might be helpful to clearly define the boundaries of the many generations we encounter today. I neither assigned the names of these generations, nor established their boundaries based on birth-years. Who makes these decisions, I do not know. To me some of the generational names seem rather odd and the dates rather arbitrary, but we must always respect the word and decision of the "experts" who continually bless the world with their wisdom. 

Here, then, is the generational breakdown offered by these experts as they divide today's population, based on years of birth:

1901 - 1927: Greatest Generation

1927 - 1945: Silent Generation

1946 - 1964: Baby Boomers

1965 - 1980: Gen X

1981 - 1996: Millennials

1997 - 2012: Gen Z

2013 - 2024: Gen Alpha

2025 - 2040: Gen Beta

Naturally, I'd known or had heard of most of these generational titles, but I find a few things troubling, or at best, questionable.

For example, my parents (both born in 1909), along with both of Dear Diane's parents, fell into the Greatest Generation. I suppose in many respects this generation could be considered great, but I'm just not sure they should be called the "greatest." Yes, they did their share of great things, especially during World War Two, but when they assumed political power after the war, they also set in motion policies that caused many of the problems facing us today. I also believe it a bit presumptuous to label anything the "greatest" while history continues to play out. After all, those Gen Beta kids just might turn out to be even greater. Then what do we do? Rename everything? Perhaps we should wait until the end of the world and let God decide who was greatest.

Because I was born in 1944, I am a member of what someone has labeled the Silent Generation. Another few years and I would have been a Baby Boomer, like Dear Diane. But that was not to be. Earlier today, when I informed my lovely wife of 56 years of my membership in this generation of silent ones, she burst out laughing. Why, I don't know. Maybe when she stops, she'll tell me. Let me check...Nope, still laughing.

All four of our children were born in the 1970s, which makes them Gen-Xers. I did not know this. In fact, I had never thought of them in generational terms. To me, they are our grown children. They look a lot like us, think somewhat like us, and act a little bit like us, but are still so wonderfully different from us. I think that is a good thing. But I still don't understand the why of the Gen X title. Perhaps someone can help.

I have never really understood the starting and stopping dates of Gen-Xers, Millennials, and Gen-Zers. I had thought I understood why the Millennials were given that title until I noticed their assigned birth years. I had assumed it applied to those born on or shortly before or after the new millennium, somewhere around the year 2000. But, no, Gen Z claims that period. Perhaps it's because many of the Millennials actually came to age with the beginning of the third millennium. 

We have no Millennials in our immediate family, since eight of our nine grandchildren are Gen-Zers born in the first decade of the 21st century. Our ninth grandchild was born in 2013, making her a Gen Alpha child. Alana, then, is unique, at least in our family.

I haven't a clue why any of these later generations were tagged with such non-descript names: Z, Alpha, and Beta...even X. Why these names? Perhaps the naming powers, who themselves remain unnamed, simply assigned these arbitrary titles as placeholders and intend to rename each generation once it makes its mark in our world, thus earning a more descriptive title. 

As for me, I will continue to maintain my low profile and live up to my membership in the Silent Generation. Then, again, maybe I'll just forget the whole thing and continue to see and love each person as an individual child of God whom He created in a unique act of divine love. I think that might be best.

Maddie: Rest in Peace

Wednesday morning, Diane and I lost our dear Maddie, an absolutely wonderful 15-year-old Bichon Frise. Maddie was born on January 21, 2008 and died on June 7. Diane and I adopted Maddie on March 29, 2014 from the “Brat Pack,” an aptly named Bichon rescue group out of Mt Dora, Florida. Maddie, then, was a part of our family for almost ten years. It really seems as if she had been with us far longer, simply because she joined us so willingly and immediately endeared herself to us. Here’s a photo I took of Maddie on the day she joined our family.

In a conversation with a friend the other day, she suggested that for those our age our relationship with the family dog is more evident, much deeper, perhaps more important. When we're raising children, the family dog is a little less present to the parents than to the children since work, child-rearing, homemaking and all the rest take up so much of our time. We actually spend fewer hours alone with our dogs and when they leave us, we certainly miss them, but our grief is tempered by a home still full of life. But in retirement, the children are grown, raising families of their own, and a dog becomes a far more meaningful member of this smaller, aging family. Diane and I shared in Maddie’s care, and her presence was almost constant, just as Maddie shared her attention with both Diane and me. I suppose from Maddie’s perspective, we became the “pack.” Yes, we were a small pack, just the three of us, but the presence of each was important to the others. It’s remarkable how quickly this little dog became a true part of our family.

Maddie & Hang-out the Window Goggles

This was evident in Maddie’s behavior. When I moved from room to room doing little tasks, she would follow me. If I went into my office to work, she’d join me and plop down and curl up on the little dog bed near my desk. She’d act much the same way with Diane. Maddie especially disliked it when Diane and I happened to be in separate rooms with the door closed between us. This she could not accept. She wanted the pack, the family, together, or at least accessible. Maddie actually taught us quite a bit about relationships, and even about discipleship. Over the years I’ve written a few blog posts about this. Here are links to a couple of them:

• In December 2017: Doggone Discipleship.

• In August 2018: Maddie, My Teacher

The Threesome at the Grand Canyon

Within weeks of Maddie’s arrival we took her with us on a long road trip to California. It was then we discovered that Maddie, unlike all our previous dogs, didn’t especially enjoy riding in the car. Why? I haven’t a clue, but she came to us as a six-year-old with a collection of interesting, but minor, neuroses. Although she adjusted somewhat to car travel, she never fully accepted it, and much preferred to ride along in the golf cart on neighborhood trips. But as we also discovered on that long West Coast trip, she loved being with new people. Other than trying to nibble on the toes of two of our grandsons, she made friends with everyone…well, almost everyone. There was one man in the neighborhood she seemed to dislike. Whenever she saw him, she growled, a response never repeated with another. Who knows why, but I never really trusted him.

Diane and Maddie in Tombstone, AZ

Maddie readily accepted other dogs unless they were aggressive toward her. She wouldn’t put up with those snappy little ankle-biters who seem to regard other canines as potential enemies rather than friends. Usually, she would simply turn and walk away from the aggressive ones. But if another dog actually tried to attack her, Maddie would respond in a way that always sent the other dog running. She wouldn’t pursue, but would then just go about her business of OCS, that is, obsessive, compulsive sniffing. Maddie was often the dominant dog in dog-on-dog relationships.

Possessive Maddie and her Milkbone

Maddie seemed also to accept the presence of wild creatures. She would certainly notice the rabbits, squirrels, armadillos, and our little neighborhood lizards — pretty much any wild four-legged animal — but she never chased them. I think perhaps the predatory instincts had long been suppressed in her breed, or more likely it was just Maddie’s unique personality. Interestingly, the local wild critters rarely saw her as a threat. I’ve seen her stand within a foot of a pair of tall sandhill cranes. She’d just sniff away while they searched for food, each ignoring the others. The same was true when we’d occasionally happen on a flock of 20 or 30 ibis gathered in a neighbor’s front yard. Mutual tolerance was always evident. On our daily pre-dawn walk, we’d often stop by a spot where two frogs (or toads?) hung out, always sitting on the same small concrete slab. Maddie would quietly approach them, bend over, and give them a sniff. Truly amazing, but it happened day after day. If I ever came within five feet of this pair, they would instantly disappear down an access hole in the concrete. 

And here is my all-time favorite photo of the two females who joined forces to rule me for the past ten years. You can see why...

Yes, indeed, Diane and I will miss this wonderful, beautiful little gift from God. For those who love Him, God always provides the perfect gift at the perfect time. I think He did that for us when He gave us our Maddie. Living as we do in our odd version of retirement, aging and in imperfect health of mind and body, we became closer to each other thanks to Maddie. And surprisingly, with her physical departure, I sense that this closeness will only increase. She remains with us in spirit.

Oh, yes, one of my favorite philosopher/theologians is Peter Kreeft, a professor of philosophy at Boston College and a man who has written more books than most folks today have read. One of those books, Every Thing You Ever Wanted To Know About Heaven, is a marvelous read, and I recommend it highly. On page 45 Kreeft offers a wonderful, Scriptural explanation of why our pets will join us in heaven. Buy the book and read it.

In the meantime, Diane and I will still shed some tears and be continually surprised by Maddie's absence. We were good to her, but she was far better to us. And so, we offer her to the Lord, Who made heaven and earth and all creatures great and small. 

 

Blessings and God's Peace...

Pope Francis, Giorgia Meloni, and Me

Every so often, probably more often than I would like, someone will ask me, "Deacon, what do you think of Pope Francis?" The questions come from across the entire spectrum of Catholic opinion. But most who ask me about the pope are simply looking for direction and understanding. Occasionally, though, I suspect I am being baited by those few who intend to argue a point, whether theological, ideological, or simply political. They hope to hear me state either my total agreement with the Holy Father or my complete disagreement. I always disappoint them because I'm never in complete agreement or disagreement with any mere man or woman, even the pope. I try to weigh what others say against what I know to be the truth, particularly the revealed truth given to us by Jesus Christ and taught to us by the Church He founded. 

Do I agree with everything Pope Francis has said and written? Probably not, but this might well be the result of a lack of understanding on my part. This came to mind today when I read some of the comments made by the newly elected Prime Minister of Italy, Giorgia Meloni. Many on the left, including our president, have accused her of fascist sympathies. This, of course, is completely absurd and demonstrates either their ignorance -- they don't know what fascism is -- or their willful dishonesty by accusing their enemies of their own ideological beliefs, a common tactic of the left.

Here's how the new prime minister describes her beliefs that center on the family, her Christian (Catholic) faith, her patriotism:

"Why is the family so frightening?  There is a single answer to all these questions. Because it defines us because it is our identity. Because everything that defines us is an identity, and for those who would like us to no longer have an identity and simply be perfect consumer slaves.”

Then, describing those she calls "financial speculators," she says: 

“They attack national identity, religious identity; attack gender identity and family identity. I can’t define myself as Italian, Christian, woman, mother. Now I must be citizen X, gender X, parent one, parent two. I must be a number because when I’m only a number, when I no longer have an identity or roots, then I will be the perfect slave at the mercy of financial speculators.

We will defend the value of the human being -- every single human being.”

If these are the words of a fascist, then I guess I'm one too. Of course, what she said really represents the core beliefs of a Christian society. And I especially liked what she had to say about herself, a self-appraisal summed up in a few choice words:

“I am Giorgia, I am a woman, I am Italian, I am Christian. You can’t take this away from me!”

As you might expect, such a simple, straightforward self-description drives the woke crowd in Washington and Brussels to distraction. She actually cherishes her unique identity: the name she received at her Baptism; the sex with which God blessed her at conception; the nation and culture in which she was born and raised; and the Christian faith that rules her life. As she stated, "You can't take this away from me" because they are all gifts from family, from God, and from a culture.

In her autobiography Giorgia Meloni waxed eloquently on the evil of political correctness:

“You see, political correctness is a shockwave, a cancel culture that tries to upset and remove every single beautiful, honorable, and human thing that our civilization has developed...It is a nihilistic wind of unprecedented ugliness that tries to homogenize everything in the name of One World. In short, political correctness – the Gospel that a stateless and rootless elite wants to impose – is the greatest threat to the founding value of identities.”

I've included all this just to give you a sense of who Giorgia Meloni truly is, so you won't be led astray by the woke, mainstream media, a media that truly despises this woman. But now let's look at what she has said about her Catholic faith and Pope Francis. The following brief comments are sufficient. 

She said this about Pope Francis:

“Maybe it’s age, maybe the memories, but even though I’m Catholic and I’ve never allowed myself to criticize a pope, I admit that I haven’t always understood Pope Francis...Sometimes I feel like a lost sheep, and I hope one day to have the privilege of being able to talk to him, because I’m sure that his big eyes and his direct words can give meaning to the things I don’t understand.”

When I read those words, I almost fell out of my chair, because they reflect my own sentiments almost exactly. I have found so much that is good and valuable in what the pope has said and written, and yet, like Giorgia Meloni, there is much that I simply do not understand. I, too, will not openly criticize the Holy Father, but perhaps in an upcoming post I might share some of my misunderstandings. In the meantime, all of us should pray daily for Pope Francis, the Vicar of Christ, and successor of St. Peter. And pray, too, for Giorgia Meloni. I suspect she might need a lot of God's help as she tries to drain the Roman swamp.

Pro-Abortion Sadness

A few moments ago, I happened across a photo on Twitter. It shows a family protesting the Supreme Court’s recent decision to overturn Roe v. Wade. I’ve included the photo below and hesitate to say much about it, since the sign carried by the mother and the expressions on the faces of her husband and three children really say it all. 

My only concern is what these beautiful children will think of their parents when they are old enough to understand exactly what their mom was thinking when she made that sign. This family and so many others like them need our prayers. 

Today also happens to be my mother's birthday. Martha Catherine (Cavanaugh) McCarthy was born 113 years ago on June 28, 1909. Mom died on March 12, 1977. I thank her for giving birth to me, for trying to raise me well in spite of my rebellious nature, for teaching me so many good and wondrous things, for the sacrifices she made for our family, and for the love she showered on me and my brother, Jeff. I know she is now with God and ask for her intercession for Diane and me and for our family. Happy Birthday, Mom!

Homily: Day 5 - Octave of Christmas

Readings: 1 Jn 2:3-11; Ps 96; Lk 2:22-35

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When describing the divine and human natures of Jesus, the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council wrote:

"He worked with human hands, He thought with a human mind, acted by human will, and loved with a human heart. Born of the Virgin Mary, He has truly been made one of us, like us in all things except sin...[and His human will] does not resist or oppose but rather submits to His divine and almighty will" [Gaudium et spes, 22].

Christmas, of course, reminds us of Jesus' humanity, that He chose to enter into the world just as helpless as you and I once were. He didn’t place Himself above us. He entered directly into the human story, sharing our humanity, our flesh and blood, our physical mortality. Although a divine person, He accepted everything that came with His humanity, all the messiness, all the ordinariness, all its limitations. It was by accepting these limitations that He could “advance in wisdom and age and favor before God and man” [Lk 2:52].

Today’s passage from Luke is offered to remind us of both the humanity and divinity of our Lord.

According to Jewish law, a firstborn son belonged to God. Forty days after his birth, the parents would present their son in the Temple, in effect, buying him back with a sacrifice of turtledoves or pigeons. On that day, the new mother would also be ritually purified. Indeed, the feast of the Presentation was originally known as the feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin. Here we see the Holy Family, a Jewish family, living under God’s Law, doing as the Law prescribed.

Jesus’ mission, then, is rooted in God’s revelation, expressed in the Law and the Prophets. It’s there, in the Old Testament, that God’s plan of salvation is first revealed; a plan fulfilled and brought to completion by the Incarnation.

 

As Mary and Joseph entered the Temple to fulfill the law, they were greeted by old Simeon who, filled with the Holy Spirit, welcomed Jesus and revealed Him as the redemption of the entire world:

“…my eyes have seen your salvation, which you prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel” [Lk 2:30-32].

He then gave Mary a taste of the sorrows she would experience, for a sword would pierce her heart, a sword forged by our sinfulness.

The birth of Christ, then, is revealed by three kinds of witnesses each in a different way: the shepherds, led by an angel; the Magi, guided by a star; and Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna, all inspired by the Holy Spirit.

God chooses whomever He wishes to do great things, and guided by the Holy Spirit they will reveal Jesus Christ to the world. The Spirit works, providing opportunities to take God’s love to others, an evangelization that begins right in our own families where holiness is first nurtured. In the midst of the chaos in our families there are glimpses of God’s presence, moments of grace when God reaches deep into the clutter of our lives and hands us a present we never expected.

When my mother died, over 40 years ago, our elder daughter, 6-years-old at the time, told Diane, “Don’t cry, Mommy. Grandma is with Jesus now, happy in heaven.”

In moments like this God ignores the barriers and debris we place between ourselves and our redemption, reminding us we are called to holiness.

In those moments, sticky hands are transformed into instruments of grace. Stories of the playground and classroom, or the words of a child to her mother, become words of wisdom.

In those moments, ordinary events take on new meaning and the dinner table becomes like an altar.

These elusive, often sudden, and unexpected moments are rarely captured on film or video. Sometimes, as with Mary and Joseph, they came in the form of words that amaze. Yes, Mary knew her Son was special. What had the angel revealed to her?

"He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High...the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God." [Lk 1:32,35]

But to hear this and more in the Temple from Simeon…this too was something Mary would long ponder and cherish.

This visit to the Temple strikes a chord in all new parents who wonder and worry about the future of their child. It’s a story for every mother who has looked into the face of her newborn, the face of innocence, and prayed that God would help her raise that child to holiness. It's a story to remind us that as parents we will experience disappointment, sorrow, sometimes great tragedy…but in the midst of it all we encounter Emmanuel, God with us.

It reminds us of the depth of God’s love, of His arms open wide with forgiveness and mercy – a reminder that God calls us into families, not just to protect us physically, but to nurture us in faith, to prepare us for a journey that leads only to Him.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph – pray for us.

Rosary: Pray for Our Nation

I should have mentioned it on this blog, but didn't -- simply too much going on these days. But I hope most of you were aware of and took part in yesterday's online praying of the Rosary by the U.S. Bishops. 

Beginning at 3 pm, the Rosary was streamed via the Bishops' website -- www.usccb.org -- for the intention of our nation and its people. Yesterday was the memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary, so it was a fitting day for the Bishops to call the faithful to prayer, especially to pray the Rosary. It was a wonderful time of prayer, coming together as a nation and as a Church to pray.

For Diane and me, the day has even more special meaning. One of our daughters was born on October 7, our other daughter and her husband were married on October 7, and one of our daughters-in-law was also born on October 7. And so we prayed, too, for our family and for their families.

2020 has certainly been a challenging year for many and the nation and the world certainly need our prayers. How good it would be if all the faithful came together daily throughout this month and prayed the Rosary in their families. Prayer is powerful, dear friends, and like the gift of faith, can move mountains.

God's peace.

Homily: Feast of the Holy Family (12/29/2019)

I have embedded a video of this homily below. The text of the homily follows the video:

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Readings: Sir 3:2-6,12-14; Ps 128; Col 3:12-21; Mt 2:13-15,19-23
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Holy Family Icon

How wonderful it is to be surrounded by family. But for many of us, retired here in sunny Florida, our children and grandchildren live elsewhere. Family gatherings become increasingly rare events, special moments to anticipate and cherish.

Just as individuals grow and change, so too do families. Indeed, for some of us it’s hard to remember that our children are no longer children. And yet families, even in the midst of change, still come together when crises arise. Problems are solved, and crises overcome. So often the slammed doors, quarrels and tears, end in apologies and forgiveness and hugs, with the tears wiped away. Despite 52 years of crises, large and small, Diane and I realize we’ve been blessed when it comes to our children and grandchildren. Even though the struggles continue, we realize it’s God who works His Will through us and through our weaknesses.

Now I realize that within many families the problems can be very serious. Indeed, by most statistical measures, the family’s an institution in sharp decline. Not only are divorce rates high, but many couples are choosing not to marry at all. Far too many fathers abdicate their parental responsibility and abandon both mother and child. Almost half of today’s children are born outside of marriage. And the plague of abortion has devalued not only the child, but human life itself.

Some years ago, our elder daughter was teaching 2nd grade in an inner-city school in California. The fathers of half of the children in her class were in prison. But even among the affluent, too many parents devote themselves solely to their children’s material well-being and success at the expense of their spiritual well-being and moral character.

Single parenthood is a fact of life today, and it carries with it a whole set of financial, emotional, and psychological burdens. If raising a child today is a challenge for a two-parent family, just imagine what’s it’s like to do it alone. Most single parents love and care for their children admirably, but it’s hard to be both mother and father.

Now I’m no sociologist, so I won’t even attempt to explain these problems and their causes. But one thing I know: We need the example of the Holy Family in today's world, a world openly hostile to marriage and the family. Today, celebrating the Holy Family, we’d do well to consider an often-overlooked figure in the Gospels.

In Matthew’s Gospel there emerges a quiet, modest figure, a perfect model for all fathers, St. Joseph. Just consider the sort of man he must have been. He was chosen by God the Father as the guardian, teacher, and guide of His only Son. God chose Joseph to love and protect Mary, the virgin Mother of the Son of God. Yes, Joseph was a very special man indeed.

…a courageous man of honor determined to protect Mary’s reputation. Why? Because he’s a righteous man and this is what God would want.

…a man who then takes Mary as his wife even though the child she carries is not his. Why? Because God told him to take the Child and His Mother to himself. And so, Joseph obeys.

…a man who, to protect his family, leads them on a dangerous journey into exile, into an unknown future. Why? Because God commanded it.

Flight to Egypt

Joseph doesn’t stop to think it over; he doesn’t even spend a day planning the trip. No, he leaves immediately in obedience to God’s command. He “rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt.” Matthew glosses over the flight to Egypt in a few words, but the reality was surely nightmare. Leaving in the middle of the night, the Holy Family would have traveled many days across the 300 miles of harsh terrain that led to Egypt. Then, as homeless refugees, they relied solely on Joseph to earn a living during their exile. And just when Joseph had probably established himself in this foreign land, God tells him to return to Israel. Once again, he obeys.

The murderous Herod is dead, but in Judea and Samaria, Herod's son, Archelaus now rules, and Joseph fears him. And rightly so, since Archelaus began his rule by slaughtering 3,000 of Judea’s most influential citizens.

Once again in obedience to God’s command, Joseph takes Mary and Jesus to the safety of a small town nestled in the hills of Galilee, to Nazareth. It’s through the obedience of Joseph that the prophecies are fulfilled. “Out of Egypt I called my Son.” And “He shall be called a Nazorean.”

What a mystery! That God, to protect His Son, the uncreated Word of God, should choose to do so through the mediation of a humble carpenter. It’s a piece of the greater mystery of the Incarnation, in which Father and Spirit now relate to the Son not only as Divine Word but also as incarnate Man.

Notice how, throughout Matthew’s brief narrative, God doesn’t reveal everything to Joseph at once. Instead, Joseph remains continually dependent on God’s next word. For Joseph, the just man, is nevertheless fully human, and like all of us must learn to grow in God’s love and grace. He must experience, as we all must, the trial of faithfulness, the trial of perseverance in seeking out the will of God in our lives. Joseph waits patiently for God to speak, just as God waits patiently for Joseph to grow in fidelity.

It’s in Nazareth, in the home of this family, that Jesus grows to maturity.

It’s here that Joseph teaches Jesus to recite his prayers, to sing the age-old Psalms of David, and to read from the Law and the Prophets.

It’s here that Joseph teaches Jesus to appreciate, firsthand, the importance of following the laws and customs of His people.

In Nazareth, working alongside Joseph in his carpenter's shop, Jesus comes to recognize the value and dignity of work.

Learning His Trade

Here, in Joseph’s home, Jesus encounters a man happy to be poor in spirit, to be meek, just, and merciful, happy to be pure of heart.

Later, during His public ministry, Jesus often spoke of God the Father as “Abba” or Daddy. It was from the loving and caring Joseph that in his humanity Jesus first learned what a daddy was.

At the very heart of Joseph’s sanctity is an unquestioning obedience to accept the will of God in his life…and to act on it. And because he obeys, God comes to him again and again. God walks in Joseph’s soul just as He walked with Adam in the Garden. Is it any wonder He entrusts to Joseph what is most precious to Him?

Joseph Hears and Obeys

Mary and the child Jesus remain almost hidden in this Gospel narrative, wrapped in the decisions and actions of Joseph. Joseph leads but doesn’t dominate. He leads by serving – by serving His God and His family. And then his work is finished. Jesus, whom he has loved, taught, and protected, must now step forward into the light of history. Joseph, like John the Baptist, like you and me, can also proclaim: "He must increase. I must decrease."

We Catholics have always had a deep devotion to Mary, the Mother of God. How it would please her if we would deepen our devotion to her husband. With Jesus we owe honor to Joseph; and honored indeed would Joseph be if fathers today would accept him as their model. And pray, too, that single mothers turn to him, asking for his fatherly intercession in the lives of their children.

Today, on this beautiful feast of the Holy Family, let us pray for our families, for fathers, for mothers, for children, for grandchildren and grandparents.

Back in the 8th grade, Sister Francis Jane began each day by saying: “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, pray for us.”

Should we not do the same?

Happy Brithday, Mom!

My mother, Martha Catherine (Cavanaugh) McCarthy, was born on June 28, 1909 in Fairfield, Connecticut. She died on March 12, 1977 in Hyannis, Massachusetts at the too young age of 67. Today, then, is the 110th anniversary of her birth. 

When she met my father, Mom was working as an RN at St,. VIncent's Hospital in Bridgeport, Connecticut. They married on the Fourth of July in 1935. And then, for the rest of her life, she was a wonderful, caring wife and mother, who somehow managed to keep the three males in her life on the straight and narrow...more or less. 

Our Family: me, Mom, Dad, Jeff (1950s)

The above family photo from the 1950s shows me, standing next to Mom, and Jeff, next to Dad. I believe it was taken overlooking the Hudson River. Boy! Those were days of innocence. Sadly, I'm the only one left. My dad, John McCarthy, died in 2005 and my only sibling, my brother, Jeff McCarthy, died in 2010. 

Now, as I near my 75th birthday, I expect the family baton to be passed on to the next generation in the not too distant future. As I mentioned to Diane the other day, "When you find yourself celebrating your parents' 110th birthdays, you know you're getting old." Yes, indeed...but it's been an enjoyable process; and should God will it, I might actually stick around for a few more years.  

But today, ignoring both past and future, I'll simply say, "Happy Birthday, Mom."

Homily: December 17

Readings: Gn 49:2,8-10; Ps 72; Mt 1:1-17
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When people first turn to the New Testament, they often get discouraged because right there on the first page of the first book is Matthew's genealogy. And so they just jump ahead to the Nativity story. That's really unfortunate because this rhythmic poetic passage tells us some very important things.

Indeed, Matthew begins as Genesis begins, with the beginning, and summarizes 2,000 years of history, from Abraham all the way to Jesus Christ. In this genealogy Matthew offers the Gospel as the New Genesis, a new beginning through Jesus.

Abraham, Our Father in Faith

From this we encounter a major Gospel theme: the New Testament doesn't replace the Old; it fulfills it. And Matthew first aims this Good News directly at you and me - at sinners - by drawing our attention to Judah, Tamar, Rahab, and David.

He reminds us that the sinful relationship between Judah and Tamar led to King David and ultimately to Jesus Himself.

Nathan to King David: You Are the Man! (1 Sam 12:7)

He reminds us that Rahab, Boaz's mother, was a prostitute, and that Solomon's mother was Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite. We recall how David seduced her and had her husband killed so he could marry her.

Yes, Jesus' family tree is littered with sinners, just like mine and just like yours.

St. Joseph: Blessed are the Merciful

But through this revelation we come to realize the depth of God's mercy. Despite our sinfulness, we're all called into God's family. What a gift! Here too God pleads with us to extend mercy to others. For in that genealogy we encounter those who went far beyond the demands of the law: Judah, Boaz, Uriah, and especially Joseph.

It's a plea expressed explicitly a few chapters later in the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the merciful for they shall be shown mercy" [Mt 5:7]. Advent, then, is the perfect time to repair shattered relationships, especially family relationships, the perfect time to extend mercy to others and to yourself.

But Matthew's not finished. He also reminds us that God's ways are not man's ways. Throughout the genealogy we find God rejecting our ways, tossing aside the patterns of inheritance and choosing whom He will choose.

Jacob is "the father of Judah and his brothers" [Mt 1:2; Gen 49:8] Here and elsewhere Matthew reminds us that God will bypass first sons and choose younger brothers like Isaac, Jacob, and Judah to lead His People. This, too, is Good News, for unlike man, God is not only merciful, but His ways are just.

God continues to pile up the Good News, for Jesus' family, the family of the Kings of Israel, is not a family of ethnic purity. It's littered with Gentiles. For example, with the sole exception of Mary, the women mentioned are all Gentiles: Tamar and Rahab are Canaanites, Ruth a Moabite, Bathsheba a Hittite. God's plan of salvation, then, is universal. The entirety of humanity is called into God's family.

The Women in the Genealogy of Jesus (Mt 1)

This is the Advent message, brothers and sisters, the message of the angel: "You shall name him Jesus and he shall be called Emmanuel" [Mt 1:23; Lk 1:31], which means, "God is with us."  God is with us - not some nameless, faceless them, but us - and not some of us, but all of us. It's the message of a passionate God, of a God whose love is overpowering. This is what we celebrate: God's fierce zeal for us, His commitment not to leave us abandoned.

It comes down to this: God is unwilling to leave us in the darkness of our own sinfulness. Advent demonstrates God's terrible desire to "be with us," to be part of the human condition: God with us in our entirety. Quite simply, God won't let us alone. He wants to be Emmanuel.

Inundated by materialism, by the spiritual sickness of the world, so many forget why the Magi carried those first gifts to a newborn baby in a manger. The true Advent and Christmas message isn't Amazon dot com. It's Emmanuel, God with skin on and a human face. God became one of us to turn His face to us, to speak words of comfort, reconciliation, and redemption, words we can understand. This is what we anticipate today, an advent that heralds our salvation.

A few years ago at the soup kitchen, while schmoozing with our guests, I spotted a mother and her little baby girl. As I approached, little Alisha saw my smile and reached out her arms to me. I couldn't resist. I picked up this beautiful child and she just snuggled right up against me and buried her little head into my chest with her tiny hands gripping my shoulder.

My first thought? "Here's a little baby that needed a hug." Then I realized how wrong I was. Alisha had been perfectly happy being held by her mom, with whom I could never hope to compete. No, Alisha didn't need my hugs. But she knew that I sure needed hers.

You see, brothers and sisters, in a very real way, little Alisha is the meaning of Advent. God with us. God with Alisha. For that brief moment Alisha is God's love. She's the Advent of God reaching for us. She's God's arms; she's God's zeal; she's God's passion for each of us.

For God loves us despite our foolishness. He loves us with our broken lives, our selfishness, our tattered relationships, our foolish sins. God is two tiny arms determined to break into our lives. On Christmas Day He's a fierce little baby who makes no distinctions but embraces the least likely along with the most likely.

This is what Advent is all about: preparing us for God's unrelenting love feast. Not a sappy sentimental love, but a love as searing as any passionate romance. We celebrate God's fulfilled desire to be with us. This is His gift.

If God isn't Emmanuel, if He's not with us, if He hasn't embraced our tattered lives, then there's no hope, no light, only darkness and despair.

If God isn't with us, we're here today out of fruitless hope, or pressured routine, or empty sentimentality.

But if we're here out of love, if we're here like ragtag shepherds to kneel and rejoice and let God take us in His arms, then we've caught the meaning of this Advent: Emmanuel, the passionate God, has had his way and has hugged us fiercely.

When sin, suffering and death scatter our souls far and wide that's when we need God the most. And that's when Jesus comes to us to guide us to His Father's loving arms.

It's all grace, brothers and sisters. It's all gift. What more is there to say?

Happy Birthday, Mom

Mom

Today is my mother's birthday. The daughter of Irish immigrants, Martha Catherine (Cavanaugh) McCarthy was born 107 years ago on June 28, 1909 in Bridgeport, Connecticut. She died on March 12, 1977 at the age of 67.

Interestingly, on Mom's birth certificate her name was entered simply as Martha Cavanaugh, with no middle name; and yet on her baptismal certificate she was given the name Catherine Martha Cavanaugh. Since she was always called Martha, I had assumed this was her first name and Catherine was her middle name. Now I'm not so sure.

Thinking about my mom today brought to mind others in her family: her sisters Margaret, Rose, Mae, and Lu, and her brother, Bill. These weren't Mom's only siblings, but the others died young, long before I was born; and so I never knew them. It also reminded me that I know so little about my ancestors. 

Martha & John McCarthy-1930s

I never knew my maternal grandparents. Mom's mother, Julia, died when Mom was still a young girl of about 10, and her father, Thomas Cavanaugh, died within a few years of my folks' marriage in 1935, years before my birth in 1944. I suspect I would have liked my grandfather because my father thought highly of him and always spoke kindly of him. I know almost nothing about my grandmother, since my Mom rarely mentioned her and my father never knew her. But her name is also the source of some confusion. On Mom's baptismal certificate, my grandmother's maiden name is listed as "Julia Soye", which my mother always claimed was Scottish. But on Mom's birth certificate, the last name is spelled "Soier", which to me seems rather French. Which is correct? I have no idea.

According to that same birth certificate, both of my grandparents were born in Ireland, but no city or county is given, just the country. Perhaps my son, Ethan, who has been doing a bit of genealogical digging can uncover some of the hidden Irish roots of our family tree.

Mom - RN

Mom was the youngest in her large family. According to Mom's birth certificate, her mother had nine children, although I can account for only eight. She had several children from a previous marriage that ended with her first husband's death. His last name was Dorley, but I know nothing more about him. My grandmother then married Thomas Cavanaugh, seven years her junior, with whom she had several more children, Mom being the last. Like many families of that era, the death of a spouse and the need to remarry created stepmothers, stepfathers, half-brothers, and half-sisters, all thrown together into a complex family mix. If my recollection is correct, this "second family" was all girls, while the first included both girls and boys. I could have the numbers wrong, though, since Mom seldom differentiated between sisters and half-sisters and infant death was far more prevalent in those days. Indeed, I'm certain that one of the boys in that first family, whose name I never knew, died in infancy. The other boy, my uncle, Bill Dorley, was a Navy veteran of World War One and a life-long bachelor. Uncle Bill was quite the character, and as a youngster I was especially impressed by his 1954 Cadillac Eldorado convertible. It's remarkable, isn't it? -- the things we remember. I was quite fond of this uncle of mine and was saddened when he died in 1959.

After my grandmother's untimely death, my grandfather, Tom Cavanaugh, remarried. All in the family agreed that this second wife, Bridey, was a less than pleasant stepmother. I can recall my father speaking about her only guardedly when my brother and I were present. I got the impression that she was very unkind to my mother who was still quite young when her father married Bridey. I'm pretty certain that as a young boy I met her at least once, but the meeting was apparently unremarkable; however I do remember accompanying my parents to her funeral in Bridgeport.

Mom and her sister, Edna (c. 1920)

Mom's closest sibling was her sister, Edna, who died while still in her early teens. As I recall, the cause of death was rheumatic fever (perhaps scarlet fever) but I might well be wrong. The two girls, however, were very close and Edna's death affected Mom deeply. The above photo was taken not too long before Edna became ill. Mom once told me that her sister's illness influenced her decision to become a nurse. And it was during her time as a nurse that Mom met Dad. The rest is history...family history.

Mom continues to speak to me, to guide me even now forty years after her death. T. S. Eliot said it pretty well...

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Thank you for your goodness and for all you did for me and Diane. We love you and miss you.