Happy Birthday, Big Brother

Jeff (missing tooth) and Yours Truly, c. 1947

My big brother and only sibling, Jefferson Brian McCarthy, died in January 2010, a little over six years ago. He was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut on February 8, 1941, so today would have been Jeff's 75th birthday. A day doesn't go by when I don't think of him, and miss his presence in my life.

Growing up together, but separated by four years, we probably had the typical big brother-little brother relationship. We fought and wrestled and played together, and shared everything. And I could always count on Jeff to be the protective big brother when I needed reinforcements. Our personalities, though, were as different as day and night, and yet we seemed not to notice or be bothered by the differences. He was by far the smarter, always among the top students in his class, always willing to do the extra work needed to achieve the highest grades and win the prizes and awards. I, on the other hand, found that my interests didn't always coincide with the subjects taught in school, and would spend more time on that which aroused my curiosity. I did what was necessary to earn acceptable grades -- high enough to prevent parental interference -- but I was never a candidate for valedictorian. I suppose our mother understood us best. She once said, "Jeff's the smart one, who wants to please others; but Dana's the clever one who wants to please himself." I'm still not sure if that was a compliment or a criticism.

Our dad, John McCarthy, and Jeff at West Point on graduation day - June 1962

Dana (me), our Mom, and Jeff - Summer 1963 at home in Chatham on Cape Cod

Jeff went to West Point, graduating in 1962, and after a year at Georgetown University, I went to Annapolis, graduating in 1967. Because my grandfather and father both served in the Army, I suppose I was a bit of a black sheep who broke with tradition. But Jeff and I never saw it that way and were proud of each other's service. Our only serious disagreement came on the day of the Army-Navy game.

Jeff's sudden death from heart failure shortly before his 69th birthday came as a shock to me, especially since I'd always assumed he'd outlive me. I know that sounds strange since Jeff was almost four years older, but to me he'd always seemed healthier, at least until his last few years when his health began to deteriorate. Although his decline during those final years was evident, I didn't realize how ill he was. I suppose that's not uncommon: the failure to recognize and accept that one we love is near death. Based on some of our last conversations, I suspect Jeff knew he was approaching the end of his life. I just didn't realize it until later, when I played those conversations back in my mind. 

If I learned anything from Jeff's death it's that we should treasure every moment we have with those we love. Indeed, as Pope Francis is fond of reminding us, we should treasure every person we encounter, every child of God, and recognize the presence of Jesus Christ within them. That's a hard lesson to learn and put into practice.

Rest in peace, big brother, I'll see you again soon enough.

Football, God and Country

It was quite a weekend for this one football fan. First of all, Navy beat Army for the tenth straight year, far better than the record during my four years at the Naval Academy. We beat Army once during that period (thanks largely to Roger Staubach), lost twice and tied once. Those were the days when ties were still permitted.

Over the years I've celebrated many Navy wins and suffered through not quite so many losses, but I enjoyed every game, largely because of my only brother, Jeff. Jeff graduated from West Point with the class of 1962, while I graduated from Annapolis with the class of 1967. As you might imagine the Army-Navy game was always an exciting time in our family. Our parents feigned neutrality, although both were not so secret Army fans. Jeff was, after all, the older son and habits are hard to break. I suspect it also had something to do with Dad being an Army colonel.

My dad and brother (1947)

Jeff and I would bet on the game only occasionally, and usually for something insignificant like a beer at our next meeting. But every year the loser would traditionally call the winner immediately after the game to offer congratulations. It's a tradition that finally stopped last year. Jeff, you see, died in January 2010 and since then the game simply hasn't been the same for me. Oh, I still watch it and root for Navy, but knowing there will be no phone call has brought real sadness to the day. It has also taught me that my love for my brother was really the primary reason this annual football game still had any significant meaning for me.

Another game I enjoyed was the the New England Patriots' win (barely) over the Washington Redskins this afternoon. The Pats keep winning thanks to their explosive offense led by Tom Brady, and despite their almost non-existent defense led seemingly by nobody. Should they get past the Steelers and make it to the Super Bowl to face the Packers, it just might turn out to be the most offensive Super Bowl ever. I am, however, not so much of a fan that I will hold my breath in expectation.

And then there's Tim Tebow, the miracle-working quarterback of the Denver Broncos. I really like this young man, not only because he openly displays his faith, but because he also lives it. This is, after all, what we as Christians are called to do. We are commanded to live our faith, to make disciples of all nations, to preach the Good News of Jesus Christ. And Mr. Tebow seems to do it all. To my knowledge nobody, even among those who apparently despise him, have seriously questioned the reality of this man's faith.

Unlike Tim Tebow, far too many Christians prefer to keep their faith private, hiding it under a bushel basket, pleading that for them their Christian faith is something "personal". In truth, they are among the great mass of lukewarm Christians who are ashamed of their faith and ashamed of Jesus Christ. They fear having to defend their faith in a world hostile to the gospel message. I would encourage them to follow Tim Tebow's example lest they hear those dreaded words of judgment, "Depart from me..."

Of course, a lot of folks disagree with Mr. Tebow because their only belief is that religion has no place in the public square, much less on the football field. These are the same folks who want to ban any expression of religious faith from our society, especially if the faith in question is Christian. No more Christmas crèche displays, no prayer in school, no Bibles in military hospitals, no Jesus Christ anywhere outside a church building. I can't help but wonder: Would we hear complaints about Tim Tebow's public displays of faith if he were a Muslim?

Because they despise this young man, his critics find themselves confused about the remarkable success he has experienced since becoming Denver's starting quarterback. Every week they keep running out of excuses: the game was an anomaly; the opponent's defense was horrible; Tim Tebow was extremely lucky; there was a full moon. (I heard that one today on ESPN.) Certainly he's not the most skilled quarterback in the league, but it seems to me his success can be attributed to his exceptional leadership skills, his ability to inspire his teammates, his desire to win, and his overall positive attitude. Such things are contagious and have apparently infected his teammates. It will be interesting to see how he and his team perform against the Patriots next week.

As I said earlier, I really like this young man. May his tribe increase.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Jeff McCarthy's Funeral & Homily

We gave my brother, Jeff, a beautiful funeral on Saturday at my former parish on Cape Cod, Holy Trinity Parish in West Harwich. Fr. Ed Healey celebrated the Mass and I assisted and was privileged to give the homily. Four other deacons joined us in the sanctuary, something for which I am especially thankful. Three of Jeff's West Point classmates (class of 1962) also attended, including his roommate and a longtime family friend, Marsh Carter. Another classmate in attendance was General Dennis Reimer, USA (Ret), former Army Chief of Staff and good friend of my brother. But we were all particularly pleased that Jeff's son, Marshall McCarthy, was able to be with us. Marshall flew up from his home in Costa Rica and rekindled his relationships with his cousins whom he hadn't seen in 20 to 30 years. God turns all to good.

I have included my homily below for those who might be interested.
_________________________

Family separations are always difficult. Those of us who spent a lifetime or two in the military certainly know what family separations are all about. Of course, some separations are greater than others.


One of my former executive officers, Captain Collie Haines, had been a POW in North Vietnam. And as we left on a nine-month cruise, Diane noticed his wife hadn’t joined the other wives and children at the pier to wave goodbye. Later she told Diane, “No, I decided not to see the ship off. The last time I did that he didn’t come home for seven years.” Yes, some separations are greater than others.

And as those families watched that ship until it could no longer be seen, someone would inevitably sigh, “Well, they’re gone.” And you know something, that’s a little like dying. Indeed, it’s a lot like dying. Except, as we sigh, “Well, Jeff’s gone,” there are other voices waiting and ready to shout happily, “There, see! Jeff’s coming. He’s coming home.”

Now I realize it’s not always easy to accept this, because as a deacon I see my share of death and the grief that follows it. It’s at these times that I’m asked all sorts of questions. So many people are afraid of death; so many worry about what lies ahead. Sometimes they’re afraid of nothingness, but with God’s help I can usually help them ease that fear. Most, though, are simply afraid of coming face to face with their lives, of encountering all those mistakes, all the hurt they caused, all that sin, and finding it too much to bear.

But Paul, in our reading from Romans provides the antidote to this fear. Yes, we will be judged; but did you notice the question Paul asks: “Who will bring a charge against God's chosen ones?” You see, the wonderful thing is that Jesus Christ is on our side. That’s why Paul also says that Jesus “is at the right hand of God [and]… indeed intercedes for us.” Oh, yes, brothers and sisters, we will be judged, and all those foolish sins of ours will be evidence against us, but we’ll also have Jesus pleading our case.

Can’t you just imagine Jesus turning to the Father and saying, “Father, this is Jeff. And like every man he had his faults, but I’m pleading for him now. I want you to disregard all that weakness because I died for him. Instead of looking on his sins I’m asking you to look on his repentance, to look on me, your Son, as I die on the Cross for Jeff, paying the price for those sins of his.”

Yes, having Jesus as your defense attorney is about as good as it gets. How many lawyers do you know who will die for their clients?

Of course, we can make His job a lot easier by the way we live, by loving our God and bringing His love to one another. At the end of our reading, though, Paul lists the things that will never come between us and the love of God – among them neither life nor death. And so we’re not to worry; we’re to trust in God’s mercy, in His forgiveness, and in the love He had for us when He brought us into being.

As I mentioned earlier, Paul asks another question: “Who will bring a charge against God's chosen ones?” We are God’s chosen, you know – that’s right, you and I. And it’s one of those realities we really don’t think about often enough. Imagine the difference it would make in our lives if we’d just let this truth really sink into our hearts, if we would joyfully accept that God has chosen us, that we are precious in His sight – and not just some of us, but every last one of us. He wouldn’t have created us if He didn’t love us.

I’m convinced most of us would live our lives differently if we really knew in our hearts that we are chosen by God, that God has destined so much for us. And this brings me again to those who fear death. If we’re chosen by God and precious to God, then death means nothing less than going home to a loving, merciful Father. No wonder John writes in his first letter, “In love there can be no fear, but fear is driven out by perfect love.”

If death simply means our loving Father is calling us, and if we know that our Father chose us from all eternity, well, then, what’s to fear? And that’s why we’re here today. We’re not here to talk about the past. We’re not here to relive Jeff’s life…No, not today. That’s something we, his family and friends, can do for years to come.

You see, this funeral Mass is first and foremost an act of worship. It’s an act of praise and thanksgiving, where we praise God for His goodness and thank Him for His love and the gift of life, the gift of eternal life. This Mass is offered in intercession for Jeff McCarthy because we Catholics believe, and we believe this with all our being, that God hears our prayers for the forgiveness of the sins of our deceased loved ones.

This isn’t a time to praise another human being; on the contrary, it’s a time to praise God; for it’s the Good News of Jesus Christ that we celebrate today…

…the Good News that lies at the very core of our faith

…the Good News that tells us the Father loves us so intensely He sent His only Son to become one of us

…so intensely He allowed His Son to die for our sins, for the sins of those who put Him to death

…so intensely that through this redeeming death He gave us the gift of eternal life.

This is what we celebrate today. We’re here to give Jeff to the Father, to thank God for Jeff’s life, and to ask the Father to grant him a new life, a life far greater than the one Jeff shared with us, an eternal life of happiness. This is something we can believe in. This is something we can all hope for.

Just look again at Luke’s description of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. As they walked from Jerusalem, they were overwhelmed with disappointment. All they could think about was how was cruel and heartless the world was. With the death of Jesus, their hopes and dreams had shattered. Do you recall what they said?

“But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel…” Yes, they had set their hopes on Jesus – well, on the Jesus they believed Him to be – but His death turned what they thought would be a glorious future into despair. And so they had left Jerusalem to return to their old lives, their lives without Jesus, lives that now seemed empty and dark.

But then they met Jesus, didn’t they? Right there on that narrow road to Emmaus. He was so different from the Jesus they had imagined, not some earthly king, not some political liberator. No, they met the real Jesus, the risen Jesus, the Jesus who had destroyed death, the Son of God, the creative Word of God who created all that is. It’s this same Jesus who walks with Jeff today, who wants to walk with each of us.

For it’s only Jesus Christ who can give us the strength to struggle on with life when our hopes have been shattered. Notice the disciples didn’t realize their hearts were on fire when they were with Jesus. No, it was only later that they realized how Jesus had changed them by His presence, changed them by Word and Eucharist.

Our hearts too should burn within us as we meet Jesus even when, like the two disciples, we don’t always recognize His presence. And believe me, He’s with each of you today, just as we pray He’s with Jeff. He’s ready to walk with you, to share your grief, to bring you hope, and turn darkness into light.

You see, brothers and sisters, He’s always ready to share your burdens. Trust me, He can handle it. He can help you carry that cross. After all He’s had a lot of experience.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Jefferson Brian McCarthy, 1941-2010, R.I.P.

Today when I went to look in on my brother, Jeff, I found that he had passed away overnight. Jeff had suffered from a number of physical illnesses along with some other problems, so we moved him up here from South Florida a few months ago. He stayed with us for a while, until we found him a place of his own just a few miles away. I'd stop by every day or two to make sure he was OK, and he'd join Diane and me every Thursday as a volunteer at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen. He also attended Mass with us at our parish and seemed to be doing rather well. Indeed, on Monday evening my son-in-law, who had been visiting with us, and I picked Jeff up and shared a wonderful dinner with him at a local steak house. Even though he looked tired, Jeff was in remarkably good spirits and truly enjoyed his time with us. When we dropped him off at his place, there were hugs all around...a fine end to a nice evening. I suspect he died that night sometime, probably in his sleep. (I took this above photo of him about a month ago.)

He was a wonderful brother and a generous, intelligent and loving man. A man of faith and strong beliefs, he expressed his opinions openly and firmly. You never had to guess what he felt or believed. A graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point (class of 1962), he served in Vietnam as a company commander, where he earned a Bronze Star. He had a gift for learning languages and spoke French and Spanish fluently, an ability that served him well during his assignments with NATO in France and with the Military Assistance Group in Paraguay. He also earned his masters degree in electrical engineering from the University of Arizona. After leaving the Army, he joined Motorola where he spent a productive career in semiconductor sales and marketing in Florida and Latin America.

Estranged from his wife, Elena, for some years now, he is survived as well by two sons, Marshall and Brian, and two daughters, Maria and Ileana. I am Jeff's only sibling.

Diane and I and the entire family will miss him terribly, and entrust his soul to the care of his loving and merciful Father. Rest is peace, Jeff. You will remain always in our prayers.