Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 121:1-8; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

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The other day Walmart was packed. I tend to avoid those self-checkout lines, so I picked a check-out aisle with a relatively short line and waited patiently. I soon realized my mistake. I was behind a pregnant mom with two little ones, maybe 4 and 6 years old. Standing next to mom, holding onto the cart, the two children weren’t as patient as the deacon. The older one, a boy, began to poke his sister. She started screaming, looking to her mother for justice. The line behind us grew, people were getting antsy.

It was then that brother and sister simultaneously realized two things: First, the nearby shelves in the check-out aisle held candy and small toys; and second, they had their mom in a highly vulnerable position. They went on the attack. The boy grabbed a toy and began to beg just as his sister, cleverly grabbed a bag of M&Ms off the opposite shelf.

I was impressed. It was as if they had worked it all out in advance. This battle of wills went on for maybe a half-minute, and like any parent I pulled for Mom. She was tough. She got the toy back on the shelf but then noticed her daughter had opened the M&Ms and was eating them. Instantly, all was lost. Mom had to buy the candy, and to keep the peace, retrieved the toy and tossed it on the counter as she pulled out her credit card. The kids looked pleased. Mom simply looked relieved.

Now you might find this hard to believe, but as I watched the three of them head for the exit, I found myself thinking about today’s Gospel reading. Do you see what Bible Study does? It leads us to find echoes of Scripture in our everyday lives.

Like the widow in the parable, the children knew their persistence would eventually pay off. And like the judge, the young mom just wanted some peace and to avoid what could turn into a public embarrassment. 

In Jesus’ parable, the corrupt judge had absolute authority to settle cases before him however he chose. The young mom at Walmart had both parental authority and the credit card. And the widow and the children? They seemed to be virtually powerless, and yet actually possessed real power. But any power we possess exists only to the extent that it is recognized, accepted, and exercised.

Years ago, I used to teach a course on negotiation for corporate clients. One small element addressed something I called “the power of no power.” Centuries of martyrs have shown this to the world’s powerful. They willingly suffered death, driven by an unseen power, a power their enemies couldn’t comprehend.

Today’s Gospel passage is really a lesson on God’s power and how, through His love, He has given us the ability to tap into it. Jesus revealed to His disciples that the Father gives us access to His power through prayer. We are called to be persistent, just like the widow, and not lose heart.

Right before He related this parable, Jesus had described the time of tribulation, trials, persecutions, martyrdom, even a final failure of faith. Hearing this, the disciples were afraid. How could they endure such trials? How could they remain faithful to the end? Don’t be anxious, Jesus told them, don’t lose heart, for the power of the Holy Spirit will be with you. Then God will come and establish His kingdom in justice. He will right all wrongs. He will deliver men and women from sin and death.

20 centuries of Christian martyrs all the way back to St. Stephen, give testimony to the power God grants to those who believe in His love. In the face of a worldly power that ultimately took their lives, a power they rejected, these saints persisted in their faith. They didn’t lose heart.

One common trait shared by all the saints and martyrs is prayer. Through prayer we gain access to God, and to the divine power He desires to share with us. 

Prayer gives us strength; it helps us do things we could otherwise never do. Through prayer God invites us into His world, one very different from ours. How did Jesus put it as He prayed in the presence of His apostles the night before He died?

“I gave them your word, and the world hated them, because they do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world.” (Jn 17:14)

We are called to live in the world, but not be of the world. Hard stuff when the world surrounds us and calls to us constantly. Prayer, then, takes us from the world and lets us go beyond human hopes, human reasons, human fears, human desires.

Recall Jesus in the garden the night before He died. Wracked by human fears and the vision of the world’s sinfulness, He fell prostrate in prayer to the Father. Jesus turned His eyes to the Power of His shared divinity and found the strength He needed from the Father: “Thy will be done!”

The very next day, Jesus was nailed to the Cross with arms outstretched. Did anyone witnessing the crucifixion see the image of Moses, with his arms also outstretched and “the staff of God in his hand” until the battle was won?

Moses’ prayer formed a channel for God’s power. But even then, Moses couldn’t do it himself, could he? Without Aaron and Hur holding up his arms, those pesky Amalekites would have defeated Joshua and his army, changing the course of human history.

But who helped Jesus on the Cross? What did the witnesses scream at Him?

“If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross.”  (Mt 27:40)

But Jesus would not, not until the battle was won, until He had conquered sin and death, until He had made death merely a thing of this world, a thing of time, but one that led to eternal life.

And we shouldn’t overlook that Moses needed Aaron and Hur, just as we need each other. God calls us to communion, Communion with Him in His Eucharistic Presence, and communion with each other on our journey to eternal life. Yes, we need each other. As I like to tell married couples, your primary task is to help the other get to heaven. 

Although, as Christians, we continue to wage spiritual warfare against the powers of this world, Jesus has already won the decisive battle for us…and the outcome is assured. But prayer gives us more than the strength to fight these daily battles. It gives us the insight necessary to accept God’s will in our lives.

Prayer also connects us to the power of God’s love. Prayer, driven by the Holy Spirit, focuses our attention on the needs of others instead of our own. 

And without prayer, our faith will wither and die. Mother Teresa put it beautifully, “Prayer is the oil that keeps the lamp of faith burning brightly.”

How brightly does our faith burn? Did not Jesus ask:

“But when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?”

Will we have lost heart because we’ve trapped ourselves in our world, and lost sight of God’s?

Sometimes we excuse ourselves by saying we haven’t the time to pray. And yet we manage to find the time to eat, to study, to work, to play. We nourish our bodies and our minds. We fill our lives with activity, but we starve our souls and deprive our lives of their fruitfulness.

St. Paul instructs us to “pray without ceasing,” because he knew our lives must be a continual prayer. Like breathing, prayer is a necessity. For only through prayer can we receive the help and strength we need to get safely through this life to our true home in heaven.

One pressing problem is that we just love to tell God what to do. We pray only for what we want, never considering what we need…and then we expect instant results. 

Sisters and brothers, we can tell God nothing He doesn’t already know. He won’t refuse what’s good for us, and grants what we ask in His time, not ours. 

But always remember, it's His will, not ours, that will bring peace and goodness. When we get our prayer right, it’s always a prayer that God’s Will be done, in our lives and in the world. Then all will fall into place. 

It doesn’t matter if we’re joyful, depressed, or angry. It doesn’t matter if we’re confused or aimless, if we’re giving thanks or need forgiveness. It doesn’t matter if we’re ashamed of how we’ve lived and sinned. When we pray, we’re in the presence of a dear friend who understands and forgives, a dear divine friend who shares in our humanity.

God, in His Love, always listens. For love calls for love in return, and prayer is an act of love. So maybe we can keep all of this before us and rouse ourselves to love our merciful God – Father, Son, and Spirit – through prayer. Don’t lose heart, brothers and sisters. Believe in His love. Believe in the power of your prayer.

Oh…and please pray for that mom in Walmart. I think she needs lots of prayers.

 

Homily: Tuesday, 15th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ex 2:1-15a • Psalm 69 • Mt 11:20-24

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One of the remarkable things about the Old Testament is the willingness of its authors and the Holy Spirit to hide nothing and reveal almost everything about the key characters. This is so very different from all other ancient religious texts, as well as the official records of other ancient societies. In these, the kings and pharaohs and conquerors were all depicted as near perfect, as godlike men who always won, and never failed.

But not so in the Bible. Beginning with Adam and Eve, and progressing through the Patriarchs to Moses, then on through the long list of prophets and Kings, we encounter so many men, and actually quite a few women; and for all of them, nothing is hidden – strengths and weaknesses, sins and virtues, it’s all revealed.  The focus, you see, is not really on these men and women; rather it’s on God, who chooses whomever He desires to fulfill His plan, to carry out His work in the world. 

And often enough He chooses amazingly unlikely people. Today, for example, in our reading from Exodus, we encounter two versions of Moses.

First, a basket-case floating among the bullrushes, a Hebrew infant, “a goodly child”, his mother called him, surrendered by that mother in hope and trust, and retrieved and adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter.

We next encounter a grown Moses, fortyish and entitled, but a man who presumably knew his roots. Driven by a slightly skewed sense of justice, he willfully kills an Egyptian who was persecuting a Hebrew slave laborer. When the word gets out, Moses realizes he too must get out, and heads east to the land of Midian. Moses is introduced to us in all his imperfections. And yet on Mt Horeb God will choose him to free His people and lead them to the Promised Land. How blessed we are that our loving, merciful God chooses us as well, despite all our imperfections. 

Then we encounter Jesus in our Gospel passage from Matthew. You know, a lot of folks seem to see Jesus solely as the warm and fuzzy, group hug, kumbaya Jesus. And yet, in the Gospel He often comes across quite differently.

Today, for example, He’s taking on the role of Prophet. Indeed, He sounds a lot like Isaiah when that prophet proclaimed God’s judgment on the King of Babylon.

“Down to Sheol you will be brought to the depths of the pit!” [Is 14:15]

Jesus says much the same, doesn’t He? Hard words to those neighboring towns, Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, whose people had witnessed all those miracles, but failed to listen. Because Jesus had been with them, and they had seen and heard it all, their judgment will be harsher.

When I was growing up we had a brief family Bible Study every week. Now, to my knowledge, my mom, who was an RN, had no formal training in Sacred Scripture, but always seemed to share wonderful insights. We’d read a few verses then Mom or Dad would ask what we thought of it.

After reading these comments of Jesus, my brother and I tried to say something like: “The people in those towns are really going to catch it.” But Mom simply said, “You know, Jesus isn’t talking to us about those little towns. He’s talking to us about us.” That took all the wind out of our sails. She went on, explaining it all to us in words similar to these...

“Jesus healed all those people because He loved them, and He wanted others to see and understand that they must listen to Him…But so many didn’t. If we instead turn away from Him, we’re no better than the people of those towns. You see,” Mom told us, “Our Lord has been living with us in our home, speaking to us through our church…and when we receive Holy Communion He actually lives within us. Because of that, we must listen to Him, do as He asks us, and let God’s will rule our lives.”

With that, she ended the lesson. Brothers and sisters, Jesus said the same thing, didn’t He? His Gethsemane prayer, words recorded in all three of the Synoptic Gospels:

“Not what I will, but what you will.”

…words that actually encapsulate His entire teaching. Moses struggled to accept God’s will in his life, and so too did the Apostles.

I guess that’s the question for you and me: What’s the focus of our lives, our will our His will? After all, every day we pray, “Thy will be done,” but do we really seek it?

Happy Birthday, Mom

On June 28, 1909 my mother, Martha Catherine Cavanaugh, was born in Fairfield, Connecticut. Mom was the ninth and youngest child in her family. Her parents, Thomas Cavanaugh and Julia (Soier) Cavanaugh, were both born in Ireland back in 1873 and 1866. They both died before I was born, so I never knew them. My paternal grandmother, Ann (Moran) McCarthy, was also born in Ireland. Her husband and my paternal grandfather, John McCarthy, was born in Canada while his parents were visiting relatives in Quebec. So, thanks to my four grandparents, I guess that makes me a full-fledged, second-generation American. 

As for Mom, she was an absolutely wonderful mother, the family glue that held everything together and always kept us moving in the right direction. Quiet, but strong in her beliefs, Mom willingly shared her wisdom with her two sons. My dad offered us lots of wonderful, practical guidance and grounded us politically and to a certain extent, philosophically. But Mom taught us the truly important things. She was the family’s spiritual guide whose love for God and His Church certainly had a lasting effect on me. 

Mom died far too soon at the age of 67 on March 12, 1977. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone 46 years, but even harder to believe she was born 114 years ago, a fact that reminds me of my own advance age. As I said to Diane today, I would happily have given Mom ten years of my life so she could have lived another ten years. And Diane said, “I would have done the same.” Yes, indeed, she was and still is loved. We miss you, Mom. Happy Birthday. Rest is please.

“Gird Your Loins!”

Back when I was just a kid, our family Bible was a Douay-Rheims translation filled with prints of those wonderful biblical engravings by Gustave Doré. (You can view them all here.) As a young child I would sit on the living room couch turning the pages of that Bible and examining Doré‘s remarkably detailed scenes. My approach to Bible Study at that age was rather random, a hit-or-miss approach in which I would look at one of the pictures, then read the opening passages of the book I thought was associated with the picture. Often enough I didn’t understand much of what I’d read and found myself wondering just what those words were telling me. Many of the words were not yet part of my vocabulary, so I’d occasionally ask my mom what they meant. Once, while reading the opening verses of Jeremiah, I came across the following in which God commanded the young prophet:

“Thou therefore gird up thy loins, and arise, and speak to them all that I command thee…” [Jer 1:17]

So I asked Mom, “What does gird up thy loins mean?” As I recall, she didn’t provide a full explanation, but simply replied, “It means to prepare for battle.” At the time that was enough for the nine-year-old me. I’m guessing it was a few more years before I even knew what loins were. Truthfully, I’m still a bit foggy about it today since loins rarely, if ever, find their way into everyday conversation. 

Anyway, the phrase was not restricted to the Old Testament. St. Paul, for example, used it when writing to the Ephesians:

“Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil…Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the equipment of the gospel of peace; above all taking the shield of faith, with which you can quench all the flaming darts of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” [Eph 6:11,’14-17].

Here the Apostle, using a variety of military images, instructed those early Christians to prepare themselves for spiritual battle, armed defensively with truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, and faith. St. Peter, addressing new Christians who were undergoing persecution and hardship, used similar language to encourage them in their faith:

“Therefore gird up your minds, be sober, set your hope upon the grace that is coming to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; since it is written, ‘You shall be holy, for I am holy’” [1 Pet 1:13-16].

Peter used only part of the “girding” metaphor, telling these Christians, “gird up your minds” and calling them to the holiness God wills for them. 

Until the other day, the last time I heard anyone use the phrase publicly was on April 17, 1970, when the Commanding Officer of our Navy helicopter squadron rose up from his ready room chair and gave some final instructions to the crews who would recover the Apollo 13 astronauts. Chuck Smiley looked out at us all and with a smile on his face said, “You’re all professionals, so I know you’ll do an outstanding job today, so let’s just gird our loins and do what the nation expects of us.” And we did. 

Why my current interest in all this loin-girding?  Because of something I read a few days ago in a news article. As you might have heard, the Los Angeles Dodgers invited a radical anti-Catholic hate group to the team’s June 16 Pride Night game. During the game the group will receive the team’s “Community Heroes” award. The group, calling themselves “The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence,” openly mocks the Catholic faith. The Dodgers invited this extremist trans group, but responding to strong criticism and complaints from Christian groups, the team dis-invited them. But then the leftist hate attacks began so the team re-invited them. 

Drag Trans "Sister of Perpetual Indulgence"

While the Archdiocese of Los Angeles issued a statement condemning this hateful decision by the Dodgers, perhaps the best response came from one of the more courageous of American bishops, Salvatore Cordileone, Archbishop of San Francisco. Archbishop Cordileone accused the Dodgers organization of worshiping “alternative gods” and then added:

“Our Catholic sisters devote themselves to serving others selflessly. Decent people would not mock and blaspheme them. So we now know what gods the Dodger admin worships. Open desecration and anti-Catholicism is not disqualifying. Disappointing, but not surprising. Gird your loins.”

Archbishop Cordileone

Don’t you just love it? “Gird your loins,” the archbishop tells his flock. Like St. Paul and St. Peter, he calls us to prepare for spiritual warfare; indeed, we are already in the midst of the war’s ongoing battles. Satan is pulling out all the stops in what will ultimately be his failing effort to destroy God’s Church. I expect this warfare to go on for quite some time, so it would be best to equip ourselves with that same defensive armor recommended by St. Paul: truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, and faith. And to these let’s add our most effective offensive weapon: prayer.

Oh, and for all you Dodger's fans out there, I'd suggest switching allegiance to another team or just doing what I decided to do and just avoid Major League Baseball altogether. Or as we New Yorkers say: "Fugeddaboutit!"

Dogs as Comfort Critters

When I was a mere child, our family, like many families, enjoyed a number of different pets. We were pretty much a dog family and shared our home with several wonderful canines. 

The other day, while driving on back roads to conduct a cemetery committal service in rural Beverly Hills, Florida, I noticed two young children playing with a large dog in their front yard. I think the dog was one of those labradoodle mixed breeds, a good-looking animal. The children were young, a boy and a girl, maybe seven or eight years old, and they were really enjoying themselves, as was the dog. I sat at that stop sign and watched the three of them for maybe a half-minute before a pick-up pulled up behind me and leaned on his horn. That broke the spell, and off I went to bury the dead. But as I drove the rest of the way, I thought of all the dogs who blessed our family and my childhood with their presence. Dogs are truly wonderful creatures, just another gift from a God who loves us. I think He gives us dogs to teach us how to love unconditionally, just as He loves.

The first dog who shared our home with me was Patches, a Boston Terrier, of whom I have absolutely no recollection. I have a photo of me as a baby with Patches standing guard, but I think she died not long after that. Our next dog, the first pet I can remember, was Clipper, a German Shepherd. I have many memories of Clipper who used to sneak into my room and climb into my bed after my folks had retired for the night. He knew my mom didn’t appreciate his shedding on my blankets and sheets, but he and I openly conspired to disobey. Mom eventually relented. I always felt privileged that Clipper chose my bed and not that of my brother, Jeff, although I suspect Clipper based his decision on the amount of room available in each bed. Jeff was four years older and took up a lot more space. Clipper was a terrific dog, even though he did enjoy chasing down the chickens raised by one of our neighbors in rural Nichols, Connecticut. As I recall Dad was frequently forced to pay for recently slaughtered fowl. Here's Clipper enjoying himself in the snow (probably about 1948):

When I was about five, we moved to Larchmont in suburban New York, and Clipper moved with us. He didn’t care much for suburban life since he was no longer allowed to roam freely. Fortunately for Clipper and the entire family, after a year or two we moved to Panama City Beach, Florida when my dad, an Army reserve officer, was recalled to active duty at Camp Rucker (now Fort Rucker) in Dothan, Alabama. Dad rented a small 2-bedroom cottage right on the beach. He would spend weekdays at Rucker and weekends with us. Jeff and I attended the local public school, Drummond Park Elementary School, which in those days was segregated. Of course, as young boys, this meant little to us. We simply enjoyed living right on the beach where we’d romp in the surf with Clipper and watch out for dangerous critters like Portuguese Man o’ War and sand sharks. Here we are in our sandy Florida backyard — I’m the little one — with our dad and Clipper…

Our next move took us to Heidelberg, Germany, again thanks to the U.S. Army. But first my folks had to see about finding a renter for our home in Larchmont. And since we couldn't take Clipper with us to Germany, Dad sold him to a man who owned a butcher shop on Long Island. I expect Clipper spent the rest of his days living and eating well. We all missed him.

Heidelberg was fascinating. We didn't live in Army housing but lived "on the economy," renting a flat in a small apartment house in town. Jeff and I also attended German schools, so we certainly got a taste for the country and its people. This was in 1951-52, not too many years after the end of the war. I remember asking my mom why we couldn't get a dog, and she laughed and said, "That would just make Frau Sauer [our landlady] even more sour."  

But Dad surprised us when we returned to New York. He had purchased a Weimaraner puppy and had it shipped from Germany to our home in Larchmont. The dog's name was Heidi, although her official Kennel Club name was “Arnheid von Geisberg.” I always thought this more elaborate name made her uncommonly regal, and she certainly lived up to it. Heidi immediately became one of the family. Although she was a rather large dog, she was very happy being a homebody and adjusted quickly to our family's odd lifestyle. 

When she was about three my folks decided to breed her with another purebred Weimaraner, resulting in eight wonderful little puppies. We sold seven but kept the largest male, whom Dad named, "Der Alte," the same name the Germans gave Konrad Adenauer, a name connoting age and wisdom. Unfortunately, he didn't live up to his name and simply refused to grow up. I think living with his mother simply spoiled him. We eventually sold him to a man who lived on a large rural estate where Der Alte enjoyed himself for years.

Heidi was especially close to my mom, and used to sit with her, or on her, or beside her whenever possible -- see the photos above and at left. Only when mom wasn't around would she condescend to spend quality time with the rest of us. 

Heidi lived with us for more than a dozen years and during that time learned to tolerate all of our strange idiosyncrasies. For example, Dad acquired a very clever parakeet named Heinz who used to land on Heidi's head and talk to her in his broken English. Heidi ignored him, assuming he was just another of the odd creatures who inhabited her home. 

I was almost 8 years old when Heidi joined our family, and she died when I was home on summer leave from the Naval Academy. It was heartbreaking. 

Will our dogs join us in heaven? Well, if the lion will lay down with the lamb, I don't see why God won't let the dogs who loved us and cared for us, probably more than we cared for them, also be with us eternally. St. Thomas Aquinas may disagree, but I'll bet he never had a dog. 

God Turns All to Good

45 years ago, I was a Naval officer aboard a ship in the Philippines when I got the word that my mom was near death. The cancer she had battled for so long would finally take her. My commanding officer granted me emergency leave and I somehow managed to make it back to the states in near record time. The trip from halfway around the world involved a series of flights aboard several military and civilian aircraft. Arriving at Boston's Logan Airport, I was met by my dad and brother who drove me straight to the hospital in Hyannis on Cape Cod. 

My first look at Mom as I entered her room told me she wouldn't be with us much longer. Her words merely confirmed this. She looked up at me and said, "Okay, Lord, now I can die."

We spent some time together in prayer but at one point she said, "Dana, I've learned that everything is a gift. Even this horrid disease is a gift because it has taught me so much." 

Of course, as a 30-something Navy pilot, I didn't have a clue. How could she say that? A gift? No, this was a tragedy! Still in her sixties, she had suffered too much for far too long. I simply didn't understand what she meant and didn't try to grasp her meaning.

It took some time, actually a couple of decades, for her words to make sense to me. Sometimes that's how God works in our lives. He waits until we are properly disposed to understand His Word and then He reveals it to us in ways we can accept. In my case it came thanks to many others who, like Mom, were seriously ill and facing death. Their attitudes and words mirrored Mom's, forcing me to seek understanding. 

And then, one day, I read a letter by one of my favorite writers, Flannery O'Connor. Throughout her adult life, O'Connor had suffered from Lupis, a disease that would ultimately take her at the age of 39. Referring to her illness, O'Connor wrote these words to a friend:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place, a very instructive place, and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies." [The Habit of Being, p. 163]

"...one of God's mercies." One senses that O'Connor, too, realized all is a gift for those who strive to accept God's will for them. 

This morning I was reminded of this again. Listening to the news, we were told that Rush Limbaugh died a year ago today. As the news show briefly covered this anniversary of his death, they showed a video of Limbaugh, apparently just days before he died. Speaking to his nationwide audience, it seemed as if he were consoling them as he said:

"There's good in everything that happens, if you look for it."

Yes, indeed, we encounter many examples of people who came to realize and accept the goodness in so much the world considers bad. Of course, St. Paul said it best, didn't he?

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to His purpose" [Romans 8:28].

God's peace...

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."

Happy Birthday, Mom

Martha Catherine (Cavanaugh) McCarthy was born at home in Fairfield, Connecticut on June 28, 1909. And so today would have been her 108th birthday. I guess when your mother was born 108 years ago, you know you're getting old. 

Mom at the time of my childhood

Mom was the youngest child in a large family of eight children. Actually, four of her siblings were half-siblings since her mother, Julia, was a remarried widow who had four more children in her second marriage. Mom was only nine years old when her mother died, and her father, Thomas Cavanaugh, subsequently remarried. Unfortunately his second wife wasn't the most agreeable person -- I suppose that's a nice, pastoral way of describing her -- and so I always got the impression that Mom's teenage years were not very pleasant. It was also during this period that she lost her closest sister, Edna, to what I believe was scarlet fever; a personal tragedy that affected Mom deeply.

After high school she entered nursing school at St. Vincent's Hospital in Bridgeport, CT and ultimately graduated as an RN. It was around this time that she met my father, and they married on July 4, 1935.

Mom, the new RN  

Mom was one of those quiet, thoughtful, and very intelligent people who prefer to stay in the background, far out of the limelight, but manage to have a significant positive impact on others. She died 40 years ago and I miss her deeply, but I still go to her for advice. That's the nice thing about memories: through them we can relive and relearn what others tried to teach us when we were too foolish to pay very much attention...but the words remain.

Happy Birthday, Mom. God's peace...