On the Road Again...

Monday, 14 October

By mid-afternoon yesterday (Sunday) I was feeling well enough that Diane and I decided to take a short drive to visit The Vyne, a nearby National Trust site with its expansive grounds and a large and beautiful home that dates back to Tudor times. Back in Jane Austen's day it was owned by the Chute family; indeed, the family owned the property from the time of the Civil War in the seventeenth century until the mid-twentieth century when the descendants turned it over to the National Trust. In its original Tudor form, it was owned by William, 1st Lord Sandys, Henry VIII's Lord Chamberlain. The Sandys family apparently lost the house when they backed the wrong horse during the Civil War. Anyway, Jane Austen attended many a ball at the Vyne, which was certainly the most splendid house in the area.

Since I had cleverly purchased annual memberships in the Royal Oak Foundation (the US affiliate of the UK's National Trust) a few months ago, Dear Diane and I can visit any of the scores of NT sites for free. The Vyne is among them.

The weather was less than perfect, but we slogged through the mud puddles and made our way along the wooded paths to the grand home. The grounds were quite nice and would have been better appreciated had it been a sunny day. See photos below...





The self-guided tour was aided by the presence of knowledgable and very pleasant docents stationed throughout the large house. Here's a photo of Diane conversing with one of the docents.

Although the house underwent many major renovations over the centuries, parts of it still reflect its original Tudor design. In the chapel, for instance, one can see a rather young Henry VIII depicted in one of the stained-glass windows. His first wife, Catherine of Aragon, can be seen in another. Obviously the chapel was built before this egomaniacal king began divorcing and beheading his wives. See a view of the  chapel below.

Here's a view of house from the main drive, probably as Jane Austen would have seen it from a carriage on her way to a ball.

Below are a few photos of some of The Vyne's rooms: the dining room and saloon. Some of the paneling and ceiling work is truly remarkable. And because the last owners also left the entire contents of the house to the National Trust, most of the furniture is original, from the 16th, 17th and18th centuries. Truly extraordinary.


All things considered, not a bad way to spend a couple of hours on a rainy afternoon. We even stopped by their tearoom for a bite to eat and, of course, made the obligatory visit to the gift shop. I was still feeling a bit edgy, so I didn't eat much, but the little I had (some homemade bread pudding) was pretty good.

Today (Monday) we decided to drive to Salisbury (about an hour's drive) and visit Stonehenge. We had hoped that a Monday in October, especially a rather bleak, overcast Monday, would keep the crowds down...and we we're right. It wasn't very crowded at all, which made the experience quite enjoyable.

Once again, my pre-trip planning paid off since I had purchased an English Heritage international tourist 9-day pass for two. Basically, English Heritage controls many of the places that aren't controlled by the National Trust. And so, Dear Diane and I were able to enter Stonehenge free of charge.

It's really quite well done. You are given an audio tour device that you carry with you as you follow the path circling the five-thousand-year-old site. I took about 100 photos as we walked along listening to our recorded guides. The only downside was the wind and the temperature. Exposed to the elements on Salisbury Plain, and despite our warm clothing, the two of us nearly froze. We were pleased to find a little concession stand near the exit and gladly paid £4 plus for two cups of hot chocolate. And of course we hit the gift shop before returning to our car.

Here I am, looking much warmer than I really was. On the way home we stopped at a pub near North Waltham, Hampshire, just a couple of miles from Jane Austen's family home in Steventon. The pub, The Wheatsheaf Inn, has been around for a few hundred years and Jane Austen visited it frequently. She didn't go there for the good ale, but to collect the family's mail since it was the local post station. You can read more about this here: Jane Austen and the Wheatsheaf. Our meal was quite good and the service excellent.

Tomorrow we plan to drive south to the coast and visit some of the sites in Portsmouth and Southampton. It should be another enjoyable day, weather permitting.
Blessings...

A Day of Rest and Recovery

Sunday, October 13.

I'm not feeling well. I won't offer any specifics, except to label it Cornwallis's Revenge. I'm certainly not well enough to attend Mass this morning, something we were looking forward to. We had planned to attend the 11:00 a.m. Mass at the nearest Catholic Church, St. Mary's in Alton, no more than three miles from our cottage. But given my present condition, I don't believe it would be wise. I suspect I am simply experiencing the effects of a change of diet and times and sleep, etc.  At least I hope so. And poor Diane must remain here too, since she will not drive over here.

And so, Dear Diane and I have decided to remain here today, relaxing and recovering. She's upstairs listening to Jane Austen's Persuasion on the new iPod I gave her as an advance birthday gift. And I'm stretched out on the sofa sipping hot tea, munching on a piece of toast, and tapping away on the iPad. Perhaps, if I'm feeling well enough later, we may go for a drive and check out a few of the local attractions. We'll see.

You can see our cottage in the photo below. Not a very impressive facade, but it was once a small barn. Its name is "Clinker's Barn" and is located immediately behind the 16th-century home called "Clinkers." Apparently, the home was once a blacksmith's shop, hence the odd name. [Note: minor correction...I just discovered that "Clinkers" was the name of the blacksmith family that once lived here. A fitting name for a smith.] Jane Austen actually mentions the smithy next door in one of her letters.

Last evening I made the mistake of looking up the local weather forecast. It seems we can expect heavy rain for most of today (Sunday). Even worse, the entire week promises more of the same with only occasional breaks in the soggy weather. We remain undiscouraged, though, and intend to enjoy ourselves despite Nature's attempts to keep us inside...well, after today anyway.

Yesterday (Saturday) was actually a lovely day, brisk but sunny and pleasant. After a breakfast here in the cottage, we drove to nearby Alton, stopped by a local supermarket to buy essentials and a few treats, and then spent an hour or so at a farmer's market and craft fair. See the photos below...


Dear Diane bought some mango chutney and a few pieces of inexpensive but very nice jewelry made by locals; I bought a small framed print of the Austen cottage in Chawton; and we both bought some fudge. A well-spent morning. Here's Diane checking out the jewelry, followed by the artist wrapping my print...


We then returned to Chawton and walked next door to visit the Jane Austen Cottage and Museum. It's really quite wonderful, staffed by competent, knowledgable volunteers who seem to enjoy what they do. Admission is a reasonable £6 (for us senior citizens) and includes a video on the author's life and a self-tour of the cottage and grounds. There is also a very nice gift shop filled with all-things-Austen for the fanatical Janeites who make the pilgrimage from every corner of the globe. Here's a photo (below) of the rear of the cottage taken from the garden, followed by one of Dear Diane and me sitting on a garden bench.


For the Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle fans who enjoyed the excellent 1995 BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, many of the period clothes worn by the actors are on display throughout the museum. In the photo below you can see the wedding garb worn by Colin Firth in the final scene of the mini-series.

After an hour so at the museum we decided once again to have lunch at The Greyfriar pub across the street. Dear Diane sampled the soup of the day and I had the ham and eggs. (Hampshire, we have learned, is quite famous for its ham..lots of pigs.) And again we were served by the lovely Jessie who continues to reap the benefit of my over-tipping. Here's a photo of the pub...

Refreshed and refueled, we made the drive to Steventon, the village where Jane Austen was born and spent her childhood. It took us longer than expected to find the village because of a wrong turn, but we eventually regained our bearings. Actually the extra time driving about the countryside was rather pleasant, except for a few scary moments when encountering opposing traffic on a one-lane country road. I have also never encountered so many pheasant in and along the roads. The birds seemed oblivious to our presence as we almost ran them over. We counted well over a hundred.
The rectory in which the Austen family lived (Jane's father, Rev. George Austen, was the pastor of the local church) was torn down not long after Jane's death, but the medieval church, St. Nicholas, is sill in use today. See the photos below...


We then made our way back "home" and settled in for the night.
Blessings and God's peace...

Austen Country

Saturday, October 12.

Yesterday, Friday, it rained...and rained...and rained.

After a wonderful breakfast prepared by our hostess, Leslie, Diane and I ignored the weather, left our B&B in Bethersden, Kent, and drove a few miles north to the town of Ashford where we  made a brief visit to the grave of one of my heroines, Simone Weil, who died in 1943 at the too young age of 34. A brilliant philosopher, this young Jewish academic was forced to leave France or fall prey to the Nazis. She spent the remaining years of her brief life in England. As we drove through the gates of the large cemetery, I did not expect to be able to find her grave among the thousands of others. After driving around randomly for several minutes, I finally stopped the car, got out, and began to look at headstones. Ten seconds later I stood in front of her grave, only 20 feet from the car. A small miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.

We then drove father north and stopped at Godmersham Park to see the home of Jane Austen's brother, Edward. Edward's parents allowed childless, wealthy relatives to adopt him as a boy, and he ultimately inherited his new father's large estates in Kent and Hampshire. Godmersham, the Kent estate, now seems to be a college and although we drove through the gates, we stopped long enough only to take a single photograph. (See the photo below.)

We managed to find and visit the ancient church, St. Lawrence the Martyr, located on the grounds, where Jane Austen worshipped during her frequent visits to her brother's estate. I took the below photo of the church's interior.

We continued north to Canterbury, took the bus into the city center from the Park and Ride, and strolled through the drizzle and occasional downpours while window shopping. We made our way to the famous cathedral where the archbishop, St. Thomas Becket, was martyred in 1170 at the behest of Henry II. It's a beautiful old cathedral but because of the weather I was unable to fully appreciate its architecture except from the inside. The below photo shows the spot where the saint died.

We faced a good two to three hour drive to our cottage in Chawton. The rain, the very heavy Friday afternoon traffic, and the strangeness of driving on the left side of the road made the drive a bit of a challenge. But we arrived without incident, found the key to the cottage, and settled in. The Greyfriar, a delightful local pub right across the street, served us a fine meal and allowed me to sample one of their excellent ales. Our waitress, the lovely young Jessie, treated us as if we were regulars. I, of course, gave her too large a tip.  See The Greyfriar below with the pretty Jessie preparing our bill...

And so Friday, the first of our seven days in Chawton, came to an end. I'll relate what we did today (Saturday) sometime tomorrow. Too tired to play with the iPad.

Blessings...

To Iceland and Beyond...

Wednesday, 9 October 

Dear Diane and I are aboard an Icelandair Boeing 757 flying from Sanford, Florida en route to Iceland. Seated here in our economy class seats, we are surrounded by tall, blond people who speak a language that I am certain can be learned only from infancy. To the untrained ear, Icelandic sounds like something that might be spoken by the Klingons of Star Trek or Tolkien's elves. Nothing sounds at all familiar. I am convinced that the Icelanders must be as intelligent as they are attractive to speak such an incomprehensible language.

Air travel has certainly changed. The seating is cramped and uncomfortable, so I expect sleep will escape me. And onboard food now comes at a price. Two substandard ham and cheese sandwiches and two bottles of "sparkling" water set me back about $25. I think I'll pass when breakfast rolls around.

We will spend all of 90 minutes on the ground in Iceland before boarding our next flight that we trust will take us (and our luggage) safely to London's Gatwick Airport. There we will claim our rental car from Avis and head east into Kent and to a B&B quaintly named The Old Barn. We will no doubt be exhausted and in need of sleep so I expect tomorrow (Thursday) to be a wasted day. On Friday we hope to visit Canterbury and then catch a glimpse of the white cliffs either at Dover or Beachy Head. In the afternoon we'll drive to the village of Chawton in Hampshire and take up residence in the little cottage we've rented for a week. From there we'll explore the countryside of southern England. I'll try to include photos in future posts.

It's now time to catch some sleep, assuming the nearby Klingons stop talking...

Thursday, 10 October

They didn't. They are young and apparently don't need sleep.

We arrived at Keflavik a few moments ago -- a nice airport, very modern terminal. Dear Diane especially liked the bathroom facilities. I was impressed by the coffee machine that quickly generated almost acceptable cups of cappichino and espresso at a reasonable price. I was here once before, in the summer of 1965, when as a Naval Academy midshipman I hitched a ride to Europe on an admiral's plane. We had stopped to refuel and to allow the local commander a chance to schmooze with the admiral. In those cold-war days Keflavik was a strategically located US Naval Air Station responsible for tracking Soviet submarines as they entered the Atlantic from the north. Times have certainly changed.

As we await our Icelandair connecting flight to Gatwick we sit in the terminal watching others as they board a WOW-Air flight. I'm not sure I'd want to fly on an airline with that name, although the flight attendants were both young and cute. I have found that the presence of attractive female flight attendants can overcome a multitude of airline sins.

We finally arrived in the UK at London's Gatwick Airport. I actually managed to grab an hour or so of sleep on the flight from Keflavik (Dear Diane probably slept better than I), so we're only partially, not completely, exhausted. Immigration and customs were a breeze, a pleasant change from what one experiences when entering the US. Our luggage was there to meet us and Matt, the nice young man at the Avis counter, had our car all ready for us. In fact, he upgraded us from a VW to an Audi A5, so we'll be touring in style for the next ten days.

After a wee bit of confusion departing the airport, I managed to drive to our first night's B&B without crashing or scaring Diane too much. The Old Barn in the quaint village of Bethersden (just south of Ashford in Kent) is a lovely B&B run by Leslie and Andrew who couldn't be more pleasant. Our room is large and comfortable with a huge bathroom equipped with a wonderful shower. After checking in we stopped by the local pub, The Bull Inn, and enjoyed a late lunch/early dinner. The young ladies who waited on us treated us like royalty and they, too, we're just as cute as can be. Predictably, I ordered the fish and chips but Diane had the steak and ale pie. It was all very good. 

After dinner we slept for several hours and now find ourselves wide awake at 9 p.m. Ah, well, eventually we'll adjust to the new time zone. Tomorrow we hope to visit Canterbury Cathedral, the scene of St. Thomas Becket's martyrdom, stop by Godmersham Park, and perhaps see Dover Castle and the famous white cliffs. Then it's on to Hampshire and our little cottage in Chawton.

At midnight...back to bed...perchance to sleep.

Friday, October 11

It's 6 a.m., still quite dark, and Dear Diane sleeps soundly at my side. I can hear the rain peppering the skylight. When we arrived yesterday the weather was perfect -- sunny and crisp -- but I knew it wouldn't last, not in England, especially in October. I can only hope this is just a passing shower. We came prepared, though, with new umbrellas, hats, and raincoats. Ah...the rain has stopped, at least for a while.

Leslie, our landlady for the day, has promised us a full English breakfast at 8:30. And then we'll be off to begin our English adventure. I look forward to the sunrise.

Homily: 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Hb 1:2-3; 2:2-4; Ps 95; 2 Tm 1:6-8,13-14; Lk 17:5-10

As a deacon in my previous parish on Cape Cod I conducted a weekly Liturgy of the Word with Holy Communion at a local nursing home. After the liturgy I usually helped our volunteers return the residents to their rooms.

On one occasion I was pushing Teresa in her wheelchair. I’d known Teresa for several years. She was in her 90s and had recently started to have some mental problems. But one thing hadn’t changed: she talked incessantly. It didn’t always make complete sense, but it never stopped.

On this particular day as we approached the elevator, Teresa was chattering away when we encountered Connie, another woman, standing in the center of the corridor. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. Teresa asked me to stop the wheelchair. She then reached out and touched Connie’s forearm, rubbing it gently, not saying a word. The three of us remained there for what seemed like an eternity -- Connie screaming, Teresa rubbing, and me just wondering how long all this would go on. But after a few minutes Connie’s screaming dropped in both volume and frequency; and a few minutes later stopped completely. Teresa then gave her arm a final squeeze and said quietly, “We can go now.”

I wheeled her into the elevator and as soon as the door closed, Teresa said, “Connie’s OK, she’s just afraid because she doesn’t have much faith.” She then went on talking about how good the spaghetti was the night before.

Reading today’s Gospel passage I couldn’t help thinking about Connie and her fears and her lack of faith. She reminded me of the Apostles, because the Apostles were afraid. On their way to Jerusalem, they sensed the mounting threats and danger. And yet Jesus continued to lead them into the heart of it all. Their faith, what little they had, was drowning in a sea of fears. And so they turned to Jesus and said, "Increase our faith!"

Jesus responds by telling them that it's the quality, not the quantity, of their faith that's important -- that with even the smallest amount of real faith, they could command the forces of nature -- a faith to move mountains, Matthew tells us in his Gospel. Jesus goes on to tell them a parable that ties their faith to their role as His disciples, that true faith only comes when we accept the nature of our relationship with God and with His people.

You see, Faith is a strange commodity. When we attempt to look at it objectively, it defies all logic. For, ultimately, faith comes down to trust in that which is unseen and, in most instances, unknowable.

And I'm not speaking only of supernatural faith. You and I exhibit remarkable faith every time we turn on the television, dial a phone number, send an email, pick up a prescription at the pharmacy, or take a seat on an airplane. Each of these is a true act of faith -- an act of natural faith, certainly, but faith nonetheless. If we were to examine just one of these everyday tasks and the chain of events that must fall into place to ensure its success, we might take a second look at our faith.

Back in my Navy flying days, I developed a friendship with Father Mark, who at the time was a new Navy chaplain. We were about the same age, both in our late twenties. He was a remarkable man, a man of tremendous faith -- supernatural faith -- who made a big difference in the lives of many of the young sailors who made up his flock. But despite this strong faith in God, he suffered from an almost paralytic fear of flying in helicopters. Unfortunately, flying in them was part of his job. Every Sunday we would fly him from one ship to another so he could celebrate Mass for their crews -- a mission we called the "Holy Helo."

To make matters worse, he usually had to be lowered from the hovering helicopter to the deck of each ship using the rescue hoist -- not a pleasant experience, especially in high seas. It often took him several days to recover emotionally, just in time to start worrying about the next Sunday's flight. I'll confess that my fellow pilots and I took a perverse pleasure in doing little things to heighten his discomfort. I won't go into that here. Let's just say that his mistake was in letting his fear show.

Well, over time Fr. Mark and I became friends and shared many long conversations, usually after dinner. I recall one evening in particular. After kidding him about his fear of helicopters, I asked how he could have such faith and yet be so afraid of flying.

He looked at me as if I were from another galaxy, and said, “Faith in God is easy, especially since He’s a loving God -- so loving He allowed His Son to become one of us and sacrifice His life for us. But helicopters…well, God didn’t make them. They're fallible devices made and flown by equally fallible men -- thousands of parts moving at high speed. It's enough to frighten any sane person."

I also remember asking him, "Well, then, why don't you trust that God will look after you and keep you safe, even when you're in a helicopter?"

"Because He never promised to do so. Look," he said, "I enjoy the life that God has given me, and I'd like to enjoy it as long as possible. That's only human. But how long I live, and when and how I die, well, that's God's decision.”

Sane words from very sane man.

You see, brothers and sisters, God calls us to do one thing in this life: to serve Him and His people. And as His servants, we should expect nothing in return. God doesn't promise his servants safety. He doesn't promise us long and happy lives. He doesn't promise success, or fame, or wealth, or beautiful children, or a nice home.

God promises us one enduring thing: eternal life. Oh, it's a great thing -- the greatest gift He could ever give us. But He also told us that to achieve eternal life, to collect on this promise, we must love Him in return and do His will. And this often means carrying our cross, whatever it might be.

How did Jesus put it? “When you have done all you have been commanded, say, we are unprofitable servants, we have done what we were obliged to do.” This is how Jesus wants us to live our lives. Most of us probably fail as often as we succeed, but maybe with time and wisdom we'll become better servants.

That’s assuming you’ve ever even thought of yourself as a servant. Have you? Or do you think that’s a role more suited for priests and nuns and deacons. God doesn't really expect that of everyone, does He? Well, I am afraid He does. We’re all called to serve God and His People, each in his own way.

Too many of us Christians seem to think that because we go to church every week, we can live as we wish. Or we believe that because we stand and recite the Creed together, because we drop our envelopes in the basket each Sunday, God owes us salvation.

Yes, these folks live lives of servitude all right, but not as servants of God. They serve the world. This is a foolish and dangerous belief. Jesus told us clearly that salvation is not earned. It’s a gift. We can never put God in our debt. We can never have any claim on Him. For God owes us nothing. We owe Him everything. When we’ve done our best to live by His commandments, when we’ve fulfilled all our duties, we’re still no better than slaves before the Master.

But there the comparison ends. For God isn’t a slave owner. He’s our loving Father, and we’re His children. Indeed, this is the essence of the Good News: that we have a generous, loving God, who wants His people to serve Him out of love, not out of duty.

There’s a beautiful line from Psalm 95: "If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts." Well, His voice is calling us, calling you and me. And He's calling each one of us individually. We might hear His voice, but if our hearts are hardened it’s not likely we’ll listen to it.

Teresa heard His voice in the nursing home and planted her little mustard seed of faith simply by being there for someone in distress. And so, like Father Mark, who went on to ask me a bunch of tough questions that night in an aircraft carrier’s wardroom, let me leave you with something to think about.

One question Fr. Mark asked me 40 years ago is the same question Our Lord put to His disciples almost 2,000 years earlier.

What kind of servant will you be?

Syria, Prayer and Fasting

On Saturday Pope Francis joined 100,000 people gathered in St. Peter's Square for a four-hour prayer vigil. The vigil was in response to the pope's call for a day of prayer and fasting for peace. The focus of this call for peace is, of course, on the civil war in Syria and the planned strike now being debated here in the U.S. Throughout the world the Church's bishops joined Pope Francis in proclaiming the fast and holding similar prayer vigils. The response, however, extended well beyond the Church. Even in St. Peter's Square the crowd was swelled by many non-Christians who expressed solidarity with the pope. One man, a Hindu, said, "This is already a success, the fact that all of us here, Hindus, Christians, Buddhists, atheists made an effort to fast, not to do many things, and come here from all over Italy and Europe. This is already a success." Muslims, too, were present. Indeed, several hundred members of Italy's Arab community joined in the prayers. And in Damascus, in the very heart of Syria, the grand mufti wrote a letter thanking Pope Fancis for all he had done and invited Muslims to fast as well. In his remarks to the crowd the pope said,

"This evening I ask the Lord that we Christians, and our brothers and sisters of other religions and every man and woman of good will, cry out forcefully: Viloence and war are never the way to peace." 

Earlier in the week the pope issued a plea for peace in the plain and clear language to which we have become accustomed:

"There are so many conflicts in this world which cause me great suffering and worry, but in these days my heart is deeply wounded in particular by what is happening in Syria and anguished by the dramatic developments which are looming. I appeal strongly for peace, an appeal which arises from deep within me. How much suffering, how much devastation, how much pain has the use of arms carried in its wake in that martyred country, especially among civilians and the unarmed! I think of many children who will not see the light of the future! With utmost firmness I condemn the use of chemical weapons: I tell you that those terrible images from recent days are burned into my mind and heart. There is a judgment of God and of history upon our actions which are inescapable."

The pope offers the world a strong moral argument favoring restraint. But there are also geopolitical arguments that should be raised. At this point we must ask ourselves whether a strike on Syria will achieve anything positive. Will it lessen the fighting? Will it stop the civil war? Will it stop the use of chemical weapons by either the Assad regime or the rebels or both? Will it bring about a significant shift in the balance of power in the country and the region? If an air strike leads to the eventual end of the Assad regime, what will replace it? Who exactly are the rebels and what are their motivations and goals? Are any of the armed rebels truly moderates? If we attack Syria, what might be the short- and long-term ramifications on our key ally in the region, Israel? How will Assad's ally, Iran, react? And then there's the wild card, Russia, a nation ruled today by a former KGB apparatchik. Can anyone predict the full range of unintended consequences of an American attack on Syria?

The fact that the answers to these questions do not come easily only reinforces Pope Francis's argument for restraint. That few if any of these questions have been answered publicly by the Obama administration is additional cause for concern. Indeed, one gets the idea that strategic issues are decidedly secondary, that the president's primary motivation is to save face, to salvage his personal credibility regardless of the consequences.

The above comments were written last Sunday morning before the real weirdness set in, before Secretary of State Kerry's gaff, before Putin's diplomatic coup, before the president's odd speech to the nation, before Putin's New York Times op-ed...before this strange concatenation of events. It all leads me to believe that prayer and fasting have had a positive result. Keep it up. And while you're praying, take a moment to read this story about Fatima and world peace.

Syria and Ducks and Tebow and Democrats and Abortion and God

The Kerrys and Assads Enjoy Dinner at a Happier Time

The news today overflows with strange stories. Most of the world seems focused on Syria and the current location of the "red line" President Obama continues to draw in the shifting sands of the Mideast. I can see no good outcome from the situation the president has created for our nation. Whether Barack Obama initiates a limited, short-term, focused attack on the regime of Syrian dictator, Bashar al-Assad, or ultimately decides to walk away from the whole thing, the result will be pretty much the same: the United States will appear weak and ineffective. This will not turn out well and could lead to something much worse.

In a recent post I confessed a fondness for the family starring in the A&E reality show, "Duck Dynasty." And if the ratings are any measure, it would seem much of the country likes them as well. This is to be expected since, despite their obvious oddness, the members of this extended family love each other and love the Lord. They break bread together; they laugh and criticize and argue and joke and work together; they hunt and fish and play togther; and they pray together. There are still a lot of Americans who appreciate all this and the positive family values depicted in this show. And because such values are a rarity on television today, I expect the show will continue to be successful.

The Duck Dynasty Family at Prayer

Yesterday Tim Tebow was released by the New England Patriots. I had hoped he'd make the team as its third quarterback, but this was apparently not to be. And inexplicably neither Bill Belichick nor Robert Kraft called me yesterday to ask for my advice and consent. Go figure!

Tebow, of course, has generated all kinds of commentary since his NFL debut with the Denver Broncos two years ago. Much of that commentary has been highly negative. If the pundits are to be believed, the criticism of this young man is centered on what they perceive to be his lack of pro quarterback skills. But this is a red herring. He may not be a top-tier pro quarterback, but the media's real objection to Tebow is something else entirely. This is obvious because most of the public criticism centers on his supposed "polarization." And why do they believe he's so polarizing? That's simple. Tim Tebow is a believing Christian who lives his faith and lets others know it. This is not something public figures are supposed to do. Christians can be tolerated but only if they never proselytize.

The truth is, many in the media hate Tebow simply because they depise Christianity. They despise Christianity because it collides with their atheistic/agnostic worldview. Indeed, I suspect many of these haters of Christianity also hate the very idea of God, especially a God who calls on them to "Repent and believe in the Gospel." Pray for them. And pray, too, for all those nominal Christians who are just as uneasy about the Tim Tebows of the world who refuse to hide their faith under a bushel basket.

Tim Tebow may never again play professional football, but I am confident in believing he will go on to do great things.

Now a word to all those pro-life Democrats out there. Yes, there are some. I know this because I've met them and they proudly proclaim both their allegiance to the Democrat party and their pro-life beliefs. The fact that they've never voted for a pro-life candidate at any level of government does not seem to bother them. One would think that many of these Democrats are pro-life because of their religious belief in the sanctity of human life created by a loving God. Some believing Democrats, however, disagree. At a party function in Iowa, one of the faithful, an activist named Midge Slater, spent some time in public prayer thanking God for his gift of abortion. In Ms. Slater's words:

"We give thanks, Oh Lord, for the doctors, both current and future, who provide quality abortion care...We pray for increased financial support for low-income women to access contraception, abortion and childcare."  [Why they would need childcare is not explained.]...we pray for women in developing nations, that they may know the power of self-determination. May they have access to employment, education, birth control and abortion....we pray for the families who have chosen. May they know the blessing of choice..."

And then she added: "We pray for women who have been made afraid by their paternalistic religion." Yes, can't you just see all those Catholic women quaking in fear because popes, bishops, priests (and deacons?) refuse to stop calling abortion a sin. I've included a video of this prayer service below.



This is the state of your party today, pro-life Democrats. It's leadership has enthusiastically overseen the killing of over 50 million unborn infants since 1973. I'm not suggesting you register as Republicans tomorrow. Heaven knows how ineffective Republican leadership has been. But I do ask you to send your party a pro-life message and, at the very least, register as an independent. In truth, I can't see the party changing its stance on any life issues because its activist leadership truly believes that abortion trumps everything else.

Pax et bonum...

We Are Doomed...

Yes, I'm afraid we are surely doomed. Now don't get me wrong. We're certainly not doomed in the eternal sense. Thankfully each of us still has some slight influence over his salvation. We can accept God's gift of faith and lead the lives He wants for us. We can "repent and believe in the Gospel" [Mk 1:15]. After that it's up to God and His mercy. And thank God for that! Without His mercy the hope of eternal life would be small indeed and this very finite life on earth would be a short but constant misery. Without that hope I could believe myself to be nothing but an infinitesimally tiny accident standing on my two aging legs, staring into the vast unverse, and uttering, "Why bother?" But buoyed by that hope I can instead believe God has loved me into existence. And my Creator honors me so highly that I am allowed to choose my response to His love. Created in His image and likeness, I have been blessed with both intellect and will: an intellect to know, if only partially, and a will to love, if only imperfectly. You and I are certainly not eternally doomed...unless we choose to be.

No, the doom of which I speak is nothing so great, nothing so eternal. I speak of nothing more than the end of Western Civilization. One doesn't have to be a historian to recognize that all civilizations, all cultures, eventually come to an end. Some end quietly and seem just to wither away, slowly decaying over time. The example of the Roman Empire immediately comes to mind. And others disappear almost overnight, as happened to the kingdoms of the ancient Hebrews, Israel and Judah, although each certainly planted and nourished the seeds of its own destruction.

In the case of our own civilization, the forces of decay have been working for quite some time. Some trace their origin to Marxism, some to the Enlightenment, some to the Reformation, and some, inexplicably, blame the Catholic Church. Indeed, a few months ago, during a conversation with a local minister (I will not reveal his denomination) I was told that the authoritarian, undemocratic ways of the Catholic Church were the cause of much of the misery that afflicts the West. I thought this conclusion of his especially remarkable since, only moments before, he had referred to "the irrelevance of Catholicism" in today's world. He made these comments as we chatted over a glass of punch at a social gathering celebrating the ecumenical nature of a local charity. I was proud of my restrained response -- unjustifiably so since I was seething with internal resentment. 

The cause of our decay, it seems to me, is simple: as a culture we have lost our faith. We are, indeed, a culture absent the cult that gives it life. And so, as a culture lacking its animating spirit, we seem to be well along the path to cultural doom. Our Christian faith, especially as it was lived within the Catholic Church, gave rise to so many of the institutions and values that made our culture as great as it was. The loss of this faith is, therefore, reflected in those institutions which we see degenerating all around us today. Lacking faith, their guiding principle becomes one of mere expedience and their foundations begin to crumble. It's evident throughout the culture. As a society we no longer love God and neighbor; rather we simply love ourselves. 

A medical profession that once promised to do no harm now willingly destroys those who have become socially inconvenient. And this same profession can, without embarrassment, declare perversion as just another form of normalcy.

No longer do the majority of the people accept their own sovereignty. No longer do they believe it is they who govern, that our government is a "government of the people, by the people, for the people." And so for the sake of their personal and economic security they have ceded the very core of their freedoms to others. They demand ever more from a government increasingly isolated from the people it claims to represent and serve. We see the ramifications of this in the stratospheric levels of debt piled up on the backs of our children, grandchildren and those yet unborn. It will get only worse.

Socialism, communism, fascism...all the failed authoritarian isms of the past have one thing in common: they despise Christianity and have tried mightily to destroy it. Although their failure in this is inevitable, they continue to attract those who prefer power over the good of others. Rejecting the idea of violent revolution, since one never knows where that might lead, government leaders in the West prefer to expand their power more subtly and move toward authoritarian rule under the guise of enhancing security and equality, all abetted by a people who no longer nurture the roots of their freedoms.


The family is disappearing as marriage has become either an option or a perversion. Couples who marry do so later and limit the size of their families. And as our population ages we create a potential demographic conflict in which a declining population of young, working people will eventually rebel and refuse to accept the burden of taking care of the aged.

I see no human exit strategy from this downward spiral. Fortunately with God all things are possible. After all, as Abraham discovered, just ten good men will lead God to spare an unjust society. We must all become Abrahams and plead with our just and merciful God for the future of Western Civilization. We've certainly messed it up. Let's ask Him to fix it.

Hidden Headlines

64% of Men Want Women to Pay Half on Dates. Just further proof of the feminization of the American male. What a pack of wimps!

Miley Cyrus "Grows Up" on MTV. One wag actually wrote that young Ms. Cyrus was simply out to prove to the world that she is no longer a little girl, but is now a woman. If her performance is indicative of our culture's understanding of what it means to be a woman, it's no wonder men want women to buy dinner. If you haven't seen a clip of her performance at the MTV awards, don't bother looking for it. It's just pornographically embarrassing.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Was Pro-Life. Dr. Alveda King, the niece of the late Dr. Martin Luther King, stated that her uncle was definitely pro-life. In her words:

“It’s not so much about labels — liberal, conservative and all of that. But he was someone who lived and gave his life to help all humanity. And so that definitely would include conception until natural death. And he would want everyone to be able to live — to have food, to have somewhere to sleep, and to have a job. You know, all of those things are very important. But, he would really support the best quality of life and that is conception to natural death.”

She then went on to say: “How can the dream survive if we murder our children?”

The Real War on Women. Why is it that the left hates women who support traditional values? Indeed, some liberals hate them so much they publicly call for them to be violently raped...and apparently get away with it. Case in point: Huffington Post contributor Pascal Robert did exactly that when he called for the rape of Dana Loesch, conservative activist, radio host, wife and mom. He then included her in a bizarre sexual fantasy which he described far too explicitly. The response from the Huffington Post? You guessed it. Nada.

(Former) Major Hassan Convicted of Workplace Violence. The military justice system has convicted the Army psychiatrist who committed the murderous terrorist attack at Ft. hood four years ago. Of course any serious discussion of terrorism was not permitted in the courtroom since that would contradict the Army's (and the administration's) insistence that the major, jihadist, doctor, victim, mass murderer (pick one) was simply a frustrated government employee who overreacted to the Islamophobia he was forced to endure in the U. S. Army. Today he was sentenced to death, a sentence with which I disagree.

Duck Dynasty Sweeps the Cable Ratings. Okay I'm a closet viewer and fan of this A&E Network show. I just love these guys and their family. Heck, I'd grow a big bushy beard if Dear Diane wouldn't set it on fire.

You Can't Go Home Again

Dear Diane and I are spending a few days in Panama City Beach, Florida. We're staying in a two-room suite in one of the many high-rise monstrosities that have risen up out of the white sand of this once-pristine coastline. This is not our usual sort of holiday. We're simply not resort people. To be honest (and I try to be so, especially when it's convenient), we succumbed to repeated telephone pleas to spend four days here free of charge. The company behind this effort sweetened the deal by giving us money, free hotel stays, and a subsequent vacation at another of their many resorts. Our only requirement was to spend two hours with one of their high-pressure salespeople as he tried to convince us to spend every cent we have on some overly complex timeshare scheme. As I informed the telemarketer at the start, I would never agree to purchase anything from them, but they apparently did not believe me. In the end, we  won the battle and can now in good conscience enjoy the view from our ninth-floor suite.

We actually had several other reasons to make this trip. Back in November 1968 Dear Diane and I spent our one-night honeymoon in a Holiday Inn located on this very beach. In those days there were only a few modest hotels here and I believe only the Holiday Inn was open at that time of year. I can remember leaving the wedding reception at Naval Air Station Pensacola's Mustin Beach Officers' Club and asking my new bride, "Well, which way shall we go, east or west?" She simply smiled and said, "Let's go to Panama City. I'm sure we can find a nice hotel there. And while we're there we can also stop and visit with my Aunt Pearl and Uncle Dewey." (Her aunt and uncle had been unable to attend the wedding.) And so I headed east and drove to Panama City Beach. The wedding was on Saturday morning, the honeymoon on Saturday night, and on Sunday we drove back to Pensacola. We had no choice.  Diane had to return to teaching her high schoolers on Monday morning, and that evening I had to fly my final instrument check before finishing up Navy pilot training. Looking back on it, I can say only that it was all very wonderful. We were young and excited about the life we saw before us. That was 45 years ago. See the photo below. There we are, young and happy, leaving the church.

And so, it is good to return and spend a few days here, even though all is so changed. But there's an even more ancient family connection to Panama City Beach. In 1950 and 1951 my family spent much of a year living here on this beach. My father was an Army officer stationed at then-Camp Rucker in Dothan, Alabama. He decided to rent a cottage for the family here, spend the work-week in Dothan, and spend the weekends with us. The backdoor of our little two-bedroom cottage opened right on the beach and, believe me, the livin' was easy. My brother, Jeff, and I attended Drummond Park School (which has since been renamed) and thoroughly enjoyed our backyard of sand and water. In the photo below I'm the little guy standing, wearing my favorite cowboy shirt and watching the older boys as they dug a hole in the sand. Jeff, four years older, is second from right.

I can recall much of that year, but everything is now gone. The little beachfront cottages (visible in the background of the above photo) with their sandy floors and space heaters and primitive kitchens have been replaced by towering condos and hotels. The miles of empty beaches littered with fascinating gifts from the sea now play host to thousands of sun screen-coated tourists sipping tropical drinks from the hotel bar. Our landlady, Mrs. Andrews, who made us a huge batch of the most wonderful hush puppies every week went to her well-deserved reward decades ago. I can't recall the names of any of the local kids on the school bus who laughed at our Yankee accents (I had to fight my way to respect and friendship). And thankfully the chain gangs that moved noisily past our house almost every afternoon have disappeared. But I feel specially blessed to have experienced that year, which was so very different from our family life in Connecticut and suburban New York. Panama City Beach in 1950 is an America that no longer exists, and for some reason that saddens me. It would seem Thomas Wolfe was right.

Tomorrow we'll drive along the coast to Pensacola, and there we'll pray at the graveside of Diane's parents and take a 95-year-old family friend out to lunch.

God's peace...

God Is Alive and Well

Another proof of the existence of God comes from the late, and often great, Hilaire Belloc. Referring to the Catholic Church he stated:

"An institute run with such knavish imbecility that if it were not the work of God it would not last a fortnight."

The fact that it has lasted 2,000 years largely unchanged is a wonder.
Praise God.

Thoughts on Salvation

After preaching on salvation (see previous post) this morning, I found myself thinking about the wonders of God's mercy. Here are a few of the thoughts that bounced around in my undisciplined mind:

Salvation is not something we can give ourselves. It is pure gift.

It is especially wonderful to realize that God's mercy means salvation is not reserved for the mystics; it's offered to everyone. It is God's grace, a gift from Jesus, through the Holy Spirit that saves. Our interior prayer life is important in that it helps us become vessels for that gift, but it's not necessary for salvation.

Religion, then, doesn't save. Only Jesus Christ saves. Jesus is God's gift of Himself to us. Our Christian faith is not a religion, but a revelation. It's not something we have devised to lead us to God; rather it's a gift from God through which He reveals to us the Way and the Truth and the Life.

The gulf between God, the eternal Creator of all, and man, the creature, is so objectively great it is beyond our understanding or imagining. But Jesus Christ is the Bridge. He is the One who spans the gulf between God and man. To be this Bridge Jesus had to become one of us and yet remain God as well. This had to be. It had to be because God is Love and only such an act could show us the depth of God's love. What a wonderful mystery this is!

All who are saved are saved through Jesus Christ. Every Jew, every Muslim, every Hindu, every Buddhist who is ultimately saved -- and, yes, millions upon millions of these will be saved -- is saved only through Jesus Christ. The Law doesn't save. The Five Pillars of Islam don't save. Yoga doesn't save. Nirvana isn't salvation. All who are saved are saved because Jesus Christ, the Word of God, came into the world. Through His infinite love, He not only saves those who know Him and believe in Him, but He also saves those people of good will who do not know him. To believe otherwise is to place human limits on God's mercy.

We need the Church -- the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church -- because without it we would distort God's gift of faith through human error. We need the Church, guided by the Holy Spirit just as Jesus promised, to keep us from error and on the path God wants for us, to help us accept the gift of salvation.

Pax et bonum. Being is certainly good.

Homily: 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Readings: Is 66:18-21; Ps 117; Heb 12:5-7,11-13; Lk 13:22-30

When Isaiah proclaimed that remarkable prophecy we just heard in our first reading, the Jews of his time must have been shocked. From the time of Abraham they’d seen themselves as God’s Chosen People…and indeed they were. But for what purpose were they chosen?

Because of their unique status, they saw salvation as something only a few would experience, namely them. God’s heavenly banquet would be for a select few. Then they hear Isaiah, a prophet claiming to speak for God Himself, telling them something very different.

Isaiah describes a holy gathering where people of every nation of the world enter God’s house. All are invited by God; all are brought into His presence; all worship the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; and to all of them He reveals His glory. Not only that, but speaking for God Himself, Isaiah says, “Some of these I will take as priests and Levites.”

And so, here in the depths of this Old Testament prophecy, we find Jesus Christ present; for it is Jesus who will make a new priesthood, derived not from genealogy, but from faith. It will be a priesthood that ministers to the Gentiles, that takes the Word of God to the world, a priesthood founded by Christ Himself and made present through the apostles. Isaiah is preparing God’s people to accept the truth of salvation, that God desires it for all, Jew and Gentile – a desire later fulfilled by Jesus when He instructs the apostles to announce the Good News:

“Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always…” [Mt 28:19-20]

Yes, this is the new heaven and new earth that Isaiah speaks about later in this same prophecy. And how it must have shaken those who heard it, who no doubt asked, if only to themselves, “Is salvation really for all these people?”

Hundreds of years later, this same question is posed to Jesus in today’s Gospel passage: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” [Lk 13:23]

Why did this unnamed person ask it? Is he simply asking, “Hey, Jesus, what are the odds I’ll win this salvation lottery of yours?” Or maybe, as a Jew he thought he had an inside track on salvation: he knew the Law, obeyed the rules, did all he was supposed to do as a sign of his justification. When you think of it this way, you can almost hear the complacency in the question, can’t you? Or maybe he was complacent because he knew Jesus…that as a disciple he thought he had an inside track...had walked by Jesus’ side as He taught in the streets...had shared meals with Him. Wouldn’t this be enough?

Whatever his reasons, I’m sure he was surprised when he didn’t get a simple Yes or No answer. It was really the wrong question. How many will be saved isn’t the important thing.  The important question, the one you and I should really be concerned about is: “How can we be saved?” And this is the question Jesus answers.

Your see, brothers and sisters, salvation is a gift. It’s nothing you or I can earn; rather it’s the result of Christ’s saving sacrifice on the Cross. And while everyone is invited to share in God’s Kingdom, accepting that invitation also means obeying His call to repentance and trying to do His Will.

Thankfully, God’s ways are so very different from ours. His judgment and His mercy are perfect But they are so different that we always question.

Some years ago, at a vigil service for a parishioner, his wife spoke to me about him. “He rarely went to Mass,” she said. “He fought in two wars, and encountered unspeakable things. He saw a lot of death, some of it he caused himself. I think he spent a lifetime trying unsuccessfully to come to grips with it all. I know he hadn’t gone to confession in years.” And then she asked me, “How will God judge him?”

It’s really the same question, isn’t it: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” It’s seems to be a question we never cease asking.

About a dozen years ago, I worked for a high-tech firm in New England. One morning a young co-worker, knowing I was deacon, asked if she could speak with me privately. She began to talk about her older brother. He was her hero, a bright, talented, seemingly happy young man who could do no wrong in her eyes. He had a good job with a major public relations firm, and even talked about starting his own business one day soon. He seemed to be doing so well.

And then for reasons she simply could not understand he turned to hard drugs. He became addicted. Within months he had lost his job and had even been arrested in some drug buying sting operation. Then tragically, the week before, he died of an overdose, which they suspect was intentional.

“He was always so good, so kind, so helpful to everyone,” she said. And then she asked, “Will Mark spend eternity in hell?” Once again we hear it: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”

How I answered isn’t important. How Jesus answered is. For He took this simple question and used it to teach us about salvation.

Yes, the door is narrow and we can’t pin our hopes on the mere fact that we’re paid-up church-going people. And those words “depart from me” [Lk 13:27] are a stark and chilling reminder that the stakes are high. But God in His mercy calls us…again, and again, and again. Only He knows what’s in the human heart. And we can’t ignore what we heard in today’s 2nd reading from Hebrews: “…do not disdain the discipline of the Lord…for whom He disciplines, He loves” [Heb 12:5-6]. It’s no coincidence that the word discipline has its origins in the word disciple.

And so when the question is asked -- “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” -- we must be willing to accept the Lord’s answer.

We don’t fully understand this mystery of salvation, a salvation not limited by law, ritual, or our own expectations of who will or won’t be saved. Salvation is a gift from a God whose love is so expansive it includes the entire human family. Our God respects our freedom, takes our decisions seriously, and accepts the consequences of our decisions, even when we choose to reject Him. And this same loving God, whose heart overflows with mercy and forgiveness, always offers His us His healing grace. But we must still do our part.

But we mustn’t be too quick to condemn ourselves, and we certainly shouldn’t condemn others. When we’re conscious of and upset about the things we’re getting wrong, we can count ourselves among the 'last' of Luke's Gospel and that’s when we have a chance. That’s when we’re more likely to accept help, help from others, and God’s help and forgiveness.

You and I are far from perfect but when the time comes I hope we’ll be pleasantly surprised to find ourselves in God’s presence…and perhaps also surprised by the others we’ll meet there, just as they’ll be surprised to see us.

We might well encounter that man, plagued by his memories of all those battlefields, who spent a life wrestling with his conscience and with God. Or the young man who in his last moments might well have turned to His Savior in repentance and thankfulness for the offer of salvation.

Yes, brothers and sisters, the stakes are high, and the last thing we want to hear from God is, “Depart from me” [Lk 13:27]. How much better to hear Him say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant…Come, share your master’s joy” [Mt 25:23].

The Draft and the Professional Military

Back on June 26, 1963, when I entered the Naval Academy, I had in my wallet what was called a draft card. In those days every able-bodied young man became eligible for the military draft at age 18, and possession of the draft card was proof that one had registered with the local Selective Service office. More than that, though, obtaining a draft card was a kind of "coming of age" ritual through which a boy made the transition to manhood. I can recall my older high school classmates opening their wallets and proudly displaying the coveted card to those of us who were still 17. Because of my September birthday, I was among the youngest in my senior class, and didn't turn 18 until I had already begun my freshman year at Georgetown University. By then, of course, there was little reason to celebrate openly since most of my new college friends had preceded me. For them, it would have been a ho-hum moment.

Conscription remained the law of the land for another decade and the draft was eventually stopped by President Nixon in January of 1973. By that time I had spent four years at the Naval Academy and had been a commissioned officer in the U. S. Navy for almost six years. Although it might be hard for me and my contemporaries to believe, as a nation we have now had a professional, all-volunteer military for forty years.

All of this came to mind when I recently heard a senior officer make what was quite likely an off-hand comment by saying, "I do what my Commander-in-Chief tells me." Although I suspect it was taken out of context, it still bothered me, reminiscent of the "I was only following orders" excuse used in the past to rationalize some rather horrendous behavior by other, more authoritarian governments. It also led me to ask myself some questions I don't feel particularly competent to answer. But I believe they are questions our nation must ask itself and at least try to answer. For example:

Can an increasingly centralized federal government, one that has usurped many of the powers previously reserved to the states and local communities, more easily command the unquestioned loyalty of the military? Will we ever get to the point where our military leadership is more beholden to the Commander-in-Chief than to the Constitution it is sworn to uphold?

And then I asked myself another question: Does the presence of a professional, all-volunteer military eventually create a gap in both values and understanding between the citizenry and the armed forces? After 40 years, does this gap already exist? Can it lead to the kind of isolation that might cause the professional soldier to feel a degree of disdain toward civilians who do not share the values of the warrior? Would the reinstatement of the draft alter this? I recall a joke told to me by a retired Marine friend that's germane to these questions.

The young lieutenant turned to the gunnery sergeant and said, "Gunny, there's a base open house on Saturday and our platoon has been assigned to assist with crowd control. I'm putting you in charge of keeping visitors out of unauthorized areas."

"That could be a problem, sir. Are these visitors all civilians?"

"Yes, of course. Why's that a problem?"

"Well, sir, how do I get the word to them? From what I understand, civilians don't have squad leaders."

Perhaps I'm wrong, but I doubt that this joke would have been around when we still had the draft.

Christopher Dawson

I am a student (a very poor student) of history, and this week I've been re-reading a book written by a most remarkable historian, Christopher Dawson (1889-1970). The book, The Age of the Gods, was written between the two great wars of the twentieth century and first published in 1928. In it Dawson examines the spiritual and social development of our stone-age ancestors along with that of the early civilizations in Egypt and the Near East. This morning, as I read Dawson's description of the decline of Egypt's New Kingdom, I came across the following:

"Thus the fundamental weakness of the New Kingdom in Egypt was revealed in its ultimate consequences. The combination of the ancient theocratic culture with the warrior state of the Bronze Age proved a failure because no organic union of the two was possible. The military class remained external to the civilization which it defended, as a parasitic growth with no roots in the life of the nation" [The Age of the Gods, p. 300].

Will we ever get that far? I doubt it. The New Kingdom of Egypt and the American Republic are very different, culturally and politically. But since it's inevitable that our society will eventually go the way of all its predecessors, one can only wonder about the cause.

Connected Thoughts

We certainly live in interesting times. They're so interesting it's hard not to get lost in the details of current events, all the while neglecting what it means for our civilization. Troubled by this, I've given it some thought. Actually, what I've been left with are a collection of mildly connected thoughts...

Throughout most of my life, I've lived in a reasonably civil society, a society grounded in Judeo-Christian religious values and guided by its imperfect understanding of the Ten Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount. The vast majority of Americans understood and accepted this. One could even state this belief publicly without much fear of contradiction or ridicule. This is no longer true. Indeed, our civil society has given way to a most uncivil society guided only by an unholy alliance of pragmatism and narcissism. The rule of relativism has created a society in which anything, or almost anything, goes. In the prophetic words of the great G. K. Chesterton, "When men choose not to believe in God, they do not therefore believe in nothing, they become capable of believing in anything."

The fragility of our civilization has become apparent. The world's barbarians are at the gate and we, unlike those who came before us, seem oblivious to the fact. While we sacrifice the lives of many of the best among us in a "war on terror" -- or as the current administration prefers to call it: a war on "man-caused disasters" -- we ignore the cultural disintegration taking place all around us. We experience a national trauma when 20 young children are savagely murdered in their classroom, but we celebrate as freedom the far greater but equally savage slaughter of 50 million innocent children in the womb...and we apparently do not see the connection between the two. Today I read of three young men, all in their teens, who shot and killed a young jogger. After their arrest one of them told the police that they were bored and decided to kill someone. Yes, once they believe in nothing, they will believe in anything.

As a nation our response to all the chaos is to attack the symptoms. We "stop and frisk." We build up our swat teams and turn our police forces into small (and some not so small) armies. We take real-time video of everything and everybody. We send drones into our skies to watch ourselves living our lives below. We allow strangers at airports to treat us with disdain, to violate our persons, and to do virtually anything they want...all because of our cowardice.

We worry so much about our security and safety that we willingly allow a government on steroids to trample on our freedoms. As one of our parishioners said to me the other day, "I don't really care what the government does so long as it keeps the terrorists away." I hope he does not awaken one morning and discover there is little difference between the two.

Ben Stein, a man I have long admired even though I do not always agree with him, addressed the NSA's invasions of privacy in his latest online diary entry by writing:

My wife said it well tonight. “I have nothing to hide,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the NSA.”

I actually am nowhere near the person Big Wifey is, but I am not afraid of the NSA either. I am very afraid of the terrorists. It’s that simple.

Yes, Mr. Stein, it is that simple: we have become a nation of cowards. At least you are honest about your cowardice. Most are not. As a nation we have shown ourselves to be far more concerned with our personal safety than with the loss of our liberty. I wore the uniform of this nation for almost 30 years and willingly placed myself in harm's way. My brother, father and grandfather did the same. And I believe I can honestly say that each of us would have given his life for this nation, for the Constitution we were sworn to defend, and for the freedoms it guarantees for all of us. Now I'm the only one left, but believe me, I have never considered my life as important as those freedoms.

This is why I am so disturbed to hear Americans, when asked about the NSA's intrusive spying, say, "If you've got nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about." Hanging on the wall in front of me is a framed but dirty and slightly tattered armband. It contains a roughly sewn Star of David with "Sachsenhausen" stenciled beneath it. A Jewish friend gave it to me because it caused him too much pain. It had belonged to his great uncle who had survived several camps and managed to stay alive until he was liberated. I keep it on my wall to remind me of what humanity is capable of, to remind me of the existence of original sin. The people forced to wear such armbands in such horrible places as Sachsenhausen also believed they had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.They were wrong.

The solution to the problem we face is not to be found in the symptoms. It's buried deep within the cause. We are a nation that has rejected its Judeo-Christian roots. We have ceased to live our faith, to preach it openly, to pray in the public square. Too many today have turned their backs on God not realizing that the only road to salvation for this nation is to turn back to God.

Reading and Rereading

To the tiny band of loyal readers of this blog, my apologies. For the past month or so, and for no particular reason, I've taken a break from blogging.

Sometimes life just gets too busy, so busy I don't have time to think seriously about anything other than the practicalities of daily living. That's not good. We humans need to do those things that separate us from other creatures. We need to love and pray and think. And I really hadn't done much thinking lately. I believe I simply needed to step away from the unnecessary distractions and think about some of the things that have been roaming about in my aging brain. There was a need to take hold of them and pin them down. Whenever I get this way, I usually reach for a book, just to get me thinking. More often than not, it's a book I've already read, a little comfort food for the brain.

For example, about a week ago I was asked to conduct a committal service at the National Cemetery in Bushnell, Florida. This happens frequently since our parish is not far from the cemetery and we deacons are more than willing to assist more distant parishes by conducting these services for them.

I always include a brief homily during committals. After all, the committal is the final rite of the funeral, the time when family and friends say their public goodbyes to their loved one. It's really a very special time for most families. They need words of comfort and hope.

Flannery O'Connor

In this particular instance the deceased was a sixty-year-old woman who had suffered from Multiple Sclerosis for many years. Her husband, a retired Marine, had died three years before in a car accident. Their five children, now all in their twenties and thirties were present, along with a whole crew of grandchildren. They all mentioned how cheerful and loving this mother and grandmother had been, even in the midst of her illness and despite the tragedy of her husband's death. They would miss her terribly. It was a very sad day for these young people. What could I say to them?

As a sat down to write my brief homily, Flannery O'Connor came to mind and I reached for a book of her letters, The Habit of Being (1979). It's a thick book of over 600 pages, but after a moment's searching I found the letter I was looking for. O'Connor, who suffered her entire adult life from lupus, the disease that would ultimately take her life at age 39, wrote these words to a friend:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a 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." [p. 163]

I included this excerpt in my homily and suggested that their mother would have known exactly what O'Connor meant by the mercy of illness. This woman they loved so much had given them the example of one who had recognized this mercy of God in her long illness and had accepted it with joy. How blessed they are as a family to have had such a wonderful mother and grandmother, someone to show them the way.

We all need people like this in our lives.

This evening I decided to begin another book I've read many times before, Jane Austen's Mansfield Park. We'll see what this moral philosopher of another time and place has to teach me today.

Confronting Illness

Increasingly I seem to be spending time with those who suffer from illness of one kind or another. This, I suppose, should be expected since my ministry as a deacon certainly involves visiting the sick. Another obvious reason for this increase is that earlier this year Dear Diane and I began to minister as volunteer chaplains at our local hospital. After all, one doesn't go to the hospital with the expectation of encountering too many healthy people. And then there's my age and that of many of my friends and acquaintances. Most of us are at or approaching an age when we begin to encounter serious threats to our health. As a consequence we seem always to be praying for or visiting those who are hospitalized, or awaiting surgery, or in rehab, or entering hospice care. As you might expect, all of this is reflected in our conversation when we get together with our friends. Although we might begin by sharing stories about our grandchildren, the conversation inevitably devolves into a discussion of the three D's: doctors, diseases and drugs.

Now you might think all this involvement with illness would be depressing; but I haven't found it so. Indeed, I have been buoyed, literally raised up, by many of the most seriously ill people I have encountered. Their illnesses seem to have focused their minds and hearts on what is truly important. Let me pass along a few examples:

On one of my recent chaplain days at the hospital Dear Diane had a doctor's appointment of her own that morning and couldn't join me until later.  And so I was alone when I entered the room of a woman who suffers from several forms of cancer. After I introduced myself she told me she was a "believing Christian" -- as I recall, she later indicated she was a Baptist -- and then thanked me for stopping by. We spoke a while about her illness and then she said (these might not be her exact words, but they're close enough):

You know, one of the blessings I've received from my illness is the understanding and firm acceptance that our stay here on earth is purely tentative. It's a little like being on probation, isn't it? We are such fragile creatures, but God, and only God, can make us strong enough to face the end of our stay here with faith and really with a kind of happiness. I find that wonderful, but very strange at the same time. 

She is a perfect example of the surprising benefits and joys of hospital ministry. I'm not convinced that I bring very much lasting comfort to those I visit, but they certainly do educate me about the human condition.

Something else Diane and I have discovered as we make our rounds at the hospital relates to the love and care provided by family and friends. So often the patient's spouse will be there when we enter a room. Many of the patients we visit have been married 40, 50 or 60 years and the love between husband and wife has an almost physical presence. More often than not the spouse will be the one with the questions and concerns, the one who asks us to pray with the patient, the one who seeks signs of hope. This obvious care and concern, this open manifestation of faith, tends to have a positive effect on the spouse who is ill. The patient who has a caring, loving spouse and a devoted family seems to be the happier, more hopeful patient.

Interestingly, these same hopeful patients are those who often have the most visitors. Here in our large retirement community strong friendships seem to form rather quickly, resulting in informal but equally strong networks of solidarity formed to help and care for those in need. On many occasions we have entered a hospital room to find two or three friends and neighbors visiting the patient, seemingly very pleased to be there. They, too, usually join us in prayer before we leave the patient.

I should be used to the miracles God works in the lives of those who suffer because I witness them so frequently. A few weeks ago a parishioner approached me after daily Mass and said she wanted to discuss the meaning of suffering. Now I know that this woman suffers from the early stages of Alzheimer's and has experienced many severe problems. As you might expect, her life has undergone significant changes.

At first I tried to get her to talk about her own situation, but she'd have none of it. "Oh, no," she said, "I'm fine. I just want to know what suffering is all about. Someone told me it's a bad thing to suffer, and that didn't sound right to me."

I agreed that what she'd been told wasn't right. "How can suffering be bad," I asked her, "if Jesus instructs us to take up our cross in imitation of Him?"

And so we talked about the Cross, about how we can come to discern God's plan in our lives, about how the key to that discernment is the Cross of Jesus Christ. We shared our joy that Christ, the Word of God Incarnate, has taken on our weakness, our humanity, and done so through the mystery of the Cross. I mentioned to her that one of the "joys" of accepting the suffering in our lives is that we can become, through this, a source of hope and salvation for others. With this her face brightened into a wide smile. And then she asked, "Do you mean, I can just climb up on that Cross with Jesus, and be with Him, and just suffer right alongside Him?"

As I have said already, those who are ill, those who suffer have become my best teachers.

Pax et bonum...