O God,
While walking these days of Lent I pray you nudge me to be present to you and your way.
These 40 days of change, morphing and mending aim to help me celebrate Easter with a new enthusiasm.
Let me take these days seriously.
Help me connect with you more intently in prayer, fasting and almsgiving.
The way of the cross and the stations I walk remind me of the suffering Jesus suffered to show each of us how to give, forgive, and live life fully in you.
As I near the three great days of the Triduum, Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I am reminded of this retreat for all believers.
Help me to hold close these days.
Lead me on with you.
I need to change as you invite followers to do so daily.
With help from Mary, Mother of God, mother of the Church, I pray.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Dog Gone It!
Once upon a time, Woof and Wolf, my two-year-old Bichon Frise dogs, and, I lived together.
Not now.
Not anymore.
A few weeks ago, someone told me of a "heart-broken" woman and the death of her dog. That same person asked me if I would give her one of my dogs.
Well . . .
I took the request to the highest authority I know, namely God, and consulted with a couple of my closest friends also.
The rest is history.
But, not so fast!
The new family and resident, Wolf, are all content, reports indicate, and "they love to play with him," I was told.
But grief takes time.
I bet Wolf is adjusting also to his new home. Does he miss me?
And, two years living together in their puppy "growing" years is substantial enough to create rapport.
And, now, to feel the loss. There is an ache, for sure.
Loss of life, limb, love, and, pet is like that!
So. . .
I talk about Wolf and Woof. Especially Wolf. The good and not so good times of living together. The challenge. Yet, the memories. I relish thoughts of Wolf being there at the top of my stairwell when I come home after a day of counseling and pastoral carem or shopping, or church, or, the gym.
He's ready to play, to go for a walk, to be fed again from our lunchtime meet. . . and . . . well...
Woof has become a "new" dog, it seems, being King of the condominium where he and I reside.
Yes, Woof seems to like being without Wolf. Dog gone it! Well, you see, Woof is much smaller than his brother, Wolf, who seemed to dominate, and, wanted to be first in the door, first out, first to be fed, and . . .
Just look at Woof smiling now as I read this out loud to him. Happy as a lark, so to speak!
Woof, don't you miss Wolf?
He doesn't seem to mind Wolf being in another home. Not at all.
At all.
Not at all. My assumption. Must be some sadness, no Woofie?
Well . . .
Perhaps he was taught to "tough it out" when loss comes his way? (Not good, because swallowed grief becomes depression. Worse! My will he join the million who go on medication to get through this dark tunnel? Is he aware of this at all? Please God!)
I don't know? Will he need a dog counselor? Perhaps. (There are such practices also!)
I asked him if her misses his brother, Wolf, but, he keeps on wagging his tail, and trying to lick my face!
Ughhh..... And, he gets a lick in and I have to wash it clean and remind him not to lick!
Dog gone it!
Grieving.
It takes time.
This loss also. I will grieve. And, write, and journal, and talk. And . . .
Children will best appreciate this loss.
It's like the loss of their first pet fish, or . . .
They know.
They go through it also.
Good grief.
That's what I hope to embark on these months.
To grieve, but not as those who have no faith, as the first letter of John in the Good Book notes.
And, Lent, a forty-day retreat of sorts, getting in touch with the feelings of Jesus' own loss, abandonment by his closest friends, denial he felt, rejection, and, the whole set of feelings known to humankind (variations of mad, sad, scared!).
Good grief.
There is such a thing? (There is. Granger Westberg's, Good Grief, tells of ten stages of loss in a most succinct little tome with a price that is right also. It's the briefest, best book I've handed out to hundreds of people in the same boat I am now).
A grieving I go. . .
Good!
Good grief!
Dog gone it!
See, I'm doing it here, right now!
Not now.
Not anymore.
A few weeks ago, someone told me of a "heart-broken" woman and the death of her dog. That same person asked me if I would give her one of my dogs.
Well . . .
I took the request to the highest authority I know, namely God, and consulted with a couple of my closest friends also.
The rest is history.
But, not so fast!
The new family and resident, Wolf, are all content, reports indicate, and "they love to play with him," I was told.
But grief takes time.
I bet Wolf is adjusting also to his new home. Does he miss me?
And, two years living together in their puppy "growing" years is substantial enough to create rapport.
And, now, to feel the loss. There is an ache, for sure.
Loss of life, limb, love, and, pet is like that!
So. . .
I talk about Wolf and Woof. Especially Wolf. The good and not so good times of living together. The challenge. Yet, the memories. I relish thoughts of Wolf being there at the top of my stairwell when I come home after a day of counseling and pastoral carem or shopping, or church, or, the gym.
He's ready to play, to go for a walk, to be fed again from our lunchtime meet. . . and . . . well...
Woof has become a "new" dog, it seems, being King of the condominium where he and I reside.
Yes, Woof seems to like being without Wolf. Dog gone it! Well, you see, Woof is much smaller than his brother, Wolf, who seemed to dominate, and, wanted to be first in the door, first out, first to be fed, and . . .
Just look at Woof smiling now as I read this out loud to him. Happy as a lark, so to speak!
Woof, don't you miss Wolf?
He doesn't seem to mind Wolf being in another home. Not at all.
At all.
Not at all. My assumption. Must be some sadness, no Woofie?
Well . . .
Perhaps he was taught to "tough it out" when loss comes his way? (Not good, because swallowed grief becomes depression. Worse! My will he join the million who go on medication to get through this dark tunnel? Is he aware of this at all? Please God!)
I don't know? Will he need a dog counselor? Perhaps. (There are such practices also!)
I asked him if her misses his brother, Wolf, but, he keeps on wagging his tail, and trying to lick my face!
Ughhh..... And, he gets a lick in and I have to wash it clean and remind him not to lick!
Dog gone it!
Grieving.
It takes time.
This loss also. I will grieve. And, write, and journal, and talk. And . . .
Children will best appreciate this loss.
It's like the loss of their first pet fish, or . . .
They know.
They go through it also.
Good grief.
That's what I hope to embark on these months.
To grieve, but not as those who have no faith, as the first letter of John in the Good Book notes.
And, Lent, a forty-day retreat of sorts, getting in touch with the feelings of Jesus' own loss, abandonment by his closest friends, denial he felt, rejection, and, the whole set of feelings known to humankind (variations of mad, sad, scared!).
Good grief.
There is such a thing? (There is. Granger Westberg's, Good Grief, tells of ten stages of loss in a most succinct little tome with a price that is right also. It's the briefest, best book I've handed out to hundreds of people in the same boat I am now).
A grieving I go. . .
Good!
Good grief!
Dog gone it!
See, I'm doing it here, right now!
Friday, February 24, 2012
Grief, Depression
Swallowed grief turns to depression over time for millions afflicted these days with this disease.
Grief must be processed or it may become depression.
Often, people are told to move on, and, encouraged not to process to loss of life, limb, love, or more. Consequently, years later, depression appears
and life is difficult.
Professionals, including pastors skilled in grief work can assist.
Waiting to talk through the loss is unwise.
Millions face depresson in this nation.
Grief is a normal process to cope with losses. And, it takes a year in many cases to process the pain. Avoiding the encounter kicks the can, as it were down the road. Later, the grief drops into depression and becomes a major issue for many.
Although grief identifies many, it does not have to be so. One is more than his or her grief.
Treatment works.
The blend of individual, group counseling, and medication is effective.
Waiting to work and walk through grief is not the way to go.
Grief must be processed or it may become depression.
Often, people are told to move on, and, encouraged not to process to loss of life, limb, love, or more. Consequently, years later, depression appears
and life is difficult.
Professionals, including pastors skilled in grief work can assist.
Waiting to talk through the loss is unwise.
Millions face depresson in this nation.
Grief is a normal process to cope with losses. And, it takes a year in many cases to process the pain. Avoiding the encounter kicks the can, as it were down the road. Later, the grief drops into depression and becomes a major issue for many.
Although grief identifies many, it does not have to be so. One is more than his or her grief.
Treatment works.
The blend of individual, group counseling, and medication is effective.
Waiting to work and walk through grief is not the way to go.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust +
+
Mortal. Immortal.
Deadly.
Never dying.
However one looks at the ashes of a burnt out building, or, the remains of burnt palm tree branches, the powdery black dust is what penitents will have dubbed in the form of a cross on their foreheads Ash Wednesday, February 22nd, a day of fast and abstinence.
Ashes were used for healing in the past.
Healing from sin - missing the mark of God's law described in sacred scripture.
Ashes remind believers that one is mortal. That is, that she or he will die one day.
Furthermore, ashes remind Catholics, for example, that they are dust and into dust we will return.
We will live forever and are immortal when we pass over into heaven, unless one has other plans.
Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. Lent is a 40-day trek through Holy Thursday's Mass of the Lord's supper. Fasting, praying and almsgiving are pillars of Lent.
People fast from food on Ash Wednesday. They have only one meal with two other smaller meals that do equal the one main meal. They also abstain from meat on Ash Wednesday and all the Fridays of Lent, including Good Friday, days before Easter Sunday, commonly known as the Triduum - three great days of retreat reminding us of the suffering, dying and rising of Jesus the Christ.
These great days are quiet, stilling times to let go oft he false self, that is, the ego, and pretending to be other than who God made each of us.
Lent is a process.
A procession.
A walk with Jesus in the stations of the cross, for example.
Families, friends, and others may pray the 14 stations of Jesus' agony and death together.
Ready, set, go!
Mortal. Immortal.
Deadly.
Never dying.
However one looks at the ashes of a burnt out building, or, the remains of burnt palm tree branches, the powdery black dust is what penitents will have dubbed in the form of a cross on their foreheads Ash Wednesday, February 22nd, a day of fast and abstinence.
Ashes were used for healing in the past.
Healing from sin - missing the mark of God's law described in sacred scripture.
Ashes remind believers that one is mortal. That is, that she or he will die one day.
Furthermore, ashes remind Catholics, for example, that they are dust and into dust we will return.
We will live forever and are immortal when we pass over into heaven, unless one has other plans.
Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. Lent is a 40-day trek through Holy Thursday's Mass of the Lord's supper. Fasting, praying and almsgiving are pillars of Lent.
People fast from food on Ash Wednesday. They have only one meal with two other smaller meals that do equal the one main meal. They also abstain from meat on Ash Wednesday and all the Fridays of Lent, including Good Friday, days before Easter Sunday, commonly known as the Triduum - three great days of retreat reminding us of the suffering, dying and rising of Jesus the Christ.
These great days are quiet, stilling times to let go oft he false self, that is, the ego, and pretending to be other than who God made each of us.
Lent is a process.
A procession.
A walk with Jesus in the stations of the cross, for example.
Families, friends, and others may pray the 14 stations of Jesus' agony and death together.
Ready, set, go!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Guard Your Body, Guardians, and Gifts
Whitney Houston's colleagues and actors eulogized her Saturday saying that the iconic voice would tell others: "Guard your body."
How appropriate.
Respect for the guarded body these days is critical especially for young people. And, the baby caught in the fray of another gunshot by a drive-through shooter. Shame on him or her who shot!
Angel of God, my guardian dear!
In a day and time when these sacred, living vessels and temples get little respect, it seems, holding one's body in respect merits much ink.
At Houston was raised up to pass over, God willing, her final film, Sparkle, with a summer release, reminds me of Timothy Dolan, archbishop of New York. Described as garrulous by pundits, the "light-hearted" pastor was named a "Prince of the Catholic Church" also the day Houston was praised in her home Baptist church in Newark, NJ.
Life does sparkle.
At time.
Other moments, life is without sparkle and joy that fills the face of Dolan each time I see him.
The phone rang out at Saint Sylvester Catholic Church in Warren, MI., and at Sacred Heart in Roseville, MI., this day for example, as parishioners called to find out their fate, their future.
Decisions to shutter or merge fledgling metropolitan Detroit area churches amid dwindling clergy to head them, we set to be posted at 4 pm this afternoon by the Archdiocese of Detroit's Archbishop Allen Vigneron, the corporation sole of all local churches.
Little sparkle will glow given some decisions the faithful will hear. The church they invested in in countless ways may be no more. Miles up or down the street may be required now as their place of worship is closed.
As a stream of people walked in and out of St. Sylvestor Church earlier, people expressed their opinions about the closures they awaited to see posted in what one thought was "hardly the pastoral way" to announce "major decisions."
"Less money and people," one elderly, and long-time parishioner chimed in shouting.
Dwindled resources, for sure.
Saturday as others were raised up in the like of Houston and Dolan, some facial expressions will look downward in grief, even depression over time.
After all, their home church may be gone for good.
I feel for them and all that church means to family.
Over, time, however, I have come to believe that God is in all things. After all, for a long time, I was taught that God is everywhere and all knowing, omniscient.
The Creator is that undoubtedly.
Last Saturday, another parishioner said:
"Perhaps the church has to die before it becomes or builds something else."
All I know it, I worry less these days, because I take a day at a time, and, in faith, say:
Don't worry about tomorrow, God is already there.
When I became exhausted decades ago as a young pastor in an inner-city parish no seasoned priest seemed to want, the bishop told me, a refrigerator magnet with those words on it consoled me, and, they continue to steer me today. I believe better.
And, I sleep better also with those wise words to guide me.
God knows what to do in all circumstances.
Perhaps, I'm not always listening, however, as the number of clergy seem to thin out the ranks daily.
But, God's there too!
Angel of God, my guardian dear! An assuring gift this gurdian is to me, to many, I bet.
No?
How appropriate.
Respect for the guarded body these days is critical especially for young people. And, the baby caught in the fray of another gunshot by a drive-through shooter. Shame on him or her who shot!
Angel of God, my guardian dear!
In a day and time when these sacred, living vessels and temples get little respect, it seems, holding one's body in respect merits much ink.
At Houston was raised up to pass over, God willing, her final film, Sparkle, with a summer release, reminds me of Timothy Dolan, archbishop of New York. Described as garrulous by pundits, the "light-hearted" pastor was named a "Prince of the Catholic Church" also the day Houston was praised in her home Baptist church in Newark, NJ.
Life does sparkle.
At time.
Other moments, life is without sparkle and joy that fills the face of Dolan each time I see him.
The phone rang out at Saint Sylvester Catholic Church in Warren, MI., and at Sacred Heart in Roseville, MI., this day for example, as parishioners called to find out their fate, their future.
Decisions to shutter or merge fledgling metropolitan Detroit area churches amid dwindling clergy to head them, we set to be posted at 4 pm this afternoon by the Archdiocese of Detroit's Archbishop Allen Vigneron, the corporation sole of all local churches.
Little sparkle will glow given some decisions the faithful will hear. The church they invested in in countless ways may be no more. Miles up or down the street may be required now as their place of worship is closed.
As a stream of people walked in and out of St. Sylvestor Church earlier, people expressed their opinions about the closures they awaited to see posted in what one thought was "hardly the pastoral way" to announce "major decisions."
"Less money and people," one elderly, and long-time parishioner chimed in shouting.
Dwindled resources, for sure.
Saturday as others were raised up in the like of Houston and Dolan, some facial expressions will look downward in grief, even depression over time.
After all, their home church may be gone for good.
I feel for them and all that church means to family.
Over, time, however, I have come to believe that God is in all things. After all, for a long time, I was taught that God is everywhere and all knowing, omniscient.
The Creator is that undoubtedly.
Last Saturday, another parishioner said:
"Perhaps the church has to die before it becomes or builds something else."
All I know it, I worry less these days, because I take a day at a time, and, in faith, say:
Don't worry about tomorrow, God is already there.
When I became exhausted decades ago as a young pastor in an inner-city parish no seasoned priest seemed to want, the bishop told me, a refrigerator magnet with those words on it consoled me, and, they continue to steer me today. I believe better.
And, I sleep better also with those wise words to guide me.
God knows what to do in all circumstances.
Perhaps, I'm not always listening, however, as the number of clergy seem to thin out the ranks daily.
But, God's there too!
Angel of God, my guardian dear! An assuring gift this gurdian is to me, to many, I bet.
No?
Friday, February 17, 2012
Soliders Who Die
Forty-four years ago, on February 18th, my brother Lucas Ventline was killed in Vietnam.
1968 was a terrible year.
When news came, my parents and family were devastated.
Along with the 58,000 other Americans who died, I grieve the deaths of so many these days in battles across the globe, whether in Syria, Iraq or Afghanistan, among other tinder boxes awaiting to explode.
Lucas had months to go before returning home to Michigan.
Loss is never easy.
Grief becomes depression is left unprocessed and unfelt. Swallowed grief becomes depression.
Ever since his demise, I've had a special place in my heart for all service personnel and their families.
Ours in not to reason why, ours is but to do and die, comes to mind once more.
I miss my brother. At 23 he had much life to live yet.
War and its wounds wind around countless survivors, and those hurt in wars.
This primitive way of settling conflicts must be met with imaginitive and less violent means.
1968 was a terrible year.
When news came, my parents and family were devastated.
Along with the 58,000 other Americans who died, I grieve the deaths of so many these days in battles across the globe, whether in Syria, Iraq or Afghanistan, among other tinder boxes awaiting to explode.
Lucas had months to go before returning home to Michigan.
Loss is never easy.
Grief becomes depression is left unprocessed and unfelt. Swallowed grief becomes depression.
Ever since his demise, I've had a special place in my heart for all service personnel and their families.
Ours in not to reason why, ours is but to do and die, comes to mind once more.
I miss my brother. At 23 he had much life to live yet.
War and its wounds wind around countless survivors, and those hurt in wars.
This primitive way of settling conflicts must be met with imaginitive and less violent means.
A Cheerleader for New York
Timothy Dolan is a champion for New York.
Even though he grew up in St. Louis, he now heads New York as its archbishop, and, will be elevated to cardinal Saturday.
Reports claim that he was asked to speak Saturday in Rome on the topic of evangelization.
Dolan wants to rebut his City's image as mired in sin, he said.
This fiesty follower of Jesus was at the Vatican early this week, welcoming pilgrims to the roof of the Pontifical North American College, a stone's throw from the headquarters of the Catolic Church.
On his head was a New York Giants Super Bowl victory cap. He was also wearing a New York Police Department windbreaker.
A cheerleader for New York, Dolan is an assertive and loyal son of the Church who speaks up.
I always appreciate his willingness to engage in a conversation, and, to get the job done, whatever that may happen to be.
As president of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, Dolan wants to continue to call the church to reform, and to bring people closer to Jesus. He protests any semblance of being a gate keeping people from God.
Unafraid to speak the truth to power, New York's leading cheerleader in the faith, is an asset to the people and pilgrims who support this effective churchman.
Even though he grew up in St. Louis, he now heads New York as its archbishop, and, will be elevated to cardinal Saturday.
Reports claim that he was asked to speak Saturday in Rome on the topic of evangelization.
Dolan wants to rebut his City's image as mired in sin, he said.
This fiesty follower of Jesus was at the Vatican early this week, welcoming pilgrims to the roof of the Pontifical North American College, a stone's throw from the headquarters of the Catolic Church.
On his head was a New York Giants Super Bowl victory cap. He was also wearing a New York Police Department windbreaker.
A cheerleader for New York, Dolan is an assertive and loyal son of the Church who speaks up.
I always appreciate his willingness to engage in a conversation, and, to get the job done, whatever that may happen to be.
As president of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, Dolan wants to continue to call the church to reform, and to bring people closer to Jesus. He protests any semblance of being a gate keeping people from God.
Unafraid to speak the truth to power, New York's leading cheerleader in the faith, is an asset to the people and pilgrims who support this effective churchman.
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