Traditions

I was some distressed, two weeks ago, to discover that I would not be permitted, due to the necessity of celebrating Mass in Spanish in Hill City, to participate in a tradition I had established with the Daniel Clan during my first two years of priesthood.  Until this year, it was my practice to go with them to view the happy couples from St. Thomas More High School parade down the Grand March in Tuxedos and Gowns for the annual atrocity known as prom.  If you have never attended a Grand March, you can have a similar experience by going to see the meat counter at your local grocer.  Really.  By combining all of the fabric used to construct all of the dresses worn to the prom, one might perhaps fashion a suitably modest dress for a single girl.  It is as though they have each purchased a bottle of Tylenol and fashioned their gowns from the cotton swab beneath the cap.  Yeah.  Then we go to observe the prom-goers from Central and Stevens High Schools.  It is even worse.  Then we go back to the Daniel home for a drink and try to forget all the nakedness and the foolish boys wearing basketball shoes with tuxedos. 

Anyway, I digress.  The initial turmoil of announcing my new assignment having passed, I realize that I have developed a new tradition.  When reassigned to a new parish, I also find myself going on some adventure.  Last year it was a boundary waters trip.  This year, I am off to Poland.  By this time tomorrow I should find myself wedged into what some people claim is a seat and hurtling over the Atlantic Ocean while nervously fingering my Rosary and praying the person next to me does not speak to me.

To tell how this trip came about would require more effort that i am willing to expend at this already late hour, but it seems to sufficient to say that I had to be coaxed into it.  Were it not for the promise of cheap clerical apparel, I would likely not be going.  At it is, Tuesday morning will find me touring Auschwitz (can one use the word "touring" in such a context?) and praying with the Black Madonna of Czestochowa.  I fear I might die (another common theme of my adventures) while driving tot he far north of the Country to visit a young lady from the area in a convent up there.  

Mostly, though, I intend to eat, sample vodka, and not think too much about moving.  I plan to be on Facebook, and will have access to my Gmail if you need to reach me.  I hope to prepare a full commentary upon my return to the states.  Stay tuned. 

The Sinister Side of Loving

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, Have Mercy on Us.

Love ought to be altruistic.  Love ought to give without taking.  Love ought not seek to possess.  And yet, human loving, as in all things, is fallen and corrupted - it needs to be redeemed.  This is true for me, at least.

I return to this strand of speculation as I once again face the reality of  a new assignment.  Having gone through the misery of moving once, I can acknowledge that there is indeed life after death.  Easter follows Good Friday.  I can also acknowledge that I will acclimate, I will enjoy my work, and I will love my new people.  The lingering question - the one that causes my heart to ache - is this: Will my old people still love me?

The obvious answer is that yes, they will.  The love we share is real, it is true, and it is abiding.  What kills me, however, is the knowledge that they will also love someone else.  And I want them to love me and me alone.  In writing these words, my recognition of the selfishness that inspires them is even more poignant.

I find myself arguing with the Lord about this.  I have told him quite explicitly that he never had to leave his people, and that I am pretty put out that asks us to do it.  Again, pure selfishness and folly dominate these conversations.  And yet, one cannot really help feeling what one feels.  One can only choose to act as one ought in the face of one's emotions.

And so, once again, I find myself clinging to moments that are slipping all too quickly into the past.  I find myself worrying. I find myself weeping.  I find myself begging that God will give me courage and dignity.  I implore him to help me love without grasping.  In so doing,  I find myself falling, sometimes more and sometimes less reticently, in submission before His own Wounded Heart.

Drug addled musicians from the 70's always seem to have a way of expressing what I feel in song. 

Another Post About Fishing

In an older SNL episode, Jim Carrey impersonates Jimmy Stewart and delivers a poem entitled, "Little Trout."  Unfortunately, I cannot find a YouTube plagiarism of the video.  You can watch it here on hulu, but if you would prefer not to do so, so you will have to read the transcript of the poem and imagine it is recited in Jimmy Stewart's voice.

Little Trout

I awoke one day with a taste for trout,

So I got in my boat and I headed out.

He spotted my bait, and began to give chase.

When my hooked ripped into his fishy face.

Then he looked at me like I was his friend.

So I let him go, and went out for a good piece of steak.

This poem makes me laugh every time I hear it.  It is almost as entertaining as real fishing, an activity in which I have been able to engage frequently since the beginning of the month.

Having conquered the mighty trout with hook and worm last spring, I have decided to take up a more snobbish variety of fishing.  At Christmas, with gift certificates from Cabelas, I purchased I fly rod.  Not long ago, I began building my collection of flies, and after my first adventure losing several in weeds, trees, and snapping them off of my tippet when casting, I realized that I would need a great many more.  In my earliest attempts at fly fishing, one of the high school boys with whom I occasionally fish, made an erudite observation: "Golfing and fly fishing are a lot alike.  It is hard to do either without swearing."  But, it is all worth it when you finally catch a fish on the fly line and drag him in. 

I have caught several in this more sophisticated manner over the last few weeks.  While only one was sufficiently large to take up residence in my freezer, I count even the small ones as successes.  Next summer I can worry about size.  This spring my only concern is simply catching anything.  Fly fishing is maddening.

Trout are fun, but the adrenaline producing effect of catching larger fish with the capacity to damage the fisherman holds its own sort of attraction.  Thus, last week I found myself aboard a boat on the Missouri River trying to catch Walleye.  Aside from having lost my pole in the river (a complicated story of which there are competing versions) it was a fantastic day.  Three fishermen caught six walleye large enough to keep and several that went back in the water.  The owner of the boat landed a thirty inch Northern Pike after a mighty battle only to lose him off of the stringer a little later.  Apparently fly fishing is not the only variety of fishing capable of producing obscenities.  

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I really love fishing.  Sun, cigars, the stink of fish, and the exhaustion of a long day in the sun are good medicine.     

Rise Up, O Men of God

While preparing for the Confirmation Liturgy, I worked with our head server (a woman) to select our A-Team of servers.  While I cannot say that it was entirely accidental that all of the servers I selected were boys, I did choose them primarily because they are exceedingly good servers.  It was quickly suggested by several other interested parties that I find at least two girls to serve in place of two of the boys so as to avoid excluding anyone from the liturgy.  That conversation prompted the following reflection. 

I spent the afternoon thinking about a conversation regarding boys and girls serving, and I want to take a moment and clarify my position on this matter.

Simply put, to suggest that I do not want girls to serve because I am concerned to promote priestly vocations is an overly simplistic understanding of my position.  While it is true that boys serving at the altar has a long history of association with the eventual advancement to Holy Orders, this is not a sufficient reason to exclude girls from the same service.  In fact, were it not for the permission given for girl servers, a great many of our country parishes would have to contend with no servers at all.  Nevertheless, in a context such as that of this parish, the question is no longer one of necessity, but of preference.  I have a preference for boys serving at the altar. 

I could elaborate at length as to my reasons, but to put it simply, the Church is in desperate need of forming and preparing strong male leaders.  This is not just a matter of encouraging vocations, but of preparing good men.  Good men are not just priests.  They also become good husbands and fathers.  They become the kind of men that women deserve.  Unfortunately, men of character are something sorely lacking in the Church and the world.

Over and over, I see men backing out of their role as spiritual leaders in their homes and parishes.  After all, as we look around our own parish and the other parishes in the city, we can easily see that this is truly a concern.  How many men serve as religious education teachers?  How many serve on core teams?  How many attend retreats as chaperons?  How many men serve as sacristans, lectors, readers, and the like?  Our choirs are all directed by women, and are largely populated by women.  The liturgy committee is overwhelmingly female.  The parish youth commission is overwhelmingly female.  The parish staff is overwhelmingly female.  The kids going to the Steubenville Conference are primarily female.  Those attending World Youth Day are primarily women.  It is incumbent upon the Church to do what she can to prevent this phenomenon from escalating further.  Surely the Church needs women and their value cannot be overstated.  But she also needs strong men.  

Men are simply abandoning their responsibility to be formed in, to grow in, and to become leaders in the faith.  To acknowledge this and to attempt to remedy it is not, to my mind, a rejection of the role or importance of women.  It is not an act of exclusion.  It is ultimately an attempt to aid the women for whom faith is important by preparing men who will serve as their allies.  Our women are already doing this formation at a much higher rate than their male counterparts.  It is the men who are most in need of encouragement.  They receive this encouragement when we say to them, “This is a role that you must fill.  I will not find a woman to do this job for you.”

So, in other words, my emphasis on men in the liturgy is inspired at its core by a desire to call men to truly be men.  If they become the sort of leaders they are meant to become, so many ills in the Church and in the world will find their remedies.  As a result, to occasionally abandon principles of inclusion and diversity seems a small price.

Pursuing Beauty

Beauty, it is often remarked, is in the eye of the beholder.  I disagree.  Beauty is objective.  Something is beautiful or it is not.  The quality of beauty can be determined by the degree to which a thing is reflective of truth.  Beauty and truth walk hand in hand.  It is for this reason that we can say, for instance, that Michelangelo's David is beautiful.  The manner in which he captures the human form, the kingly dignity of the shepherd boy, and the symmetry and balance of the sculpture all speak to truth.  They portray the glory with which man has been created.  Likewise, the same artist's The Creation of Man, the centerpiece of the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, is beautiful.  Besides elements I have already described in David, in this work the hand of God and the hand of Adam nearly touch; God and man are almost one.  God has made him nearly his equal.  How beautiful.  Even a piece such as Picasso's Guernica can be considered beautiful.  The horror of war and the affront it present to man who is otherwise good as expressed by the piece is beautiful, even though the mural is not realistic in appearance per se.  By way of contrast, pornography is not beautiful.  It tells a lie about humanity.  


I have been thinking about this of late as the Parish Youth Commission at Blessed Sacrament has been working through John Paul the Great's Familiaris consortio.  Therein he describes the role of the family in the modern world, and he admonishes families to become a source of renewal within society.  A family is, after all, the most basic cell of society.  As we have entered our deliberations about the meaning of this document, there has been a resounding call for deeper education of people.  Particularly, we constantly find ourselves decrying the vast ignorance most people have concerning JPII's Theology of the Body.  I agree.  This is something that all Catholics ought to learn.  I have encountered a growing awareness, however, that even more fundamentally, families must encounter beauty.


Beauty moves us beyond ourselves.  It elevates our minds toward God who is truth.  Beauty is essential if we are to find value in what at times can be a very ugly life.  Think of the caricatures of communist life; the dull, grey, utilitarian architecture of the eastern bloc.  There is nothing beautiful in that.  Think of the high, elaborate, almost gaudy structures of the Baroque period.  Ah beauty.  What is the difference.  I suggest that the difference lies in capacity of the one to draw one outside of one's self. 


As a result, it become essential for the family to find and appreciate that which is beautiful.  That which is beautiful opens the heart to receive that which is true.  Thus, to completely change a culture, Catholic families must make a deliberate effort to experience beauty.  I suggest that the following are ways in which we do this:

1) Our children should be familiar with beautiful music.  In my own childhood this took place automatically, as the classics of Western Music provided the score for most Bugs Bunny sketches.  Kids ought to be able to identify these classics, and even if they do not listen to them as part of their recreation, they should at least acknowledge that they are beautiful.
2) The literature we read ought to be beautiful.  Pulp fiction has its place.  I get a kick out of a thriller I can plow through before going to bed at night.  These sorts of book, however, tend to poorly portray the truth of human goodness.  Instead of these, one ought, from time to time, to delve into the classics.  We consider them classic for a reason.
3) Cinema can be beautiful, both in message and in art.  We should look for beautiful cinema.
4) We should insist on beautiful liturgies.  The music, the vestments, the Sacred Vessels, and everything about the liturgy ought to be beautiful.  

These are not really hard things to do, and they will draw us toward Truth.  They will draw us toward God.  They will help us change the world.  They will help make the world holy.

Honey or Vinegar?

On Saturday, January 21, I posted the following as my Facebook status: "Confession is available today for any Catholic who voted for Obama. You are the ones who permitted any protection of our consciences to be trod upon by this administration."* One might say I was a bit indignant when writing it. After fifty-eight comments, the eruption of opinion ended. Several days later, J. Thorp posted a review of the Church History Primer, Triumph: The Power and Glory of the Catholic Church. Therein he criticized the caustic tone of the author. That same evening I received a message from a former seminary colleague with a reputation (and a talent really) for his acid tongue and acerbic wit. He rightfully chided me for the imprudence of my remark.

The combination of these three events brings me to a serious point of reflection. First, given my role and the impact of my words, to what extent must I curb my tongue so as to avoid unduly influencing my people in areas beyond realms of my own as well as the Church's competence? Second, even though honey seems to attract more flies than vinegar, is there a time for vinegar? Third, is there a value in knowingly and intentionally angering a certain segment of people if one will simultaneously bolster another segment?

As to the first question, I simply concede that in the majority of cases, I do not speak where I do not think I have the competence to do so. Likewise, I generally do not publicly delve into the specifics of issues where the Church does not do so. For instance, while it seems clear that a Catholic cannot, given his outspoken positions in contradiction to clear and consistent Catholic teaching, cast a vote for Obama in good conscience, I would not venture to suggest who someone should vote for instead (at least not from the pulpit). I do not know what car Jesus would have driven, and I am not sure of the best means for overcoming poverty. These are within the competence of others.

As regards the second, the answer is easy. Sometimes I have to say things that fall harshly on the ears of those who disagree. Abortion is a sin. Artificial contraception and sterilization are sins. Sex outside of mariage is a sin. Living with a person of the opposite sex to whom you are not married or with whom you have no familial relationship is a sin. These are vinegary things to say, and to my mind, need to be said with clarity so as to ensure than no confusion can surround the issue.

The third issue is a harder one.

It is certainly no secret that there are a great many Catholics who seem to believe that they get to decide for themselves what it means to be Catholic. This opinion is, of course, patently false, and opposed to the very idea of what it means to be Catholic. The issue relates to the question at hand in this way, though: Should one try to gently shepherd them back toward the truth, or should they be cut off, cast out, or handed over to Satan as St. Paul admonishes from time to time?

To my mind, this is not an either or sort of question. St. Paul and the Church both see excommunication as a way of demonstrating to the sinner the error of his ways. Finding themselves cut off from the community, they realize that they have done this to themselves by their words and actions. Likewise, they are thereby limited in their capacity to do damage to the faith of others, to give scandal, to foment confusion, and to open the Church to charges of hypocrisy. While the question at hand is not directly about excommunication, it is about whether or not those who sow the seeds of discontent within the Church ought to be coddled, or rather, should they be shaken? Should they be offended? Should it be suggested with great passion that they do not think with the mind of the Church? In shaking them, is it possible to awaken their awareness that they stand apart from other Catholics, and that, like sheep, a man apart is likely to be taken by the wolves? Does shaking them kindle their desire to be in the center of the flock?

The issue is complicated further by the fact that many faithful Catholics feel as though their voice has been silent for a long time. They wonder when they will find a leader who will lead them into battle for what is True, and Good, and Beautiful, and Right, and Just. Should they languish for fear of offending those who disagree with them?

The question here is not one of Charity. One should speak even hard things with charity. It is not necessarily uncharitable to say, though, "If you don't like it you are free to leave."

This is not about politics. It is not about simple differences of opinion. I think the question I am circling here strikes at the very heart of Catholic identity. Who are we? Who are we to be? And honestly, I am not quite sure where to stand. I know where my passions lead me. Because my passions lead me there, I am suspicious of that direction. I know where my own experience of being on the outside has taken me. I also know the experience of feeling muzzled. I know the feeling of righteous indignation.

So, I guess this is ultimately something of an open forum. Thoughts?

* For the full context prompting my remark, go here.

St. Sebastian

Today the Church wears red.  January 20 marks the memorials of the martyrs Fabian and Sebastian.  With all respect to the venerable Fr. Fabian, Philosophy Professor extraordinaire of St. Mary's University, I am celebrating Sebastian.  he is the patron saint of Roman Traffic Cops, Soldiers, Athletes, Archers, and me.

At my confirmation I took Sebastian's name.  I was moved by his story of heroism and persistence in the face of the cruelty of the Emperor Diocletian.  His willingness to die for the sake of his faith was a profound example of  courage for me.  Moreover, his feast is celebrated only one day before prior to my own birthday.  I certainly didn't want to be Agnes whose feast falls on January 21.

At eighteen, I do not think I was quite sure what I was doing when I chose Sebastian.  I do know this for sure, though: He has been with me ever since.  At various times, when I have had to do things I would have preferred not doing (Seeing a professional counselor, taking a year away from my formal studies, etc, etc, etc) Sebastian has stood at my side lending me his courage.  You can read his story here.  What follows are various images of this patron of mine.  St. Sebastian, pray for us.

I have seen this one in person.  It sits atop his tomb.  It is stunningly beautiful.

I have seen this in person as well.  El Greco is harder to appreciate but, I find this beautiful as well.

To My Boys on the Occasions of Their Confirmation

It seems to me that every man worth his salt desires to have a son.  This longing is hardwired into him from his creation.  Some might argue that this hope for a son, aside from man’s basest animal desires, arises from his fear of death; in a son he can be assured that some part of him will live on in his heirs – they will carry his name.  Certainly we are proud by nature, and some portion of our vanity is fed with the arrival of a son, but in the end, such an explanation seems incomplete.  A man can create a lasting legacy by other means.  This was, after all, the aim of both Achilles and Hector.  By glory won in battle, they would achieve a kind of immortality.  That I mention them here is sufficient evidence that their presumptions were true.  For what purpose, then, does it rest so heavily upon a man’s heart to produce a son?

 To my mind, the beginning of an answer to this question resides in the humblest and most noble part of a man’s soul.  When he is honest with himself, a man recognizes that despite his triumphs, his successes, and his achievements, he remains weak, sinful, and less than the man he knows he ought to be, less than the man whom at his core he desires to be.  As a result, a man hopes for a son who will succeed even where his father has failed.  He hopes that one day, as he approaches the throne of judgment where he will plead his case before God Almighty, he will be able to say, “Lord, I have been miserable in all things but this: I raised a son who has become a better man than I am.”  And really, that is the long and the short of it.  Any father deserving of the title longs that his son will be a better man than himself.

A priest carries none of the burden of providing for and raising a family with his wife.  The longings of his heart, however, are much like those of any good man.  He hopes for a son.  Thus, every man preparing for priesthood experiences acutely the awareness that he will have no progeny of his own.  If he is observant, however, he quickly discovers that God seldom takes without giving something in return.  Thus have I come to see that while I will have no son of my own stock, Our Lord has given me a great many spiritual sons.   I am privileged to say that you are among them, and it is important for you to know that I could not be prouder of you.

As a father of sorts, my hopes for you are much like the hopes of your natural father.   I hope that you will be more successful than I have been -- smarter, more generous, more loving, more faithful, more honest, and more virtuous. I hope that you will be respected. I hope that you will be admired. I hope that when you reach the end of your days you will have lived a life worth remembering. More than all else, though, I hope you will know with deep intimacy Him who has loved us into existence, and that you will be holy, so much holier than I.  I want you to be a better man than I am.  I have prayed that this would be so for a long time now, and I will continue to do so.  Already I am beginning to see that God has looked kindly upon this request.  Within you rests the capacity to be not only a good man, but a great man.  Only one thing will prevent Our Lord from accomplishing this work within you.  Do not permit your own self to serve as the obstacle that tempts you to substitute mediocrity for glory.

Bear in mind that manhood has little to do with one’s age, attractiveness to women, or inclination to drink beer and smoke cigars.   It has everything to do with one’s willingness to sacrifice, even to the point of death, for the sake of Truth, Goodness, Beauty, and Love.  A good man always dies a martyr to something.  So must it be for you.

As I am not your natural father, I recognize that it does not belong to me to see you through each of the steps toward becoming a man. Because of the sacrifices he makes for you, there are certain privileges your father reserves to himself. Among these, it is for a natural father to teach his son to shave.  Nevertheless, as your spiritual father, I have borne witness to a less visible though equally profound and meaningful period of maturation in your life. As a result, I hope you and your dad will not find the gift which accompanies this letter too presumptuous. As with age, beer, cigars, and women, manhood has little to do with one’s capacity to grow a beard.  Nevertheless, there remains something iconic about a razor. To possess a razor of ones own marks a point of transition out of boyhood and into the true nobility that characterizes authentic manhood.   You are a good man, my spiritual son and the adopted son of the Father.  In due time, I expect that you will become a great man and a much better man than I am.  Beyond these, you are made to become a man of God.   For this reason I offer you a gift which, though perhaps mundane, carries with it the possibility of reminding you daily who you are and who you are meant to be.  Holiness, after all, is to be achieved in the way that we do the little things.  At the very least may this gift be a reminder of my unwavering confidence in your goodness and your capacity for greatness.

With much love and affection I remain,

You Father in Christ,

Fr. Tyler Dennis

Merry Christmas 2011

The following was sent in response to my Christmas cards this year.

Greetings,

As Advent tarries on and the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord approaches, I find that the theme of my own prayer and reflection wanders consistently toward the notion of hope.  How utterly audacious it is that as Christians, we announce to the world that regardless of the evil that is perpetuated and the sufferings we must endure, none of these things can approach the glory that awaits us in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Over and over this season, we hear the prophet Isaiah foretell a time when the world will be peaceful and all will live in harmonious accord.  Most striking to me about these prophecies is the fact that as Christians, we know full well that such a vision is not just a happy fantasy.  By faith, we know with utter, absolute, and unshakable faith that such a time will come to pass.  God will make it so.  Indeed, this marvelous work was already begun 2000 years ago when the God of the Universe who holds all creation in existence chose to become a part of that creation and deigned to be born in the poverty of a stable and to take as His undignified cradle, a trough from which cattle were eating.  How glorious our God is!

 

Life has changed for me over the course of the last year.  In the months following my ordination two years ago, I found myself overwhelmed with the great mystery and power that had been entrusted to me by God and Mother Church as a result of my priesthood.  Everything was new, exciting, and exhausting.  These days I find that I experience very few “firsts” anymore.  The initial sheen and excitement of priesthood has now mellowed, and I find that I can savor the incredible graces I receive in a new way.  As opposed to the red, orange, and blue fireworks of joy that accompanied the first days of my vocation, I am now entering into a period of joy marked by a slow steady burn like the embers of a fire.  These embers promise to sustain me through what I hope is a long life lived at the service of the people of the Diocese of Rapid City.

Not long after ordination, I began to discover all sorts of new things about myself, including a penchant for hunting and fishing.  That period seemed to reach something of a climax last May with a canoe trip in the Minnesota/Canada Boundary Waters.  I would never have pictured myself doing such a thing several years ago.  Now I cannot picture myself not doing those things.  I am

looking forward to making another such trip in the spring.

On July 1, with many tears and a heavy heart, I bid farewell to the Cathedral Parish and took up residence at Blessed Sacrament Parish on the west side of Rapid City.  Now, several months later, I find myself a bit chagrined to realize how quickly and deeply I have begun to love my new family.  I have often advised parents that more children in a family can only multiply love, so it should have been obvious to me that the same would be true for a priest as he became father in a new community.  Suffice it to say that God has placed me exactly where I am meant to be, and even though goodbyes are hard, I discover that there is great joy to be had in new beginnings.

The Lord has entrusted me with the work of preparing forty-four teenaged souls for the Sacrament of Confirmation.  These are largely public school students, which makes for a much different (not better or worse, just different) dynamic than with the predominantly Catholic School students at the Cathedral.  What strikes me most about these students is the deep and abiding goodness each of them possesses as a result of the fact that they have been chosen by God for himself.  As with the whole world, though, the challenge comes with trying to help them see that goodness within themselves.  I find that I am filled with zeal while being simultaneously overwhelmed at the task of helping them to experience the depths of God’s love for them.  I am daily confronted with the knowledge that the most effective thing I can do to achieve this end is to grow in holiness myself, and I shudder to realize just how far I have to go.  And yet, there are moments where the Lord reveals small glimmers wherein I am assured that He is doing good work in the hearts of these young people.  Thus I find myself once again returning to the experience of hope with which I began this letter.

All in all, life is good—exceedingly so.  God gives me more than I deserve, and I thank him less than He deserves.  But the sweetness of hope convinces me day by day, that God’s grace will make me more and more the man and priest I am called to be.  So, I conclude simply by saying thank you.  I appreciate your warm sentiments, and I pray that God will shower you with every good blessing this Christmas Season.  Know of my prayers for you and yours.

Sincerely in Christ,

Fr. Tyler Dennis

At Last

This is a short post just to say that I am back.  We had a computer meltdown in the parish office in November, and in the process of getting everything working again, our tech guy blocked my blog with the firewall.  I complained, and he fixed it allowing me to read my blog, but I was not permitted to login.  I have finally gotten that taken care of as well, so I should be able to post a bit more regularly now.  We will see how it goes.

My Teaching Hat

This is not my teaching hat.  I just like to wear it.

Generally speaking, priests like to teach.  To some extent it is pent up aggression from eight long years spent in the classroom preparing for ordination desiring to revenge itself upon the unwary that prompts our taste for the lecture hall.  More importantly, however, I think it comes from a genuine desire to spread the gospel.  For diocesan priests at least, teaching happens most frequently at the pulpit, and the occasional RCIA or adult formation class.  Seldom, however, do we have the opportunity to gather a class before us in the classroom.  Even more seldom are we provided the opportunity to attempt to feed the eager young adolescent mind (tongue in cheek).  So, it is a blessing and a privilege of mine, this year, to have the opportunity to teach two classes with a group of home-school students who gather for collective learning opportunity once each week.

I have been charged with the task of trying to present a coherent and thoughtful assessment of the Church's history over the course of twenty-two weeks.  This means that I have to cover roughly one hundred years every sixty minutes.  This has proved a challenge.  Likewise, because I do not grade the students and cannot really dole out any real consequences for failing to assimilate the material, I find myself a bit at wit's end at times trying to figure out how to engage a handful of obviously uninterested and unimpressed teenaged boys.  I console myself with the knowledge that one day they will lose a great deal of money on Jeopardy because they do not remember the name of the early heresy that claimed that Christ was less than completely divine.  Alas . . . 

Church history was my primary area of study while pursuing my MA in Theology, and I approach this opportunity to present the Church's history with gusto, but I find that I, as a teacher, am far more engaged with my second class.  Along with one of the mothers, I am teaching a literature course.  To date we have read The Hobbit, and in the coming weeks, we will take up To Kill a Mockingbird.  Most of my literature students are of late middle school or early high school age.  As a result, they are just now at the point of beginning higher level thought.  They are able to think deeply and begin asking important questions.  They are able to begin exploring the contours of their own beliefs and convictions (or perhaps, rather, they are beginning to develop their own convictions).  Perhaps the most interesting part, however, as their interior turmoil manifests itself exteriorly as they struggle to find the words to explain what they think.  And, generally speaking, what they think can be tremendously insightful and enlightening.

I had not really begun to articulate the struggle these kids were experiencing until a few weeks ago when I arrived in class, and wrote the following questions on the marker board:

1) What is a hero?  How do we recognize one?

2) Is our destiny predetermined, and shaped by forces entirely outside of ourselves, or do we have the capacity to change and determine it for ourselves?

I then assigned the following project.  Prepare a 3.5 to 4.5 minute speech in which you answer the one of these questions.  Be sure to employ examples from The Hobbit to defend your position.

Quite honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect from this assignment, and my co-teacher was a bit incredulous.  Having raised several children, she knew that this was going to be very hard for them.  Nevertheless, I had already given the assignment, so we agreed to cross our fingers and hope for the best.

To put it simply, I was overwhelmed at the quality of the speeches and the arguments each of the students made.  While none delivered Winston Churchill quality orations, each of them had obviously thought seriously about the questions and had made the effort necessary to develop a thorough and coherent argument.  These were very good speeches considering the fact that this was the first public speaking assignment most of them had ever had.  I was thrilled.

So now, I am champing at the bit to get into the next novel.  The text is hard for a middle-schooler, and the themes are very mature.  These young men and women, however, have convinced me that they will handle them with grace.  I am already excited to hear their responses to the question, "Why did Harper Lee choose the title, "To Kill a Mockingbird"?  

 

That Has Made All the Difference?

The Road Not Taken 

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,       

And sorry I could not travel both      

And be one traveler, long I stood      

And looked down one as far as I could        

To where it bent in the undergrowth;        

Then took the other, as just as fair,    

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;       

Though as for that the passing there  

Had worn them really about the same,                  

And both that morning equally lay    

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day!  

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,       

I doubted if I should ever come back.                   

I shall be telling this with a sigh        

Somewhere ages and ages hence:      

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—       

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

I grow rather weary, at times, of people approaching Robert Frost's poetry as though it were all happy verse with glad imagery.  Perhaps it is the ease with which it is read and the sort of warmth that some of his images evoke within us that allow us to overlook the irony to be found in a poem such as the one plagiarized above.  The fact of the matter is that no one really knows what might have come to pass has the narrator traveled the other path.  He has no idea whatsoever how life might have been different had he chosen other than did.  Maybe he would have become rich and famous after have discovered a new variety of truffle.  Perhaps he would have been eaten by bears.  Perhaps he would have found that a giant sequoia had fallen across the path and he had to go back and take the other path anyway.  He might have spontaneously combusted.  And that really is the point.  We don't know.  We haven't any sense at all what might change if we were to choose differently than we do.  This poem is not one of happy reminiscence.  This poem, to my mind, is an expression of bitterness and resignation.  It is a "sour grapes" poem.  The narrator, unable to know what might have been, can console himself only by assuming that what he abandoned was worth abandoning.  And the reader is left to wonder, "How do you know?"

To read the poem in this manner, I think, is a much more realistic assessment of the human condition.  Bound by time and space, we are forced to make decisions.  We haven't the liberty of having all experiences or of following all paths.  When we make an affirmative decision for one thing, we are necessarily deciding against another.  That's the way life is.  This is part of what it means to be a grown-up.  It does us no good to sit around and speculate as to how life may have been otherwise.  This, in part, must be what drives men to midlife crises.  They regret the decisions they have made and try to reverse them in their later years.  It is absurd, because in the end, I don't have what might have been.  I have here, and I have now, and I have a God who loves me, and in his providence, can make all possibilities work for the good.  This, not a leafy road of happy nostalgia, makes all the difference.

Windy Day Reflections on the Devil

 

The few colorful fall leaves to be found in western South Dakota were to reach their peak this week, so, in typical fashion, a strong wind picked up overnight and is expected to blow throughout the rest of the day.  So, now until the snows fly, South Dakota's foliage will best be observed in the gutters of streets.  Along with the wind, today marks the arrival of this year's celebration of the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary (previously known as Our Lady of Victory) which is celebrated on the anniversary of the Battle of Lepanto during which an out-manned and unlikely navy, through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, defeated the navy of the Ottoman Turks, thus saving European Christianity (especially in the South) yet again from the incessant threat of the spread of Islam.  Had the Turks won, they would have enjoyed an uncontested route to Italy and its surrounding environs.  Likewise, the Mass readings for this today bring us to Luke's account of Jesus' remarks about a house divided against itself.

The coincidence of all three of these events make a strong point to me.  The word diabolical, in its Greek origins, means to drive a wedge between or to separate something.  This is always the goal of the Evil One.  He desires that we would flutter scattered and without direction just as the wind blows the leaves.  He wants our defenses to be broken and to prevent us from having access to one another.  He wants us to become isolated, alone, and convinced that we have no friend, no advocate, and no place to turn.

Nature demonstrates the danger of such isolation.  The turkeys just outside my window this morning instinctively know that they are safer in a group than they are as individuals.  Cows know this.  Deer know this.  Wildebeests know this. Only humans, it seems to me, are unaware that to become isolated is to risk destruction.  

We need a Church.  We need a family.  We need the security of recognizing that we are never alone, and we are never abandoned.  A house divided cannot stand.  A man alone will likewise be destroyed. 

The Daily Grind

Blessed John Paul the Great wrote a beautiful encyclical about the dignity of human work.  Therein he describes how, in work, man participates with God in the process of bringing order to creation and finds meaning for himself.  All work can have this effect provided that the laborer is treated with due dignity.  Whether a ditch digger or a sultan, man can take pride in and draw dignity from his work.

My own experience has proved the late pontiff's words to be true.  There were many times, mostly as a student, when I went to bed at night tired, but having done nothing during the day.  Those moments before drifting off to sleep were filled with a certain dissatisfaction and restlessness.  By way of contrast, especially since having been ordained, there have been many nights when i have gone to sleep exhausted but content at having spent my day well.

Nights such as these have become much more common of late.  Besides the general responsibilities of priesthood and ministry, I have also agreed to teach a Church History and a Literature Course for a group of home school students, I am a sponsor for two different teenaged boys, and I am the alpha and omega of the Confirmation Program at Blessed Sacrament.  Likewise, I am helping to create and educate a parish youth commission.  In a word, I find that I am happily, gloriously, swamped.

Work, as Bl. JPII points out, however, cannot become an end unto itself.  Man was not made for the sake of work.  work exists for the sake of men.  For this reason, man must always take time for the sabbath.  He must rest, and he must acknowledge that life will continue with or without him.  The world does not depend upon the accomplishments of any single individual (aside from Christ himself).  Work should lead us back to an acknowledgement of our need for and relationship with our creator.

For these reasons, I do not feel especially guilty for having taken an extra day two weeks ago to attend the Bishop's Hunt for Seminarians (to my knowledge, we have never bagged even one seminarian), and last week to attend the first annual emergency relief Fishing Tournament.  Nor, I think, will I be especially troubled to take an extra day in the coming week to go camping with Fr. Sparks.

My work, I find, is deeply fulfilling.  In the midst of so much of it, I find myself thinking, "This is what I was made for."  One of the most satisfying parts of work, though, is this:  When one works hard, one also gets to play hard.  So, to all of your laborers out there, carry on.  Build up the Kingdom of God, and work so as to deserve a rest.  Here is a song to speed you along the way: