The Holy Ghost Delivers

JMJ. As I have told some of my dearest friends, I pray daily for a major moral miracle which would inaugurate the reigns of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Most Immaculate Heart of Mary. I didn't think of this--my buddy Charlie did. It's worth praying for. And I try to do it as often as I can.

It doesn't happen every day that our prayers are answered but every once in a while (as Charlie is wont to say,) He gives us a little "peck on the cheek" and shows us how we might have "helped" Him. This was one of those occasions. Charlie told me about the "Manhattan Declaration" which is, in a spiritual sense, a declation of independence for the soul of America. We drew a line in the sand and said, "This is what I believe and beyond this I will not go!"

I challenge all who read this site (and I know you are few) to go to their website,

http://manhattandeclaration.org

to peruse the statement in its entirety. You can also access a list of all those notables, Catholic, Orthodox, and evangelical Protestant, who have affixed their names to this document just as blatantly as did John Hancock to his.

This is a watershed, folks. A "stand-up-and-be-counted" time. Do we align ourselves with Christ and His teachings or do we side with the culture of death? You decide.

Prayer

JMJ. I feel the need to share a prayer with you, O unknown reader. I try to say it every day though I sometimes forget. My three favourite are the Lord's Prayer, given us by Jesus Himself, the Ave Maria, a reflection of Holy Scripture, and the Memorare, written by St. Bernard of Clairveaux a thousand years ago. This one I've come up with all by myself (I think) that fills MY needs and states MY feelings. This is my own. Please bear with me.

"Dear Jesus, beloved Saviour, I give Thee thanks and praise for Thy many blessings but particularly for Thy death upon the Cross with hath redeemed all of sinful humanity but especially this poor sinner who seeks only to love and obey Thee. I offer up to Thee this day--with all my hopes, my fears, my joys, and my sorrows, my success, my failures, my aches, pains, frustrations, and small sufferings that I more perfectly conform myself to Thy death upon the Cross that when I stand before Thee in final judgment thou mayest recognise me as Thy brother. I beg forgiveness for the sins which I commit and omit which cause Thee so much pain and sorrow and I beg Thy grace that I may sin no further and that I may become a more perfect disciple for Thee. Amen."

My Father

JMJ. I went to visit my Dad yesterday. He's living in a nursing home in Huron, Ohio. He has Alzheimer's. This is sad, considering that he was an engineer at NASA for over thirty years. In fact, he started there when it was still NACA. That's going back a long time.

I just toured the visitor's center at Lewis Research Center in Cleveland since there is talk that they're going to move the museum to the building next to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Great Lakes Science Center. How sad! I remember riding along with my Mom when she dropped him off at work (long before there was a second car in our household.) We'd drive up to the gate and the guard would ask what our business was. Dad would show his badge and say that we were dropping him off to work. I felt taller than a sequoia that my Dad was part of the space program.

Things have changed since the last time I was there. I had to show my driver's license and declare that I am a US citizen. Further, I had to swear that there were no weapons in my car. I think that this whole rigamarole just made me prouder. I was going back, not for my benefit, but in remembrance of all the times I was there with Dad.

During our visit I told him of all this. He had to ask whom I was speaking of. I told him that I was talking about him and how proud I was of him. He answered that he didn't remember any of this but I told him that I'd remember for both of us. He smiled and seemed to accept this. I asked him what was new and he said that he didn't think he'd be here much longer. His dad was over 100 when he died but mine is only 83.

Maybe he knows something that I don't. I think he's tired of living and he misses Mom. I told him that if he feels the need to go that he has my blessing. I feel sure that he has God's. Our Lord, through the Divine Mercy, asks each of us to declare for Him or against Him. Dad, like Mom, was never stupid. I feel sure that we'll meet again one day throught the grace of God.

A New Hope

JMJ. I've mentioned before that I am a convert to this wonderful faith. This coming Easter will be my 11th anniversary. In those eleven years I've met some absolutely wonderful cradle Catholics. Bob, Charlie, and Jan Marie are ones that I've mentioned before. (I could mention so many more but that would take an entire page.) I've also met ones who give Catholicism a bad name. These are ones who are Catholic in name only--who have embraced, if not the name, at least the philosophy of the Protestants.

These are the ones who believe that women should be priests, that abortions are a woman't right, and that homosexuals deserve the right to marry. In short, they feel that God's only fault is that He failed to ask their opinions on things. By and large, these are older folks. Folks of my generation or a little younger who grew up on the idea that all ideas are created equal.

The mature know that this is not the case. Two plus two never equals 3.75 no matter how much we wish it were so. You get my drift. Well, I met a bunch of committed young folks who renewed my faith that Christ makes all things new. A group from the local college's Newman Center raked and blew our leaves today. They asked only for a donation over $10.00. All I asked is that none of them ever worked to elect a Democrat. The young lady in charge pointed at a nearby young man and herself and said, "Here's two who didn't." Thanks be to God. The world (and this jaded writer) are continually renewed. (BTW, they did a great job and I gave 'em $75.--They deserved every bit of it.)

Veterans' Day

JMJ. Mark your calendars if they aren't already. Nov. 11 is Veterans'
Day. I think of this every time a young serviceman (or woman) gets shipped home for burial from Afghanistan or Iraq or whatever venue is hot at the moment. The crowds line the streets and weep as the cortege passes by. They wave flags, salute the coffin, and mourn the passing of a young life cut short before it had even begun.

I can't help but wonder, "Where were you sunshine patriots when OUR dead arrived?" They were just as dead, just as young, and just as patriotic as these youngsters are. But the streets were empty, the only mourners were family and close friends, and the media largely ignored them except in terms of "body count." If you ever wonder why one Viet Nam vet says "Welcome Home" to another it is for this reason. Nobody welcomed us then or acknowledges us now.

A Culture of Life-No Exceptions

JMJ. I was talking to a couple of my co-workers lately concerning abortion. One is a purported Catholic, the other--well, maybe a "seeker" is the best term. Neither one would coutenance abortion. Oh, wait... unless the mother had been raped or the victim of incest.

Now, I can understand a non-Catholic hesitating on this seemingly thorny situation. Really, I can. No, I don't for a minute agree, but I can understand because these exceptions have a really visceral effect on each and every one of us. They bring up in our minds visions of absolute moral perversion--as well they should. At the time, though, I couldn't quite verbalise WHY they were both wrong.

Now I can. I believe that Someone of heaven was speaking to me and supplied me with an answer, and a definitive answer to boot! (One of the major problems with Catholicism is that one doesn't know WHO is talking to you. It could be One or more of the Blessed Trinity, the Holy Mother, or one of the angels or saints. This is a real quandary for a former Protestant!)

Nowhere, to the best of my knowledge, in the U.S. is either rape or incest punished by the death penalty. Those who are TRULY pro-life will say that even the death penalty itself should be abolished. (That's another topic.) OK, if we are not going to punish the criminal with the death penalty, why in heaven's name should we punish the innocent issue of the crime? We wouldn't put the woman to death for being raped, would we?

I had this conversation with my Mother several years ago before her death and didn't have this answer at hand. She has since died and now knows the truth of my stance. Would that others did, too.

Autumn

JMJ. I have a hard time imagining what it must be like to be an atheist. At one time or another I have been a deist, a Buddhist, a Baha'i, a Protestant, and even thought of becoming a Jew. Thanks be to God, I became a Catholic. I look out our office window and see the burning bush turned red, the huge, 100 year-old oak tree turning brown,and can hear the band of Baldwin-Wallace College playing in the near distance. How can anyone deny the existence of God in the midst of this order and this beauty?

The Priesthood of all Believers

JMJ. My friend Charlie is a caution. That's a Southron phrase that means he is so very special. He and I get together for breakfast as often as God allows, mainly for my edification. I value his insights so much! He has been where I am and has survived in spite of it all. It happened most recently this last Thursday.

He always says somthing that causes me to think. This time it had to do with the priesthood of all believers. Now, being a convert to the Church, I accept all that she has to teach. One thing that is so very important is that one attend Mass every Sunday and on Holy Days of Obligation. I accept that and have always done so. But without asking the why.

Romans 12, verse one says that we should bodily present ourselves, sacrificing our time, in worship of Him. This succinctly answers those who say, "Oh, I can worship wherever I am. I don't have to do it in church." Baloney! He spent three hours on the cross on our behalf, it only stands to reason that we can turn off the tube, get out of bed, and travel to where He resides, for one small hour, awaiting our presence.

But what Charlie was saying was so far beyond this. Christ calls us to the priesthood of all believers, perhaps not sacramentally as He does those who take Holy Orders, but to offer ourselves, our prayers, our intercessions, and our sacrifices to Him in conjuction with the priest who presides at the altar. This knocked my socks off! Wow!

It's almost as if we are co-celebrants at the Mass (though NOT sacramentally.) All of our cares, our weaknesses, our prayers, our small sufferings are being lain on the altar just as the water, wine, and bread are! In one swell foop we are transformed from observers to celebrants. This is one of the most amazing things I've had to think about in ages. Thanks, Charlie. God bless you.

On Priests

JMJ. This is the Year of the Priest, as proclaimed by Pope Benedict XVI.

I try to have as much to do with priests as possible. After all, the sacrifice they make in answering Christ's vocation is an awesome one. Jesus has set them apart, made them holy, and has given them His own powers of life and death.

It was recently the ninty-second anniversary of the final apparition of Our Lady of Fatima to the three peasant children in Fatima, Portugal. In passing a priest of my acquaintance at work on October twelfth I said, "Happy day before Fatima, Father." Imagine my surprise when he (a middle-aged man) answered that he didn't pay any attention to such things!

Not pay attention to a church-approved appearance of the Blessed Virgin Mary in a fashion truly miraculous? Let me see--the earth in Fatima that day was completely sodden from several days of constant rain. Some 70,000 people had assembled at the site to witness Our Lady's final appearance. The sun was seen to break through the clouds, descend from the heavens, to spin wildly, and to throw off many-coloured arms of light.

At the same time, the earth completely dried up. Physicists have calculated that for that much water to completley disappear instantaneously would require the energy of an atomic weapon. The antics of the sun were witnessed over an area of 50 square miles. Although Our Lady appeared only to the three peasant children, it was witnessed by all that they were obviously conversing with someone unseen. Many Masons, atheists, and communists assembled there hoping to debunk this miracle were converted that day.

And a consecrated priest of Jesus Christ doesn't pay any attention to that sort of thing? In addition to celebrating our priests we must pray for them. We owe it to them.

Death, Death, and Death

JMJ. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. God forgive me my sins. Many years ago, as a young RN in surgery, I helped with abortions. It assuages my guilt to say that I didn't know any better but I did. I thought I was being so politically- correct. Wasn't it, after all, a woman's right to end her pregnancy which she and another had thoughtlessly begun? After all, didn't society say, "If it feels good, do it?"

But time marches on and I have come to realise that any life, any human life, regardless of the manner of its conception, is of infinite value. I can liken back to those long-gone years and imagine that I hear the screams of the lives which I helped to take. God forgive me. I know now that what I thought then to be correct was reprehensible. I will never forget those silent accusations.

I just recently had a discussion with two fellow workers on the subject of abortion and we agreed up to a point. I said "Never" and they said "Maybe." "Maybe if the baby was conceived in rape or incest. Maybe it would be ok then for the girl to abort."

Linda walked Linus this afternoon. She came in tearful. There was a squirrel, she said, under the oak tree which looked like it was dying. Please do something. I went to look and found a poor animal on its last legs, gasping for breath, its eyes barely open, almost unable to move. Its mate, some feet up the bole of the oak tree chittered at me.

I have a pellet gun. There seemed to be no other course so I went inside and armed it. At this point I could barely see for my tears but I knew what I was being called to do. I went outside and put a shot into its tiny body. The poor squirrel twitched and then died. Even as I write this I can barely see for the tears as I could then.

I have never personally taken a life, human or otherwise, and it was a horrible wrench within me to do so. How can anyone imagine that it is ever right to end any life, born or unborn? I wish that they could have looked down on the poor, sodden sight of that squirrel that I rightly put out of its misery and heard the anguish of its mate. God help us when we lose sight of the value of human life, regardless of how small.

The Light on the Hill

JMJ. The light on the hill is a lighthouse. Lighthouse Catholic Media, that is. When I started these screeds at my friend Charlie's behest I had had no idea that I'd ever be endorsing a product. Well, hundreds of products, actually. Our Lord commanded us to be a beacon that all might find His truth. There are a number of beacons that I've found over my ten years in the Catholic Church. This one may well be the most concentrated as it's composed of so many of my favourites.

Two weeks ago our administrator (who replaced the retired Fr. Keller) announced from the ambo in place of his homily that a series of CD's from Lighthouse Catholic Media (appropriately enough ) would be available for sale between Masses and from a small display kiosk thereafter.

Ok, thought I. I'll take a look but I'll bet they're the usual new-age type stuff. Admittedly, our new administrator seems to be faithful to the teachings of the Church but one never knows. I was blown away at the list of speakers available--several by Scott Hahn, Fr. John Corapi, Archbishop Fulton Sheen, and Peter Kreeft to name but a few!

Alright, I'll invest $20, thinks I. That bought me seven different titles. You won't get that deal on the web-site. CD's or MP-3 down-loads range between 3 and four dollars apiece. Our bunch were gone before the after the last Mass. More were ordered. They're most gone, too. People will just suck up the truth!

Visit these folks at their web-site, plead with your pastors to provide access to this series, get these CD's into the hands of family, friends, and even strangers. It's close to what it must have been like to sit at the feet of the apostles. You will learn more about the truth of our Catholic faith in just a few minutes than you ever thought there was to learn. Guaranteed. Let me know what you think.

Hope

JMJ. On this day, eight years ago, world-wide Islam declared war on the United States. Granted, I consider myself to be a citizen of the Confederate States of America, but the US is where I live so I took the actions of Islam quite personally, as did (and do) so many Americans.

I will never forget as long as I live the stark reality of a blazing, smoking Tower as another airliner appeared on the TV screen and collided with the second.
From that point on, the images became surreal. The sight of the Twin Towers collapsing seemed almost cartoonish by then.

I was numb, all of the folks at work that day who watched in dumb amazement were numb, too. For days thereafter it was almost as if we had been swathed in cotton batting. But most jarring for me were the video footage and pictures from around the world of the jubilation of Islam. According to a good friend of mine who lives in Copenhagen there was gaiety and glee amongst the Danish Moslems. They stopped their celebrations only when threatened with bodily harm by the non-Moslem Danish.

That's what I remember the most--for it was a flagrant declaration of war. All protestations on the part of a very few Moslems in the US and Europe that Islam is a peaceful religion and that this was a heinous attack were lost in the far-greater jubilation.

Today a Moslem doctor with whom I work muttered to himself, "Sept. 11, a horrible day." That was the first time I personally heard a Moslem make such a statement. Perhaps there is a scintilla of hope. But I doubt it.

On Japan--and Being an American

JMJ. This is going to be a long post. You've been warned. And it's not religious, either. I've had foreign attacks on my mind a bit lately as we approach the eighth anniversary of the Al-Qaida attack on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. I can't help but be reminded of the "date which will live in infamy," Pearl Harbor.

I grew up in a wonderful neighborhood in Berea. Very cosmopolitan. Shoot, we had Canadian Catholics next door, two black families on our block, an Italian-American family down the street and a Japanese-American family two doors down. The Yoshizawas. Miss Alice's parents had been born in the US but Mr. Jim was a Nisei--his parents had been born in Japan.

As far back as I can remember we were treated to Japanese food, music and customs. We even learnt how to do a simple Japanese dance. Miss Alice taught the kids in the neighborhood to use chopsticks and to enjoy an abbreviated tea ceremony. It was only as an adult, though, that I learnt that (to our everlasting shame) America had imprisoned its own citizens in concentration camps following the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The Yoshizawas never mentioned this.

And it was only two years ago that Mr. Jim admitted that he had been a Nisei Warrior, one of a unit of Japanese-Americans who had swallowed their anger at America's treatment of them and became the most-decorated soldiers in the US Army during WWII! He's in his 90's now, bent and hard of hearing but still proud. As I am of him.

Japan entered my life again when my younger sisters, Lori and Beth, and my parents were hosts to a wonderful girl, Tokiko Kubota, from Japan. Unfortunately, I was only peripherally aware of her as I was away at college most of the time. Like all teen-agers, the three of them had their frictions but the friendship which started so many years ago has remained alive and vibrant to this day. Toko never forgot to write to Mom and Dad and Lori and Beth and kept them apprised of her life.

She is married now and has two beautiful children and when my Mom died in April they sent a huge and exotic flower arrangement to the memorial service. I know that my parents were almost as important to her as her own. I am privileged to have reacquainted myself with Toko and hopefully we will both be the richer for it.

Which brings us to Pearl Harbor, which should rightly be FDR's infamy. What most Americans do not know, because it has been carefully hidden, is that America brought the attack on by her own actions. Do the research for you won't believe me but American interests in the Pacific were at complete odds with those economic interests of Japan and America did her best to block Japan at every opportunity. We backed Japan into a corner and then were surprised when she chose to fight us.

Even in this we were complicit! The US government, headed by FDR, knew that the Japanese fleet was steaming toward Pearl and against the Navy's own regulations, ordered all the battleships into harbor where they were caught like sitting ducks. Only the carriers were at sea and Roosevelt and his cronies counted on them to form the nucleus for retaliation against Japan. Even Honolulu radio stayed on the air after midnight (when it usually signed off,) acting as a beacon for the in-coming Japanese airplanes.

Should the attack have taken place? I don't know. I DO know that I will never condemn Japan as so many have done down through the years. We called Pearl Harbor a "sneak attack" but when we did the same thing to Iraq a few years ago to bring down Saddam Hussein we called it a "pre-emptive strike." I love this country and supported her by serving in Viet Nam but this is hypocrisy!

I learnt of something just recently that brought tears to my eyes. I read of the supreme sacrifice of a small congregation of Japanese Catholics who gathered in their Cathedral in Nagasaki and in a solemn Mass offered themselves as sacrifices for a speedy end to the war. Moments later an atomic bomb was detonated overhead and the war DID come to a speedy end. THAT, my friends, is the courageous sacrifice that Jesus epitomised.

I will never see Japan in this life but I hope our Lord will allow me to visit sometime in the next. I have no desire to see anything Muslim.

A Sure Path and Politics

JMJ. Senator Ted Kennedy just died. There are many instances of death when I can breathe a sigh of relief and say to myself--that person seemed (admittedly, to me) a good and holy person. That being the case, what is there to worry about in a person's ultimate destination? As an example, the wife of my dear friend, Bob died a while back. She is as godly a person as I am ever likely to meet and so says her husband.

Now, me I'm worried about. Jesus is a Constant in this ever-changing universe, despite what the United Church of Christ has to say ("God is Still Speaking.") I know in the very depth of my being that He will never leave me or abandon me; that to my last, dying breath He will be there at my side. What I'm worried about is that (for whatever dumb reason) I might leave HIM!

Time and again, in many different words, He has told us, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." He is the good Shepherd Who never abandons His sheep. But there are so many ways for the sheep to wander or to stumble. But ultimately I have to trust in Him for His mercy. Which brings me back to Sen. Ted. He left our Lord willingly. He openly espoused a woman't right to abortion, he espoused same-sex marriage and homosexual rights; he espoused foetal stem cell research and euthanasia. Can any right-thinking Christian honestly believe that Jesus would support any of these?

It gives me chills to imagine that I might unthinkingly separate myself from God but that one might do so intentionally is beyond my comprehension. May God have mercy on each of us, especially Ted Kennedy. Please pray for him.

The GPS in Religion

JMJ. It seems that the common GPS device is proliferating with astounding speed. I can certainly understand why, too. I got one not long ago and have only used it three times but it was well worth the purchase price for just the first jaunt. Far more useful, to me, than a cell phone (which I always view with trepidation whenever I use it.)

When I stopped to think of it (actually as I sat down to write this,) I realised that the Catholic Church is exactly like a GPS. "How," you say? I'm glad you asked! What is the ultimate aim of any religion? Basically, it's to get us to heaven. How successful we are depends on the directions our religion gives us and how well we are at following those directions.

Now, if the GPS is programmed correctly, and we follow its directions without fail, we will get to our desired destination. The problem is that so many religions contain less than the fulness of truth given us by the Catholic Church. If you follow flawed directions flawlessly, you may get where you wanted to go but "you take your chances," as it were.

A case in point. A local writer for the "Cleveland Plain Dealer" goes horribly astray every time she talks about the Church. She is, to be most charitable, what one would call a cafeteria Catholic. She wrote ecstatically a few months ago that she had finally discovered the "real" Catholic Church--the one that is all sweetness and light, had dropped many out-dated dogmas, notably purgatory, and generally fits in with her liberal idea of what God should have proclaimed if He had only consulted Ms. B.

She cited Luke 23:39-43. It's the scene on Calvary and the interaction of Christ with the two thieves crucified with Him. Look it up for yourself but I'll paraphrase. Now bear in mind that since Jesus is God and God loves all His creations equally, Jesus loves both the Good and Bad thieves. That's a given. (I don't know how He does it but He even loves me!)

The Bad Thief rails at Christ (whom he hopes can save them both) and says "Get us out of here!" The Good Thief defends our Lord saying that they are both guilty and deserve their punishment but that He is blameless and does not deserve crucifixion. Then he turns to Christs and asks to be remembered when He comes into His kingdom. Christ tells only one that he will be going to heaven with Him. Guess which one? Right. The one who confessed and asked for absolution and pardon. The other did not but God loves them both and sorrows when one must be condemned.

What happened is this. Ms. B. read into that passage what she wanted to believe and decided that she had discovered a new Catholicism tolerates anything and which doesn't need purgatory anymore. She actually proved the wrong thing. This passage shows the need for confession, absolution, forgiveness, and in no way voids purgatory. Let's look at my assertion in more detail.

The Good Thief acknowledges that he is a sinner and deserves whatever punishment is meted out to him. He knows that Christ can forgive him. He then asks for Jesus' forgiveness. In response, Jesus tells him that he is forgiven and that he will go to heaven when he dies. The Good Thief's suffering on the cross is his penance and purgatory all rolled into one. In addition, the Catholic Church has always taught that a martyr (one who dies defending the Faith) will automatically avoid purgatory because of having defended the Faith with his life.

Let this be a lesson--to all of us. Do not try to re-program a GPS that has already been perfectly programmed. Not only may you not get where you want to go, you may have a lot of other poor folks following you!

Friends

JMJ. My dear friend, Bonnie, chided me just recently for not having up-dated this site lately. Since April to be more precise. She had a point and in my own defense I've gotta say that I'd been planning to do so for a couple of weeks. I figured there was no hurry, though, since I'd had precious evidence that anyone's read what I've labouriously written. She answered this comment saying, "I go there all the time but I quit because there was nothing new." Did you ever leave a comment, sez I? "Well..."

Well, indeed. This one's for Bonnie and anyone else lurking out there, too, wondering where in heaven's name I've been. With Bonnie in mind I've been thinking about all the friends our Lord has given me in the course of my wastrel life. First, of course, were my family--starting with a loving mother and father who gave me so much love and support, my brothers and sisters who have propped me up when the going has been tough. (the twins, Lori and Beth, out of a clear blue sky just recently drove all the way down here from Huron, Ohio to bring lunch to my wife whose mother had died a couple weeks ago.) Family doesn't get any better than the one I have. I'm sorry but I'm real partial to mine.

Next, thirty-six years ago I was graced with a loving and only too-understanding wife who has stood by me so staunchly ever since for which I cherish her more and more each day. God knows why. And then there is that rare circle of faithful, obedient Catholics I've met ever since I came into the Church. I won't mention any name but Bonnie's because to do so might leave out someone really important and they are all so important to me. Lord knows there have even been a handful of Protestants! Horrors.

Yes, I have been truly blest and for all of them I say from a full heart, "Deo gratias!"

Mother's Day

JMJ. My dear mother, God rest her soul, passed away this last April 15. It was sudden and unexpected but understood. Mom was not in the best of health. Her daily existence could not have been pleasant. She leaves behind six kids who miss her immensely and 13 grandkids (I believe) who will never understand fully how much she really meant. She left behind, too, a husband, who, though mentally failing, misses her so much.

I was the first of the children, the experiment, I guess. For two young people groping their way through a new life, I think they did a pretty good job. They gave me a deal of intelligence, a questing mind, and a love for the truth though I did not always tell it. I have fond memories of amazing self-sacrifice on their parts. We lacked for no material needs but we did not always have the extras. We were left to our own devices in terms of entertainment. At the end of a long day, there was not a lot of energy left to distract the kids. We entertained ourselves with our imaginations, the bare essentials which God gave us, and all without batteries or electricity.

I must explain the reason why I don't grieve for her. There are general and private revelations. The general ended with the death of the last apostle, St. John. Private revelations continue to the present time. In the 1930's, our Blessed Lord appeared on a number of occasions to a Polish nun by the name of St. Maria Faustina Kowalska. He asked that an image be painted of Him and that a certain set of prayers be prayed to Him at the time of a person's death. In exchange He promised that He would extend the dead person His Divine Mercy--a final opportunity to repent of one's sins.

On the way to Huron, Ohio, after learning of Mom's passing, I prayed those prayers for that Mercy. I'm sure she accepted His offer. Mom was one canny customer and in her own way loved Him very much, I'm sure. She's in a better place now, one where her love and beauty will be appreciated by all the saved, not just her kids and those who loved her so much. Gloria Deo! I love you, Mom.

Memories

JMJ. In a way I wish that I resided outside time as God does. I have so many wonderful memories of my past and I just know that if I tried really hard they would once again be fresh before me. I know intellectually that there are many who grew up in dysfunctional families. Mine was not (to the best of my knowledge.)

I am the oldest of six children, born of Jim and Bonnie Morgan. Dad worked for NASA for so many years, and Mom, who was educated a teacher, raised us by day. Dad early joined, and (I believe) helped form Pack 112 of the Cub Scouts of America. He was an early Pack Leader. Mom was a den leader and devoted a lot of time to our activities. It was she who taught me to drive, Dad being a little too up-tight for such a venture. Mom was always so much more laid-back. She reminds me so much of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I could always go to Dad for whatever I wanted but I knew that I stood a whole lot better chance of getting what I wanted if I went to him through Mom.

My next younger sibling is my brother, Ted, four years younger than I. I vaugely remember holding him as we brought him home from his birth at Lutheran Hospital. I have twin sisters, Lori and Beth, a younger brother, Steve, and a youngest sister, Susan. We don't see each other a whole lot but I know that we are connected in a way that transcends normal channels. We have just lost our Mother and this connects us even more closely.

As busy as Dad was at work, he devoted a lot of time to the Cub Scouts. I have so many happy memories of our newspaper drives and our Halloween candy sales. He taught me woods-craft and to camp out. He taught me so many things, always through a wonderfully wry sense of humour.

Every summer I spent a few weeks with my grandparents in Kalamazoo, Michigan. My fondest memories of those summers were when my next younger brother, Teddy, was old enough to be there, too. We swam in Lake Michigan, ate smoked fish from her waters, and roamed the halls of the Kellogg mansion where Grandma's Red Cross had its headquarters. Mom and Dad had the devotion to give us these memories.

We grew up across the road from a couple (childless) who allowed us to call them by their first names, Al and Caroline. Ours was a neighborhood of diversity unseen by those who call for it now. I grew up next to a family of Canadian Catholics who occasionally took me to Mass. Two doors down there was a family of Japanese-Americans. Mr. Jim served our country during the Second World War. A Nesei Warrior. Miss Alice, his wife, taught me to dance as do the Japanese. I wore a hapi coat and spoke a few Japanese words.

There were two black families on our block in Berea. Down the road there was a whole black neighborhood. Ours was a completely integrated area long before the idea had ever been broached. Long before Martin Luther King, our block had two black families on it and our elementary school was totally integrated. In high school I dated a Jewish girl.

Those halcyon days are long behind me. Polarisation has taken place, the feeble biases of my parents and grandparents have given way to out-right animosity on the parts of so many of my friends and acquaintances. My hope is in the Lord Who alone can unite all of His creatures. I despair of ever seeing that time but I look forward to it. Through Him all things are possible. My hope is in Him.

Ashes to Ashes

JMJ. My beloved mother passed away this last Wednesday at the age of 84. She was an amazing woman. I find it hard to grieve for her, though. I have absolute faith in Christ's Divine Mercy as communicated to us through St. Maria Faustina. Soon after learning of her death, I prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Mom was not a dumb person and in response to our Lord's offer of His Mercy I'm sure she answered with an emphatic "yes!" She resides, I'm sure, beyond a thin veil which separates our life from those who have gone before us. As surely as I write these words I know that she hears me give her my thanks for the life she gave me and the love which saw me through so many dark spots in my life. Through His grace, Mom, one day I hope to greet thee again. I love you now and will always do so. Thank you for everything. Your loving, Jimmy.

Heroes

JMJ. Ed Freeman died in August of 2008 at the age of 80. He leaves behind a legacy that few of these days could emulate. He flew an un-armed Huey helicopter in Viet Nam, and in 1965, at the Battle of the Ia Drang, made 14 landings at LZ X-Ray to remove wounded GI's because medi-vac helicopters had refused to fly into that hell of enemy fire. For this action he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour. Our Lord said, "Greater love hath no man than that he lay down his life for a friend." Mr. Freeman certainly didn't even know these men and was fortunately not called to make that supreme sacrifice. All he knew is that they needed him. He was a volunteer.

Nowadays, who could measure themselves against this measure? Precious few, I imagine. My wife, though, is one. She has had MS for over 20 years. Each day she awakens with numb limbs and precious little energy. Despite this she gets herself out of bed. She transfers to her electric wheelchair and goes about her few activities of the day. She transfers to the toilet, she transfers to the bath-tub, and if she has the energy she occasionally prepares our dinner. If the weather is clement she walks our dog, Linus, and plays with our ferrets, Chloe and Casper.

Contrast these daily acts of bravery with those of a president who believes that the unborn have no rights, that those babies born in spite of botched abortions do not deserve life, and who believes that euthanasia is correct. God help this poor country.

Simon

JMJ. I was looking forward to another Passover, this year in Jerusalem. I can't afford the travel often but the crops were good this year. But the whole city is a-buzz with the foment of revolution. Just a week ago the latest of our "deliverers" rode into Jerusalem on the back of an ass. The crowd strewed palm branches before Him and acclaimed that He was our messiah. Now they want to crucify Him.

Who is this poor man, this Jesus? For heaven's sake, they've scourged Him within an inch of His life as it is! I can't believe He's even able to walk. I know what the cat does with its sharp claws. It's stoked Him bloody raw, how can He even walk? And they expect Him to carry that cross all the way to Calvary? How could God allow this to happen, though?

Poor fellow. That circlet of thorns bites so deeply into His brow I can't believe He can see through the blood that clouds His eyes.

Rufus and Alexander think He's the Son of God. I don't see how that can be. How could God allow His Son to be so mistreated? I wouldn't do this to the lowliest cur of the alleys, for heaven's sake! And the damned Romans expect He's to carry that heavy cross more than a mile? It'll be a miracle if He takes more than a dozen steps before He drops over.

What? Oh, no. I'm not going to help Him carry that! I have nothing to do with Him. I won't be associated with His crimes! I'm a law-abiding citizen, God knows. I won't help Him, however innocent He might be. He can carry that cross by Himself for all of me. Hell, people will think I have something to do with Him. Alright, alright, leave me be.

He can barely breath, let alone carry this thing. Poor man. How dangerous can He be, bleeding and broken as He is? Alexander believes. Rufus believes. I can't see that He's anything special. Except His eyes! I've never seen eyes as eloquent as His. Maybe there's something to His message after all. Okay. "Take hold of my waist. Hold tight. I'll carry this thing and You just follow as best You can."

One step. One step and then another. We'll get there, ok? Hold tight and I'll help. But what do you have to look forward to but an agonising death? Look at those guys behind us. Whimpering. The Romans say that they're thieves. If so, they ought to be here. But not You. It's a shame that you should leave this earth in their company. Come on, hold tight. We're almost there now. You know, this cross is a lot lighter than I thought it would ever be. I'm sorry it was meant for you. You don't deserve it.

It was meant for me, wasn't it? Oh, God! it was meant for me! And He's taking it up instead. I'm so sorry! Forgive me. It was mine all along, wasn't it? Jesus forgive me.

Lent, A Continuation

JMJ. Today is Sunday. I fulfilled my Sunday duty and assisted at Mass. I did so, not because I had to but because I wanted to do so. At the culmination, I made my altar call. (Yes, Catholics have true altar calls, true because we still have altars in our churches.) I approached the altar following the consecration of the bread and wine. I bowed before my glorified Lord in the Blessed Sacrament and answered, "Amen" in response to the priest's statement, "The Body of Christ."

But this Lent has not been the time of rejoicing that I had looked forward to. I have let myself become distracted, by physicians with whom I work who are well-nigh unlovable (to me), by financial concerns that are trying our meagre pocket-book, and care for my dear wife who is struggling with health problems beyond my power to assuage. My shame is that the Lord whom I received this morning does not shine through me. My actions do not proclaim my catholicity. I feel like I am letting Him down when He needs me the most.

I feel like calling out (like He did,) "Father, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" But then I realise that I am His tabernacle and that He carries me when the going is hardest. And I have weeks to go before I am honoured to shoulder a small part of His cross as St. Simon of Cyrene did so many centuries ago. I am nothing only when I have forsaken Him. And that I WILL NOT allow myself to do! Gloria Deo.

Confederate

JMJ. I have written so much about what it means to be Catholic and how being so colours our thoughts and words and deeds. But as yet, so many months after starting this blog, I have not yet written about what it means to be Confederate. There is Truth and there is truth. The first exists, as does God. The second exists only in relation to our surroundings, our thoughts, the world around us, what we have been taught.

I grew up in the north. I was schooled in the north. My values were those of the north. Until I was 45, I never would have guessed that my truth was falsehood and that the Truth existed outside my ken. Just as I never would have guessed that Truth existed only in the Holy Catholic Church. I was taught that the north was right, that Lincoln freed the slaves, and yadda, yadda, yadda.

The Truth is that that the South was right, that she fought to preserve that which was given to us by the Constitution, and that what we have now we can ascribe to the arch-fiend, Lincoln. He it was who plotted the demise of the Confederacy before he was sworn into office, he it was who invaded a legally-seceded South, he it was who betrayed our founding fathers. Of this I am as convinced as I am as that the Catholic Church is true Christianity. This has been proven to me and I am happy to proclaim it. Gloria Deo!

Responsibility

JMJ. I was looking at a crucifix yesterday. It was hand-made by an artisan in Mexico and stands about three feet high and Christ's body is probably a foot and a half tall. It is extremely life-like with flaxen hair and a miniature crown of thorns. There are far more lash marks on His body with all the attendant gore flowing from them than one normally sees. When I first saw this crucifix I thought it was one of the more gruesome artifacts I'd ever come across.

But the older I grow the (somewhat) wiser I become. The longer I gazed on His lowered, dead face the more I came to appreciate the beauty of the image in general and this crucifix in particular. There were peace and serenity in the marks of His suffering. One could see His weight supported by the cruel nails piercing His hands and His feet. It's almost like a lifting of the veil separating our time from that of 2,000 years ago next month.

I'm glad that Catholics use the crucifix instead of the empty cross. (What is there to contemplate in two pieces of wood without the context of His sacrificed body?) Anyway, there I was looking up at Him thinking to myself, "My sins helped put You there, Lord. Forgive me." He (or more likely my holy guardian angel, Cornelius) said, "Whoa. Wait a minute, Jimmy. You helped put Me there?"

Isn't that just like Americans? We are a committee-type society. We use the adage of safety in numbers to spread the responsibility around. I put Him there. That was the message I'd been given. My sins were sufficient to crucify Him. Mine alone! He was scourged, he was crowned with thorns, and His flesh was pierced just for me! To save Jimmy, He had to die. What a sacrifice it is that would serve not just for one lowly creature but for all the billions who have and are and will live. You just can't get that from an empty cross. Forgive me, precious Lord, for putting You there. That's the REAL message of Lent and I finally got it.

Joyous Lent

JMJ. Another Lent is upon us. This coming Holy Thursday will be my tenth anniversary as a Catholic. It has been an incredible journey--one which I hope is just beginning. It's also my favourite time of the year. The rest of the year has been for us. Lent is our gift to our Lord.



Lent is also, I think, an adult's season. Advent and Christmas are easily appreciated by kids but it takes a little more maturity (one hopes) to truly appreciate that period which ends in Easter. Lent, too, is a Catholic season for the most part. I was talking recently with a friend of mine who is an evangelical protestant and I asked him if they observe Lent and he looked slightly amused as he told me no.



What a loss! Calvary culminated our Lord's thirty-three years on earth. He came to us to die. For our sins. And all we can think about is His resurrection which allows us to enjoy heaven? Is something missing here? I guess this is the big reason Catholics use a crucifix instead of the empty cross that the protestants like so much. When I look at that Man hanging there in agony I can SEE what it cost Him to win my redemption. Lent is my golden opportunity to say to Him, "I get it, dear Jesus. Let me offer You a small sacrifice. It's not much but it shows that I get it."

Thank you, Lord.

Patients/Patience

JMJ. The patients I take care of are the only thing linking me to nursing any more. The only thing that makes my professional career worthwhile. There was always the pay (not inconsiderable) and the hours (usually decent), and the stability (usually good.) That doesn't cut it anymore, though. The doctor reigns supreme and everything takes a back seat to him. I thank God for His blessings every day, not least of which is my job (which some Americans can't claim.) After almost 35 years the elan has gone out of it. I live for the patient with seemingly insurmountable problems who needs to know the healing touch of our Lord. Who needs to know that he or she is not alone; that there is someone much greater looking out for his welfare. That's comforting to my patient and it's comforting to me to know that I can remind him of that.

The New Kids

JMJ. Ok. We gave in. Linda and I decided after Hoshi's death that we would forego owning a ferret(s) for some long time. The next day I was on the Ferret Shelter's web-site looking at pictures of the adoptable ferrets. We adopted two, Chloe and Casper, an albino and a huge (for us) cinnamon-coloured boy fostered by a couple in a near-by town. They are dear kids and have made a successful adjustment to their new home. More importantly, they have wormed their ways into our hearts.

Pets seem to me to be God's way of saying to us, "Let's see how you do with these, the least of My creatures." I hope we've passed His test because they are really and truly blessings.