I'm Staying

When I first arrived here, I was at a very difficult point in my life.  For some months I had quite seriously been considering leaving the Society of St. Edmund for a variety reasons into which I will not here delve.  Suffice it to say that I was feeling very discouraged in my vocation.

I recall talking quite extensively with my spiritual director and she kept encouraging me, "Just go to Selma this Summer and see where the Lord takes you from there."  And here we are at the end of my Summer internship at Queen of Peace.  This has been one of the most important and blessed experiences of my life.  I've had so many opportunities to see so much of what Edmundite life entails--the prayer, the community gatherings, the bickering and laughter, the work we do, the people we minister to and with, and the hope in Christ that inspires my brothers to continue being who they are and doing what they do as Edmundites.

For the past few years I had been so focused on how I could give and how I could serve that I had nearly forgotten how to receive.  I just finished going through Henri Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming.  In it he focuses so much attention on how in order to truly love and give we have to first learn to be loved and to receive love.  That is so much of what this Summer taught me.  Sure the work was great; there are so many ministries with which we are involved here.  But what has really been crucial was being clobbered (ever so lovingly, of course) over and over and again with God's overwhelming grace and love.  If there is one word I could choose to describe this Summer it would be just that: graced.  There have been so many little surprising "God moments" in these past few months.

When I first came down here I did not know what to expect, nor did I really know why I came down here.  I just knew I needed to.  Two thoughts on this:
1) I understand now that it was God's loving hand that guided my heart here.  It is God who knows--far more than I ever could--what I need.  And let me tell you, I needed this Summer.  It gave me so much perspective on countless things, my vocation not being among the least of these.  I have been blessed in so many ways that I never would have expected.
2) I'm glad I didn't know what this Summer would entail.  Trying to figure all that out would have just left me grasping at some feigned sense of control.  Another word I could use to describe this Summer is freeing.  When you hit an emotional or spiritual low point, surrendering yourself to God is perhaps the most freeing thing one can experience.  It is such a step of trust.

I recall the feeling of "calm excitedness" that pervaded my life when I first decided to move to the Edmundite House of Formation some years ago.  That notion of being curious, nervous, and thrilled, yet still at such peace.  A good friend and spiritual guide said, “That feeling is more often than not God speaking to us and beckoning us forward."  That is how I feel about this Summer experience. That is how I feel now about being an Edmundite. That is how I feel about going back to the community in Vermont tomorrow. That is how I feel about returning to seminary, doing CPE, and whatever else the Lord may have in store for these next years.

I have a renewed perspective.  I have so much more hope and vision about my vocation.  I have learned again how truly loved I am and how utterly graced my life is.  For this I thank all the people who have been part of my life this Summer, especially Fr. Steve and Bro. Peter, without whose wisdom and guidance I probably would have lost my mind.  And mostly I thank God for one cold day in March in which the idea of coming here was slipped into my mind.

The graves of our three brothers who died this year.

The view from our hotel on a brief vacation.

Sr. Cecile turned 86 this Summer, so we had a party.

St. Paul said to only boast in Christ, but since I'm not
St. Paul I will say that I make a pretty excellent lasagna.

Fr. Steve and I after mass yesterday.

This is our buddy Austin.  He came to mass
every day.  He likes ringing the bells
during mass and scaring the squirrels away
from our bird feeder.

The place I know I can always call my Southern home.

Tomorrow morning I get on a plane to fly home.  I am so excited to see my brothers in Vermont and to be once again in the Green Mountains.  But I am going to miss so much here.  It is difficult to leave, especially once you've settled in.  That is just part of religious life.  People and places pop into your world, sometimes only for a brief period of time, and you learn to love them and eventually let go; though wherever God may lead me next there will always be a special place in my heart for the people, for the Missions, for Selma.

Unexpected prophets

When we hear the word prophet, the almost immediate thought that comes to mind is the typical Greek myth of the Oracle at Delphi, where someone, overcome with a certain... fit of madness... proclaims what is to happen in the future. We get the image of someone who is divinely granted a vision of what will come regardless of the circumstances. The words “fate” and “inevitability” may come to mind with the notion of prophet.

And yet, in the Judaeo-Christian tradition, prophecy means something quite different. The prophet was someone who lived on the fringes of society, a place that according to Sacred Scripture was rather important and even dear to God. How much of the Old (and New) Testament is concerned with care for the poor? The orphaned? The widows? The immigrant?

All those who could be described as marginalized—whether spiritually, economically, physically, or emotionally—are of particular importance to the God of justice and love. For it is here, with the oppressed and the broken, with all of humanity, that God has become flesh and made his dwelling among us. And from here, we hear the cry of the poor. The cry for healing. The cry for justice.

The prophet in the Judaeo-Christian is someone who, living on the fringes of society, abides in a particular closeness to God, the God who takes on human brokenness and brings it in closer to himself. From here the prophet is voice of the marginalized. The voice of those who have no voice due to the powers that be. The voice of justice. It is the prophet who cries out to the leaders and the people that sin is being waged against those incapable of defending themselves. It is the prophet who calls the people back to right relation with God, which in Greek is the word dikaiosune. Often this word is translated simply as justice. But it is something much deeper than that. It means righteousness, integrity, being in right relation with God, being in accord with God. This is the role of the prophet: to live among those marginalized in whatever way and to call out for their dikaiosune.

Today we hear of Jesus' rejection in his home town. The people bicker, “Well isn't that just the carpenter's kid? Wasn't he just a few years ago out in the streets chasing his brothers and sisters? What makes him so special? Does he think he's better than us?”

From this I hope to leave you with a few questions for this day and every day that follows:

First, who are the prophets that walk among us whom we least expect? Who are the prophets we may have grown up with, that we work with, or see at the grocery store? Who are the prophets—those calling us to right relation with God, to dikaiosune—that we may pass by each day as they sit sunken in their poverty, clinging to the slightest, but dwindling thread of hope?

Second, do we, as Jesus shows, not honor the potential prophets in our towns, our workplaces, our own homes? Do we snicker at those who may be called to that path, thinking they will look down on us as if being a prophet was something “better”? Or do we encourage them to follow that vocation? Do we listen to what they say, to how God may be speaking through them to our world, our towns, our homes... to us? Do we allow the Holy Spirit to call forth through our prophets those things in us, in our communities, that need to change? That allow for dikaiosune to enter into our lives?

And finally, what of you? What about each of you sitting here in this chapel? How will you be a voice for the voiceless today, tomorrow, and the rest of this year? How will you be a voice crying out in the wilderness to prepare the way for the Lord? How will you be a witness to the truth that is Christ?

Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and in his own house.”

And he did not work many mighty deeds there

because of their lack of faith.

My favorite place here

I am sitting in a marginally cushioned chair in a window-laden room right off of our dining room.  It gets very hot in here due to the rather significant amounts of Alabama heat and rather significant numbers of windows in this particular place.  Usually I have to turn the air conditioning on for an hour (at least) before the room touches upon remotely bearable.  It is generally as hot, and not on rare occasion, far more hot than a car that has been sitting in the sun all day.  It also takes a tad bit longer to cool down than your standard grade automobile, for it is about two and a half times the length, and five times the height of Fr. Steve's little sedan.

That being said, this is my favorite place in Selma.  It is where I come to read, to write, to pray.  It is here that I sat every morning when I visited during my novitiate (about three and a half weeks) and would watch the birds scrambling and pushing each other out of the way to get to the feeder.  The room overlooks our "yard" which is really just a small patch of grass with shrubs around it to block out some of the noise of traffic and the neighbors who like to blast Biggie Smalls and Lil Wayne all day and night.

This is my thinking spot.  This is my spot.  And it is here that I sit at 7:02 p.m. central time, writing my last homily of my Summer internship at Our Lady Queen of Peace.  Tomorrow, after Fr. Steve proclaims the gospel, will probably be my last time preaching until I am ordained a deacon in some two and a half years or so.  It is bittersweet.

--------------

Two weeks ago, the director of the Southern Mission called Fr. Steve up and told us of a fellow, 50 years old, who for quite some time had received one hot meal a day from our "Meals on Wheels" program run by Sr. Margaret.  He was dying of cancer.  It had initially started in his lungs and then spread all throughout his body, leaving him rather emaciated, frail, and difficult of speech.  What the director specifically told us was that this man had been raised Catholic, gone to Catholic schools all his life, and then one day just stopped going to Church.  The dying man was hoping to get Last Rites--Reconciliation, Anointing of the Sick, and Eucharist.  That is precisely what Fr. Steve did.  Two Sundays ago, on July 21, 2013 at about 11:45 a.m., this fellow was welcomed back with full blessings and much joy to the Church.  He was hardly about to speak due to the advancement of the cancer, but you could see and feel the look of joy, relief, and comfort that he felt in coming home, in receiving Christ again after all this time.

One thing that struck me was that though he had not being going to any Church for quite some time, he was not so lost as might have been thought.  Each time he had surgery for the rapidly progressing cancer, he would come back to a home with no family--they had all either moved away or died--and go to bed.  Each time he had surgery he would wrap his tattered old rosary around his wrist and pray, "I know that even though no one else will be here in the morning, you will be, my Jesus."  All these years away, all those Sundays where he had no spiritual home, and he still had that mustard seed of faith.

The second time we went back to see him he looked even weaker, but there was a certain peace about him.  "My momma had three strokes and a heart attack in the final years before she died.  For the last few months she couldn't even walk.  But never..." (he paused to gasp for air) "... never did she stop smiling.  She had her faith.  That's just the way she is.  And that's what I know I gotta be."

I don't know if we will see him again--either tomorrow or perhaps Monday before I leave--but I praise God that this man was beckoned back to Christ, to pray and be lovingly held by the motherly embrace of the Church.  I thank God that even though he has no blood-relativesphysically at his side, Sr. Margaret and Fr. Steve--his spiritual relatives--are there to see him through until he goes home to his Father.

As weird as this may sound, I think this is one of the most beautiful ministries of the Church: to be there in whatever way--whether that be a funeral, bringing communion, consoling a family, or just listening--for someone who is dying.  Death comes about only on an individual basis.  Even when a bunch of people die at once, it is still individual people who are dying.  And yet, in some way, be it ever so simply, our task is to pray with and for, and even just simply to be with those dying in order that they might know they belong.  Not to some rigid institution or even a group of a few hundred people on Sundays, but to God almighty, to the One who always has been, always is, and always will be Love itself.

--------------

I leave in four and a half days.

What is it to be great?

Christian mothers, like all mothers want to see their children be successful. They want to see them do well in school, to get a good job, to have a family, and to be generally satisfied in life. They want their children to be close to Jesus. To be near him at all times. This is nothing surprising for us.

The mother of James and John wants what most mother's want. She wants to see her sons succeed, and in a more particular sense she wants her sons at Jesus' side.

But there is quite a startling difference in the request of James and John's mother. They seek more than a good life or contentment. They seek to gather glory unto themselves, to be seated on Jesus' right and left, i.e. to be calling the shots alongside the Messiah in his kingdom. They want to secure positions of authority. Fundamentally, they do not understand what this new king is all about.

Jesus, picking up on this quite quickly, notes how typical rulers use their authority in such a way that it makes their subjects feel the burden of power. And then in comes Jesus' deal breaker:

It shall not be so among you.

It shall not be so among you.

Rather, whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant.

Jesus completely flips our conventional notions of power upside down. Nothing he is or does is what we would expect when we hear the words ruler, king, or savior. Look at his life:

He is born in a stable on the outskirts of a town.

He grows up in a family that makes their living with their own hands.

His proclamation as king is an entrance into Jerusalem, not on some majestic war horse, but a mere donkey.

He hangs out with sinners, tax collectors, and the possessed—the societal rejects of the time.

His coronation is mockery and a crown of thorns.

He was crucified as a criminal.

Some king, many scoffed and understandably so.

But this is who Jesus is. And if he really is who he says he is, and who we profess him to be, then this is who God is. This, the traveling preacher and healer who, abandoned by his closest friends, died on a tree, is what God is. And that is radical.

We talk of how incomprehensible the incarnation is, of God taking on human flesh and weakness. And yet, how often do we forget the sheer absurdity—folly to the gentiles, a stumbling block for Jews, as St. Paul says—of what this looks like? The God of all becomes a man? He comes not to praise himself, but to serve others? He dies? And this somehow glorifies the Father?

The very thing we hear James and John request is the very thing Jesus rejected when he was tempted in the desert—stability, security, and power. He does not run around flaunting his authority, telling the world how amazing he is. Instead he goes about proclaiming the kingdom of God, something which takes on flesh in feeding the hungry, freeing those wracked by evil spirits, healing sickness, reaching out to the unreachable. For what is the incarnation other than God reaching out to the unreachable, to the lost... to us? Jesus is a servant. He is the servant. He is what God wants to communicate to us each day, in each moment, in this Eucharist. He is God who is none other than Love in humble service.

The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.

Is Racial Profiling a Reality?

The other day Fr. Steve told me about a white lady, a parishioner of his, who walked out of Queen of Peace to go to the restrooms (they're in a separate building).  In the courtyard there was a black fellow standing there, and as she got nearer to him he quickly looked down and said, "Don't worry I'm not going to kidnap you."  The lady proceeded on to her destination.

Another time Fr. Steve was walking outside and he said hello to a black man who's first reaction was "I'm not going to hurt you."  Fr. Steve paused, with a puzzled look on his face, and asked, "Why would you say that?  Why would you think that I think that you were going to put me in danger?  You're another person and you're going about your business."

And then Fr. Steve told me, "Here and many other places black men in particular are so used to being pegged by whites as violent, dangerous, or criminals, that it has so often become instinct to immediately state something like 'I am safe.  Don't worry.'  How screwed up is this?  That the first thing someone would say, based on the color of the skin of someone approaching them, would be, 'I am not a threat.  I am not going to hurt you.  I am a human being?'  Whether we like it or not, racial profiling is very real and very present in our society, and even in our parish which has been integrated for some 40 plus years.  The fear in that women's eyes as she left church, the presumption of that man that I was afraid of him, says more than you can imagine."

So I ask: why do we as a society uphold this?  Why do people feel uncomfortable walking down a street, walking on their own church property in broad day light, when there is a black man there?  Is it nothing other than racial profiling to assume that because statistically there is a disproportionate amount of black males in prison that any man of color is a threat?  Is this not wildly screwed up?

I know there are very strong feelings about the Martin and Zimmerman trial, but our president, regardless of what you think of him or regardless of your opinions on the verdict, has raised perhaps the most legitimate question concerning the case:

"And for those who -- who resist that idea, that we should think about something like these Stand Your Ground laws, I just ask people to consider, if Trayvon Martin was of age and armed, could he have stood his ground on that sidewalk? And do we actually think that he would have been justified in shooting Mr. Zimmerman, who had followed him in a car, because he felt threatened? And if the answer to that question is at least ambiguous, then it seems to me that we might want to examine those kinds of laws."

Do we really think if that had been the case that Martin would have been acquitted?  Or would he, like so many others, been judged a violent, hostile man who hated white people just because of his skin color?  That is a question no one with a conscience can ignore.


For those of you who did not see the president's full address, I highly encourage reading it:
http://www.cnn.com/2013/07/19/politics/obama-zimmerman-verdict

For those of you who may not think that racial profiling is part of the every day life for countless people, I encourage you to study and to study well the Civil Rights Movement--all that led up to it, occurred during it, and followed after the main push in the 60s until today.  I encourage you, if you ever get the opportunity, to visit the museums, the memorials, the sites of bombings, shootings, and extreme abuses of authority that have haunted our nation, particularly our Southern states in the past and very recent 50 years.  I encourage you to think of what could possibly lead someone to killing young children in a church on a Sunday morning in Birmingham.  I encourage you to question why white folks--men and women--were chased down highways, ran off roads, and shot for bringing blacks to voting registrations.  I encourage you to ask what it is that makes someone want to beat a young man--a professional with a family, an outstanding citizen--within inches of his life, then proceed to tie cinder blocks to him, and throw him off a bridge into a deep river.  I encourage you to read about the lives of the men and women, young and old, lay and cleric, black and white and everything in between, that fought nonviolently for better lives, for basic acknowledgement as citizens for blacks in our country.  I encourage you to read about those ones in particular who gave their lives so that all may have a chance at equality.

Some people wonder why many were so extremely troubled by the Supreme Court's decision to overturn aspects of the Voting Rights Acts of 1965.  To them, I say that racism, racial profiling and hatred is still very real in our country.  Why were certain states' voting procedures overseen by the federal government?  Because people were being fired, threatened, attacked, and killed when blacks tried to register to vote.  Sure, the Klan was bankrupted by a case in which they brutally murdered a black 13-year-old boy who looked at a white woman.  Sure, burning crosses and church bombings are not so much a part of our every day reality any longer.  But do we think, as an NAACP statesmen said, that just because we have elected an African-American president that racism is suddenly over?  That fear of someone based on their skin color is no longer a problem?  That seeing a black male on the street means he is going to rob or attack you?    That the fight against racial hatred is has just magically been won?

Jimmy Lee Jackson.  Shot twice in the abdomen
in February 1965 after trying to defend his mother
who had just been beaten by Alabama state
police officers.

Viola Liuzzo.  Chased down Highway 80
by four Klan Members in a truck.  As the
truck pulled aside her car, they shot her
in the head twice in March 1965.  She had
spent the week driving blacks with no
transportation to the marches.

Viola Liuzzo's car as it was found on the Selma Highway
(Highway 80)

Trips to the Hospital

Seeing someone in their final days on this earth is a rather odd experience.  Twice this week I accompanied Fr. Steve to Baptist East hospital where he was visiting one of his elderly parishioners, who after years of living in a nursing home, had just suffered from congestive heart failure and now has double pneumonia.  The first time we went was to administer the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick.   When we arrived, she was so frail with age and the signs of a heart having given out.  Her words gargled in her throat as she mustered what little energy she could to have a few words with her pastor and then do her best to respond to some of the prayers.  I was merely observing, but it was nonetheless a powerful and even overwhelming experience.  She was still quite coherent and managed to squeak out how she "wanted to go home."

Today, when we went back, she was even weaker and more difficult to understand.  Fr. Steve slowly said a few prayers with her and afterwards talked to the nurse.  Then we parted ways.  Apparently she will soon be leaving the hospital and will return to her nursing home to die.

It is so weird being with someone who is on the brink of death.  And yet, it is such a grace-filled experience knowing that the person has someone there for spiritual support and guidance during this time.  I love the word pastor, which in Latin literally means shepherd, for that role is carried out for others even until their final breath.  The last thing she said to us, after Fr. Steve had told her that the people at Queen of Peace was praying for her, was a quiet "Thank you."  I am not sure if we will see her again before she goes to her eternal rest, but I will never forget the sound and sincerity of those two words.

What defines us?

French philosopher Rene Descartes penned one of the most famous statements in Western history: I think, therefore I am. He understood his existence in that he could use his mind, that he was cognizant. His relation to his being, his sense of self, and of all reality was wholly bound up in the fact that he could think.

But doesn't this pose some issues?

What happens when someone is not as cognizant or smart as, say, Rene Descartes?

What of someone who is severely mentally disabled?

Is the human mind, which is all too susceptible to breaking down in so many ways, really all that makes us human?

Today we heard the familiar story of Moses questioning God as to what he shall tell the people when they ask God's name. The response is quite odd:

I am who I am.

God does not give a name. God does not list some particular attributes. God does not give some sort of description that would allow for the children of Israel to craft an image to idolize.

No. God simply, and yet every so mysteriously, states: I am who I am... and then adds, tell them: I AM sent me to you.

The response is that God is the one who is. The one who exists. Not some other lesser deities, demons, or idols, but God. It also tells us two things that will set forth the story of Israel, challenging them all along the way.

1. God will not be limited by our feeble misunderstandings and attempts to grasp at divinity. When he says, I am who I am, we could almost tack on, and nothing you do can change that, nothing you can do will limit or restrict that I am or who I am.  God is not one who is possessed, but the one who possesses.  And this is a freeing action for us in that we can never fully understand God. We cannot understand the incomprehensible, and we don't have to.
2. This establishes a relationship between God and the people of Israel. Their existence as a nation—their being, if you will—is bound up in their relationship with God. God is the one who will bring them out of Egypt to make them into a people. God is the one who will thwart their enemies. God is the one who will lead them through the desert to the Promise Land. God is the one who is.

And here is the greatest challenge to Descartes' line I think, therefore I am. It is not our thought process or our mental capacities that give us being. It is God. God who IS being itself. We are not defined by I think, therefore I am. We are defined by I am who I am. Who we are is eternally bound up in who God is. Our existence is based on, nourished by, and sustained in the One Who Is.

Is this not good news for all who labor and all who are burdened: that we are not wholly self-reliant, isolated individuals depending only on our own minds and bodies, but in fact on the God of all that is? Is this not the good news, that God is our very source of life? Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves.

A New Pastor

Yesterday was the installation service for Fr. Stan at St. Joseph's parish in Tuskegee, AL.  It was a lovely mass, presided over by the Archbishop of Mobile, Thomas Rodi.  The parishioners are all wonderfully welcoming people and you could see the excitement on all their faces at their new leader. From 1997-2003, Fr. Charlie McNeice served as the first Edmundite pastor of St. Joseph's.  The people were thrilled to have another Edmundite back.

St. Joseph's parish in Tuskegee, AL.

Interior of the Church prior to mass.

Fr. Stan receives the signs of his pastoral care of the parish.

Fr. Mike Cronogue, SSE (Superior General), parishioner,
Archbishop Thomas Rodi, Fr. Stanley Deresienski, SSE,
Deacon Stanley Maxwell. Yes, Fr. Stan has been referring
to himself and the deacon as"Stan Squared."

The Archbishop gave a homily in which he praised the past services of the Edmundites and the pastoral work Fr. Stan has already done in the diocese, and related it to the Gospel reading (the Good Samaritan).  He had a strong focus on how instead of asking who our neighbor is (as the young scribe did) which puts a limit on our love for others, but should be asking, "How can I be a neighbor to anyone in need?"

Afterwards there was a brief reception with a quite marvelous cake.  I do hold cake in quite high esteem.  Then a whole bunch of Edmundites went out to lunch with Archbishop Rodi, Deacon Stanley and his wife.  It was a lovely day.

It's always such a time of excitement when one of our brothers gets a new assignment, for both him and the people to whom he will be ministering.  Our prayers go out to Fr. Stan and the people of Tuskegee as they begin this new chapter in their journey.

How did I get here?

A few days ago Mike (my friend who left yesterday) and I were reflecting on our attitudes, ideas, worldviews, etc. from when we started out college to where we are now.  It was really incredible to hear his story of how he kind of randomly came to St. Mike's without any real idea of what he wanted to do in life, and yet his time there gave him a strong sense of direction (full-time ministry).  Now he'll be shipping off to do a year of service with the Jesuit Volunteer Corp.  When I first started at St. Mike's I was not particularly religious.  In many ways I had fallen away from the faith I had grown up with.  I initially visited by mere happenstance, when I was looking to transfer to University of Vermont and decided to visit a friend who was at St. Mike's.  Life changer right there.

Six years ago this July I drove up to Vermont with parents to sign up for classes.  On a whim I signed up for Prof. Peter Tumulty's Introduction to Philosophy course, thinking it would be a waste of time and hoping to get it out of the way.  Little did I know how this class would begin to lead me down a path I never in my wildest dreams would have expected.

I really fell in love with the all the question asking, the intellectual tradition of Catholicism, and this ultimately led to me examining a lot of questions that had been mulling within my heart for a long time, not the least of which being many concerning God.  Long story short I entered the Catholic Church, and it has been a wild ride since.  Then some years later, with a desire to keep asking (or living) these sorts of questions, I applied to the Society of St. Edmund.  And now, after a year of seminary and a spur-of-the-moment decision that for some odd reason (which I still don't fully understand) I was going to come to Alabama for the summer, I am here.

It's sometimes mind boggling to think about the little narrative of my life during the last six years:
how arbitrarily choosing to visit UVM ended up with stopping by St. Mike's to see a friend, and because of that decision on a -19 degree night in January (and of course a wealth of other ones in between) I ended up here in Selma for what has been perhaps the most important Summer for my life and discernment so far.

Sometimes I get worried about the future, say 20 years down the road: what the Society of St. Edmund will look like, what St. Michael's College will look like, what the Southern Missions will look like.  Then I remember how much has changed and grown in my life in these brief six years.  I am reminded of the tremendous amount of opportunities that have been opened up to me, and often when I least expected them.  I think of all the crazy, terrifying (in the best way, of course), and beautiful things that God may or may not have dance ever so subtly into my life in the next few years.  And then I don't worry so much about where we Edmundites will be in 20 years.  Learning to trust God and to trust the process is a lifelong venture.  On I go.

Mike and me by an African carving of the Blessed Mother & Child
in the Missions House chapel.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.  I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity.  I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”  (Jeremiah 29:11-14)

Another day preaching.

Fr. Steve has me preaching once a week.  Usually I'm doing Thursdays, but this week (due to being in Mosses) I took on Wednesday's readings.  This is generally what the homily iterated:

“Turning away from them, he wept.”

The story of Joseph bears many characteristics of a great story of rivals and of countless actual interactions that are so typical of human life. There is jealousy, there is hatred, there is betrayal. There is a rise in power and prosperity, even to the point of being second only to the ruler of a great empire. There are threats, there is imprisonment, there is fear.

But something is different about this story. Despite the fact that Joseph's brothers were jealous of their father's love for him, despite the fact that they sold him into slavery and told their father he had been slain by a wild animal, despite the fact that Joseph had the power to give them life or death when they unknowingly approached him in Egypt... his reaction is not hatred. He does not seek revenge. Instead we are told the following: “Turning away from them, he wept.”

With the motion of a finger, Joseph could have had his brothers sent away with no food or even put to death. He was one of the most powerful men in the Mediterranean. He could easily have sought revenge, seething with anger and frustration... The anger and frustration he must have felt from being torn away from his beloved father, sold into slavery, brought up in an alien land, wrongfully accused and imprisoned. And yet he cannot even face them. All he can do is turn away and weep.

Literary critic Rene Girard notes that in this action God works through Joseph in a way that both humanizes him and at the same time unmasks the violent tendencies and cycles we so often enter into, when we are filled with jealousy and remorse. Joseph, instead of retaliating, responds with tears of pained love and mercy and joyfully welcomes his lost brothers to Egypt. He cannot bear to see the separation and bitterness furthered. He knows that it must end here.

All this reveals something peculiar about God and how God responds to our sinfulness.

God does not revisit our sins with wrathful indictment.

God does not desire to condemn us when we fall away from the path of righteousness.

And God does not sit there plotting our demise because we have placed something else—whether that be television, the internet, sports, or even at times our loved ones—at the center of our lives while our faith is pushed to the side.

No. God responds to our sinfulness with Christ. Christ who gives himself so fully to us that he would endure betrayal, mockery, and injustice, even unto death before he would ever abandon that love. And still Christ's response is not even primarily about our sinfulness. It is about the communication of who God is to us: one who endures in love even to and beyond death.

Did Joseph's brothers deserve harsh condemnation? By every human standard, yes. That anyone would do such things to another person is horrifying, never mind that it was to their brother. But today we hear that our idea of justice is not always God's, and that it is mercy, that it is Christ, who must take over when our justice falls short.

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I'm really struck by Joseph's response to his brothers and I wonder how this plays into our every day lives, especially here in Dallas County where violence and racism in particular have played such heavy rolls.  How does one respond in mercy to hate crimes?  How does one respond with compassion to murder?  How does one answer the injustices of racism with an enduring love that challenges both the hater and the hated?  And finally how do we, regardless of where we are and in what situations we find ourselves, respond to those who have betrayed us, those who have hated us, those who walk on us, in a way that communicates the undying commitment of Christ to all?

Well it's been some time, blog...

While not too much is going on at the parish this time of the year, we've managed to stay quite busy.  Last week we visited Fr. Dave Theroux in New Orleans.  As he is covering the parish for the Summer, he is there by himself, so we went down to spend some time with.  It was really a blessing and, in fact, probably the best time I've had of my three trips to the Big Easy.  Basically we just hung out, went out for dinner, went to see the Long Ranger (which was hilarious, might I add), and had prayer and mass together.  It was so simple and yet so great to see him.

Friday a very good friend of mine flew into Alabama to spend a week with us at the Southern Missions.  He's had a good overview of the parish, our community life here, some of the Southern Missions sites, and the Civil Rights movement.  Monday afternoon we went into Montgomery to see some historical places: Martin Luther King's church, the capital, the first Catholic church there, City of St. Jude, and the Civil Rights Memorial/ Southern Poverty Law Center.  Every time I go to one of the Civil Rights museums I am still blown away by all that happened.  How much senseless violence and murder there has been in the last 50 years, and just because black citizens wanted the most basic of rights: to vote.  Sometimes I kind of forget that the KKK had no qualms killing white folks who supported the Civil Rights movement, sometimes just to inflict fear.  The Montgomery memorial/ Southern Poverty Law Center, which is quite extensive, focuses primarily on the lives of 40 people who were murdered under no provocation during the Civil Rights struggle.  One thing that really struck me was the amount of security there.  There were guards outside on the street and at the entrance.  There was a full body metal detector we had to go through once we were in the building.  This is because they still get bomb threats.  Incredible.

Tomorrow we're heading into Mosses to help out with the Summer program for middle school kids.  It should be good to get back there and I'm very much looking forward to seeing Sr. Rosemary again.

On a more leisurely note, my friend and I ventured to Prattville (50 minutes away) to eat at Southern Living's top rated BBQ joint in Alabama.  It's called Jim 'n Nicks.  Let me tell you, it was incredible.  Never have I had such tender and flavorful beef brisket.  Also, hands down the best baked beans my taste buds have ever witnessed.


And now for some online literature!

Montgomery Civil Rights Memorial:
http://www.splcenter.org/civil-rights-memorial

Jim 'n Nick's:
http://www.jimnnicks.com/

Settling in

This point in any new adventure always comes: that time where everything seems to settle down into a pretty consistent groove.  The time where the novelty of a new situation has become slightly dulled.  The time where you begin to accept the reality of the situation you're in and begin to crave something new and exciting.

I've grown much more accustomed to the pace of things here: to the fact that I am a minority, to the reality that racism and poverty are not things that will just go away.  I've become much more comfortable in the parish--the new found role of Master of Ceremonies, working with finances, the excessive amounts office work, and even preaching on occasion.  This is entirely normal, and God is teaching me to grow in that.

What do I mean by this?  Well it would be quite easy to slip into a simple routine with all this: go to prayer, set up for mass, go to mass, go to the office, visit a few people, come home, pray, eat, sleep, do it all again.  And yet I am challenged to something more.  To seek God in the mundane, the everyday.  To realize that my life, no matter where I am led or what path I choose, will not be one of constant thrills.  It is here, at this very moment where everything seems to be quieting down, that I need to enter more into prayer.  There is still so much to learn and especially from the calmness and alone-ness of the day in/ day out.

One thing that has been troubling me lately is learning how to love those whom you know you will only be around for a short period of time.  How is it that I give myself to people that I will see on a regular basis for another five weeks, that is when I head back home?  This question is crucial, especially for those considering, entering, and in religious life.  The reality of my life as an Edmundite is that I will never know for sure how long I will be at any given assignment.  Life has so many unexpected turns that can change any number of things in a matter of minutes.

Fr. Steve became the Southern House superior and the president of the Southern Missions, Inc. when Fr. Mike died so suddenly.  Fr. Steve didn't expect to hold either of these positions and didn't even want them, but he took that step of faith and took up the reigns.  Things can change in a moment.

I recall Bro. Frank Hagerty telling me that when he was in a program preparing to become a retreat and spiritual director, he lamented the fact that he would only get to be in the presence of the wonderful people in the program for less than a year.  He said, "At one point I told them, 'I don't care that we only have eight or so months together, and I understand that most of us will never see each other again, but that just means I'm going to enjoy the heck out of you guys while we're together!' We did just that, and to this day, it is one of my favorite years."

Teach me, O Lord, to learn to love those whom you bring into my life and those into whose lives you bring me, be it ever so short a time or perhaps even the whole way along this venturesome pilgrimage to you.  Amen.


Off to New Orleans we go in the morn!

Pace adjustment: Alabama weather, a feisty basketball net, and visiting

Friday at noon we came home for lunch.  It was 95 degrees out and full on sun.  45 minutes later, when we headed back out, there were torrential downpours and wind so strong that it it was knocking trees over into the street.  Visibility while driving was poor to say the least.  Anyways, when the storm ended about 15 minutes later (as storms are won't to do in central Alabama), the temperature rested at an overwhelmingly pleasant 73 degrees.  O sweet blessings divine!  It felt like Summer in Vermont.  At least for two hours until the heat crept back to the upper 80s.  The treat was enjoyed while it lasted.

Things have been quite calm at the parish.  A lot of people go away for vacations while their kids are out of school, and especially around July 4th.  So numbers are down a bit, which is quite normal.

Some advice: don't ever** get your kids, nephews or nieces, or anyone you know a basketball net.  Especially if you live in Alabama.  Especially if you live in Alabama and it's the end of June.  Sr. Nancy asked Fr. Steve and me if we could set up a basketball net St. Edmund's Learning Center had purchased for their Summer program.  We figured it'd be a breeze.  Incorrect.  First of all, it was not something one would just look at and figure out.  There were about 753.297 kinds of bolts and screws.  Second, the directions were about as clear as mud.  They'd tell you what screw to put in which slot and then there would be no screw at all that appeared as such.  The base was a particular struggle.  We had foolishly attached the wheels at the outset and then proceeded to attempt the main support.  This resulted in the base rolling all over the place as we begrudgingly tried to hold it still.  After we got that on, we realized we hadn't put the washers on, so the screw would just tear through the plastic.  Thus we undid it all and put it back.  Then Fr. Steve shouts, "Uh oh!"  Apparently we had forgot to attach the secondary supports which connect diagonally to the pole.  At this point we were pretty much ready to throw the whole thing out the window, but alas, we were already outside.  So once again we unscrewed the bolts, with the base wheeling all over the place and sweaty hands dropping the wrenches.

After an hour and a half in the 93 degree weather we had nearly finished when this one bolt remained that refused to go in place.  One would need robotic precision to do this.  Eventually we left the task be and decided it would be better to get a massive bolt that would actually work for someone with reasonable to exceptional hand-eye coordination.  That will be tomorrow.

Tuesday Fr. Steve and I are heading once again to New Orleans.  Fr. Dave Theroux, SSE is serving as a transitional administrator/ pastor at St. Peter Claver for the Summer, so we will go down to spend some time with him.  It should be a good time.

And then Friday, a very good friend of mine, who recently graduated from St. Michael's College and will be doing a year of Jesuit Volunteer Corp starting in August, will be coming to stay with us for a week.  We have so much to show him, so much history to tell him about, and so much good food to eat!

I believe Fr. Stan will be coming to Selma in a little bit to spend the evening and his day off tomorrow. I am preparing dinner, so off I go to the kitchen.

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**I would only suggest getting a basketball net for someone if 1) you have a lot of patience, 2) you read directions and stick with them, or 3) you are not going to be the one setting it up.  This whole experience gave me a whole lot appreciation for my dad and all the parents who have labored over setting up one of these darned things!

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

This week marks the halfway point in my Summer Pastoral Internship at Our Lady Queen of Peace.  In six weeks I will get on a plane that will take me to Washington, D.C. and then another that will bring me home to Vermont.

A few thoughts:
It's hard to believe I've been here for six weeks.  In some senses the time has flown by.  Weeks seem to speed by in ministry.  It was not long ago that I was in New England finishing up school and then running madly about Vermont attending various meetings and seeing as many friends as I could in the three days before I came to Selma.  That being said, it also feels like I've been he much longer than a month and then some.  Part of this is because the community--the Edmundites, the Mission Office staff, the Sisters, the parishioners--all make you feel so welcomed.  You fit in right off the bat and everyone is thrilled to make you a part of their lives.

Seeing, living, and working among the poverty and racism that is so prevalent here has been eye opening.  I've heard so many stories of people whose lives are almost entirely out of their hands.  For some the only hope they have is their faith and the meal they get each day from the Edmundite Center of Hope.  For others, the reality of racial divisions and hatred still rule and leave downtrodden many of the folks in this area.  My initial reactions to these issues were shock and disbelief.  Shortly after came anger, bitterness that we live in societies where people hate each other so, solely based on the color of their skin.  It is immensely frustrating to see that public schools are almost entirely black, and private schools are all white.  And it is even more frustrating to see that the public schools are terrible concerning education, funding, faculty, and programming.  But this all culminates in a hope that inspires me: that things can change and grow, that black and white brothers and sisters can overcome the centuries of barriers that have for so long divided the body of Christ here in Selma.  I see this hope in the work of the Southern Missions, Our Lady Queen of Peace, young professionals associations, and all the folks who are sick and tired of this segregation.

It is incredible how something we so often take for granted makes a world of a difference to someone who cannot take such a thing for granted.  As I've written a handful of times, one of the most inspiring things this Summer has been bringing communion to the home-bound and those in the hospital.  Yes, we bring Jesus in the consecrated bread to them, but just as importantly we bring the presence, the Body of Christ that we represent and are--our very own presence--to them.  Those so disconnected from the ecclesia, the gathering, who are not able to join with the Church on Sundays due to sickness, infirmity, and poverty, have the Church brought to them.  It is a beautiful moment to witness and be part of.  That is something I will take with me always, wherever God may lead me in my vocation.

I am developing better prayer habits.  My prayer life has been more consistent.  That is not to say it's all been a joy or all resulting in overwhelming experiences of the Divine, not in the least.  There have been some very dry, seemingly fruitless, and even very painful times, but prayer has been the foundation of my life these past six weeks. I know that has been crucial in my development and will be just as necessary as I continue on.

Living in community has been incredibly affirmative of my vocation.  As some may know, it was extremely difficult for me being disconnected from the Edmundite community at large during the school year.  It was very trying and left me quite exhausted at times.  Living--praying, celebrating mass, eating, recreating, quibbling over household matters, adjusting to new situations--with the other Edmundites here has been a tremendous blessing (as much as a certain Brother mocks my laugh).  It gives me hope of what community life is and direction of where it can go in the future.  In so many ways this is perhaps the most important thing I've experienced while here.  Not to put qualitative value on everything, but this area was where I had been struggling the most over the last year.  So far this experience has been precisely what I needed.

All of this leads me to reflect on why I originally decided to come down here.  In the early Spring I was all set to go to the Middlebury Language School to study French this Summer.  The intention would be to prepare myself to do historical work for the Society of St. Edmund (a large amount of our documents in the archives are in French).  A few months had gone by since I had initially applied in the midwinter, and something was not sitting right.  One day as I sat in class I thought, "Gee, I am not going to go to Middlebury.  Fr. Steve would probably be a great guy to work with this Summer."  Upon approval from my superior I called up Fr. Steve who was enthused at the possibility and quickly drew up an outline of what we'd do.  It was all very spur of the moment.  Something about it, despite all the challenges I knew I would face, felt right.  I knew I had to take a step of faith and I knew that I had to have very few expectations of what the Summer would entail.  My approach when I got here, and it remains still the same now, was to simply be open to whatever the Spirit may bring to the table.

That is what has lead me to this point.  That is why I am here now with a clearer sense of vocation, of direction, of hope, and of purpose.  I know not what the next six weeks will entail and still less the following year.  But I am willing to keep walking--at times just stumbling along by God's good grace--this path.  And see we shall where this curious adventure leads!

So far, so good.

Things are changing and growing in the Southern Missions

So there have been quite a few shifts going on here in the South over the course of the last few months.  Fr. Dick Myhalyk was recently named pastor of St. John the Baptist parish in Montgomery.

St. John the Baptist

He is now living with Fr. Paul McQuillen who is pastor of the City of St. Jude (Montgomery).  For those of you unfamiliar with City of St. Jude, it is a large complex consisting of a parish, hospital, senior housing, and high school.  When the marchers from Selma arrived at Montgomery in 1965, St. Jude's was the only place that 1) could fit all the marchers, and 2) was willing to let them camp on their property.  Fr. Paul is the president of the whole operation and has recently been selected as co-principal of the high school.

City of St. Jude parish

Fr. Stan has become the pastor of St. Joseph's parish in Tuskegee.  This is about two hours away from Selma and an hour away from Montgomery, making the latter a good meeting point for all of us here.  Fr. Stan will be overseeing the parish school as well.

St. Joseph's School

The Southern Missions also has some fascinating plans in the making.  Though nothing is finalized as of yet, the director is crafting some great works that will expand the Edmundite Center of Hope, particularly the Bosco Food Kitchen.  He is also working with the city to establish a way to reach out and help provide for high school students, in hopes of breaking some of the cycle of a place plagued by terrible education.

After Fr. Mike died, our superior general named Fr. Steve superior of the Southern House (Selma, Montgomery, Tuskegee, and Englewood, FL).  He is also now acting president of the Southern Missions, Inc.  This will mean quite a bit of increased responsibilities, but he is up for the task.

It is inspiring to me to see how, despite small numbers among us Edmundites, we work and associate with other people who really help to get things moving.  It also gives such witness that our men are so willing to pick up and adapt to new ministerial settings, and often particularly challenging ones.  The parishes Frs. Dick and Stan are now in charge of need some very serious work largely due to neglect from previous pastors and administrators.  But as Fr. Steve said, "The diocese knows that if anyone in the area can turn these places around, it's the Edmundites.  We have the connections and a long history of success here.  We've done it before, and with God's grace we'll do it again."  That is the kind of hope we need!

Speaking of Montgomery being a good central meeting point for us all, we are off to have an early dinner with the other fellows.

A New Assignment

Yesterday was a first for me.  Fr. Steve had me preach at Mass.  It was really quite an experience.  I got a lot of positive feedback from parishioners and plenty of constructive criticism from Fr. Steve.  For the rest of the Summer, I will be doing the homilies at Thursday morning liturgies.

The text:

One of my Scripture professors in seminary always says, “If you aren't ticking someone off, you probably aren't doing the right thing.” Though we may chuckle at this seemingly simple phrase, something about it rings true.

In our reading from Second Corinthians, Paul relates the many hardships he has endured for the sake of the Gospel. He was beaten, whipped, imprisoned, and shipwrecked. His life was threatened by foreigners, and it was threatened by his own people. It seemed everywhere he went, he faced opposition or outright persecution. This leads me to ask: what does it mean to be persecuted or to suffer for the sake of the Gospel in our modern times? And how, in the face of this, do we give witness to our faith and hope that is Jesus Christ?

While some more well-known topics may come to mind, such as Christians kidnapped and imprisoned in Syria, or the possibility of governments infringing on religious liberty, let us focus on a few examples that come a bit closer to home.

When the Edmundites first came to Selma in 1937, they had only a car and less than $100. The two priests did not know Southern or black culture. They did not know the political and racial tensions that were so prevalent. And those tensions showed their teeth. In the 1950s, our brothers woke up one more to signs posted on various Edmundite properties, bearing the ominous message, “The KKK is looking at you.” As the Civil Rights Movement progressed, Fr. Maurice Ouellet came to be known as a man so committed to the African-Americans of Selma and sharing the Catholic faith with them, that he would eventually be on the Klan's list of people they most wanted dead. And just a few years ago, Fr. Michael Jacques fought alongside city officials to shutdown a nightclub where shootings and murders were consistently plaguing their New Orleans neighborhood. When the club was finally closed, the owner's lawyer begrudgingly claimed it was something that would “make the priest happy.”

“If you aren't ticking someone off, you probably aren't doing the right thing.” This is not to say that we should go out of our way to annoy people—to drive our family members crazy, to badger our neighbors. But it serves to remind us of how being a disciple of Jesus, living as he lived, and loving as he loved, will inevitably stir up the pot a bit.

St. Paul concludes today's reading by saying that he will only boast of one thing: that which shows his weakness. This is odd. Why would anyone, never mind the greatest of all missionaries, choose to proclaim those things that reveal one's weakness? For it is in our weakness, our frailty, our suffering, that God's strength reaches its fullness. It is not our possessions that save us. It is not the money or power we gather that will save us. It is Christ alone, taking on frail human flesh, who saves us; Christ alone, hanging broken on a tree, who is our strength.

As we celebrate this Eucharist, let us ask ourselves how we can better make Christ our heart's treasure, so that we may have the strength and courage to bring his love to all we meet this day.

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Last Fall a good friend asked me what I most looked forward to in my future ministry.  My response was, "Preaching.  The Edmundite charism, as defined in our constitutions, is to work for the glory of God and the salvation of neighbor through preaching.  It is such a unique opportunity to speak to peoples' hearts about the faith, hope, and love we share in Christ."  But the real challenge is to live our lives in ways that reflect what we proclaim, less end up blowing a whole bunch of rhetorical hot air.  

My question for myself and for all who read this blog: are we giving such witness to the life, death, and resurrection of Christ that it is causing a stir in the lives of those around us and in our own?  

Where I Live

Well as of now, a handful of people, particularly some curious relatives, have asked just where it is I'm living this Summer, so I figured I'd do a brief post about it.  Three of us,--Fr. Steve, Bro. Peter, and I--live at the Mission House.  You can click on all of these pictures for a larger view.  This is what it looks like from the street:

The building four Sisters, who work for the Southern Missions, live in.  It's right behind our house.

St. Edmund's Memorial Chapel (formerly St. Elizabeth's, the black parish until 1971) is connected to the Mission House.

The church building is now divided into three parts consisting of a meeting room (not pictured), our house chapel...

... and the community room where we do things like watch the news, play cards, and listen to Bro. Peter make up lyrics to Mexican songs.

Our lovely front yard.

This is directly across the street from the Southern Missions, Inc. offices.  Oh hey, offices.  Didn't see you over there!

A block away is the Edmundite Center of Hope.  Here is located the Bosco Food Kitchen, which serves free lunch 365 days a year, youth and adult education programs, and the offices for financial assistance.  I'll upload a picture of this some other time along with the St. Edmund's Learning Center.  It'll be something for you to look forward to.

These two fellows, Fr. Myhalyk (former director of the Southern Missions, current pastor of St. John the Baptist parish in Montgomery) and Fr. Steve (former outreach director for the Missions, current pastor of Queen of Peace parish) oversaw the construction of the Center of Hope.  They're good guys.

Here is a modest shot of our library.  There are many wonderful books in here, and I absolutely adore libraries.

Finally, this is a hallway that goes alongside the entirety of St. Edmund's Memorial Chapel.  It is a nice place to pray, read, or reflect on your day.

And hey, we're on Facebook.  Check us out!
https://www.facebook.com/edmundite
https://www.facebook.com/EdmunditeSelma

O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?

Today we had the funeral and burial service for Bro. George Huyer.  His brother and sister-in-law drove twelve hours from Florida to see off their beloved brother.  They are spunky people, both approaching the age of 90, yet with quite the amount of energy and wit.  It was a small service with five Edmundites and the two family members, but it was heartfelt and provided much peace for George's relatives, who were so grateful for everything.  They will be joining us for lunch before they begin their journey back to Florida.

One thing that has been very important for me is seeing how important ritual is when it comes to death.  It provides a sense of closure and solace.  George's family commented on how he finally looked so much at rest and how he even was smiling a little.  The consistency of the mass also helps place the loss of a loved one in a familiar context, and it is a blessing to see how these deaths, whether expected or not, fit into what is part of our daily or weekly lives.  The Eucharist gathers us together both in life and in death.  As Fr. Steve spoke in his homily, "Death is not the end of the story for the Christian.  It is the middle.  It is the place at which we wait in joyful hope for the Resurrection."  And that may be the most important part of the rituals surrounding death: the reminder--the hope and the promise--that death does not have the last word.  St. Paul wrote to the Corinthian community, O death, where is your victory?  O Death, where is your sting?  But thanks be to God who has given us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.

As we celebrated the lives of our brothers Michael and George over the last few weeks, I am reminded of how fragile life is, of how unexpectedly death may come and we be welcomed into our eternal home.  I am reminded of the great works these men accomplished through Christ during their lives on this earth.  I am reminded that Christ loved us unto death, and that we share that very same calling.  And I look forward with hope--for our departed brothers, for their families, for our Edmundite community--knowing that death indeed will not have the final say.  I think we've buried enough Edmundites for one week.

Bro. Francis (George) Huyer in his younger years.

Bro. George & friend.

Bro. George Huyer, SSE
1921 - 2013

Well done, my good and faithful servant.

This weekend we remembered the life and works of a giant.

Today we bury our brother.

Rev. Michael Jacques, SSE
1948 - 2013

I'm going to put on my robe, tell the story how I made it over...

This weekend was intense.  Frs. Stan and Steve, Bro. Peter, and I drove down to New Orleans for Mike's wake and funeral.  We arrived a little before dinner time on Thursday just as Msgr. Jim Robinson, SSE pulled into the hotel parking lot.  What a joy he was!  I had not met him before then.  I've known few folks as jolly as he, and he was so excited to see all of us.  We went out to a little Cajun restaurant and had way too much spicy food.

The wake was Friday.  For 6 hours straight people came in to view Michael's body and say last goodbyes.  It was incredible how packed St. Peter Claver was.  The wake was absolutely beautiful.  The choir, Voices of Peter Claver, is out of this world.  The sang stunningly.  When they sang I Shall Wear a Crown I couldn't keep it together.  There's just something about those lyrics that are just so the story of Michael being welcomed to his eternal home.  "I'm going to put on my robe, tell the story of how I made it over, soon as I get home."  It was so emotional.  For me the hardest parts was seeing Msgr. Robinson, who the day before had been laughing and joking and smiling to no end, crying during the service and saying, "Mikey was too young for this.  He was just too young."  Bishop Fabre, Michael's closest friend in New Orleans, gave the homily during the wake.  He is generally quite reserved, even when Michael would be sitting there poking all the fun in the world at him, and he'd just smile and say, "Mmmm that's nice Michael."  He made it almost all the way through the homily, but during the last two minutes he broke down and wept as he said his last goodbyes.  It's so hard to watch someone part ways with a best friend.  That was the other thing that made me break down.

The funeral was incredible.  The entire church was packed.  There wasn't even standing room.  The school auditorium, in which they had a live feed of the funeral, was completely stuffed.  There must have been at least 100 priests from the diocese there, never mind the Edmundites, and members of other religious orders. One of the most striking things was the entrance of the pall-bearers.  They came in with the top of the casket, while the choir sang I Shall Wear a Crown.  They weren't dancing, but each step they took they'd stop together and then step again.  It was so rhythmic and ritualistic.  They did the same thing as they headed out in the procession.  Fr. Dave Theroux, SSE gave a terrific homily, in which he nailed Mike's ministry and life on the head and urged the community of Peter Claver to continue what Mike had so marvelously begun.  The archbishop of New Orleans had nothing but the kindest words when he spoke.  He was very impressed with Michael as a person, a religious, a priest, and a pastor.  "Let me tell you, never once did I go to a city meeting where Michael wasn't there putting up a significant stink about the injustices of the poor," he reported.  "He was their voice, their advocate."  After the funeral, as is the tradition in the passing of rather significant figures in New Orleans, a horse-drawn buggy brought Michael's body throughout the Treme neighborhood, led by a jazz band, and followed by hundreds of people--families, parishioners, priests, even the four bishops fully vested.  "It was a hell of a sending off," Fr. Steve said as we headed home to Alabama.

The burial will be here in Selma tomorrow afternoon.  There will be a big group of folks coming up from New Orleans, including Bishop Fabre.  Fr. Steve will lead the graveside service.

We just received word that Bro. Francis (George) Huyer, SSE passed away from cancer today.  He was the oldest member in the community.  I never met him, for he had been in a nursing home in Florida since before I entered novitiate.  We're having a funeral for him on Wednesday at our chapel in the Mission house.  "Well, you sure are getting a lot of experiences of funerals," our superior general said to me today.  I think this will be enough for awhile.

On a brighter note, I am so glad to be home.  This weekend was draining and it's good to get back to the parish and ministry here.  It's also splendid not sleeping in a hotel.  The community life here truly is a blessing.

Some news: Fr. Stan will be moving out of the Mission House on Wednesday.  He is becoming the pastor of St. Joseph parish in Tuskegee, AL.  I will miss his presence, though we'll still see plenty of each other this summer!

And now, here's one of my favorite songs ever:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5rJ9ciH4OM