O Holy Night

As I was driving last week listening to the radio I listened to the last half of Celine Dion's version of "O Holy Night." (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsWUWzai8P8).

This is one of my favorite Christmas songs. While her version is not my favorite, I think Josh Groban still wins that, I absolutely love how the song builds, swelling, and stirring to life a deep longing from within. I've truly spent countless hours listening to various versions of the song, Dion's, Groban's, former students, the West Wing, whether driving, sitting at a desk like I am now, or walking across campus in the evening with headphones the song never seems to disappoint. 

So as I was driving I was surprised to find myself listening to the song as if for the first time. Specifically, at the two-minute and forty-five-second mark. At this point, the song proclaims, "And in his name, all oppression shall cease." Even without needlessly capitalizing the H in him I think anyone reading this knows that the him the song is referring to is Jesus Christ. The man whose birth we celebrate on December 25 each year. In his name, all oppression shall cease... 

Yet for the last week as I find myself listening to the various versions of a song I love or randomly throughout my day I cannot help but feel the nagging lingering thought of when did we lose sight of that idea. When did we stop believing that in Christ's name all oppression shall cease? 

For two thousand years organized (Christian) religion has oppressed people. Yes, of course, there have been innumerable acts of love, kindness, and good as well. Yet the at times haunting truth of the matter is that in who's very name all oppression should cease it is in that very name that religions themselves and religious people have oppressed and continue to oppress. 

From claiming Christian love to the ludicrous notion of hate the sin love the sinner his name in which all oppression will cease has been a name of oppression. 

This Advent season I plan to continue to let this question bother me. I plan to continue to feel uncomfortable and wrestle with the reality that at some point, perhaps from the very beginning, we lost our understanding and even a belief that in his name all oppression shall cease. 

Nature is Trying to Teach Us.

The back cover of the book succinctly states, "In Ask the Beasts -- Darwin and the God of Love, bestselling author and leading academic Elizabeth A. Johnson expounds upon the notion that love of the natural world is an intrinsic element of faith in God and that far from being an add-on, ecological care is at the centre of moral life." 

Having read this book during my second year of grad school I remember finding the book to be somewhat of a letdown, yet even so 4 or 5 years later I still find myself regularly talking about or at the very least reminding myself to "ask the beasts." 

Yesterday I was reminded of this idea and had the thought while driving to Grand Haven. It was about 5:30pm the sun was setting and the trees along the highway were beautiful. Fall truly is a beautiful time of year in West Michigan and the various changing colors of the leaves did not disappoint last night. 

As I drove and looked at the trees I couldn't help but marvel at their beauty, even those couple of trees completely bare with no leaves at all anymore were stunning. Then came this nagging sensation deep from within and pressing to the forefront of my mind...Nature is trying to teach us something. These trees standing tall and proud some with beautiful leaves others with bare branches and still others covered with evergreen pines...they are trying to teach us something. 

Every year as nature goes through her cycles she calls out to us, she subtly and sometimes not so subtly hints to us that it is ok to let go. It is ok to change and grow. It is ok to be burdened at times and droop, it is ok to go through our own seasons of life, growth, decay, and even death. 

If we are willing to take a moment, to "ask the beasts" to listen to the trees, to pay attention to the natural world around us we may just be struck dumb with how much nature is trying to teach us. As I sit writing this I greatly look forward to time spent this weekend being still and listening to and watching nature as she tries to teach me. 

Peace and Blessings Always 

~M

"Listening is an art that requires attention over talent, spirit over ego, others over self." ~Dean Jackson

Quote taken from Dominican Center at Marywood Facebook page's post from July 26, 2021 

Picture taken on campus by me. 

His Name Was Kevin

 The other day I was driving to get Chipotle and my heart skipped a beat. I thought I saw a woodchuck on the side of the road. I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed that it was actually just a sofa cushion. That was until 3 days later when driving home from a trip to get some much-needed ice cream I did see a woodchuck on the side of the road. Normally roadkill doesn't have this kind of effect on me and wouldn't warrant a reflection like this. More often than not I barely even notice it/quickly look past it. Yet this was different. It was different because his name was Kevin. 

You see just over a year ago as I was getting settled into a new job in a new city I looked out my office window on the backside of the residence hall to a tree line. Between the building and the trees, there was Kevin. I didn't know that was his name at first, but by the time he came to visit the second time I was positive, his name was Kevin. 

As the weeks and months went by I saw less and less of Kevin behind my building, he wasn't a fan of the golf carts grounds and facilities would drive back there. But then I noticed in a little green triangle of grass surrounded by trees elsewhere on campus Kevin found a new space to hang out. Sometimes I even noticed that there were two or three woodchucks there... Yes, all Kevins. 

I've never been a huge fan of woodchucks before (although there was a time when it was the only hard cider I would drink), they're not my favorite animals, that title is held by the majestic moose. Nevertheless, whether it was because I was in a new space having hardly met anyone yet Kevin and I bonded and I was truly saddened to see him by the side of the road. His name was Kevin, he was my friend, and I will miss him. 

An Extraordinary Sunday

This past Sunday was the first on-campus Mass for the new academic year. Having enjoyed a relaxing summer where I didn't have to spend my Sunday evenings preparing for Mass I arrived extra early to make sure everything was prepped and ready... I really wanted to be able to double and triple-check everything just in case I managed to forget everything over the summer break. 

When I arrived to the chapel I noticed that the lights we normally have on 24/7 weren't on. So naturally, I went to the sacristy and tried the old trick of turn everything off and back on again. No luck the lights were out. Specifically, the lights above the ambo were out. At 4:30 in the afternoon this wasn't a problem, but thinking about the sun setting and mass starting at 7:00PM I began to worry about there not being enough light to see the readings...so I began to panic. First, I rushed to the sacristy to find the clip lamp that every sacristy seems to have (often used at the Easter vigil when the mass starts in darkness). Checked several drawers then under an old Christmas gift bag I found it! 

I turn it on... nothing... no batteries. No problem, I have batteries... Nope, this takes AAA I only have AA and a D cell batteries in the sacristy. Also no problem, I live on campus, I know I have AAA batteries in my apartment. I rush back grab the batteries put them in the clip lamp and turn it on... I immediately realize this is not the solution I hoped it would be. The light is far too dim. No worries, there is a three bulbed black lamp that I can bring from storage that won't look terrible next to the ambo. 

Plug it in set it next to the ambo, don't love how it looks, but what can we do, I'd already called maintenance and they aren't able to fix the lights until Monday at the earliest (as I write this on Tuesday the lights are still out because a part needed to be ordered). 

I go back to the sacristy and finish preparing everything else for the mass, including some beautiful hydrangeas from Trader Joe's to go by the altar, after all, it was the solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Worship aids were printed and folded all that I had to do now was find some good readers. A task I was more than capable of doing since I knew at the very least there would be three staff members present who could take care of this. 

So then I went to my office to relax a bit and prepare some projects for the next day. The night was over and I'd overcome the greatest obstacle that I would be facing. Or so I thought...

15 minutes until mass starts... 10 minutes until mass starts... 5 minutes until mass starts... 7:00PM mass is supposed to be starting... The priest still hasn't arrived. 

I call the priest... no answer... So we made the decision to pivot from offering a mass to having a communion service without a priest. This is one of the exact reasons such an option exists within the Church. I've got the readers all lined up... The only major obstacle before me know is that We'll still want someone to offer a reflection and do some preaching. I take a deep breath, pause, say a quick prayer, and think to myself 'I can do this.' 

The service begins, I follow the parameters outlined for what to say during a communion service without a priest. The first reading is read, the psalm is read, the second reading is being proclaimed and I start to pull up an old reflection I wrote about Mary several years ago. Now it's time. Time for the Gospel and my preaching. I bring my notes and phone with the reflection pulled up. I set these on the shelf in the ambo. I don't know if it was nerves or truly just the guidance of the Holy Spirit, but I never looked at these notes or the reflection from years ago. 

It was a Mary feast day so that helped. I cannot remember exactly what I said, but the overall theme was The idea that Mary is our perfect example of making that which could have been ordinary extraordinary and how we to can make choices to go from ordinary to extraordinary. A more fitting message could not have come to mind. The first mass of the academic year the night before the first day of classes we had the beautiful example of Mary. From her humble yes to the great life she lived, to even the way in which she moved from this life to the next, we see the ordinary become extraordinary. I personally saw my own Sunday go from ordinary to extraordinary. 

As I sit writing this reflection watching the rain falling on the window outside my office I'm reminded that even this ordinary, rainy dreary day can be extraordinary. 

Much to the disappointment of the Dominican Sisters present I still don't plan on making a career or habit of preaching on Sundays. 

Preaching 101 - What is True? What is Felt?

 A week or two ago I was attending a virtual conference. One of the sessions that I went to was title 'Preaching 101.' As a part of this session, we were asked to reflect on the parable of the Prodigal Son as if we were going to preach on it. The instructions were somewhat simple, read/listen to the parable then think about a personal connection, the scripture reading itself, and a practical message/takeaway. 

What follows is what I would have shared if the session had only had about 10 more minutes. At this point, I think I should also share that I've been thinking about this parable for a couple of years now and plan to continue to think about it for many years to come. 

If you're not already familiar with the parable of the Prodigal Son you're welcome to quick read it now before reading further. CLICK HERE or turn to Luke 15:11-32.

A few months ago I was reading former President Barak Obama's book A Promised Land. Ok, you're right, I wasn't reading it I was listening to it. Specifically, I had driven home to Grand Rapids for my mom's birthday. Yes, yes I am an amazing son... But truthfully part of my willingness to make the five-hour drive there and then five hours back was specifically to listen to this audiobook. In clear Barak fashion (Michelle Obama's audiobook Becoming, also excellent, was only 19 hours) the audiobook is 29 hours and I was under a library deadline to have the book returned. 

All this to say I was driving back from Michigan to Ohio listening to the audiobook when a particular line struck me. It hit me so hard that as soon as I got home to my apartment I took the hardcopy off my shelf and set to finding it. The quote came toward the end of the sixth chapter (page 126 for those interested) and said, "But it was hard...to distinguish what was true from what was felt."

Ever since hearing that line and then subsequently reading it, I have had the lingering questions rolling around in the back of my head... What is true..? What is felt..? 

From my own daily life to the memories of previous feelings and experiences I wrestle with trying to distinguish between these two things. 

Similarly in the parable of the Prodigal Son, there are any number of instances where we can ask the question what is true? And the question was it felt. 

There are two specific instances I want to look at, one with the younger son and one with the older. 

First, we see the younger son laying among the swine feeling as if he had squandered everything and was unworthy, "I no longer deserve to be called your son." This younger son seems to feel so deeply that he is not deserving of his father's love.

Second, we see the older son returning to a feast he was not invited to celebrating a brother he did not think was deserving, "He said to his father...'Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends." It seems clear to me that this older son is left feeling neglected, overlooked, unloved. 

Now in having looked at what was felt I am left to wonder what is true? To me what is true is the unconditional love of the father. Whether his sons felt worthy of the love, or couldn't seem to feel the love at all, the father never stopped loving. With this in mind, I have two additional questions I'm now left trying to wrestle with... 

In what ways do I feel and know I am loved?

And in what ways do I show my love for others so that it is not only felt, but understood as true? 

A Person Whom Jesus Was Like

Two or three years ago now I was sitting at my favorite brewery in town enjoying some great beer and delicious Indian food. For the three years that I lived in Grand Rapids most recently this was where you could find me on most every Wednesday night. Most often with the same one or two friends. 

Many nights were spent talking about gripes we each had in our jobs, our take on the latest political or Church scandal, the worlds of Middle Earth, D&D, and Hogwarts, and even the occasional conversation about cats, bathroom renovations, and gardening. I assure you each and every Wednesday surely could have been worthy of further reflection and a blog post or two. However, there was one night in particular that I have been thinking about for a couple of years now. 

I can tell you exactly what table we were sitting at and what I was eating/drinking (this bit isn't too hard since I merely rotated between two food options and two beer preferences each Wednesday). After our normal catch-up on all that was troubling us in life and work since our last Wednesday gathering there came a moment in the conversation where my friend prefaced what came next as potentially heretical...It was in this moment that my friend told me about her grandmother who had just passed away. Specifically, in describing the kind of woman her grandmother was, she said, "she was a woman who Jesus was like." I assured her that this wasn't even close to heretical...and I would know...

So often growing up I was told to consider the question What Would Jesus Do? I can't even begin to tell you how many promotional wristbands etc I had with WWJD on them. But never once was I encouraged to think about how I could live my life in a way that one could say Jesus was like me... I was always told to live my life to be like him...a task I'm not sure I'll ever be able to live up to. 

Somehow being a person for whom Jesus is like seems not only more doable but also seems more admirable and honorable of a goal. Perhaps this is all too prideful and it is heretical, however, what I know with certainty is that if once I'm dead and gone someone, a child, or grandchild, a friend, loved one, or anyone who knows me is able to say, "Mike was a man who Jesus was like" it would certainly be enough!

I never met this friend's grandmother and I'm not entirely sure I ever learned her name. Nevertheless, I'm confident that she is someone I won't soon forget.