Sow and tell

Our town’s annual festival was this past weekend.  It takes place on the streets by our parish and we take the opportunity to offer tours of our church.  People love to see our beautiful stained-glass windows that were commissioned by the G.C. Riordan company in 1911.  For us, it is a chance to also share our faith with people who would not normally enter a Catholic Church.  We explain the Biblical events depicted in the windows, give short biographies of the statued Saints, and talk about the tenets of the Catholic faith, especially the Eucharist.

I was one of the tour guides.  Most of the people I took through the church were not Catholic.  Several told me they had never been in a Catholic church before.  Others said they had ancestors or relatives who were Catholic or raised Catholic which I assumed meant they no longer practiced the faith.  For some, I was able to engage them in conversation about their spiritual life.  My hope was to plant seeds that might bear fruit someday.  

One woman who came alone spoke of being Catholic but not attending Mass.  She said she could not believe a just God would send someone to hell for missing Mass on Sunday.  She was a spiritual person who prayed and felt confident that God loved her.  She seemed comfortable talking to me and I sensed that maybe she was looking for affirmation that she was in God’s good graces.  I wanted to respond to her in such a way that might cause her to realize she was missing something important without discouraging her or driving her away.  When these opportunities arise, I usually end up kicking myself later for not coming up with the right words to make a positive impression.  I told her I could tell she loved God and God loves her, but she is missing the Eucharist when she does not go to Mass.  

Thinking to myself the three things necessary for a sin to be mortal, I told her missing Mass might not be mortal for her salvation if her conscience truly tells her otherwise, but I suspected her conscience might be bothering her since she brought up the topic.  I wish I had placed more emphasis on the importance of forming our consciences properly.  I did tell her that missing Mass on Sunday would be a mortal sin for me because that is what I believe.  She said she appreciated me being open minded.  I don’t think I am very opened minded, but okay.  

Making an impact is difficult when you have just met a person for the first time, will likely never see them again, and only have a few minutes to interact.  As we parted, I told her to go home and read John, chapter six.  I thought maybe the Bread of Life discourse would open her eyes.  She said she would, and I believe she will.

Habemus Papam

Thursday was going to be a busy one.  Got up early to chauffeur my wife to the hospital for a routine medical procedure. Drove an hour each way through thunderstorms hoping to get home in time to take an early lunch.  I needed to get an early start on some afternoon errands to get back for a two o’clock commitment to move donated furniture from a house to our Saint Vincent DePaul storage building.  Everything was going according to plan.  We got home from the hospital earlier than expected and even had time to turn on the television before going out for lunch.

As we were about the leave for lunch, a news bulletin popped up.  White smoke was scene at the Sistine Chapel.  A new Pope has been selected.   Bells were ringing, crowds of people at the Vatican were cheering and it was all being covered on live television.  I have been alive for the selection of five popes, but I have never had the opportunity to watch the announcement on live tv.  The anticipation was exciting, but some of my errands had to be done today and before my two o'clock appointment.  My wife and I anxiously awaited the appearance of the new Pope, at the same time watching the clock.  

We waited as long as we could and then my wife said we have to go.  I found a radio station that was covering the conclave so we could listen in the car.  As no announcement seemed eminent, they went on to other topics.  We decided to stop for lunch at a nearby restaurant.  My wife laid her cell phone on the table while we waited for our food.  Suddenly, she gasped!  It’s an American from Chicago!  My eyes widened.  All I could think of was CUPICH?  No.  She showed me her phone.  Robert Prevost.  I had never heard of him.  Pope Leo XIV.

At sixty-nine years old, Pope Leo is younger than I am.  Chances are I may never get to watch a new pope introduced for the first time live, and that’s okay.  Now we will be subjected to all of the speculation about what kind of Pope he will be.  He will be praised and criticized depending on perspective of the commentator.  Let us trust in the Holy Spirit and allow Pope Leo to lead us as God sees fit.  

Day 2 thoughts:         (edit)

Will having a Pope from Chicago make him seem a little more human and therefore somewhat less authoritative to us Americans?  Within a couple hours of his introduction, we learned he is a White Sox fan, plays Wordle, and likes cars.  He seems just like one of us, but is that a good thing?  Yes, he is human, but he isn’t just like one of us.  He is the Pope, the Vicar of Christ, the Supreme Pontiff, the Bishop of Rome, the Holy Father, the Successor of Saint Peter.  I am wondering if American Catholics will view him differently than any previous Pope when it comes to respecting his authority.

I just saw a very awkward moment on television when one of his brothers returned a call to the Pope in the presence of local news media with cameras rolling.  The Pope answered and went silent when his brother told him he was being recorded live.  It is obvious that his own family has been caught off guard by all of the attention. 

For whom the bell trolls

An ill wind blew on Laetare Sunday!  Our little town was struck by severe storms that caused some damage to our parish rectory and grounds.  A section of shingles took flight along with some siding from one of the dormers.  A large spruce tree in the parking lot was uprooted.  The church itself sustained no damage other than a gutter downspout that was blown off.  Power was knocked out but that caused no harm at the time because all Sunday Masses were over by then.  The big problem occurred some nine hours later when the power came back on!

It was nearly midnight when electricity was restored to part of the town where the church is located.  For some strange reason that only God can explain, the church bell started to ring.  A power surge?  Lightning?  Who knows?  All we know is that the bell rang, and rang, and rang.  Normally a problem like this would be easily remedied.  Our pastor would hear the bell ringing just a short distance from his rectory bedroom window.  But he does not stay in the rectory on Sunday nights.  Monday is his “day off” and he spends Sunday nights at a house he owns about thirty minutes away.  

The only people close enough to hear the bell ringing were some very angry neighbors who were trying to sleep.  Some of them called the police.  Our little town had one police officer on duty that night.  He attempted to rouse someone at the church, but there was no one there.  He actually gained access to the church by pulling on the front door which someone had failed to lock properly.  Wandering into the basement, he found a breaker panel, but none of them powered the bell.  He started to climb the bell tower but decided that was above his pay grade.  In the meantime, the bell continued to peal.  

In desperation, he awakened the owner of the mortuary that was located behind the church to see whether he knew who to contact.  He gave him my phone number.  Normally, I would be the person to handle any problem with the bell at the church as I am probably most familiar with its inner workings.  But, I managed to sleep through three phone calls.  We still had no power at our house and my phone had not been charging as it normally would overnight.  I later learned that I also slept through the police officer banging on our front door.   

Eventually, the police officer along with the mortician went to the home of another parishioner and were able to wake her and her husband.  Imagine being awakened at three o’clock in the morning to find a police officer and mortician at your front door.  This would put a scare into any normal human being.  In this particular case, the woman had a similar experience years ago when her youngest son was killed in a car accident.  I can only imagine what went through her mind.  She did get them into the church where the breaker panel for the bell was located and they were able to silence the bell.

I still do not know how exactly long the bell rang during the night.  Estimates range from three to seven hours depending on which nasty Facebook comment one reads.  I woke up about 5 AM to find the missed calls and voice messages on my phone.  I immediately got up and went to the church, but the bell had stopped by then, so I would suppose it rang for some three or four hours.  In a later conversation with the poor police officer, he said the county dispatcher received fifteen calls, including three complaints to 911.  

The police have requested that we supply them with a list of keyholders in the unlikely case this ever happens again.  This may be the only time the bell has gone rogue during the night in its 115 year history.  Nevertheless, we have given a list of phone numbers to the sheriff’s office, something we probably should have done years ago.  There could be other emergencies at the church where access was needed. 

We believe that God can bring good from even the worst circumstances.  On this particular Lenten night, some people laid awake thinking about the Catholic Church who otherwise might have just fallen asleep.  Perhaps their thoughts were not the kind that typically inspire converts, but sometimes the Holy Spirit works in mysterious ways. 

Parish, the thought

Our Bishop has ordered all pastors in the diocese to select three “key leaders” from each parish who, along with the pastor, will meet to discuss the current ministerial landscape and explore future strategies for an effective Catholic presence in the area.  This effort is prompted by the challenge we are facing to maintain and staff parishes in our diocese.  As the Bishop points out, numerous priests are going to be retiring in the next few years with a shortage of seminarians to take their place.  Many churches are old and difficult to maintain with reduced revenues and increasing costs.  

He recognizes the need to be proactive and develop a plan to meet these challenges.  Furthermore, I think he wants to get the parishioners involved in making recommendations because many parishes are going to be faced with difficult decisions, reduction in staffing and possible closings. It’s a reality we are facing.  Having parishioners involved in the process helps them accept tough outcomes rather than feeling like they were blindsided.

According to our pastor, prior bishops in our diocese kept parishes open as long as they were financially viable, but this may no longer be an option.  Many pastors now serve more than one parish.  At some point, priests may become so sparse that Sunday Mass might not be available in some churches.  Even financially stable parishes may find themselves facing closure. 

I counted sixty-three Catholic Churches in our diocese spread over four counties.  Our county is the smallest of the four with only four churches and one mission.  Presently, there are three priests serving in the county.  Two of them are beyond retirement age.  I would hope we could support at least two priests in the county for the foreseeable future.  That would still present a challenge in keeping all five sites afloat.  The mission is near the county line and could possibly be staffed part time from the adjacent county.  One parish already shares a pastor with our parish.  One of the other parishes is small and would need to share a pastor if it stays open.  All of this is conjecture at this point.  

The diocese ordained two priests last year and has two more who will be ordained this year.  They are far outnumbered by the priests who will be retiring soon.  The last priest to come from our parish is long retired.  Our sister parish has one young man in the seminary now.  He will be ordained in about three years.  I completely understand why our Bishop is preparing us for some painful decisions coming in the not too distant future.   Please keep praying for vocations.

Precept 5

The fifth precept (“You shall help to provide for the needs of the Church”) means that the faithful are obliged to assist with the material needs of the Church, each according to his own ability. (CCC 2042-2043)

At the beginning of each new year, our parishioners are given boxes of printed envelopes to use for their weekly offerings.  I assume most parishes do this.  Ours have our names printed on each envelope with the date of the Sunday or Holy Day of Obligation.  It seems a good way to remind everyone to contribute each week. 

When I was a youngster in Catholic grade school, we children also got envelopes.  Sadly, we don’t do this anymore.  What better way to teach them responsibility than to require a small part of their allowance to go to God each week?  At the end of the year, the church would publish the names of all parishioners, including the children, and list each one’s total contribution.  We don’t do that anymore either!  I guess it was a good way to shame people into giving more generously!

Being involved in OCIA, I always look to see whether those we brought into the Church last Easter were given envelopes this year.  I make sure they get registered as new parishioners and I want them to feel like they are an integral part of the parish.  For whatever reason, none of them received a box of envelopes this year.  I blame the secretary for that oversight.  At least, they won’t get the idea we just want their money!

Keeping a parish afloat is expensive, especially small parishes like ours.  Utilities alone take a huge chunk of the budget.  Century-old buildings with high ceilings and virtually no insulation are difficult to heat and cool.  Staffing, maintenance, repairs and insurance costs add up quickly.  

The church bell stopped working a week ago.  Having worked on the bell myself in the past, our pastor asked me to call the bell company to see whether our maintenance contract was still current.  Unfortunately, it was not.  To have them come out would cost $655 plus $150/hour labor.  I had a pretty good idea what was wrong.  A motor control relay fails every few years.  I changed it once before, but I do not like to climb the tower anymore at my age.  Nevertheless, I ordered the part, recruited a helper and made the repair.  Probably saved the parish about a thousand dollars.  

In small parishes like ours, people often come forward to help when needed, whether it be financially or in-kind services.  Our parish priest rarely if ever talks about money from the pulpit.  That is a good thing really.  The Holy Spirit seems to take care of us as the need arises.  As far as I know, we are doing okay.  We live within our means.  If it is unaffordable, we just do without.  It is one way we learn to sacrifice.

 

Oh Fudge!

Every Christmas my wife makes fudge to give away to friends and family.  Fudge is her specialty.  She has perfected a recipe that I got at my workplace some forty years ago.  For the uninitiated, the Fannie May Candy Company dates back to 1920 in Chicago.  In the 60’s and 70’s, their Buttercreams, Mint Meltaways, and Pixies were among the most popular confections available.  One of my co-workers claimed to have the recipe for Fannie May Fudge.  During a break in a class one day, he wrote out the recipe on a piece of notebook paper and made copies for anyone who wanted it.  

My wife still has that same copy in her recipe file.  Over the years, she has perfected the process.  The ingredients remain the same, but her technique has developed to insure the creaminess and appearance.  Some folks have their Christmas time specialties.  For my late mother-in-law, it was fruitcake.  My sister makes crockpot candy.  For my wife, it is fudge.  

The secret is in her preparation.  She has a routine that she follows to precision.  The mixture of different chocolates and other ingredients has to be heated to a certain temperature and stirred sufficiently to keep the fudge from becoming grainy.  She stirs and stirs and stirs some more.  When the time is right, she pours it into two pans and places it in our oven to cool.  The reason she puts it in the oven to cool is so the cat can’t get into it.  Now mind you, we haven’t had a cat for about fifteen years, but the fudge still solidifies in the safety of the oven to this day.

A recent hip-replacement surgery slowed her down a little this year.  While some previous years had her making some forty to fifty pounds, this Christmas she limited production to a few batches.  When beginning her first batch during Advent, she realized she didn’t have the oleo margarine she normally uses, so she substituted real butter.  The fudge turned out fine.  It was creamy, tasted great, but she was not happy with it.  The fudge had a dull appearance, not shiny the way she likes it to be.  I could not tell the difference.  It seemed fine to me, but it did not meet her standards.  

One might think using butter in a fudge recipe would be better than using margarine, but my wife claims that fudge made with the cheapest oleo is far superior than fudge made with real butter.  This superiority apparently exists in the appearance rather than the flavor, but as Pope Francis might say, who am I to judge.  In any case, it was off to the grocery store to get more chocolate and some Blue Bonnet margarine.  The Friday before Christmas, she was back in the kitchen to make a proper batch of Fannie May fudge.  

This time the fudge turned out perfectly so I am told.  It was cooling in the oven so I didn’t see it, but my wife was gloating all afternoon about its glossy appearance and perfect creaminess.  This batch would be divided, placed in small tins and given out as Christmas gifts to anyone who stopped by.  The rest we will take to my sister’s house on Christmas Eve.

By Friday evening I was hungry.  As old traditional Catholics, we do not eat meat on Friday, so our go-to Friday supper is frozen cheese pizza.  Our go-to brand of late has been Digiorno’s Rising Crust Four Cheese variety.  For whatever reason, our local grocery has been out of it for several weeks, so we are trying a few other brands.   On this particular day, I preheated the oven to 400 degrees per the instructions.  When it was time to put the pizza in, I opened the oven door to find my wife’s fudge bubbling like some kind of volcanic tar pit.  Neither of us had remembered the fudge was still in the oven.  I immediately thought of what Ralphie said in the Christmas Story movie when he accidentally scattered the lug nuts while helping the old man change the flat tire.  

My wife was ready to send the entire batch down the garbage disposal.  I told her to let it cool and maybe it would be alright.  We waited a couple of hours and I tried a piece.  It had crunchy gobs of burnt sugar that tasted like chocolate gravel.  We sent it down the garbage disposal.  

When we reach our mid-seventies, we can be forgetful.  Stuff happens and we just have to shake our heads and move on.  We made another unscheduled trip to the store, picked up more fudge ingredients and she made another batch.  It turned out fine.  Yes, she let it cool in the oven so our non-existent cat wouldn’t get it, and it made for a good story to tell our family on Christmas Eve.