The Miracle I Saw in Omaha

I saw a basket of wafers and a carafe of wine become the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of our risen Lord. Jesus Christ. 

Yes, indeed. 

Truly, Truly. 

A basket of wafers and a carafe of wine became, before my eyes, the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of the Lamb of God. Jesus Christ. 

Sunday morning August 4. 740 am. Holy Cross Catholic Church. Omaha. 

A Gift from a two year old

 Johanna - This week you let me put you to bed. I wanted to and you did not object. What I really expected was for you to point to your Grandmother. Almost always this is what your brother and cousins would do. But you just went to my arms as if this was the most normal thing. We read both nights, The Lady with the Aligator Purse and Fox in Sox. Each three times. 

The most wonderful part was when it came time to rock you and sing to you. You nestled in my arms as I sang Jesus Loves Me, over and over. I thought of all the times I had held my own children in this wondrous routine. I felt your love and trust and comfort in my arms. I don't have good words for this. To be at your home, to be surrounded by one you trust and have the beginnings of this feeling we call love. To know the comfort that comes when fully cradled in the arms of a grandfather. 

Perhaps it will not happen in this life, but there will come a time when I will once again know this peace. I have long forgotten what this is like, but if there is any good in me, the seeds were planted at times like this. When my Dad, or my Grandad, or my mother held me. When my whole world loved me. It will come again. 

Hanging out by the exit

 Notes while at the funeral of a friend: 

This is how it all ends, as a piece of paper in hands at your funeral. a few lines about the things that mattered. 

Family+faith+providing+career+hobbies. 

10:30 am Not many here, but I;m early. I suppose attendance at a funeral is driven by when we die. Churches are packed when the dead is under 30. Die at 85 and the only people left are your pastor, your family and a few others. 

10:45 am Big clap of feedback from the AV system of this little church (aging janitor type guy in pony tail finally figures it out).

Guitar instrumental very nice... In the Garden. Old Rugged Cross. A very plain Baptist church, like those I grew up in.  Painted pallets nailed to wall behind pastor. (an homage to warehouses?) One wooden cross. 

As is the custom with all Christian faiths, the Pastor proclaims that the deceased is in heaven (though he does not really know this, and does not know that he doesn't know). Nice sermon and obviously one who cared about this man. 

This is a real funeral, though program calls it a celebration of life. There is a body and a casket and tears and a wife and a preacher. Not a jar of ashes to be found anywhere. Good move. 

11:32 am Cue the mourner who does not know to turn off a phone when inside a church attending a religious ceremony. 

11:33 am In the silence of the sanctuary, you can hear the same phone vibrating as voicemail arrives.  

I chat with the guitarist on the way out. He is talented and knew the proper decorum for a funeral. There is hope for his generation, as mine hangs around the exit, waiting for people like him, and the pastor, to show us the way home. 

Visions and Dreams and Johanna

 A note to my grandaughter who came to the earth on 3 March 2022. 

I may name my banjo after you, we'll see. I have been trying to contrive a name for it. It has five strings and you are my fifth grandchild. That is a stupid connection but it's all I have. 

Before you were born I was at your house, seeing your brother and checking on your mom. She was a day or two away from going to the hospital for your birth. As I was leaving she pulled me close in a hug and said, "Dad, would you say a prayer for me?". I stood there in the entryway, among a stroller, winter boots, scarfs with the woman I first held as a tiny baby decades ago. 

I don't know exactly what I prayed for that day when I put my arms around your mom. It was a bit about her and a bit about you. But I do know this. All of the deep things I have ever wanted for my daughter were realized in that little hall. My little girl, when deep into womanhood, asked me to pray for her. To that same Lord that she worshipped as a toddler. That is what I wanted when I first held her, when I first whispered the name of our Lord in her tiny ear. That when I was old that she would hold as tightly to Christ at 40 as she did at 4. As I was driving home I had this sense that every dream I ever dreamed and every prayer I ever prayed for her had been answered in that moment.  

On the 5th day of March, when you were two days old I held you for the first time. Like your mother, the first word you heard from my lips was "Jesus". The first time you felt my hand, it was to trace the sign of the cross on your forehead. 

Johanna, your safe arrival on earth was an answer to many prayers. Many more prayers are being lifted up for you now. It is my deep desire that when your mother and father are my age, that they will thank God for the faith they see in you. That does not waver. That does not tremble. 

March 21, 2021 was much like September 11, 2013

Very hard to describe, but almost the exact same feeling. 

He was indeed heir to a great fortune

 On December 16, 1922, in the evening, a baby was placed in the back seat of the car of Dr. Frank Cullen in downtown Dallas, with a note: "This boy's name is J.D. Take good care of him as he is heir to a great large fortune. His mother is in great trouble and can't keep him now. You will be watched. Put him in a good orphan's house if you don't keep him. I am coming back after him when I can. I have your no. Anything you do for him you will be made rich." 

The baby was placed by his biological mother, an unwed girl of 19, named Josephine. The baby was my Dad. 

This note was the first thing I read when I opened the files of  case 4014 of Hope Cottage Orphanage in Dallas. I finally had in my hands the file my dad always wanted to see, but never did, the story of his adoption. It answered many questions about his birth and circumstances and of course created new ones. "Why this?" and "Who is that?" But that is a writing for another time. The intimate details of the circumstances that led Josephine to do what she did are lost to time and passed with her death in the late 1980's. 

My father was adopted by Thomas and Elizabeth Welch of Goliad, Tx.  Elizabeth told the story many years later of a long train ride to Dallas, and an appointment at Hope Cottage. All references and paperwork in order, she was escorted into a room with 28 babies in cribs. 

"Pick one", was the simple instruction that would change so many lives. And she did. She picked the one with the bluest eyes and the biggest smile, the one who cried when she walked away from his crib. He was named Thomas Benjamin Welch, Jr., after his new father. 

He grew up in small town Texas in the 1920's and 30's. Played football, was in the band. Had a little sister, Ada Sue, the long desired biological child of Tom and Elizabeth. In his youth he suspected he was adopted, which was confirmed when an aunt left him off a family tree. He wrote years later, "I was nonplussed - numb and rooted to the floor and couldn't have moved if I had tried." 

He left high school in 1941 before graduating. War was brewing. That spring he enlisted in the Navy and in the summer found himself on the USS Neosho headed for Pearl Harbor. By a twist of fate or fortune he was out of harm's way on December 7th. As he told it to me, he was not there, but "close by". 

He was in the Navy for six years. During this time he was drawn deeper to his Christian faith. In a hospital bed in Australia, he confided to a nurse that after the war he wanted most of all to be a minister, but didn't think he'd be a very good one. She thought the idea was wonderful and fitting and encouraged him during his weeks of recovery from an injury. Her name, like many others in this story, is lost, but to her lasting credit, she pushed him to hang on to this dream.   

After the war he spent his last months at the Navy Yard in Chicago. He was discharged and finished his high school diploma at the YMCA while working nights as a guard at Continental Illinois Bank. (He loved to relate that "that bank never got in any trouble as long as I was guarding the vault!'). 

He returned home to Texas where he graduated from the University of Corpus Christi and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth. He met my mom there and they were married during the time in Fort Worth. Josephine lived in Fort Worth then as well. After she was notified of his adoption, there is no record that she ever attempted to find him. Perhaps she pictured him lost in the war, as so many men were who were born in 1922. But I also imagine that as our family gathered around his birthday cake each year with smiles and laughs and goofy presents, there was a woman in Fort Worth who always shed a tear and wondered. 

He was a pastor, and a good one. He led churches in various locations across the South, mainly Florida and the Carolinas. Always small, always paying just enough salary for us to get by (when combined with mom's salary from teaching school and giving piano lessons). But for thousands and thousands of people it was from his lips that they heard the message of Christianity proclaimed clearly and lovingly, with a gift for expressing truth that came from his heavenly Father. He was a prolific writer and left behind dozens of articles in Christian publications and hundreds of pages of notes, essays, musings and outlines on faith that his descendants will cherish. 

He had three sons and though he left this earth much younger than we wanted, at 76, he lived long enough to know all of his four grandchildren very well. 

Elizabeth Welch was certainly pleased at the choice she made when called on to "pick one". Josephine must have always wondered, but never knew, of the man who grew from the baby she believed she had to let go. She would have been very proud. 

In the note she left behind, Josephine scratched out "great" and claimed the boy was heir to a "large" fortune. Like many things in the story, this is puzzling. What caused that little scratch of a line and a quick change. A passing thought, perhaps, "I have to be quick, but I want to get this note just right". Call it large, call it great, but one hundred years later it now rings so very true. It was a fortune indeed. One of faith, family and friendships. A legacy that I am heir to, as are all his offspring and everyone who ever felt the warmth of his smile and the shake of his hand. 

From a blanket in the back seat of a car, from the arms of a troubled teenager, from the arms of a kindly doctor, from the protection of an orphanage... to the arms of a new mother, to the call to arms of a nation, to the cuddly arms of grandchildren. What a life. And now he knows. 

 

Advent in time of Pandemic

 What does Advent mean to us during a time of pandemic? Or perhaps a better question is, What is different about our celebration this year? Advent hasn't changed, but we have, at least a little. One year ago we were in the midst of the angst and cynicism of a presidential impeachment. That had an impact on our celebration, though it should not have. One year from now there will be some new thing to distract and detach us from the glorious tradition. 

Perhaps we cannot help but look at this time differently or in some new way. Despite the added free time on our hands I believe the temptation will be to think of the season less. There was something about the busyness of Christmas seasons past that made us want  to make sure that we did not leave out the Christ story and message. I sense that focus is missing this year. 

This Advent should be like all others. A time to contemplate the anniversary of the coming of Christ. A season full of reminders. The refreshing of the Church calendar. Immaculate Conception. St. Nicholas Day. The journey to Bethlehem. The colors and candles of the four Sundays. Midnight Mass. All pointing to the most important thing that ever happened in human history, God incarnate. His coming to earth in human form. 

Christmas 2020. Gone are the parades, the hauling of kids to see Santa, the corporate parties, the Christmas pageants and concerts. No distractions, no excuses. Come Christmas! 

Penance and Confession

 In the 1970's I stole something from two places of business. One I worked at, one I did not. I was younger and in some ways wiser than I am today. But that did not keep me from doing bad stuff. I finally made things right a couple of weeks ago. 

I just realized this crazy thing. One place knew I did it, let me know they knew, replaced what I had stolen, and let me off. 

The other place knew the thing had been stolen but didn't know it was me. 

For years I carried around in my wallet a piece of paper that reminded me of these debts. Why did I wait so long to fix this? When I finally got around to it I wrote two anonymous letters explaining what I had done, apologizing. Stuffed in cash to cover my sin, plus some. 

Felt pretty good to finally do that. Felt bad that I had waited so long to do something so right.  

This experience is like unto the Sacrament of Confession. How often do we let things go unsaid because too much time has passed? Do we think old sins sort of expire after a while and don't need confessing? 

I think it is more likely that we don't really ponder our shortcomings as we should. That piece of paper in my wallet should have been a daily reminder to fix that thing. Instead it was just another faded piece of yellow stuffed between other old pieces of paper. Confession demands the same attention as our deepest prayers. That is the only way we'll get to that sweeter sounding term.... Reconciliation. 

Deep Thanksgiving

Sometimes there are thanks we want to offer that we just don't have right words for. 

In my family this week we had some wonderful health news but it's not my place to say who it was or the condition. It was something that could have been horrible but was not.

Had the news been bad I would have just fallen to my knees pleading for a miracle. The news was good and I find the rejoicing so difficult to verbalize. I have lots of words when I ask God for something. When prayers are answered it's hard to move beyond "thanks". I don't have all the words to say what it is that I want to express. Everything comes out sort of the the same way, a weak feeble, "thanks". Granted, sometimes they are all caps and shouted with joy, other times just whispered. 

When the words don't come, we must be content just to be in the presence of God. To seek to be constantly mindful of his wonderful gifts. To contemplate his power as much in thanksgiving as in supplication. Teach me to be truly grateful O Lord. Every single moment. Right now. 

In Romans 8:26 the Apostle Paul puts a light on the incompleteness of our prayers. The English Standard Version translates his words beautifully. "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words."

This has indeed been a day for groanings. It is also a day to ponder, "What if we had not prayed?"

My church was closed today

 My Catholic church was closed today. I needed it to be open. 

Before the pandemic it was open everyday, all day. It has a small beautiful chapel that is a wonderful place to pray, to be in the presence of God, to step out of the secular and into the divine. 

Now it is open about half of the days. Not on Wednesdays apparently. I was born on a Wednesday and have found it to often be a day when one is much in need of Christ. No less so than other days.  

Undeterred, I walked over to the large crucifix and knelt and prayed there. It is outside, so not subject to keys and locks and chimes and light switches and hvac units and other instruments that rule inside buildings. 

Lord please hear my prayer this day for one so close and dear to me. 

Thoughts on the birth of my grandson, Benjamin

 What a wonderful blessing to welcome a second grandson this summer.

While you are not the first, you are the son of my son, and that makes you special and distinct. Being the father of a son is very different than being the father of a daughter (to state the obvious) and there will be a special set of joys you will bring to your family.  

I have not yet held you, that is several days away. But when I do I will be drawn back to that day when I held your dad for the first time. How wonderful it was, as a man, to hold this small future man in my hands. The first word I will whisper in your ear will be the name of our Saviour, and I will make the sign of the cross on your forehead. Perhaps some day you will be as fortunate as I and will do the same with your child and grandchild, please do. 

How blessed you are to be born to this man and woman. They love you so much and will raise you up to be a true son of our Father. Your sisters will meet you today for the first time and they will get another glimpse of true love as new feelings for you immediately spring forth inside them. 

So much is running through my head as I think about you. I try and picture you as a young man, but that is so difficult. You are a big baby so I imagine you as a big kid and a big man. Ahead lie the St. Louis Cardinals, long hot days at the ball park, other afternoons on some ball field with a team of friends, nights alone studying schoolwork, riding a bike, climbing a tree, driving a car. Each good thing making you more and more into the type of person you should be. 

 It is easy to think about all the troubles in this world and the many trials you will face, but for now I have to set that aside and simply thank God that you are here. I am thankful for your parents and their love for each other. I am thankful for the wisdom I see in them as they raise your sisters. 

Your family needs you. How and in what way, we don't know. But we know their family is already bigger and better and more complete because of you. There will be things about you that make your mom and dad better parents. There will be ways you make your sisters better young women. When the time comes for them to marry, if you become the young man I think you will, they will think often about the best things about you and your dad, and they will want to marry someone who is a bit like both of you. 

As you sleep in the arms of your mother, you are the image to us of the beauty of creation. You are now with her as we should all be with our heavenly Father, totally dependent, unable to do a single thing on your own behalf. Like us at so many times, you are also unaware of the goodness that rains down upon you. Unaware and thus unable to offer thanks for the nourishment and warmth and blessings that surround you. 

Soon you will be baptized into His Church and the grace of our Lord will pour upon your soul. It will be the start of your walk with Him who will guide you always. How great is the love of our Lord for you, that he called you to life at this time and place. 

Remember me in your prayers, as I will for you. God bless you Benjamin Brooks, and preserve you in his Holy arms. 

Thoughts on the birth of my first grandson

I have pondered your arrival for several days now and am still at a loss to put to words what your arrival means to me. When one looks at a new born child, it is with a sense of awe, no more so when the child is your descendant. 

I hold you as my grandfather held me and I am reaching back in my past. Re-enacting a scene that has played out down through the centuries of our family. Someday the little hands that I hold will hold the tiny hands of his child, my great grandchild, and then of my great great grandchild. Always with the same awe and puzzlement that is before me now. 

Your mother wanted you so much I will not even attempt to put that into words. Your arrival was preceded by countless prayers and tears and cries to the Father. My prayers were lifted up in my home, in my car as I drove to work, in so many churches and along countless walks alone. "Lord, make Rachel a mother." I doubted at times whether my oldest daughter would be so blessed, but God in his wisdom granted our prayers at the time and place of his choosing, not ours. And not before many tears were shed for reasons that are beyond our understanding. But, as always, what God had planned for our family is better than what we planned, for now we have you. We are so happy that you are now here and will always be thankful to God for his providence. 

Our family is more complete now. As our family has grown it has still seemed as though someone or something was missing. We couldn't name it, but all who loved your mother sensed that perhaps our thoughts were about you. That missing piece now so tiny yet so large. At Thanksgiving and Christmas and all other big family gatherings there was this unspoken person who was not there, who we all felt should be. 

I think now of these holidays and simple family days to come. Soon your mother will come to our home bearing you in her arms. In a flash it will be that you will come walking up the steps holding her hand. Later you will bound up those steps with your parents trailing behind, bearing some story of an accomplishment or victory at school or play. 

We await those days with anticipation but for now are content to watch you in your helplessness and dependence on your father and mother. There is a beauty in the state you are in this day, totally dependent on others, without the ability to do one thing for yourself. You only have this sense of what you need, food and comfort. You know this will be provided and cannot even conceive of being without. You are nine days old and have never been hungry or cold or hot. You have been blessed to be in the arms of a man and woman who have committed their lives to each other and to you and have the means to provide for you. In time you will realize what a blessing indeed this is, for even in the hospital where you were born there are those who share your birth date who do not share in your good fortune. 

In the months to come you will teach us so much. You will remind us of the wonder of this earth, as mud squishes through your toes, butterflies catch your eye, dogs lick your face, and raindrops fall on your head. You will teach us about trust. You will remind us of the joy and laughter that comes with learning. You will remind us to be thankful for all the things we forget to thank God for, as smiles fill your face when you learn to take a step, to feed yourself, to dress yourself, to do something nice for someone else. 

You will teach us about faith, real faith. As your parents fill your mind with stories of God, the Lord himself will fill your heart, and you will believe. How our Lord himself was once right where you are, gazing at his mother and father, helpless. And you will not doubt. Later others will introduce you to doubt, but that will not come from your parents or from the Lord. My prayer for you this day is that you will ever stand strong and not waver. 

I have a favor to ask of you, Truman Dyrud. As with your mother and her siblings and my other grandchildren, the first word you heard from my lips was the name of the Christ, Jesus. I also made the sign of the cross on your forehead. It was my little way of thanking God for you and doing one little thing to start your life as He would have it. I ask that when you come to such a time in your life, that you do this for my great grandchildren and their children. And if you have time in all the excitement, say a prayer for me, as I will for you. 

I am happier than I can say that you are here. I so look forward to sharing the days, weeks and years to come with you. God bless you Truman and lift you up, be a good man. 

The Nativity of John the Baptist

When I became Catholic, there were many things I grew to love that I had not thought much about when pondering finer points of theology. One is the church calendar. There is always something going on and it is always pointing to Jesus.

This week we celebrated the birth of John the Baptist. Just six more months until Christmas! Three months ago, when snow was still on the ground, came the annunciation - 9 months until Christmas. The angel told Mary at that time that her cousin Elizabeth was in her sixth month. Mary traveled to see Elizabeth, who became in a way the first evangelist, sorta. It was Elizabeth who proclaimed that the child Jesus, living three months in the womb of Mary, was "my Lord".

John the Baptist. The Precursor. He must increase and I must decrease. Leaping in the womb as Mary approaches Elizabeth. Preparing the way of the Lord. In the wilderness with a few followers. The baptizer of Jesus. Martyr at the hand of Herod Antipas.

Saint John the Baptist, pray for us. 

He's not playing golf.

My brother died a year ago today. I miss him more than I can write about, so I won't even try.

A friend pondered, in a sort of joking/sort of not joking way, "I wonder who is in his foursome today". Around  major sporting events, he has told me my brother has "the best view of all".

I don't have any real conception of what heaven is like, but I think I am on firm ground when I assert that it is not at all like golf. It is not like watching Alabama/Auburn in football

The Bible tells us over and again that our mind cannot conceive the glory of this new land. Perhaps it will be familiar but in a way that gives new meaning to the word familiarity. My brother is going to this land beyond land in a time beyond time worshiping the King of all Kings. Perhaps he is already there.

Jail time, I need more

Once a month I help conduct a church service at the local jail. Like hospice, this is an "I get to", not an "I have to".

The attendance is usually very light, never more than a half-dozen. After all, this is a fairly small county jail, not a Riker's Island or Folsom Prison.

Today there were three of us. Me and two women in their mid-30s. The Sunday Mass gospel reading for today is the story of Jesus and the woman at the well in Samaria. Many of you know that story, of the discarded, rejected, outcast woman who encountered Christ in two drinks of water. The drink of physical water that she provided him. The drink of everlasting life of living water that He offered to her.

You know the story, we all do. But I know it better from sharing it with two women who are also scorned, discarded, rejected and outcast. Right now. Right here. They knew that woman in the passage. They knew her tears. They knew how hard her life was. Face to face.

We held hands and shared prayers. I will likely not see either of them again. But time and again the gospel message comes to life for me in the faces and voices and tears of the hurting and the dying. I am drawn to them for reasons that I do not understand.

My life has just been so much more than it should have been...

What I learned at her funeral

Thoughts about her following Vivian's funeral

I should have known her better.

I could have known her better, I had the opportunity and passed on it. We both are to blame. If I had gone first she would have been thinking the same thing about me.

From a small service you see much bigger things. The whole of what matters in this life.

I was there not because I knew her well, but because I didn't. Because she was family. God created family for when times are fun and easy and for when it is hard.

Suffering differs so much across time and place. I cannot say I know what you are going through, because I don't. The suffering of the one who lost a sibling is different from my loss. I feel as inadequate in sharing his grief as he did in sharing mine. Nothing I say helps to fill that void, but it is good to know that others are there.

This priest is one acquainted with grief. 

Sunday worship, western rim of the known world

Two conversations an hour apart. One at a jail, the other at a nursing home. One with a man, the other with a woman. One is dying. One is locked up. Both were in tears.

"I miss my kids. I finally understand how much I hurt them"

"I miss my wife, I wish I could see her one more time to tell her that I love her".

Day two of Retirement

Pondering this part of life.
Last week as I drove to work for one of the last times, I wondered how I would answer all the old friends who ask about my new status. This question and answer came to mind.....

What is the most important project you are working on now?

Answer: Repairing the damage to my soul

In the name of the Father

Pondering the Trinity

One recent evening I was reading the Easter story to my granddaughter, Lilly, who is three. During the time in the Garden of Gethsemane, we read that Jesus prayed. “Why was he praying?” she asked. “What do you mean, why?” I replied. “He’s God isn’t He? What was he doing, praying to Himself !?” In this simple sentence she laid open one of the deepest questions of theology.  

The truth is we don’t know. We believe that Jesus was fully God and fully Man. We can write books about that and talk in our Bible studies about it, but can’t ever understand it. God as man is a glimpse of what God is like and what we are to be as sons and daughters created in his image. His life and love and pain here was a tiny peek at his nature. What does it mean when God takes on all the suffering of the human body? Not as a punishment but as a redemptive act.   

I tried to explain to her that we know God in three ways, or that he shows himself to us in three forms, but dumb down the Trinity and you find yourself wandering from one heresy to another. Fortunately she’d had enough and turned the pages of the story book, to his arrest and death and then resurrection.  

What our talk reinforced to me, is what CS Lewis said so many times, one of the reasons Christianity rings true, is that it is not something we humans would have come up with. The very fact that at times it seems to not make sense bears witness to the fact that it was not man made. 

Lewis said...

“Reality, in fact, is usually something you could not have guessed. That is

one of the reasons I believe Christianity. It is a religion you could not have

guessed. If it offered us just the kind of universe we had always expected,

I should feel we were making it up. But, in fact, it is not the sort of thing

anyone would have made up.”

A three year old heart felt the tug that something fundamental to this story is very very different from every other story she's heard. It has no flying ponies, or talking rainbows. But something even more incredible. A God who is fully one of us and fully God. You need not ask her if it is true, just look on her face and listen to her voice when she says "He's alive!, that's my favorite part". 

A thought last night on characters in the Prodigal Son Parable.

I have been all of them.

I have been the one who strayed into sin and squandered gifts from the Father.

I have been the one who was judgemental and unforgiving of a person who asks for forgiveness.

I have been the father who forgives a child.

I have been the servant, observing these things in the lives of others, just watching and waiting to be told what to do.

Which character am I right now?