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Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Love, Death and a Mother's Pain...

Remember death...
In The Passion of the Christ, there is a beautiful and heart-wrenching scene where, after witnessing the brutal scourging and unjust trial of her son, Mary sees Jesus falling as He carries the Cross.  The images flash back to what appears to be a distant memory of a time when Jesus fell as a child and started crying.  Mary was there to pick Him up and comfort him in her arms.

Without a word being said, you could see in her eyes, through the agony and sorrow, that she longed for that chance to hold and console her son again.
   
There may be no greater anguish than that of a mother mourning the death of her child, maybe, more so in the case of Mary, who witnessed her son's barbaric and grotesque demise, as people taunted him and laughed.

Most of us, will never know that pain.  Yet, we may get glimpses of it whenever we lose a loved one.

A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker lost her 24-year-son.  The young man met his destiny on a local interstate one night.  He lost control of his vehicle, ran off the road and was ejected.  Rescuers told the family that he probably died on impact.  Thus, diminishing thoughts of possible suffering, even though, I'm sure, the wonder will always linger. 

It happened during the weekend and when we heard the news that following Monday, it was a shock to our entire staff.  I couldn't believe it and can't begin to imagine the jolt it was for his mother.     

Death, especially when it involves the young, is always difficult.  In the natural order of life, a child is not supposed to die before their parent.  As one speaker noted at the funeral service, when a spouse dies, the surviving partner is called a widow or widower. When a child loses their parents, they are called orphan.  But, when a parent loses a child, there is no word for it because no word will suffice.  

Yet, death is a stage that every living organism eventually must face, whether they are ready for it or not.

Most people prefer not to think of it but, as St. John Bosco once said, "Think of it or not, death is unavoidable."  Every breath we take is a gift from God, no matter who we are, what we have done, our age or health.

A couple of weeks ago, it was my co-worker's son.  Several weeks before, it was the 12-year-old son of another woman, who works in a different department at our network. The boy was diagnosed with Leukemia and five days later, he was dead.

It will take both mothers a long time to heal, if not completely, at least enough for them to move forward.    

For me, they are poignant reminders of how fleeting life really is.
  
Pieta by Bouguereau (1876)
There's a Latin phrase that comes to mind; Momento mori.  It means “Remember death.”

As morbid as the expression sound to some, it is actually quite joyous, if not liberating. Since, once we accept our own mortality, we can start living like it with the people we most love.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church puts it this way, "Remembering our mortality helps us realize that we have only a limited time in which to bring our lives to fulfillment."  

Finding that fulfillment begins and ends with love.  As others have noted, no one on their sickbed says, "I didn't spend enough time at the office," "I wish I would have made more money," or "buy more stuff."  Instead, most people regret not spending enough time with their family, wasting time in strife instead of saying "I'm sorry," and failing to tell their loved ones how much they loved them.  
   
These are regrets that even surviving family members are often left to ponder after someone dies.  

In any case, it's a poor consolation to a mother who just lost her son; a son, who, at his tender age, may not have given much thought to his certain fate.  

Yet, as a woman of faith, my co-worker realizes that death is not the finale but the beginning.  It is the next chapter for our eternal soul.  And, just as Jesus was crucified, died and resurrected, we too can hope with confidence that our loved ones will be raised with Him after they are gone.    

As many of her friends and family walked by the open casket for a final farewell at the service before heading to the cemetery, I walked around the crowd to where my co-worker was standing, greeting some well-wishers, and when it was my turn, I hugged her tightly, as tears ran inconsolably down her cheeks.  As my voice cracked and my eyes watered, I told her to be strong and that I was certain her faith would carry her through this.

I also told her to look to Mary and ask for her prayers of intercession because, as a mother, who suffered and mourned the death of her son, she well understood her desperate yearning to hold her son again.  Mary shows us the way to grieve with grace.

Momento mori...

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Because I'm Happy...

Happy Feet...

"If something can't satisfy your heart's longings, deep down and long range, after you test that thing by time and experience, then that thing is not real happiness."

-- Peter Kreeft, Jacob's Ladder.  


Monday, August 17, 2015

Cars, Planes and Prayers on Way to My Brother's Wedding...

"When things go wrong, you'll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when things start going right, they often go on getting better and better." -- CS Lewis

"Carlos, it says you leave at 3:40," my wife sounded the alarm, as she looked at a printout of our flight itinerary, while the kids and I sat down at a table in a cafe near our house.

"What?" I asked incredulously.  "We're supposed to leave at 4:55!"  She was obviously misreading it. She checked the night before and saw we were on the later flight.

"Yes.  It says 3:40!  You need to call."  Three-forty?  That was an hour away!  We had just ordered lunch and were about to grab a quick meal before heading to the airport in what, we thought, was plenty of time!

I felt a knot in my chest and a tingly sensation all over my body, as anxiety and panic began to set in.

"What's the number?" I asked hysterically, "Let's get the food to go!"  I added, as I went outside to make the call.

"Listen," I said frantically, when I finally got a live agent, "I was scheduled to leave with my three young children (I made a point of stressing the young part hoping for some sympathy) from Miami to Los Angeles at 4:55 pm and when I checked our itinerary today it said we were on a 3:40 pm flight. What's going on?"

"Let me check.  Do you have your reservation number?" the agent asked.  After giving him the information he needed, I heard a lot of typing on a computer pad and then silence. A few minutes later, I heard some more typing and more silence.

By then, my I was really tense.  "Hello.  Are you still there?"

"Yes.  It seems you may have been bumped up to an earlier flight."

The rest of the conversation was a blur.  To me, it sounded like I was talking to the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons.  I grabbed the lunch bags and led my family into our SUV to get to the airport as soon as we could.

The adventure begins...
And thus began a whirlwind of a day that started that Saturday morning at the crack of dawn (Ok., maybe more like 7) in Sanibel Beach to pack our car in the pouring rain (since we wanted to get home for our flight!) from our yearly family vacation.

We had driven two hours, picking up breakfast and our dog from the kennel on the way.  We unloaded the car and the kids and I repacked our bags to ensure we weren't forgetting anything, before loading it back into the car and heading to a nearby eatery for a bite on the way to catch our flight to Los Angeles.

We had a long day and night ahead, since we   were scheduled for a five-hour flight to L.A., an hour and a half layover and another two-plus-hours flight to Medford, Oregon and then had to drive a 1/2 or so to Ashland for my brother's wedding.  We were set to arrive at 11:00 PM, Pacific Coast time, or what was equivalent to 2:00 AM for us!  Little did we know that our day and night was about to get longer!

After a quick stop at our house, we rushed to the airport, which is about 10 minutes north of us.

When we arrived at the curb of American departures, it looked like a Chinese fire drill. Every door flung open at the same time and people started coming out in every direction, several bumping into each other in the process, as we scrambled to the back of the vehicle to get our carry-on bags.

My wife, who couldn't make the trip and was dropping us off, also got out, helping with the bags and kissing everyone goodbye, as we ran towards the ticket counter, where everything came to a sudden halt. There was a line about four or five persons deep in every direction!  I looked at my watch.  It was 3:00 o'clock and I was still hoping we could make the 3:40 PM flight.

Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.  It took another twenty minutes to finally get to the counter and, by then, I was hoping they put us in the 4:55 PM flight.

As soon as we got to the agent, I told him our predicament.  I was heading to Ashland for a wedding with my three young kids.  I booked a flight on the 4:55 PM flight to Los Angeles but was apparently moved to the 3:40 PM flight without notice.  The agent started looking through the computer.  "You should have been notified," he said.  Really?  Brilliant!  It's too late now! 

"Listen, I was on a family vacation last week and never got a notification. Can you get us on the 4:55 flight?"  I was praying internally since getting in the car on the way to the airport and, as the agent went back to the computer, I asked my daughters to pray for the Blessed Mother's intercession as well.

"Unfortunately, it's overbooked.  Your best bet is to come back tomorrow and take the same flights."   I felt the Mr. Bill within me yell out, "Oh, noooo!"  But, before a sound came out of my mouth, the agent said, "Let me get the manager to see what we can do."  Yes, please, get the manager.  Get the pilot. Get the janitors that clean the plane.  Get anyone but get me to Ashland in time!  

Soon, it was the manager that was looking through the computer, as we told her what happened and time kept ticking.

She said, "We can get you on the 6:00 PM flight but you wouldn't make the connection to Medford and we have only one flight to Medford from Los Angeles.  You would be stuck there until our next flight tomorrow night!"

Are you kidding? My heart sank even further.  Mother Mary please!  I need your help here with the Big Guy.  Help us get to Ashland by tomorrow!  

"Is there any other way?  The wedding is tomorrow!" I pleaded.  (OK., so I fibbed a little.  It was actually the day after but we would miss the rehearsal dinner, not to mention Sunday Mass!  I had to get there by morning).

As the manager continued to search, I called my Dad, who was already in Ashland to give him the bad news.  We were not going to make it there by 11:00 as planned.  At this point, we didn't know what time we would be there.

I also called my wife to tell her what was happening.  "See if you can get somewhere else with a connection to Medford," she suggested.

"Is there any other city we can make a connection to Medford?  Portland, maybe?"  I remembered my parents having flown through Portland before.

Fun times...
After searching for a while she said, "This wouldn't be ideal with three kids but the best we can do to get you there by tomorrow is to have you fly to Phoenix on an 8 o'clock.  You would have an hour layover and then take a US Air flight to Portland, getting there by 1:30 AM local time, then you would take a 6:00 AM flight on Alaska Airlines to Medford, which would arrive at 7:00 AM tomorrow."

Three flights on three different airlines with three kids in tow?  What could possibly go wrong?  "We'll take it!" I happily exclaimed. Thank you, Jesus!  Thank you, Blessed Mother! I almost went into my dog's happy dance but managed to keep my composure.       

We walked through the TSA security check point and to our gate, which was about a mile away, or at least felt that way with our eight carry-on bags, two for each of us, although, I was carrying the brunt, mine and my son's, as my girls rolled their carry-on bags and the lunch bags, which we had yet to eat.

We had about three and a half hours to kill before boarding time, so when we got to the terminal, we finally ate.

One hour went by, two hours went by and then three.  We kept checking the departure time every so often.  Still on time.

However, we were approaching our boarding time and the flight ahead of us at the same gate was still there.  It was parked where our plane should have been a while ago to prep it for our flight.

More anxiety.  I knew we had a 58-minute layover in Phoenix for our connection to Portland, so time was limited.  We were told by the manager at the American ticket counter that if we missed the connection, we would have to wait for a morning flight from Phoenix to Portland and then take a later flight from Portland to Medford.

It would have thrown off the entire schedule!  We had Mass at 9:00 AM, since the next Mass in English was at 5:00 PM and the rehearsal was at 5:30 PM, followed by the rehearsal dinner.  My sister-in-law-to-be had already shot down my idea of attending the later Mass so my nerves were on edge.  Please, Lord, if it is in Your Will, let us make our flight." (I didn't want to force His Hand through prayers and have the flight crash!)    

We approached the counter and I asked what was happening.  "Our plane is ready to come to the gate but this flight is delayed.  We have to wait for the plane to move."

Boarding was supposed to be at 7:30 PM.  It was 7:20 PM and the other plane was still at our gate.  It finally moved about five minutes later but then it was our plane that was nowhere in sight! What's going on?  Time kept ticking.  It felt like forever and I kept looking at the departure time.  I knew it would take some time to get our plane ready before boarding.

When our plane finally arrived, I check the departure time and it had changed to 8:15 PM. Now, we had 49 minutes to make our connection but still nothing to be too concerned about.

I asked the male flight attendant who started walking around as we waited, "We have a connecting flight to Portland about 50 minutes after we arrive in Phoenix.  Can the 15 minutes be made up in flight?"

He looked at me and said, "Realistically, we will probably be leaving by 8:20 or 8:25 at the earliest. We can make up about 2 minutes per hour, so the most we can make up on a flight to Phoenix is about 8 minutes.  Then you have to calculate the distance it will take you to get to the connecting gate.  The airport in Phoenix is huge.  The terminals are far apart."  Gee, thanks for killing any false hope we had of making it!  Lord forgive me but his wife probably ran off with a pilot or something. 

I started recalculating.  If we left by 8:25 PM, that would give us 33 minutes to make our connection, which would be about the time the plane started boarding and, although the manager back at the American counter said US Air was nearby, after that uplifting conversation with the love-scorned flight attendant, who knew how far our gate was?  Concern was knocking at my door and I kept answering but no one was there!  Mother Mary, please help us get there in time!  Unbeknownst to me, my girls were praying too!

Must be in the front row...
Our plane finally made it to the gate and after some more waiting we started boarding.  We were assigned to row 31; the last one on the plane!  Well, at least, we were close to the bathroom!

By then, the kids were bouncing off the walls with excitement.  My 10-year-old daughter called the window seat.  My son sat next to her in the middle and my 14-year-old took the aisle seat.  I sat on the other side of the aisle.

We took off at about 8:30 PM, leaving us 28 minutes to make our connection.  It was time for more prayers.

Despite their enthusiasm, about 20 minutes into the flight, the kids were down for the count.  It had already been a long and stressful day and we still had a long night ahead so I tried to doze off as well.

The flight was smooth and I overheard another concerned passenger asking the flight attendant about making her connection to San Francisco.  "I have a connection to Portland at 10:55," I offered.  She said, "My connection is at 10:45."  Oh man, she's doomed!

As we started to descend and the pilot made an announcement that we were going to be landing shortly, I told the kids to get ready because we had to gather our bags in the overhead compartments and move as fast as we could.  The fact that we were in the last row was going to make it that much more challenging but we had to give it a shot.  Maybe, the Portland flight was delayed!

It was 10:30 Phoenix time.  The pilot asked to please allow the passengers making a connecting flight to exit first and, even though we were at the end of the plane, a lot of the passengers acquiesced to his request and allowed us by.

We walked out of the gate and quickly looked for our US Air information on the flight board.  My 14-year-old quickly saw it and we were off.

We had about 25 minutes left and we started booking as fast as we could.  The little ones were running ahead as we caught our first moving walkway (The kind that if you are not careful when it ends, you end up going head first into the ground or the rear end of the person in front of you!), then our second, then our third.  We kept seeing the sign for our gate but still had more walking to do.  We hit our fourth moving walkway and as we got off, we turned a corner and the gate was within sight.

The passengers were already boarding and it looked like the last section was in line.  I dropped the bags near a seat with the kids and rushed to the counter.  There was a guy in front of me that was having some sort of "issue" with his ticket and the elderly attendant was in a frenzy on her computer.

The line kept dwindling down, as the passengers went into the plane, while the elderly woman tried to solve whatever problem the guy was having.

Suddenly the plane was fully boarded and the attendant at the gate told the elderly woman, "I have to close the door.  The pilot wants to leave on time!"  I was sweating bullets.  Could we have come this close for not?  Finally, she gave him his boarding pass and he went in.

I handed her my tickets and told her we were traveling to a wedding in Ashland, Oregon and needed to get on that flight!  She said, "Don't worry.  We'll get you on."  I breathe a sigh of relief.  Yet, after more typing on the computer (I started hating those airport computers), she said, "I can't seem to find your older daughter in the system."  Say what?  What are you saying; she has to stay in Portland? Blessed Mother, are you still awake? 

"She is a minor correct?"  "Yes," I answered, "And she came with us from Miami!"  More typing. "Oh, here we go.  I don't know why they did it that way but here she is."

She started printing our boarding passes.  "The only problem is that we don't have four seats together so the best we can do put two of you together and then one and one right in back of each other.  But the single seats are both aisle seats, which are gold and you may be able to exchange one with whoever is in a middle seat next to either of you."

It was exactly what we did.  My son sat with my older daughter and about five rows behind them, I sat with my 10-year-old daughter.  Another two hour flight in stored but the pressure was off.  Our next flight was Sunday at 6:00.

Shortly after take off, my daughter cuddled up with my arm and fell asleep.  She was out for the entire flight.

When we got to Portland, it was 1:30 AM and the airport was practically deserted.  Most of the shops and restaurants were closed and cleaning crews were busy buffing the floors and clearing garbage cans.

We were starving and, to top it off, my feet were killing me.  I made the mistake of wearing flip-flops and all the air travel dried my feet.  Every step felt as if knives were going into my heels.

The straightest route to our terminal was closed, as all passengers were re-routed (probably) for security reasons.  Great!  More walking.  We had to go around the whole airport to find our way back to Alaska Airlines.

Fortunately, on the way, we found a convenience store open, where we bought some chips and soda and I got some moisturizing cream for my feet.  Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do!

The kids were exhausted...
We had about four hours to kill so we found a group of empty seats and made ourselves comfortable.  The kids fell asleep right away. I, on the other hand, was still antsy.  Knowing there was "an issue" with my older daughter's ticket, I couldn't be comfortable until I had our boarding passes in hand.

As time ticked by, and the desolate airport was becoming more and more eerie,  my mind started getting the best of me.  Just how safe is this Portland Airport?  And, where the heck were the security guards, having chips and soda at the only open convenience store in the place?  In Miami, the airport is open all night and there are security guards and police everywhere.  Here, it was like a ghost town with the exception of a few scattered passengers sleeping in various corners.  What would keep a maniac from coming through the doors with a gun and robbing me, knowing I wouldn't resist with the kids asleep?  Not that I would resist if they were awake but... I got up and started pacing and looking for the possible maniac. No sight of him!

I finally called the airline hotline to see if there was a way to get the boarding passes by phone.  They found my reservation number but told me that I would have to see a ticket agent at the counter since they found the same "irregularity" with my daughter's ticket. God was definitely testing my trust in Him!
         
By 5:00 AM, people started arriving and lining up the Alaska Airlines counter and the computers for passengers to get their boarding passes finally turned on.  I started panicking since boarding was a half hour away and I still didn't have my boarding passes.  Yes, panic and prayer kept me company and awake all night!  I went up to an employee in the front of the two lines formed and said I had talked to the airline and they told me to see an agent at the counter.  He directed me towards the shorter line and I waited for my turn.

When it was finally my turn, the agent took my tickets and I told her what they had told me on the phone.  She asked herself out loud, "What did they do?" After searching for a little while, she finally found my daughter's information and cleared it up with a few more types on her computer pad.  My daughter was still sleeping with her siblings nearby.

Then she told me, "I see you are confirmed on the flight from Los Angeles to Miami but I don't have anything on you for the flight from Medford to L.A."  Gulp...  This is getting ridiculous. "You'll have to call American about your flight back."  Will this night ever end, please?

Our last flight of the day...
She handed me the four boarding passes and I went to wake up the kids.  We picked up our bags and went through the TSA checkpoint.  Luckily, the terminal was not that far away and soon we were having coffee at Starbucks, as we waited to board our propeller plane to Medford.

We boarded and departed on time.  It was actually the nicest plane we took; with plenty of leg room, leather chairs and free Starbucks coffee!

A driver was waiting for us in Medford and after a half-hour drive, we finally arrived at my brother's apartment building in Ashland, 24-hours, a two-hour car ride and 16-hours at airports across the country later, where my parents, my brother and his bride-to-be were waiting for us.

After having some coffee at the coffeehouse down the block, we drove to Mass.  We may have nodded off a few times during the liturgy but we were there.  Thank you Lord for getting us here safe and sound, despite the many challenges and for my private lesson on faith, love, hope and perseverance.

I'll save the return home story, where, among other things, we had to wait for an hour at the runway after arriving in Miami and were on the same flight as Christian Bale, and the entire Batman family, nanny and all, for another day...
         
     


  

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Get in the Fight!...


"Better fight against the light, if you won't fight against the darkness, but at least fight.  Care.  Fight for the wrong side if you can't fight for the right side, but don't stand on the sidelines and sneer at the game.  Have blood in your veins, not tepid water."


-- Peter Kreeft, from Jacob's Ladder.  Kreeft is a philosophy professor at Boston College and The King's College in New York.  He has authored over 75 books, is a husband (one wife), father of four, grandfather of five, and public speaker.  He was a Calvinist, who regarded the Catholic Church "with the upmost suspicion" but when asked by a professor to investigate the claims of the Church to be the one founded by Jesus Christ, he was persuaded by the writings of the early Christians.  He applied to the Church the C.S. Lewis trilemma on Jesus, either He was a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord (either the Church was "the most arrogant, blasphemous and wicked claim imaginable, if it is not true, or else that she is just what she claims to be.") and was convinced by the latter.  He converted in the late '90's, well after being established as one of the most respected Christian writers of modern times.

Check out his conversion story here.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Same Sex Marriage, Truth and My Cousin's Legacy...


In 1994, one of my closest cousins died.

Funny, smart, full of life; he was always the life of the party and center of attention. He was the kind of person who would welcome strangers and five minutes later was their best friend. Maybe, it was because, after having come from Cuba at a young age and moving to middle America (a suburb in Chicago), he always felt like a bit of an outsider, although there was probably more to it than that.

My cousin was extremely family oriented, which shaped the man he was.  There was never a family reunion without him being there making everyone laugh at his jokes, imitations and antics. Yet, despite his candor, openness and jovial exterior, there was a part of himself he did not share publicly. He was attracted to men.  It seemed that out of love and respect for the family, he preferred to keep that to himself.

When he got ill, his death came quickly.  Within a year he deteriorated and was reduced to a remnant of his old self, succumbing to his ailment at the tender age of 33.

I love my cousin.  I miss him dearly.  When I first saw the movie Philadelphia, I felt a sense of shame and remorse for not being there for him towards the end, not for any conscience reason, but because I was "too busy" living my life, too caught up in my own selfish lifestyle.  I still live with that regret today.

Now, while it's true that he never came out publicly to his family, although he did confide in a select few, to be honest, it wasn't necessarily a surprise to anyone.  We all live with secrets in life and some extend to family, where, at times, some are considered best kept that way.

Despite his personal desires, his love of children and family unity, may have made him realize the emptiness and meek prospects of his situation in the long run.  He always lived for the moment.

It's funny, I thought about my cousin recently after the Supreme Court decision last week and an openly homosexual friend (who is in his mid-to-late 50's) admitted to me and another friend, "You know, I sometimes wish I would have found a wife and had children.  Especially, now that my life is winding down.  I could never have adopted, as did... (He mentioned someone we know).  I'm too selfish and enjoy my freedom too much.  I love traveling, going out and partying but, it would have been nice to have had a wife and family of my own."

Last weekend at Mass, our freshly ordained parish priest, barely a month out of the seminary, said his honeymoon was over (almost as fast as it started) because he was going to speak out against something that, according to a Quinnipiac University Poll, 60 percent of Catholics agree with; Gay Marriage (Not that Truth is ever determined by popular vote or that the Catholics polled even go to Mass!).  He actually gave a disclaimer by giving out his email address for anyone that would object and wanted to discuss the issue further!

During his sermon, the novice priest quoted (in less graphic terms) from Chief Justice John Robert's dissent on the SCOTUS ruling:
"This universal definition of marriage as the union of a man and a woman is no historical coincidence. Marriage did not come about as a result of a political movement, discovery, disease, war, religious doctrine, or any other moving force of world history—and certainly not as a result of a prehistoric decision to exclude gays and lesbians. It arose in the nature of things to meet a vital need: ensuring that children are conceived by a mother and father committed to raising them in the stable conditions of a lifelong relationship.
The premises supporting this concept of marriage are so fundamental that they rarely require articulation. The human race must procreate to survive. Procreation occurs through sexual relations between a man and a woman. When sexual relations result in the conception of a child, that child’s prospects are generally better if the mother and father stay together rather than going their separate ways. Therefore, for the good of children and society, sexual relations that can lead to procreation should occur only between a man and a woman committed to a lasting bond.
Society has recognized that bond as marriage. And by bestowing a respected status and material benefits on married couples, society encourages men and women to conduct sexual relations within marriage rather than without. As one prominent scholar put it, “Marriage is a socially arranged solution for the problem of getting people to stay together and care for children that the mere desire for children, and the sex that makes children possible, does not solve.”
The clergyman added, "The only thing he was missing was not mentioning that this is something given to us by God.  And, you see the problem, if we believe this is what marriage is, and this is what God has given to us as marriage, then you see the issue is that we can't change it.  We, as a Church, are keepers of the Truth... we can't change it, no matter the political, cultural or societal circumstances of the time."

"This is completely antithetical to the way our culture thinks today," he continued, "which is that truth shifts according to the circumstances, and how everybody feels at the time... In the past few weeks, there have been serious debates online on whether a white woman can call herself black, or if a man can call himself a woman.  The arguments for these things revolve around the fact that they really desire it to be so, so why not?  It would be discriminatory, or judgmental, to say otherwise. The Church would say, as much as you say that "you're black," the reality is, "you're white."  The Church would say, as much as you say it and desire it, and even change your appearance to look it, the reality is, "you're a man", not a woman.  You can see in this reality how we can easily take what has been marriage since the beginning of humanity, and take something that was never called marriage until a few years ago, and now call it marriage."

At my work, the SCOTUS decision was received with cheers, applause, high-fives and champagne bottles being uncorked.  We even got a statement from the company President hailing the decision by five of the Court's nine judges.

As everyone knows, social media exploded with celebratory comments and profile pictures turned into rainbows.  "Love wins!" many friends posted but I ask myself did it really?  Catholic author Chris Stefanick points out in his book, Absolute Relativism, "Love without truth - much like truth without love - is a unique form of cruelty."  

Even taking religion out of the equation, it's not hard to see what nature had in mind. Nobody can deny, as much as some may try, that our bodies proclaim the truth of our nature; certain parts designed to fit in certain others and when we fulfill that truth and give ourselves completely and openly to one another within marriage, we partake in the creation of life; in the survival and continuation of humanity and society (as Chief Justice Roberts pointed out).

I couldn't help but think of how fast we had moved from my cousin's death in the mid 90's, to sympathy and empathy, a worldwide cry to find a cure for AIDS, tolerance and acceptance, to support and an eventual move to redefine the most sacred and important institution within society, which is the foundation of the family.

While I'm sure many, including family members, would say that my cousin would be celebrating along with the culture, I can't help but wonder if that would be the case.  As giving and selfless as he lived his life, where he was willing to protect his family at the detriment of his own desires, would it be so strange to think he wouldn't?  I don't know.

In any case, I think another Catholic author, Brandon Vogt, said it best, in addressing those of us dejected by the Supreme Court decision, on where we go from here, "Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than teachers.  Bear witness in your own marriage.  Holy marriages fuel a strong marriage culture. Commit right now to your spouse and to your kids that their vision of marriage will be shaped not by legislators, teachers, or activists but by YOUR marriage; by your heroic devotion, one-flesh union, and fidelity to that truth imprinted on your bodies and affirmed by God.  When asked the most pivotal question in this debate -- what is marriage? -- their answer should be clear: my mom and dad."

And, that is what I feel my cousin would want me to do...



Friday, June 26, 2015

Words of Wisdom from Pope Benedict...


"We are moving towards a dictatorship of relativism which does not recognize anything as certain and which has as its highest goal one's own ego and one's own desires."


-- Pope Benedict XVI, considered by many as the greatest theologian of our time and among the greatest theologians in Catholic Church history. Served as Roman Pontiff from 2005 to 2013, when he surprised the world by announcing his retirement as successor of St. Peter due to health reasons. As Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, he served as Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith under St. Pope John Paul II from 1981 to 2005. A prolific author of over 60 books, three Encyclicals and three Apostolic Exhortations, he is currently living a life of prayer and meditation in the Vatican grounds, as the Pope Emeritus...

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Bruce Jenner, Heroism and Individuality Run Amok...

Earning Gold; a true American hero...
In the summer of 1976, aside from getting immersed in the Beatles and starting to run for the first time, influenced by two older cousins from Chicago, who were staying at our house (She, like any teenage girl, was into music and he, a football player, training for the upcoming high school season), I remember sitting in front of the television set in our family room with my parents, younger brother and cousins night-after-night, as we watched the Olympic games. It was the first time I had seen, or even been interested in, the international sporting event but I had older cousins who were fans, so I wanted to do whatever they did.

We were captivated by a 14-year-old Romanian gymnast named Nadia Comaneci.  We rooted against the Cuban national team, as all good Cuban exiles did at the time, including Sugar Ray Leonard's defeat of Cuba's top light welterweight boxer.  And, we cheered, most of all, for one of the greatest athletes that ever wore the red, white and blue, compete in arguably the greatest feat in Olympic sports history, the ten-event decathlon, and win.

Bruce Jenner unified the nation, at a time when it needed it most following Vietnam, Roe v. Wade, Watergate and internal political and social strife (not to mention the Cold War).

He had a chiseled face, broad shoulders and a Captain America smile. He represented everything that the United States, which was celebrating its bicentennial year, was at the time; young, strong and selfless; a true role model; a national hero.  That was then.

Today, Jenner has become a hero to some for another reason.  As most of the world knows, at the tender age of 65, after three failed marriages and having fathered six children, Jenner says he's no longer Bruce but Caitlyn, the woman he was always meant to be.  You can pot up The Crying Game theme song right about here.

In search of happiness...
He has become a symbol of the pursuit of happiness and individuality at all cost, regardless of who might get hurt, including his family and children, some of whom have publicly supported his very public announcement on prime-time television but others who have remained silent, eventual grandchildren, who will one day have to figure out why grandpa is a grandma and a new generation of kids, who will not remember him for what he did for his country but what he did for himself.

It's ironic, in a society where women are repeatedly told to love their bodies and accept themselves for who they are, as one of my wife's friends pointed out, Jenner is celebrated, praised and awarded honors for not accepting his.

Well, despite all the hoopla, fanfare and victory laps by the LGBT community, the Emperor is not wearing new clothes, he's naked!  And the crying girls mobbing North Korean Dictator Kim Jung Un, like infatuated teenagers meeting their idol, are shedding alligator tears (Or maybe got a whiff of his breath!).

Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI once wrote, "Only in truth does charity shine forth, only in truth can charity be authentically lived... Without truth, charity degenerates into sentimentality.  Love becomes an empty shell, to be filled in an arbitrary way.  In a culture without truth, this is the fatal risk facing love."

And, that may well be where we are as a culture; sentimentality, which may be why the divorce rate is where it is and children are growing up with no sense of objective morality, since everybody is different and what's true for you isn't necessarily true for me.  We can mold truth into what we want it to be just as we can mold God into what we want Him to be.

Despite not knowing the man, I can't help but feel a sense of affection for Jenner for what he accomplished on the field and the many memories he provided.  I realize his intentions appear to be sincere, however misguided I think they may be.  I hope he does find the happiness he seeks but I suspect that it'll take more than surgeries and hormones to find true fulfillment.

As I reflect on the story, the thought I'm left with is this; if that's how I feel about someone I never met, how must his children feel, and I'm not talking about what they may say in public but what they really feel.  As a father I cannot see myself breaking my children's heart even if it means breaking my own...