Category Archives: Discernment

“Icons” of Hope and Encouragement

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In 1997, when Fred Rogers (Mr. Rogers) received an Emmy Award for his Lifetime Achievement in children’s television, his acceptance speech famously included an exercise, during which he invited audience members to spend just 10 seconds calling to mind people who had made a difference in their lives, who had helped them become who they are. Reportedly, that short reflection proved marvelously rich for those in attendance, many of whom were left misty-eyed by the experience.

While I wasn’t present for that award ceremony, I have viewed the video capturing that special moment multiple times, and it easily brings me to tears as well. When I take the time, even just the recommended 10 seconds, my mind can easily summon the faces of many good people, “icons,” if you will, of hope and encouragement, who have aided me along life’s path. Some are faces I would fully expect — family members, close friends, etc. — but others are faces of people whose lives only intersected with mine for a short period of time, yet their influence undeniably remains.

In the spirit of Mr. Rogers’ exercise, please allow me to introduce three such people, who have helped to make me the person I am today.

—

Jimmy, the Ice Cream Man

When I think of Jimmy, even after these many years, my heart smiles. He is someone from my childhood, who I knew virtually nothing about, except for the fact that his truck would turn the corner onto our street at roughly the same time every summer evening. He would then sound his familiar bell while pulling over to the right side of the road. The children of our neighborhood, myself included, would always be ready for him, clutching the coins our parents had given us, watching and listening together.

Jimmy was a heavy-set man, who moved slowly within the tight confines of his mobile ice cream shop. He was never unfriendly, but he spoke sparingly to his young customers, often soliciting each next order by a quick nod of the head.

He had an olive complexion, thick hands, slightly bulging eyes, and a round face that toggled between a smile and a smirk — a face that remains vividly accessible to me even today.

Yes, Jimmy served us creamsicles, strawberry shortcakes, fudge pops, and a variety of Italian ices, but those were not his only wares. Perhaps unbeknownst to him, Jimmy also served us innocent fun on a stick or in a cup. He served us a predictable rhythm in our young lives, an experience of shared expectation and joy. He brought us together on a common quest and helped to shape those blessedly simple summer evenings that bonded us in friendship.

Though Jimmy visited our neighborhood for the final time decades ago, he often still turns that corner and rings his bell in my cherished memories.

—-

Sister Mary Ann Follmar

“Follmar anxiety” cannot be found in the DSM-5, but it felt very real to my friend Liz and me when we were graduate students together in Sr. Mary Ann Follmar’s classes at Providence College. The faux ailment was a comical label Liz and I attached to our stressed-out frame(s) of mind when charged with writing research papers for our remarkable professor.

Holiness is not a measurable commodity, but when one is in the presence of a truly holy person, it is certainly discernible. I’m not referring here to an aura that sometimes accompanies celebrity. Instead, I’m speaking about an otherworldly quality that can be difficult to describe.

Christian theology asserts that God is holiness itself. In this view, God is perfectly pure and thus separated from all that is sinful. For a person to be holy, therefore, is for that person to manifest God-like qualities, i.e., to be similarly — though imperfectly — separated from sinfulness. I believe this quality of separateness is what people intuit when in the presence of a holy person.

Sr. Mary Ann exhibited such separateness, perhaps more strongly than anyone else I have ever encountered; however, rather than making her seem distant or unreal, the separateness manifested as deep joy and peace and thus acted as a powerfully attractive force. It was not unusual, for example, to find students gathered around Sr. Mary Ann at her desk before or after a class or even in the dining hall. She was also known to invite groups of students to her apartment for prayer, and many enthusiastically accepted.

Though known as Sister Mary Ann, she was not a nun; rather, she was a consecrated virgin in the Dominican tradition, who lived alone and spent several hours each day in Eucharistic adoration. The fruit of her devotion was powerfully evident.

Though she had no immediate family of her own in Providence, she took absolute delight in children, including our first child, Rachel, who was only four months old when I started my degree program. Sr. Mary Ann would positively beam in Rachel’s presence and was always eager to hold her, even if Rachel was having a fussy episode.

When my sister Christine passed away early in the spring semester of 1985, Sr. Mary Ann traveled with another of my professors, Fr. Giles Dimock, O.P., from Rhode Island to our hometown just outside of Boston for Christine’s funeral. Her (and Fr. Giles’) presence and support at that acutely vulnerable time meant a very great deal to me.

Sr. Mary Ann’s influence, in the classroom and (especially) through the witness of her beautiful life, made holiness seem possible for her students, including me. I doubt that spirituality would hold the same treasured place in my life if not for her. I will be forever grateful.

—-

Theodore “Ted” Vrettos

Ted Vrettos had a “yes” face that could easily transition into a mischievous grin. His laid-back classroom style put his students at ease and helped create a safe forum for creative expression.

I first met Ted when I enrolled in his basic Creative Writing class at Salem State College in the late 1970s. I had no idea at the time how much richer my life would be because of that encounter.

An endearing man, Ted was about 60 years old and an accomplished writer when I became his student. Thinking back, I struggle to recall anything that Ted actually taught me about the craft of creative writing. He did, however, do two things that I consider far more important. He encouraged my discipline as a writer, at least for as long as I was in his classes; and, he helped me to find and shape my writer’s voice.

I believe I took three classes in all with Ted and then finished up by participating in his summer writer’s conference in 1980. Beginning with my second class and continuing right through the writer’s conference, I was part of a committed group of Ted’s students, who took creative writing seriously and became very good friends. Four of them remain my close friends today, some 45+ years later. And, most of us continue to write.

In Ted’s classes, the desks in the room were always arranged in a circle. Ted would enter with his briefcase and assume his place at one of the desks in the front of the class. If he had given an assignment, he would begin there, but most of the time he would simply invite anyone with a newly written piece to read it aloud so that he and the class could critique it. The experience could be exhilarating, unnerving, even embarrassing, but we willingly subjected ourselves to the process because our desire was so strong.

A couple of years after graduation, someone from our group had the idea that we should get together again informally with Ted. My wife and I offered to host, and I reached out to Ted to see if he would consider joining us. He quickly agreed to come and asked if his wife Vas could also join in. In preparation, several of us, including me, wrote new stories to read to the group.

When the night came, we broke bread together, socialized for a while, and then fell back into our familiar pattern of sharing and critiquing. It was wonderful.

I saw Ted two more times in the early 1990s. First, I dropped by his house to invite him to come and speak at a Library Week program that would take place in the public library where I began my career. He was warm and welcoming as usual, and Vas prepared me a delicious lunch. He also agreed to come.

Our final encounter was a few weeks later at our Library Week program. Ted shared about his published books on the topic of Lord Elgin and his controversial removal of the Parthenon Marbles in the early years of the 19th century. He spoke eloquently, and the audience was very engaged. So, I was delighted with the program; but, I was sad to see it end. I sensed that my old mentor and I might never cross paths again after that night. That proved to be the case.

—-

At the end of December, I will be retiring from Boston College. It was not an easy decision because I genuinely love my job. Still, it’s time.

Being both naturally introspective and quite sentimental, I find myself in a reminiscing mood as the final days of my career tick by. Curiously, I’m not thinking at all about achievements through the years. They may have once been quite important, but their significance fades with time. Instead, my mind is occupied by the wonderful people I’ve been blessed to meet, work with, and serve during my career. It’s really all about them… and you.

“Jimmy, the ice cream man,” Sr. Mary Ann Follmar, and Ted Vrettos are all gone today.

I wish I’d had a final chance to say, “good-bye,” and to tell them how important they were (and are) to me.

I wish I had let them know that I love them.

—-

If you have been a part of my life, my work, or both, whenever I reserve 10 seconds (or more) to consider my helpers, your face may come to mind as one of my “icons.” Thank you! 

And, just so you know, I love you too!

Holy Ground

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“… put off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” (Exodus 3:5b RSVCE)

_

Just imagining the scene conjures up a swirl of emotions.

Her plot was hatched even as she watched the workers pour the thick mixture into the square form and smooth it with a trowel. She knew this much, the job to be done must be carried out in secret.

As afternoon yielded to early evening, while her Mom was occupied with preparing dinner, she sensed her opportunity. Clutching the popsicle stick she’d retrieved from her toy box, the wispy young girl slipped out the front door and crept purposefully toward the still-damp concrete. The naughtiness of her intention was unfamiliar but somehow exhilarating.

She glanced in all directions before moving aside one of the orange cones and kneeling next to her target. She would employ a light touch…

—

I once had the grand opportunity to visit the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia. As I moved slowly from gallery to gallery, viewing works of art by many of history’s great masters, including Rembrandt’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son,” I was spellbound. I also found myself oddly preoccupied by two things: 1.) the realization that each of these treasures began as a blank canvas and later became a masterpiece; and, 2.) a fascination with the various artists’ signatures.

Not all artists choose to sign their work. Some, however, make the distinctiveness of their signature a true part of their artistry.

—

Our granddaughter Therese, known affectionately to friends and family as T, has a flair for art that was evident quite early in her life. Though never one to draw attention to herself, Therese clearly understands the value of a distinctive signature. 

When she was thirteen, Therese was commissioned by her Gramma (my wife, Marianne) to produce a painting of a bird. When we received the finished work, I noticed for the first time the uniqueness of Therese’s signature. Note the period (.) before rather than after the capital T.

—

I once heard a conference speaker compare the experience of viewing a great painting by one of the masters to viewing a digital reproduction of the same painting. He admitted that the reproduction would lack the original’s capacity to inspire awe. He went on to say, however, that the digital reproduction should not be easily dismissed since advancements in digital photography now afford us the chance to study great paintings even at the brushstroke level.

I wonder how many thousands of brushstrokes Rembrandt used when painting “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” And, I wonder how many Therese used in creating her early masterpiece.

—

I still live in the small town where I was born and grew up. Its streets, neighborhoods, and even many of its residents are well known to me. It is, after all, home, and my roots run deep.

Maybe it’s characteristic of my age, but when I take walks today on these oh-so familiar streets, what had originally been intended as cardio exercise often becomes instead a mobile meditation through space/place and time. Memories are easily triggered. I also seem to notice things – or, more precisely, the significance of things – I have somehow missed before.

Locally, the practice seems to have ceased; however, for many years, the companies responsible for creating sidewalks in our town actually signed their work by embedding a small company plaque in the freshly poured concrete.

On a recent walk, I saw this:

What captured my attention was the date on the plaque, 1928. My father and mother, who also grew up in this town, were born in 1925 and 1926 respectively. So, they were toddlers when this sidewalk was created; and, since our town spans only 1.5 square miles, they had almost certainly walked on this very same sidewalk when they were children, adolescents, young adults, etc.

In a stunning moment of awareness, I sensed that a part of each of their stories had played out right here decades before. I suddenly felt a closeness to my parents that warmed my heart. Perhaps they had even walked by here together when their love was new and still enchanting. If so, I like to imagine that they were holding hands.

While caught up in this rumination, it dawned on me that F. J. McQueeney had, rather distinctively, signed a blank (concrete) canvas in 1928. Thereafter, it would be up to countless “artists,” over many generations, to finish the masterpiece.

All of the moments of all the lives lived atop McQueeney’s work were the brushstrokes.

—

I keep a soft, squishy ball that’s about the size of a softball atop the bureau in my bedroom. Most of the time, I pass by without even noticing it. Other times, however, it will catch my eye, and I’ll pick it up, squeeze it gently between both hands, and feel its inscape in my heart.

There’s a history with that ball that can’t be seen but can yet be deeply experienced, at least by a sentimental grandfather. Borrowing a concept from my favorite children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit, that ball has become “real.” My grandson Joseph made it so. (But, that’s another story.)

—

I now see that McQueeney’s sidewalk is likewise “real.” All of us who have traveled its firm path have made it so  – and continue to make it so.

Consider, if you will…

Boys, in 1956, pitching their baseball cards toward the small retaining wall on the far side of the sidewalk – brushstroke

A brother and sister, in 1933, drawing a marvelously imperfect hopscotch grid in front of their home – brushstroke

An elderly woman, in 1962, slipping and falling on an untreated icy patch, thus beginning a steady decline in her health – (a tragic) brushstroke

A committed jogger, in 1978, stopping to check the intricate tread on her running shoes after accidentally stepping in something unpleasant – (a smelly) brushstroke

A father, in 1989, teaching his 6 year-old how to ride a bike and letting go at just the right time (even though he’d sort-of promised he wouldn’t) – brushstroke

A lovely bride, in 1994, leaving her childhood home and climbing into the limousine that would whisk her to the church and to a new life – brushstroke

A 47 year-old heart attack victim, in 2006, being wheeled from his home to a waiting ambulance with his nervous wife at his side – brushstroke

And so on…

—

After countless other brushstrokes, my late sister’s name in that sidewalk panel has faded over time. Truthfully, it was barely discernible from the start. Perhaps she really did deliberately employ a light touch, or, the concrete had already hardened to the point that making a deeper impression was just too difficult.

When I pass that way, I’ll often stop to study the spot. I know exactly where her name had been literally etched in stone, but the clarity of “Christine” is no more. That realization brings me sadness. Still, its gradual fading, while disappointing to her younger brother, may be appropriate.

Perhaps our brushstrokes are meant to fade. Then again, perhaps they don’t fade at all. They simply become invisibly “real” by blending with countless other brushstrokes that paint the human story.

Christine’s name and her memory have now become part of that sidewalk panel’s inscape, brushstrokes of a collective masterpiece.

—-

Tread lightly on the sidewalks in your life, for they are truly holy ground.

Thank you, F.J. McQueeney.

Discerning Demagoguery

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/dem.a.gog/ – a person, especially a political leader, who wins support by exciting people’s emotions rather than by holding and expressing good or morally right ideas.

Preface:

Dear readers, I have never gotten overtly political in this forum, but recent events weigh on my conscience and compel me to share some serious concerns I have about the upcoming presidential election and its potential implications. Specifically, I would like to address the candidacy of Donald Trump.

Although I will reference both immigration and abortion (below), my intent is not to probe either of those hot-button issues in any depth. Rather, I intend to address them only vis-a-vis Trump’s candidacy.

In the interest of transparency, I do understand the need for countries to have secure borders; however, I also believe that immigration policies should be humane and should recognize the dignity, and the often desperate circumstances, of those seeking work and/or refuge in our country. Likewise, I am unashamedly pro-life; however, I believe that a pro-life position should be consistently applied, i.e., it should include every person (including the undocumented) and every phase and aspect of life from conception to natural death.

With those necessary qualifications expressed, I cautiously proceed. Please know that what follows are my personal views and should only be seen as such; however, I share them here in the hope that you will consider their merit.

—

A few days before Christmas, Donald Trump made some particularly inflammatory remarks at a campaign rally in Durham, NH. Speaking about undocumented people, Trump employed language reminiscent of fascist propaganda when he accused them of “poisoning the blood of our country.” Hearing his ugly rhetoric, it is not a stretch to recall, as many have done, the rampant anti-Jewish indoctrination in Germany from the mid-1920s until the mid-1940s. And yet, many cheer Trump on, including many professing Christians. This utterly bewilders me.

—

Considering the strong appeal he has with many Christians, it’s interesting to juxtapose Trump’s repugnant comment with a sampling of the Bible’s instructions regarding strangers/sojourners (i.e., migrants and/or immigrants).

“The stranger who sojourns with you shall be to you as the native among you, and  you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.” (Leviticus 19:34, RSV-CE)

“Thus says the LORD of hosts, render true judgments, show kindness and mercy each to his brother, do not oppress the widow, the fatherless, the sojourner, or the poor; and let none of you devise evil against his brother in your heart.” (Zechariah 7:9-10, RSV-CE)

“Come, O blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.” (Matthew 25:34b-36, RSV-CE)

“Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40b, RSV-CE)

—

Since Trump would be a far less viable candidate sans the Christian vote, I believe it’s also worthy to consider that the vast majority of undocumented people entering our country are Christians themselves, i.e., they are brothers and sisters in Christ to those U.S. citizens (and voters) who profess Christianity. And, they are among the “brethren” of whom Jesus speaks in Matthew 25:40b (see above).

In Trump’s mind, is it these undocumented Christians who are “poisoning the blood of our country?”

—

Russell Moore, Editor in Chief and Director of the Public Theology Project  at Christianity Today, has been outspoken about the crisis Donald Trump has brought about in Evangelical Christianity. He recently shared in an NPR interview that multiple Evangelical pastors have told him about being confronted by members of their congregations for preaching “liberal talking points.” When the pastors responded that they had actually been quoting Jesus himself from the Sermon on the Mount, they were told, in so many words, that Jesus’ teaching is weak and doesn’t work anymore.

Can Trump’s ego-centric, brash, and often overtly hostile manner really be neutering the teaching of Jesus himself in the minds of some Christians?

—

On Christmas Day, one of the holiest days on the Church’s calendar, Trump posted a “Christmas message” that was actually a curse directed toward his political (and legal) opponents. He concluded his rant this way: “MAY THEY ROT IN  HELL. AGAIN, MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

So, to be clear, Trump is wishing his opponents an eternity of misery and torment in a place lacking any hint of love, kindness, mercy, gentleness, consolation, compassion, etc. Yes, his Christmas message is a curse.

How many alarm bells must sound about this man before we awaken?

—

In chapter 5 of his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul provides a perspective that, as a Christian, I find enormously helpful for discernment; and, I think Paul’s guidance can (and should) be used when discerning something as important as a vote during a presidential election. Therein, he lists  the “works of the flesh” and the “fruit of the spirit,” which he sees as opposed to each other. He explains it this way:

“But I say, walk by the Spirit, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you would. But if you are led by the Spirit you are not under the law.

“Now the works of the flesh are plain: immorality, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger, selfishness, dissension, party spirit, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and the like. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit. Let us have no self-conceit, no provoking of one another, no envy of one another.” (Galatians 5:16-26, RSV-CE)

It is important to note here that St. Paul’s use of the word “flesh” (Greek sarx) does not refer literally to the human body. Rather, it refers to a way of life that puts the self and its gratifications first.

—

I implore my Christian friends who support Donald Trump’s candidacy to read Paul’s message in Galatians 5 with Trump in mind. Does he manifest the “fruit of the Spirit or does his character more closely reflect the self-centered “works of the flesh?”

—

One thing I have heard frequently is that many Christians are willing to overlook Trump’s flaws because they view him as a modern-day Cyrus the Great, the Persian leader who was instrumental in helping Jews return to the Holy Land and to rebuild the Temple following the Babylonian captivity. The New York Times had an interesting article exploring this theme back in 2018/2019. It was titled: “Why Trump Reigns as King Cyrus.”

While Christian nationalists, as the NYT indicates, may laud Trump as a potential king, a concept that must appeal strongly to their candidate’s unbridled narcissism, I believe that many Catholics first began supporting Trump precisely because of the hope that he would be instrumental in overturning Roe vs. Wade, a hope that has been realized. Now, with many battles still shaping up over the abortion question in individual states, they may still see Trump as the strongest advocate for their cause. As a pro-life Catholic myself, this is frankly what concerns me the most.

This is just one man’s opinion, but I have come to believe that the Republican party was never truly committed to overturning Roe vs. Wade. Why would they be? As long as the Democratic Party maintained its fierce commitment to abortion rights, and as long as the Republican Party claimed to be pro-life, they knew they could count on a significant voting block being in their corner.

Admittedly, this may be a cynical view, but I think the Republican Party has long viewed the abortion question opportunistically. As long as abortion was touted by the Catholic hierarchy and by Evangelical leaders and pastors as the preeminent moral issue in election campaigns, the Republican Party could count on a good number of its “pro-life” candidates being elected to Congress. Thus, Republican legislation, sometimes in direct conflict with Catholic social teaching, could often be pushed forward successfully.

In that respect, I think Donald Trump was a shock to the Republican machinery in Washington, D.C. He did push forward on the abortion question by appointing judges, including to the Supreme Court, who would vote to overturn Roe vs. Wade. When this happened, the abortion issue shifted from a tool of the Republican establishment to a tool of Donald Trump, a dangerous transition indeed.

St. Paul warns in 2 Corinthians 11:14 that “Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.” I believe that the abortion issue is now being used by Trump as a Trojan horse, allowing behaviors and attitudes heretofore abhorrent to Christianity, and to a democratic nation, to be normalized.

So, Trump is cheered for his strength as he literally curses his opponents, and all Jesus can offer is the weak and foolish advice to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44)

—

I believe Trump’s most blatant  attempt at securing kingship – at least so far – was revealed during the assault on the U.S. Capitol on January 6th. Since that grim day, Trump’s enablers in the media have consistently whittled away at the notion that January 6th was an insurrection. Now, even when confronted with overwhelming evidence to the contrary, millions are willing to accept the lie that the election was stolen and that the assault on The Capitol was a peaceful protest.

—

Many good people, because of their firm pro-life commitment, have proven vulnerable to Trump’s deception. So, even when their candidate publicly extols the virtues of dictators like Putin and Kim Jong Un, and even when he admits his intention to act as a dictator if he returns to the office of the presidency, people cheer wildly for him and feed his dangerously voracious ego.

I believe Donald Trump poses an existential threat to our nation. But, I also believe that people of conscience and discernment, including Catholics and other Christians, hold the key in this next election. Trump cannot contend successfully without their support.

So, do we choose the values of the kingdom of God as articulated in the Sermon on the Mount, or do we choose the coarsening, corrupting values of the would-be king? Quite literally, at least within the democratic process currently in place, the power still rests in voters’ hands.

Where do we see the fruit of the Spirit leading us?