JESUS, MY GOD, I NEED YOU

The other night I caved in to the nagging of my Lord, Jesus. He dragged me to a night of recollection, reflection and meditation especially tailored to volunteer ministers of the parish. It's not that I didn't want to go. It's just that I have negative feelings about going in front of Jesus on someone else's terms rather than my own. Yes, even if the someone else happens to be Jesus, Himself. OK, I went. I thought that I had crossed the highest and hardest hurdle just going over the outgoing threshhold of my comfortable abode. Boy, was I ever in for an attitude adjustment!
I got there a little bit late. After the opening prayer. I was surprised. The place was chock-a-block with faithful church people. I mean, the creme-de-la-creme of the church people in this parish, anyway. I immediately prayed to the Divine Nagger, "not with this crowd! I told You I didn't want to come." He took pity on me and showed me to a seat in the dark corner of the back row.

See, He does have some Mercy left in Him.

The preacher is a person known to be creative, voluble, facile and articulate in his delivery. This evening he was creative and cautiously articulate in his second language. I was happy for that. I figured that he would have a greater problem with his task than I with my situation. He started by telling a cute little story about commitment and when he finished asked us all: "On a scale of
10% to 110%, how much percent do you dedicate to your ministry?" Hey, wait a minute. Is this meditation or confession?
Now the Divine Nagger gets in on the act and says in a solid, non-wavering tone into my left heart, "Stop complaining and answer the question."
So I do. It's not easy because I am a tough grader and besides, I know He's watching. (No, I'm not going to tell you what grade I gave myself.)
I hear a little whisper, "Hmmm, looks like we've got some work to do, eh?"
I hate it when He gives me that Canadian accent! So I say, "Let's move on, shall we?"

Indeed, the preacher did proceed to say a few inane things until the Holy Spirit took the upper hand again and I hear something like, "When you go to Jesus, why do you go?" I can't believe my ears. This is really tough, lightning and thunder stuff here. Why do I go to Jesus? Moi? Well, of cour...
"Careful, now, I'm right here, you know."
Well, let me see...WOW, mostly when I want something, I guess. But that's your fault because you said that You and Your Father would give us anything we asked for.
"Very well, I see that you need a moment to think about this. Please come up with something better than "...but you said..." so I'll back away a bit, but I'll be back in about a minute."
Boy, He can be tough. Now I know how Peter felt when He cornered him on the shore in Galilee. I better make nice and find a diplomatic way to say some hard truth.
"So, you want to be diplomatic, eh? Now that's a new side to you. You haven't gone over to Be____ub, now have you?"
No, Lord, of course not. I won't try to be diplomatic. I'll just cough it out. I ask for more than I give, that's true. I also think that it is true that I use a lot of it to give to the Mission that You expect me to do. I also know that I go to You a lot to thank You for the graces You give me. I go to Your altar a lot to partake in the Eternal Food that is Your Body and Blood. I bet You're going to say that I should share your love of me with my 'neighbor', right? You're going to say that I should stop and think before talking. You're going to say that I should give more to the collection, be nicer to Your priests and think better thoughts about non-Catholics.
"Ah, Paul, Paul. Get off your high horse and tell Me you love Me more. Open your eyes and look to Me for the answers to the ministerial problems that you have. When you ask Me for something, let it be for something that I want to get done. You remind Me so much of Jonah."
I told you that He is tough.
He is also smooth and merciful. He still keeps me healthy. He gives me more than I want and fills all my needs. He is there to talk to me when I need company. I am glad that I have known Him all my life and never have been tempted to leave Him. With Grace like that, I don't need anyone crying at my funeral.

GOD, I KNOW YOU WANT ME HERE (2)

The day after I learned of the situation in which Grandma was now living, I went to have a short conversation with Daughter. I wanted to know some of the details of her mother's condition. As it turned out it is about typical for a long-time dialysis patient. Things break down, infection takes over and the end of life is near. There is nothing that can save a person in this set of circumstances. I had already decided to go have a short visit with Grandma, so when I found out where she was resting, I went to say good-bye.

When I arrived the patient was sleeping, but I figured that she with what was ahead of her, losing a few minutes of rest would not be a great loss. I shook her gently and spoke softly, "Avuelita". She turned her head a little bit and with one eye open and one half-closed, she looked at me and wondered who was there out of uniform. I asked if she could recognize me. She shook her head. I told her that she would know me if she could see my van. Still, no recognition. I looked at her and simply said, with a litle bit of feigned impatience, "Hey you!" Her eyes lit up and her face was split in half with the smile that she made. "Hey You. I miss you. I'm not going today. I'm too tired."

"Too tired?" said I. "How can that be? You're in bed." Again, she smiled. I looked at her and said, "I know. I know that you are getting ready to go home." She wasn't smiling, but there was asolutely no sadness in her mien as she softly said, "Si." Her eyes did not turn away from mine as I said, "God is offering you His hand. He wants you to go for a walk with Him. Do you think He will take you to the Garden of Eden?" She just smiled and I could see her trying to understand the mystery that was upon the both of us at the moment.

After a moment, I looked at her and said, "When you and God are holding hands, I want to ask you if you would tell Him that 'Hey You' is a good guy?" Her laugh was instantaneous and deep, and all she said was "Si?"

Now I was laughing. "Si?" "Avuelita (I always called her Grandma) do you doubt that 'Hey You' is a good guy? Please say that you will tell God that I am OK." With her face shining with humor and loving friendship she asked if I thought that God would let her hug Him. I said that I was sure that He would, even though there are a lot of people that He has to attend to. She was reassured then and said, "While he's hugging me I'll tell Him about you."

At that moment, the hospice nurse came in and the refrain that I had come to know so well began, "I'm thirsty"; "Do you have a cookie?" The only reason she didn't ask me was because she wasn't in my van. So she drank a little water, told the nurse that her eye was sore, that her mouth was still dry and that she was hungry. I said a little prayer to God, "Get ready, Lord, Grandma is on her way."

The nurse and I exchanged pleasantries before she retraced her footsteps back to her station.

When she had left I bent over and gave Grandma a nice soft kiss on the cheek. I had never done that, but I figured that if she was going to put in a good word for me Upstairs, I better do something nice. She smiled and said nothing. I put my hand on her head, said a short prayer of blessing for her and to God and wished her well.

In a last shot of humor she said to me, "Now I can tell you, 'Adios'." She remembered! "Hey You" would always correct her when she bade him "Adios". "Hey You" would always remind her that "Hasta la vista" was preferable since "Adios" seems so final. It was her last word. Mine was,

Adios, Avuelita."

GOD, I KNOW YOU WANT ME HERE

For the last three and one-half months I have been the topic of conversation, in and out of my own house. Friends and relatives would come to the house and wonder about the state of my health. There was always a sincere expression of gratitude to God for my rapid recovery. There were always the hugs and kisses that show strong caring. I would go to Church, at first in a wheel chair and then, slowly, with a walker and finally on wobbly legs of my own. People I know only by sight would embrace me and thank God for me because they were so happy to see that their prayers were being answered. I'm glad that this behavior has seen it's day and doesn't present itself very much any more.

When you are a person like me, constant graciousness and amiability showered upon you is rather disconcerting. I am not a person who breaks even in the human relationships field. I am quite sure that at least 65 to 70 percent of the people who encounter me decide rather quickly that they don't like me. I am not disturbed by this. In fact I rather enjoy being in a position to help people to understand that if 50 percent of those who encounter them like them, they should thank God on bended knee morning, noon and night. Let this serve as a rather circumlocutive introduction to the reflection that I want to put before you. I want to walk you through an encounter with God that has to do with the phenomenon of interpersonal relationships and how He uses them to teach us about Himself.

Today, (the date is not important, but the fact that this happened today is) I found out that a person who has been in my life for only about seven months is on her way to her eternal abode. She is an old lady (but younger than I) whom I transported in a medical transfer van for about three months. This was a three times per week event. I would pick her up at her home and drive her five miles to the dialysis treatment center and four hours later, pick her up again and drive her home. She is not a very communicative person, but somehow, and I don't know how nor why, she and I "clicked". I liked her and she liked me. I told her my name before the first outbound trip and before the inbound return. I did this for at least three days; yes, six trips. So, before the seventh trip, I did not tell her my name. She asked me, "What's your name?" I told her. Before the eighth trip, she asked me again, and again I told her. It was a game. I could not tell whether she was actually forgetting or actually playing a game. Finally, on the first morning of the the third week, just before the thirteenth trip, she asked me my name and I responded sweetly, "Grandma, everyone calls me 'Hey You', so that's my name." She let a hearty chuckle escape her frail frame and kept saying, "Hey You" during the entire trip. She was trying to get the accent right. She didn't want others who might hear her to think that she didn't know English. When I picked her up on the return, she remembered to call me "Hey You" with a broad smile. She never forgot. It was the only English that she knew, and she savored it.

Tell me that God didn't know what He was doing in that relationship.

Grandma is only half the story, and the second half at that. The hot core of the story is the relationship between me and her daughter. Her daughter and I encountered one another over six years ago. It didn't take long before we decided that the best we could do is to maintain a coolly professional relationship in front of people and refrain from being alone with one another the rest of the time. It worked rather well. We actually succeded in being civil to one another and occasionally had snippets of warm, christian conversation. So, six years into accepting the fact that we shared the same limited space on the planet, I came to find out that she was caring for her mother at home and driving her to dialysis treatments three times per week. I haven't told you yet, but, she also has a full time job and two nearly grown children at home. There is no husband on the scene. I find myself saying to God, "Now aren't you the sly one!" He knows that I can't be cold to a child who devotes so much intense time and effort to caring for a parent. So, not long after I became aware of the situation, she and I had a longer, warmer christian conversation. Sometimes God is just so obvious about His intrusion into our lives.

Then, shortly after our conversation, Daughter contacted the transportation company for which I was working and contracted the company to transport Grandma. And of course, you know who God assigned to the job, hhhmmmm?

Four months ago I was struck by a severe, if non-fatal illness. I had to quit driving. Grandma and I haven't seen one another since. Daughter and I do get to see one another now and again and she always tells me that her mother wants to know if "Hey You" is OK.

But wait,wait! Today, as I said earlier, God really got obvious. He let me find out that Grandma was taken to the hospital and that the family had decided not to prolong the home stretch agony. Now whom do you think I am feeling for? Those of you who read me know the answer. Daughter, of course. All day long I have been telling God, "You sure know how to shake a guy. You know that Daughter and I are not particularly close. Why are You wringing my heart out this way? I know that Grandma is going to take you by the hand shortly, and that's fine. Now, Lord, you have to teach me how to really love Daughter. I know You want me to. My heart and soul have been shivering all day. I'll do it because You are showing me the state of Your Heart in all of this. I like the feeling. I like knowing that You trust me to convert to Love from disgust and indifference. I like Your giving me the strength and courage to respond to Your lightning bolt of Grace. May I ask that while You are holding Grandma's hand You hold mine too for my sake and Daughter's sake? That way we will both know where the consolations are coming from.

Now, Lord, there's one thing that I wonder about in this whole marvelous mystery though. Now that we are nice and warm to one another, what are you going to do to keep Daughter from crying at my funeral?

It Doesn't Take Long To Get Old

It Doesn't Take Long To Get Old
By Paul Dion, STL

It has been nearly two years since I last came to you with my spiritual musings. While I was away, I dedicated myself to earning a living the only way I know how. HARD WORK. As it turns out, Mother Nature gave me a lesson in prudence and common sense. 72 year old people can't do what 32 year old people can.  Here is my first meditation in a long time.

I thought I would share my experience of getting old quickly, not necessarily graciously. In fact my sons tell me that grace, respect and elegance were the least of the qualities that shaped my "getting old" experience. Now that it is behind me and now that I am officially old, and still recuperating from the physical and emotional torture, I will tell you the story before I go back to work in the secular world.

June of 2008 was a nasty month. I was let go from a nice job for fabricated reasons, and in favor of a less competent replacement. Never one to let management gloat, I went out and found work inside of a month. It was a different world. I went from teaching, writing and planning Church events to driving an airport shuttle van six and one-half days a week, never less than fourteen hours on the full days.

Then, Providence smiled on me and a fellow parishioner offered me a job opportunity in a medical transportation company. I passed all the tests (including the physicals) and all the interviews. I liked the people in the management and I liked the drivers who were soon to become my colleagues. So, in January of 2009 I went from driving fourteen to 18 hours a day to just ten or twelve, and those were the "long" days. I was thrilled to learn that Sundays were non-working days. Talk about hitting the jackpot.

On January 7, 2009, I hit the road for my training period with the senior partner of the firm. After a couple days I received my official employee identification badge. My number? 007. A license to kill! At the time little did I know that I would be the victim.

In the middle of the second week of training, I soloed. I was off and running. I weighed 170 pounds. I know that I made at least my share of dumb rookie mistakes. The management corrected those that they could and learned to live with the rest. I passed the probationary period test (6 months) and was kept on. The company was growing, so the decision to keep me was perhaps made a little bit easier because of that. It was during this growth period that the first customer with pre-dawn needs to be picked-up and brought to early morning dialysis treatments engaged our services.

I quickly volunteered to do that work. I had two reasons: a] at my age (72), getting up at 2:30 AM won't be hard, and b] by doing what no one else wants to do, I'll have job security. You oldies who are reading this, know exacty what I mean. So I did it. Soon we went from having one or two such passengers to having four or five or more. Six days a week we had a van (mostly mine) enjoying having all the city streets quasi empty and all the traffic lights on the major thoroughfares green at 4:00 AM. It was fun. Plus, most passengers are a lot more loquacious at 4:00 AM than they are later in the day.

I did this until February 6, 2010. On Monday, February 8, I called in sick because I could hardly move from a generalized gout attack. I sat around the house all day. I crawled around the house in pain for two days. My mother-in-law died on February 12, in San Diego. We went. I could not drive. Belle, (my beloved spouse) fresh from surgery, drove. We viewed her mother before the morticians took possession of the body. She stayed in San Diego and our elder son drove me back to Kaiser Urgent Care in Riverside.

I was getting old fast. After one hour, the doctors confined me to the hospital. I had to be wheeled to my bed. I will spare you the physical, mental and emotional adventures of my stay. Five days later I would be discharged from the hospital, a frail invalid of 132 pounds who could not do anything for himself. Now, that is old. Two weeks before my 73rd birthday. Did I get old graciously? Let me quote my son; "Pa, you must be the first person ever to get expelled from a hospital." (February 18, 2010)

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"Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD." (Job 1; 21)
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I remember some of the thoughts that I had while in the hospital, most of them while I was lying on my back convinced that I would not be able to walk out on my own steam. I would say to myself, "What am I doing here? Is this what it is to be in the hospital? Why am I here, there isn't anything that can be done to make me better?"

Then I would turn my head and see my elder son, sitting in vigilance by the bedside. He was the priest that God had given me for the first three days of my stay. I would say to myself, "There are no words of gratitude in human language to express the emotions that I feel in seeing my son offering the sacrifice of love that I am presently witnessing." In the moments of lucidity that I had (very few over a period of more than ten days) I would tell him the same thing.

When his younger brother came to replace him, I told him the same thing. He turned it back on me and said, "You expect me to believe you while you're 'out of it'?" I actually remember laughing weakly at that.

Over the years I have suffered fiery physical pain from chronic gout. It was never as vicious as what incapacitated me during February and March of 2010. Over the same period of time I have learned the truth about incapacitation and pain. It's not mine to own, it's not mine to keep. Job, the foreigner, and Jesus, the God-obeying, Spirit-filled Jew, both knew that. Our human difficulties are our gift/sacrifice to God. Our bodies are the altar of the sacrifice where pain is offered to God so that he can use it to bring someone else's life closer to His.

We say that pain and suffering are part of life. True. I firmly believe that pain and suffering are natural and supernatural realities of human life. Just like the grain of wheat has to die before growing and producing; just as the lamb has to die before becoming the protein and sustenance of other life, the part of our death that we feel in pain and suffering belongs to God so that He can harvest it and sustain another of His disciples in righteousness.

It has been about one month now that I have been perceptibly becoming more and more "normal", physically and emotionally. The doctors have been doing marvels. My indomitable competitive nature has not been shy about twisting God's arm to make Him make me a stronger missionary for His cause. I tell Him, "You kept me alive, so now make me better so that I can work for you. I don't mind the pain, take it, it's all yours. Oh, by the way, any time you want to invite me to take a walk with you back to the Garden of Eden, I'm ready. Just say the word." (Read Genesis, chapter 5, verses 23 and 24. I pray for that grace every day.)

I leave you with the simple thoughts expressed above. I hope that they will serve as food for thought. Low calorie, low cholestrol and sugar-free, of course.

I have gone back to the things I like. Sunday RCIA sessions for adults, writing for ParishWorld.net and preparing 90 minute conferences for adults on Biblical and Theological topics. Finally, I am hoping to be back at work in a week or two. I crossed the Red Sea into Old Age as a grouch. I am working at polishing my attitude and regaining my sense of humor. I count on you to pray for me and to refrain from crying at my funeral.

SERVANT KING(S)

Servant Kings
By Paul Dion, STL

This Sunday is a day when we are going to scratch our heads and ask ourselves about this celebration that we call Christ the King. If ever there was a celebration that seemed out of character, this could be the one. We remember all the readings and the homilies that we have heard about Jesus being merciful, kind, generous, patient, forgiving and healing. We look inside of ourselves and remember the times when He said that we had to give up everything and follow him. He, in fact, had nothing. He said that "the birds have their nests and the foxes their dens, but the Son of Man does not have a place to lay His head." (Matt. 8;20). He also said, "you think that I have come to bring peace, but I do not come to bring peace, I come to bring the sword." (Matt. 10; 34) Really? What sword? Whose army? Oh, and by the way, was that a horse I saw you riding the other day? Say, Rabbi, were those tears I saw running down your cheek when John the Baptist was killed? Herod is still around making our life miserable. What are you doing about it? Messiah? HHHmmm. Your ancestor David sure would wonder about that. He was a lot tougher that you have ever been.

It is clear that there have been some good and kind kings in the history of the world. Some of them have even been canonized as saints of the Catholic Church. It is still intriguing to ask if Jesus could have passed for one of them. Most of them, if not all, had nice places to live. If they didn't have them, they built them. Even David did that. However, one day "After David was settled in his palace, he said to Nathan the prophet, "Here I am, living in a palace of cedar, while the ark of the covenant of the LORD is under a tent." (1 Chronicles; 17: 1) Nathan then had an inspiration from God and conveyed it to David, thus: "Go and tell my servant David, 'This is what the LORD says: You are not the one to build
me a house to dwell in. I have not dwelt in a house from the day I brought Israel up out of Egypt to this day. I have moved from one tent site to another, from one dwelling place to another. Wherever I have moved with all the Israelites, did I ever say to any of their leaders whom I commanded to shepherd my people, "Why have you not built me a house of cedar?" (1 Chronicles 17: 4-7) God told Nathan that it would not be David to built Him His house, but David's son, Solomon. So it came to be that Solomon built the temple.
God in heaven has his angels. Moses had his Joshua. David had his Nathan. Jeremiah had his Baruch. Paul had his Barnabas. Jesus? He had 12 roughnecks who took a long time before they finally got their (His) act together.

This is a King? Is it possible that Jesus would not agree with this celebration? Is it possible that Jesus knew enough of His Bible history to remember how the Israelites got a king in the first place? As Samuel, he last of the Judges was getting old, the people came to him and said: "We want to be like the rest of the people. We want to have a king." (1 Samuel 8. This is required reading for today's feast) Samuel took this to God. God told Samuel to give them a king, but only after explaining to them what it would mean to them. The people insisted on the king idea despite the arguments of Samuel. Instead taking the responsibility of choosing a king for them, He had them vote. Not before
he warned them, in so many words, "Be careful what you ask for." The people chose Saul. He was a miserable king, fighting all the time. He also hated David and tried to kill him. David could have killed Saul on two separate occasions, but spared his life. Saul and his sons finally got killed by the Philistines and God's choice, David, became king.

Ah, David! Great Sinner...Great Saint! We are lucky to have David as a forerunner of Jesus. It is a superb study in contrasts. Of course, Jesus never sinned. Of course, David was a great king too. David came to know that it was better to be a kind ruler and a spiritual force rather than to be a savage warrior. He didn't loose his toughness, he focused it in a different direction. When we consider Jesus, we don't really see a king. We see someone regal who is not afraid of kings. That ran in the family. His cousin John was the same way. He told Herod that what he was doing was wrong. Jesus told Pilate, "You would have no authority if it were not given to you from above." (John 19;11) Jesus knew who was King. He is the the same One who told His Chosen People to be careful what they asked for. Jesus stood before the earthly powers and stood up to them. He remembered the psalms that say that our strength is in God, not in riches nor in human position. David the great saint knew what he was talking about when he wrote those powerful prayers.
Jesus knew that the words had been inspired by God and He lived them out. The victory was won on Easter Sunday morning. It was then that He introduced the good kings to His Father and no doubt watched as the bad ones went
to meet Be'elzebub.
That's when the Kingdom was born. The Man who had not where to lay His head. The Man who warned that He had brought the sword, who warned that He had come to set father against son. The Man who had no secretary. The Man who had nothing but His burning desire to fulfill His mission by serving His Father's subjects won the final battle. He actually beat death. Not only did He beat it, but He took all His followers under His wings and thus we all
beat death too. He also beat back the darkness of people's minds and enlightens us with the secret of how He accompanies us on the campaign towards that self-same victory over death. Under His wings, in the warmth of the Holy Spirit, we are therefore all kings. Kings without a palace; kings without a throne; kings without a horse; kings without a sword, but like Jesus, kings with a towel.
Here's a reminder from today's reading: (John, chapter 13)

"3 during supper, fully aware that the Father had put everything into his power and that he had come from God and was returning to God, 4 he rose from supper and took off his outer garments. He took a towel and tied it around his
waist. 5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and dry them with the towel around his waist.... ''14 You call me 'teacher' and 'master,' and rightly so, for indeed I am. If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another's feet. 15 I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do."

So, we are sent to rule in the Kingdom of God just as His Son did, with a towel around our waist, love in our hearts and the ardent fire of non-negotiable zeal constantly burning a brand in our entire being. It is not the trappings of an earthly kingdom that make us strong, it is the intensity of our faith that we receive from the Holy Spirit and live out in our lives as unwavering disciples of Jesus Christ Himself.

The result of all this intensity? You will be free not to cry at my funeral. Do you know why? Because I won't have to wear that towel any more!