Let 'em eat dog food

By Paul Dion, STL

On one Sunday when we heard the story of the multiplication of the loaves according to John, (6; 1 – 15) and the feeding of the large crowd by the prophet Elisha (2 Kgs 4:42-44), my parish priest, Fr. Romy, addressed world hunger and the ways that it touches all of us.

Early in his address to the congregation he said, “That horrible reality of hunger is a human tragedy. It is a sin against life.” (Italics mine) That means that it is a human tragedy not just for those who are hungry and dying, but for all of us who are implicated in their misery.

I am of the opinion that it is a sin against life that has “corporate” dimensions. We all participate in it. We all have a share in the death of the 40 to 60 million people who succumb to the ravages of hunger every year. Father Romy didn’t give any examples of how we participate in the corporate sin against life, but I am not shy, so I’m going to give it a try.

I know some people who brag about the fact that they never eat “leftovers.” So, they cook for four or five, even if they are but two in the house. The food that is left behind is carefully wrapped or placed in Tupperware containers and stored in the refrigerator until it either takes up too much space, becomes inedible or I and my wife “rescue” it and get to save $50.00
or more for the month.

Want to know what happens when we are not there to claim this food? It gets fed to the feral cats who roam the inner city neighborhood where these people live. Now, the last time I gave this any thought, I thought that feral cats who didn’t get to kill something for dinner, including one another, died of hunger.

People who feed them sin against human life because they spend too much for too much food that they have no intention of eating and they don’t think of the hungry people that they could help by being more frugal. And they sure don’t think of me. I can and will eat anything, including your leftovers. But then again, I’m not starving, so I guess I don’t count.

Yes, I do tell them that what they are doing is immoral. They think I'm crazy. I know I am, but I thank God that I am not insane.

I’m sure that I don’t have to mention the amount of food that is wasted in the restaurant industry. We all know the restaurants that give the most generous portions for the price. Two or three of us go there, get our money’s worth, so we say, and then send 35% to the disposal unit because our eyes were bigger than our stomach. My wife and I have discovered that any restaurant with a “king sized” portion policy will also serve that same portion with two plates so that none will go to waste. Think about it.

I also want to say that the amount of dog and cat food that we buy here in the United States could feed 40 to 60 million people a year. Not a person among them would complain. How many of these starving people can get a four ounce meal of tuna, corn meal, ground bone protein twice per day? How many of them can get a six ounce portion of beef, beef parts, meal, ground bone protein and other stuff twice per day?

None. If they could, they would not die, they would thrive. Yet, we feed that to our dogs and cats! If that is not a corporate sin against humanity, nothing is.

I don’t want to hear that these processed foods are not edible by humans. Oh!?! Do they contain chicken feet? Locusts? Beetles? Larvae? Pigs’ ears? Chicken combs? Bulls’ testicles? Blood? Not that I could see on the ingredient list. Yet, even if they are, these are all food items in many third world countries. I did see that they had a lot of fat content (good for silky fur), lots of salt (hmmm, gotta cut that, but that’s easy), animal parts (Fried intestines anybody? Go to El Rodeo Restaurant in La Mesa, Tijuana, Baja California). Have we forgotten that human beings are omnivorous?

One last comment. We humans, God’s greatest creation, are the only animals who can manage our food supply, no matter how complex we make it. We can even transport food across the planet to those who need it. Yet, we let our fellow human beings die because we do not have the conscience to keep them alive, no matter how many technological advances we have made
to process food so that it lasts for a long time.

What if we were cows? We would get fed, even just to fatten us up for future value. Do you know how much alfalfa it takes to make a 1,500 pound cow? How about the slop that it takes to make a 1,000 pound hog? I won’t bore you with the same question for sheep, goats, ostriches, horses, etc.

Somewhere toward the end of the book of Job, Yaweh asks Job, “did you ever ask yourself why the horse eats only grass and is swifter and stronger than you?”

That is a good question, but it doesn’t mean anything to us because God endowed us with a logical brain and freedom which the horse does not have.

The real question is, why don’t we use this endowment for our common good? My follow-up question is, why do we use this endowment to develop food to make dogs and cats fatter and prettier and “happier” while 40 to 60 million of our fellow human beings are dying of hunger?

Father Romy asked us to try to do something about the hunger problem. He mentioned that St. Christopher has a food bank to which we can contribute. I say, that’s the least we can do.

I also say, send your dog or cat to the farm and buy food for the hungry people of Moreno Valley instead. To those of you who own Wall Street Stock, I say divest yourself of the companies who process pet food and buy something that is more in the interest of mankind. You don’t want to divest yourself of your Ralston Purina stock? Go to the next shareholders meeting and make a plea to get the company to process 20% of its canned food so that it will be healthful for people who need a quick, compact meal to keep themselves alive. Same basic ingredients, less chemicals.

So, you don’t want to get rid of your pet? I’ll bet you know someone, or a family who could use a nice meal once a week. Who knows how much life you could add to that person or that family by cooking something for them?

This is a hard question. It goes to the emotions of millions of people. Emotions or not, something has to be done about the problem of human hunger, and I think that what I have said above is a part of the solution.

Having said that, I now know that there will be a hoard of you who will cry for your dog's dying and will most certainly not cry at my funeral.


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JESUS HAD IT RIGHT (JOHN 21;18)

"I tell you most solemnly, when you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will put a belt around you and take you where you would rather not go."                      

Imagine being led around by these two fine specimens of human nature! In a previous post I described my bout with a ferocious attack of the gout and the consequences that it brought to my life.  By doing that, I left out the story of my two sons. They deserve more recognition than was present in the previous writing.

I have chosen the above photos because I have decided that they will lighten the tone of the matter. I have already told them that when a father finds himself being coddled by his children, there are no words in the language powerful enough to express the emotion of the moment. It is a moment captured well by the words that Jesus addressed to Peter just before leaving earth for heaven.
I was in that situation.  They put me in a car and drove me to the hospital.  There they sat, missing work, keeping watch over the shadow of the man they knew as their father.  In the very few semi-lucid moments that I had over the first three days of my confinement, we tried to communicate as usual, but it was impossible.  They even found it necessary to apologize to the hospital staff that had to endure my abuse.  Yes, they did that, and more, because they saw their father in a light that they never thought would ever present itself to them.  I still remember some of the words they used during those moments.  When I think of them, I smile and wonder how God could have blessed me so deeply and richly with two magnificent angels, blood of my blood, hearts of my heart, full of His Grace.


These guys are saints.  I thank God for showing me the precious depths of their souls before I die.  When I do die, remember what I have just said.  Know that I died in the presence of saints on earth, and do not dare to cry at my funeral.

THIS HALF-PINT HAT IS ALL MAN; ALL 80 YEARS OF HIM

RARE SIGHT

...And I thought I was old!
This is not a picture that I took, but I'll tell you why.  I saw a hat just like this in the pew in front of me just yesterday.  That's right, I said "pew."  I was participating in the holy sacrifice of the Mass yesterday morning and I had a hard time concentrating on the rite.  I couldn't stop wondering if the hat was a real symbol of the life history of the man kneeling off to my left, or if it was just another "souvenir."  After Mass, I approached the senior gentleman, obvious owner of the hat and I asked him if what it said was true in his case.  He said that it is.  As a reflex action he asked, "Do you want it"?  I was shocked, and moved.  I said in a shaking voice, "No thanks, I don't deserve it." He spent 27.5 years in the service of the United States of America.  I remember only the round number, but his answer to me was precise to the hour of the time he had spent in the service.  World War II, Navy; Korea, Air Force; Viet Nam, Air Force, two tours.  His hat had a Roman numeral II after the word Viet Nam.  His cap, unlike the one pictured is pure white...and clean. No problem wearing that to church.
He told me that he thanks God every day for the blessings that he has had over the many years of life given to him by God.  He participates in the Mass every chance that he gets,which is almost daily.  He is tall, big, stands straight up and has a clear, unwavering voice.  Our meeting was short, but moving.  I told him that I never expected to see such a rarity walking around strongly and healthily.  I told him that now that I "know" him that he can count on my prayers.
I made the mistake of not asking his name and not inquiring whether or not he lives in Moreno Valley.  All I know is that I enjoyed praying next to a creature who doesn't expect anyone to cry at his funeral...just stand there in awe at what God has accomplished through him and continues to show him off before His altar.
What a blessing this was!

HER BLOOD CRIES OUT TO GOD FROM THE EARTH OF MORENO VALLEY

To Cain, God said, "should our countenance be lifted up? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door; and its desire is for you, but you must master it."

8Cain told Abel his brother. And it came about when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother and killed him.

9Then the LORD said to Cain, "Where is Abel your brother?" And he said, "I do not know. Am I my brother's keeper?"

10He said, "What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground.

11"Now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand. (Genesis 4; 1 - 11)

Here I am again, spurred on by the necessity to comment on death, dying and living.

In the small Southern California city of Moreno Valley, a gory, inhuman story of abduction and killing of a seventeen year old girl as she made her way across a field to get to a rendezvous with her sister and mutual friends took place. Her badly decomposed body was found in the field, five days after her disappearance. This part of the story is the sad part. What follows is the triumph of virtue and clean living over death.

The earthly remains of Norma Angelica Lopez were brought to the Catholic parish church, St. Christopher, where she and her parents celebrated their discipleship with Jesus Christ. The doors to the adjunct meeting hall were to open at 4:00 PM. The crowd that you see here assembled started to build at about noon of July 28, the day before the funeral. This is a community gathering around a family that has just lost a seventeen year old daughter of great physical and internal beauty. Gatherings like this are usually the result of the assassination of some dignitary, not the murder of a child. But over the two days of public exposure of Norma's family gathered around her casket, an estimated 5,000 people, suddenly became brethren in sorrow and bereavement, surrounded the family and each other with Christian love and hope. Yes, Norma's blood seeping into the earth of Moreno Valley was crying out to God and to His people for Faith, Hope ands Justice. We responded. We came. We consoled one another. We prayed together. We had been disabled and recovered and we thought that we had conquered death. We had been saddened and abused and gone forward and we were joyful that God had helped us to "conquer". Our personal trials and tribulations shrunk and paled in comparison to what we were experiencing here. Here God was revealing Himself to us in a way that is reserved for very, very few people on this earth. Moreno Valley, of all places in the world was hosting the greatest spiritual event that most people will ever receive from God. Our Divine and Heavenly Father together with His Angels and the Saints around Him reached down and let us hear the cry of Norma's blood from the consecrated earth of Moreno Valley. We heard. We came. The cry of this simple, clean living young woman inviting us to know that this cry is an invitation to unity of heart, to celebrate our lives in the Spirit of God so that evil and its practitioners will know that they have no power over us. 5,000 people of all ages, colors and creeds answered the call of God over the cruel spilling of the innocent blood of a seventeen year old child.

When we Catholics celebrate martyrdom, we feature the color red. The color of blood; the color of fire; the color of zeal; the color of energy; the color of life itself.  It would have been an appropriate symbol here.  But when we really want to celebrate and be happy, we use White...the color of light; the color of the Resurrection.  White was the dominant color of Norma's goodbye.  The color of the angels; the color of virtue; the color of innocence; the color of purity.  Even as she was leaving the church yard, her final
limo was white.  She is alone in this picture because there was no room to form a cortège in front of the church.  She parked by the side of the road and waited patiently for the following to form.  We all know that she is not alone.  We are stupefied by what she endured on her way to God.  The mystery behind her last moments in this life clouds our minds.  The mystery of her presence before God is our consolation.  When we think of where she is now, hope forms in our hearts and the cry of her blood to God becomes a hymn of reverence that carries us closer to Him.  It makes us comfortable that we believe that her blood and His irrigated the land of His creation to produce the fruits of salvation for those of us who have to stay behind for a while more.  Through her sacrifice joined with His; through the hearing of the hymn of her blood rising to Him we discovered new reverence for each other in the courtyard of her last moment of presence among us.

I have to say two more things.  First, the words of the sweet Spanish language hymn that was sung as she was guided into the church and carried up to the altar of Eucharistic sacrifice, in my awkward translation.
1 .- My life is In Your hands
Lord.  Into your hands, Lord
I put my existence.

We must die, to find life.
Into your hands, Lord
I entrust my being

2 .- If the grain of wheat does not die,
it will always remain alone;
but if it dies, in abundance will
it bear eternal fruit that will not die.

Lastly, when the mariachi was playing the last goodbye as the casket was committed to the hearse, I heard the cry of Norma's blood and the harp of her guardian angel, and I cried.  At that moment, I came to know a lovely person whom I had never met as a human being.  But now we know one another, and I shouldn't have, but I did, cry at her funeral.

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.