The Diocese
     This is a sad week for the diocese of St Paul- Minneapolis. Our bishops have resigned, leaving only my friend Andrew Cousins with the crosier. Of course, Rome has assigned someone from the New Jersey diocese to help out until a new archbishop is assigned. I wouls not want to be the man who receives that phone call from the papal nuncio. All this is being touted as a way for the diocese to heal and begin the process of getting through bankruptcy and recovery after years of lawsuits brought because some priests did not honor boundaries.

     Having lived in the same diocese all my life and having known several (and I mean several) of the worst priest offenders because they were assigned to my parish, it is sad for me. It is also sad to know the victims. And yes, I know several. Altar boys, classmates, young women who, in their 20's, were deceived.
I can appreciate the anger of the former altar boys. The deceit and violation are far beyond criminal. I feel deeply for their parents, who trusted and believed in Good. I know women who left the Church they loved, left their homes and families and moved away, who spent hours in the offices of psychologists, suffered through difficult marriages due to the damage of these relationships with sick, ordained men. I, myself, questioned whether I should have said something when I saw a friend staying in a cabin with a priest- questioning if I was the perverted one for even wondering if something was going on between them. What was my responsibility in this, at the age of 21? I questioned myself and wondered how I could have thought anything but the highest and best of this priest and my girlfriend. I believed that friends had suddenly developed mental illness. I worried about the display of jealousy by my friends when they would see this priest with other women. I even questioned why I had not been a victim when many of the people around me had been. I had no idea what to say when young women were told they needed to dress more modestly, altar boy classmates decided to no longer serve at Mass, and friends' names were mentioned in depositions.

   I have experienced loneliness and depressed feelings and sadness because of the loss of friendships with women who were abused. Does it matter in the grand scheme that I have also been a victim, having been  friends of victims?  When I stayed in the Church and others felt compelled to leave, no one could blame them. But I could not go along with them as they searched for healing, probably because they did not know how to and where to go for healing. I did not know where I would land, and I needed some sureness. Maybe it reveals that I am co-dependent in that I was unwilling to leave the known, as muddles as it was/is, for the unknown.

   When some brave individuals made appointments with diocesan representatives, but were not believed or taken seriously, they turned to an attorney with a brewing hatred for the Catholic Church. This man has made it his life mission to "make the Church pay." And this is the part I do not understand and brings me sadness. Why do so many people delight in the downfall of Catholics? Why are the newspapers and radios filled with vitriol toward the Church?

   I am not defending the wrongdoers. I am not on the side of the perverts who have violated vulnerable. I experience indignation at yet another corrupted life ruining a human soul. Yet I wonder at the animosity of other people who are not church goers, do not believe in God or are invested elsewhere.  Why this delight, this hatred spouting about how "these (Bishops) men are evil... these men should go to prison.... the Catholic Church hides molesters..." Again, I am not defending the priests who did unspeakable things to oothers who were in their trust.  I am speaking about the haters of our local leaders. I have met these Bishops who have now resigned. I have felt them to be kind and humble, generous and compassionate- unlike their portrayal in the local news. Am I blind?

   Of course, agape love would cause one to raise a voice for the vulnerable, the defenseless, the wounded. Does this same agape love also raise compassion for the wrong-doer? After all, we are all wrong-doers. Do we not experience somewhere deep down a kind of  "If I were in their shoes, I do not know what I would have done..." I overeat, fail to love my husband and gossip. I harbored ill-will toward others and will never ever speak to a sister who betrayed a family member. I am mad at a teacher who humiliated me, a former supervisor who found reasons to make my  life miserable. And yet, in each of these sins, I must admit my own compliance and contribution.  And do not wish ill will toward them.
   I wonder if the hatred is really another reaction to that voice inside that reminds one of all the wrong we each have done.
   I wonder at how much responsibility a newly assigned Bishop has to dig into the pasts of abusive priests, their superiors and how cases were handled prior to their assignment. And what responsibility they have when others do not report, up the chain of command, that there is yet another cause of concern. Can a Bishop be held responsible for what they are not told? Is the law and the policy clear about the responsibility if he is told something of concern about a priest or minister?
     I have no answers, just questions and concern that drives me to remember to pray for all of us. The clear victims, the perpetrators, our local leaders, the attorneys on all sides, and those like me who know victims. I pray that my sins would not some day be on the front of the news, that I would carefully listen and act in such a way that charity is first and the vulnerable are protected. Jesus, have mercy on our Church.
 

Let Faith Provide a Supplement for the Failure of the Senses

March 2015
As a Catholic child attending Catholic grade school, I loved attending Stations of the Cross and Benediction on Fridays during Lent. Singing Tantem Ergo, the rhythm of "We adore thee O Christ and we praise Thee," recitation of the Divine Praises I felt were beautiful and other worldly. I think that is where I encountered Christ as a young person. I loved meditating on Jesus' death and suffering. 
Today I attended daily Mass. On First Fridays, the high school students, the grade school students and members of the parish recite the rosary, have Mass and have Divine Mercy Chaplet with Benediction. While there, I was filled with thoughts of Joe Hall, his parents and his dying. In my head, I was praying, begging Jesus to heal Joe. I felt so weighted down by his illness and the skeleton he has become. I think about the agony of his dear parents and feel heavily burdened for them.
I felt Jesus speak to my heart saying, " It is not your burden." This brought tears to my eyes. Of course, it is not my burden- healing Joe is not up to me. Caring for his parents is not up to me. Watching his friends and family suffer as Joe slowly slips away is not for me to decide or determine when, how, where. But I want to. I want to tell God what he should  or must do, because he really needs my help. He is a cruel God, requiring suffering and death-  if only he listened to me and conducted him self better. He treats his favorites so poorly, as St Theresa says, "No wonder he has so few friends." 
There was the gospel reading, " Israel loved Joseph best of all his sons... So when Joseph came up to them,
they stripped him of the long tunic he had on; then they took him and threw him into the cistern, which was empty and dry..."  Joseph of the Old Testament being sold into slavery- of course the reading had to be about a Joseph.
And the responsorial psalm:
Remember the marvels the Lord has done.When the LORD called down a famine on the landand ruined the crop that sustained them,He sent a man before them,Joseph, sold as a slave.Remember the marvels the Lord has done.They had weighed him down with fetters,and he was bound with chains,Till his prediction came to passand the word of the LORD proved him true.Remember the marvels the Lord has done.The king sent and released him,the ruler of the peoples set him free.He made him lord of his houseand ruler of all his possessions.Remember the marvels the Lord has done.

The tears and sadness and emotion can remain, but the thought of Joe Hall, like Joseph, going before them... the king setting the imprisoned free... this is a beautiful thought. Joe has modeled this to the young people in the Youth Group. And the burden of turning over to God the control of Joe's healing or dying, though extremely difficult is, is the only thing that can be done. Joe has given himself away to the Lord, and the Lord is disposing of his life. 

Literal translation of Tantem Ergo

Hence so great a Sacrament

Let us venerate with heads bowed [cernui]

And let the old practice [documentum]

Give way to the new rite;

Let faith provide a supplement

For the failure of the senses.

To the Begetter and the Begotten [both masculine gender],

Be praise and jubilation,

Hail,^[6] honour, virtue^[7] also,

And blessing too:

To the One proceeding from Both

Let there be equal praise.

     A year ago he was saying he would go to college but was only interested in the University in our state. Or some college very close to home. Might not move out.  Sure, he would take classes thru the PSEO program our state offers to high school students. Yes, he might look at a community college close by, for a year or two, to save money. But he'd prefer to stay home and there was no reason to even investigate other colleges or other places. Was it fear or lack of confidence or some other similiar reason?  He relies on me a great deal: advocate, health care, hearing interpretation, driving, explaining assignments, figuring out math, etc.  He builds relationships with adults very easily, but misses large pieces of information. He doesn't initiate in relationships with kids his age.  I have felt, more and more, he needed the services and helps to start to be more independant, advocate for himself, ask for what he needed. And this would ultimately be best if he were on his own. Somewhere safe.

     Early school year in fall  of 2011, I 'Googled' "College programs for D/HOH students," and found RIT/NTID.  Rochester Institute of Technology/ National Deaf Institute for the Deaf.  Fascinated, I really started investigating what their mission was, who they were, etc.

     Sonshine and I traveled to Rochester, NY, for a campus visit in November. Knowing that the colleges always put their best foot forward, I reserved judgement. They make a very good first impression. To myself I said, "Don't be wowed."
     The campus reminded us of Minnesota in many ways...the trees, the down-home people, hard working students and faculty. The city  of Rochester boasts one million, but  it felt smaller than that. The campus is twenty minutes from Lake Ontario, about 90  minutes from Niagara Falls. The city is home to Kodak, Frederick Douglass, Susan B Anthony, Erie Canal, and plenty of other history.
     We met with the director of Catholic Life, where weekly Mass is offered and a small group of students enjoy the support and encouragement of one another. It is not crowd-packed, but the atmosphere and kids seemed reverent. He would have ample opportunity to not be overlooked- as a matter of fact, very much needed. He would be enlisted to serve and lead. 

     We next met with the head of the engineering department. A very gracious and kind man (the head of the department took time to meet us for an hour!!!) And when we had a tour of electrical-mechanical engineering technology department, Tom found his home. I saw his eyes light up and smiles all over his stoic face. Watching Tom was like the thrill one has when watching a kid on Christmas morning. He was allowed to touch, dream. The Professor indicated that Tom was the kind of kid he wants, unafraid.  That evening, when he played a game called Zombies vs. humans in the college field house with the college guys, I knew I was watching him pack his things and imagine himself already there. Smiling. 

     Perhaps, behind the scenes you will hear ungracious comments, but I saw compassion and at least acceptance of D/HOH students and the sense that this is part of the mission on this campus. I think they are offering the environment and tools to success. 

 Amazing, I think we found a place where he can feel like he belongs.

tsunami

Pain. The first wave of nausea did not break upon the shores but heaved and the swell became my tsunami of pregnancy. Weakness, weight loss, relinquish the plan. My plan. Hopes of days of wonder and enjoying and finding pleasure to be tucked away in the mother's heart.
IV's, Er visits, hospitalizations, home health nurses and isolation before the infant revealed his beautiful face. And when he was delivered, I knew I would die for him. And I have.
The death and the pain I have born for this one.
Visits to doctors, audiologists, appointments with respiratory specialists, guidance counsellors, teachers, testing. Playing Sherlock Holmes to uncover his pearl and puzzle. Attending to his needs, emotions, questions. It feels like the tsunami waves hit again. Again.
I am not the mother who watches as the son is washed out to sea in the undertow. I am the mother cleaved herself to the Cross, refusing to release either son or the wooden edifice. If he cannot cling, I will.
"Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him."
The tsunami, the labor of bearing sons in this stormy world with souls displaced and meant for God alone, continues.

The Days are Long, The Years are Short

This week, my first born was accepted to college. In Minnesota, juniors and seniors in high school have the opportunity to take college classes and receive credit on their high school transcript, while reducing college expense. We have a wonderful set up through YEAH Academy. The college professors and adjunct professors teach at the Academy. While the content is college level, the high school participants are not distracted by the world of older students.
And so, spring semester, my son will carry eight college credits in addition to high school math, chemistry, literature, and geography. His friends have started and he is a semester behind them. Quite and acheivement for a kid who hasn't 80% of his hearing. He has not completed his drivers' permit test and I can feel he is chomping at the bit to "get caught up." I have tried to help him to move forward at his pace, not the standard the world sets, yet I remember how significant it is to be on track with friends. I don't yet feel the pull to keep him close- as some parents. This young man is high needs and I feel like the sooner he is more independant the betteer it will be for all of us. Yet, it is hard to picture the day when I move him to some new address.
My husband asked what kind of vehicle I would like to drive when we next purchase one. It would have to be big enough to carry people and cargo, as we'll be moving kids to and from college I said. Not something small? he asked. No we still need to make decisions based on the needs of the kids. It will all come to an end soon enough. Our kids will be gone, and with boys, we'll be lucky to hear from them once a week. But for right now, we're busy, not with diapers, but with college choices, learning to drive, constant reminders about homework and trying not to push them out the door despite cantankeroous behavior on both the parents' and teen's part.

When I had the priviledge of caring for my Grandma while she was dying, I asked her, "Grandma, you had eleven kids, 68 grandchildren and twenty-five great grand children. Did you ever think so many people would come from you?"

Her replay, "I never though about it. I just did it."

I never considered that we would actually make it this far. My husband and I celebrate eighteen years of marriage tomorrow. My oldest son will be a junior in high school. We have homeschooled for twelve years. ( I know, if oldest is junior, how does that add up to twelve years? It is for another story.) My husband has been unemployed for over two years and yet we miraculously pay the mortgage every month. I gave up a rewarding career. I guess I am like my grandma.