The Poverty of Who I [Still] Am

Here it is mid January 2013 already. Its hard to believe that its been almost two years since I began this peculiar literary exercise. Among other things, blogging is a kind of workshop for writing. It feels personal, but its also "out there" in a way that would have been unimaginable twenty years ago (I remember, because I kept detailed written journals from 1990-1992). Since there is at least a potential "readership," I shape what I write here in certain ways.

Clearly, I'm not afraid of being repetitive. This was my post from one year ago today, January 16, 2012. I could easily have written the same reflections today, using pretty much the same words (except I don't have the energy to write so much text today). Here we find the same person with the same preoccupations. Its also digital data that I can scoop up and toss out into the blogosphere again, so that someone might stumble upon it in a fresh way. Without further ado, take it away, last year's JJ:

I put myself out and push myself into relationships with other people, but I am not receptive. I'm always in a kind of desperation, like I'm trying to invade the other person's interiority with all of my large, clumsy, awkward personality and then do everything I can to impress, to amaze, to draw out some reaction, to somehow get the other person to love me, because in the end I just need to be loved, so badly.

I want to be loved. And I am so afraid of being alone. This is the poverty of who I am.

Other people don't usually regard me as pushy or obnoxious. If anything it's the opposite: I don't "promote" myself enough. This may be true in the professional sphere. And with people I am "nice," accommodating, non-controversial, and always leaning on my sense of humor. I also use my intelligence to illuminate things, to encourage and inspire. But in all of this there is a "push" of myself, which comes out of the abyss of the poverty of who I am. In everything I say and do there is always this cry that says, "Please love me, accept me, approve of me, affirm me."

But why is this a problem? I am surrounded by loving, accepting, affirming people. Why, then, am I restless? Why do I feel "unloved"?

Pathology plays a part in this, undoubtedly. I describe it in my book; it is something I call "the cloud" (see Never Give Up, pp. 18-28 [http://t.co/ddwYeqX]). But "the cloud" has been brightened considerably, even since I wrote the book. My restlessness goes deeper than any pathology. It goes right to the root of who I am. I am a person. I need to be loved. And I need to love.

Where does this all end?

Of course I know the answer from the Catechism. I do not want to underestimate the fundamental importance of this basic knowledge: that I have been created by God, that God loves me, that union with God is the purpose of my existence. Yes. Millions and millions of people walk the earth and do not know this truth about themselves. That stirs something else within me, something that remains in many ways confused, but that is gradually taking hold of me and changing me.

But it takes time. I ask forgiveness from my wife, my children, my family, and my friends--indeed from all the people God has placed in my life. There is something here that echoes the desire that Alyosha discovers inThe Brothers Karamazov: the desire "to beg forgiveness from everyone, for everything." And I am willing to forgive, yes, to struggle on the path of forgiveness. Forgiving but begging too, because I know that I have not loved enough.

Jesus, I bring to You my broken heart,
broken by the desire to be loved
and the confusion over how to love well and truly.
O Lord, forgive me.
I have not loved You as I should,
and I am self-seeking and divided in all my relationships.
How can I love people truly,
with the "detachment" that recognizes that they belong to You alone,
and also with the passionate attention
that recognizes in each of them
the beauty of Your image and the glory of Your redeeming power?
Jesus, open my heart to receive Your healing mercy.
Change my heart,
and make me silent,
patient, and tender,
full of awe and wonder and gratitude
before Your gift of Yourself to me
and to every person I meet.
I am so in need of healing.
I am so in need of conversion.
Have mercy on me,
and make me the person You will me to be.

Hair, Hair, Everywhere

How do you even open this thing?

Slowly but surely, this is becoming a house full of women.

I am thinking this as I watch various heads of hair being combed and brushed, tied and untied, twirled and braided and unbraided. Hair, hair, hair, hair, long glorious rivers of hair. Mommy combs Lucia's hair while unweaving a tangle here and there (a process which Lucia seems to think is some form of torture). Teresa brushes it to one side, then swings it back, fiddles with it, brushes it again.

Josefina has gone to sleep. But earlier, she was perched above Mommy, behind her in the chair, "fixing" Mommy's hair. Josefina can still "perch" and wiggle her way into places already occupied by grown ups. The others are too big for that.

We're not going anywhere right now. Just sitting around the living room on a January evening.

Feminine mysteries. The bunching and braiding. The pins and clips that have to match with an outfit (huh?). Fuzzy hair bands all over the house (in various colors). Its destined to increase more and more as they grow (even though we're determined keep the bling level under control). I'm convinced that some of these hair gizmos defy the laws of physics.

How does that clip open? How does it stay shut?

We are a low frills family. Still, I think that each girl has her own bag just for hair stuff. (And the women reading this are saying, "of course, what's so complicated about all this?" But the men understand my perplexity.)

When John Paul's hair gets more than an inch long, all he wants is a haircut!

A Beloved Son

The feast celebrated in the West as "Epiphany" (highlighting the Magi) is observed in the East as the "Theophany," centered on the baptism and especially the manifestation of the Trinity: the voice of the Father, the Beloved Son, the Spirit in the form of a dove. Later, in the West, we added an additional feast of the Baptism of the Lord on the Sunday following Epiphany.

Here is, in any case, the culmination of our celebration of God's showing Himself to the world. Henceforth Jesus will bear witness to His Father in the Spirit, from Galilee to Judea to the Cross. God has entered our history in all the depths of His love. He reveals His Glory; He reveals that He is Love.

When You, O Lord were baptized in the Jordan 

The worship of the Trinity was made manifest
For the voice of the Father bore witness to You
And called You His beloved Son.
And the Spirit, in the form of a dove,
Confirmed the truthfulness of His word.
O Christ, our God, You have revealed Yourself
And have enlightened the world, glory to You!

Troparion, Theophany,

Byzantine Liturgy

Confession: Encountering The Mercy of Jesus

I finally had the chance to go to confession, fulfilling the desire I had last week on my birthday (see post dated January 4). I am 50 years old. I made my first confession when I was 7 years old. A lot of confessions. A lot of mercy.

It is a wonder, really. Here is the same Jesus who said to the paralytic, "your sins are forgiven." Now this same Person says this surprising and seemingly impossible thing to me two thousand years later, through the ministry of a priest.

It is a sacrament, a mystery of God's love that happens at a specific time and a specific place; a gift of grace that I receive in a historical way, from Jesus through a man who extends the priesthood of Jesus and His saving love through all space and time so that He reaches me and my particular sins. His healing reaches down to all my ingratitude and forgetfulness, which I try to express to Him in a particular way, with particular words.

It is an encounter between my fragile conscience and the Infinite Mercy of God.

I try to go to confession every month. But not because I think I have broken my relationship with God by grave sin every month. I don't have to go every month. So what's the point of my going to regular confession?

First of all, I hardly trust in my own assessment of my soul, however honest and thorough it may be. "But who can detect all his errors? From hidden faults acquit me. From presumption restrain your servant and let it not rule me. Then shall I be blameless, clean from grave sin" (Psalm 19[B]:12-13). Wretched man that I am. I throw myself upon the mercy of God! In this sacrament, however, we are not required to produce an impossible self-analysis. We are called upon to accuse ourselves as best we can, and trust in the merciful love of Jesus.

Of course, trials and temptations abound, and I know that I am as capable as Peter (or Judas) of betraying Jesus. "He that thinks himself to stand, let him take heed lest he fall" (1 Corinthians 10:12).  I beg that the Lord sustain me in His mercy. I pray that He give me the grace to be faithful to Him.

With trust in the mercy of Jesus, I make my monthly confession. It is what is sometimes called a "devotional" confession. I think it is important to emphasize the value of this sacrament not only to restore the life of grace when lost through serious sin, but also for those who are walking with Christ, and living the life of grace. Such persons are far from "coherent" in their Christian lives. They need the grace of this sacrament to heal and strengthen them against falling away from Him, to preserve them from becoming lukewarm, and just to let Jesus go to work on all the weird stuff that still distracts and preoccupies their lives.

I love regular confession. I know that it is such a blessing to take out of myself and give to Jesus the stubborn mistakes, the childish impatience, the petty irritations, the mediocre vanity, the laziness, the nippy little rash judgments, misperceptions, and self-satisfaction that constitute 99% of my daily life.

Its true that I don't have to confess any of these things. They're not grave sins. But there's not a whole lot of positive stuff going on with my actions either. I still live mostly for myself, afraid to go beyond my own limits. God has given Himself to me, but where is my love? Why is it so small?

So much of me still sleeps in superficial preoccupations. God's life in me is hidden away, buried, constrained by all this nonsense. I am alive in Christ, but wounded. Even when I want to walk, I limp badly.

If there is anything -- anything at all -- that has real value in my life, it comes from the grace of Jesus. He really does act and renew my particular life, in such a way that it is clear to me that I must never let go of Him. But consider what He still has to work with:

Add all my misshapen semi-habits to aspire to do God's will, to be true, good and beautiful, along with some not-so-good character flaws, a quirky personality, a mind always thinking all over the place, some poetic insight and some skill for turning a phrase, a life experience with rough patches, an empathetic disposition, vast gaps of emotional immaturity, and of course a neurologically dysfunctional brain, other health problems, disability, insomnia, and just the ordinary "weight" the human condition. And I can't even begin to understand all the stuff that is going on in the "subconscious" (or whatever it is), that vast murky underworld beneath my awareness. What we have here in John Janaro is a big mess! 

And I judge other people? Its preposterous. We really have to love people. That doesn't mean we ignore when they are being self-destructive and destructive of others. It means we see them with love. Even when we know what's true and real, we don't know all that's going on inside that other person. I gather from my own experience that the inner world of every human being is basically pretty freaky. Jesus needs our love to touch deep places in the lives of others that we will never understand. If we are given some of that bread that is the Word of God, and we see someone hungry, we share it, not by bending down and offering a few crumbs, but by being with them, and sharing both the gift and our common poverty. If they turn away from us, we still have to stay -- as best we can -- and share their suffering.

For we are all poor, poor, poor human beings. Whatever our circumstances, we all have hearts made for God. We are poor and hungry and invested with a desire that refuses to die even when it turns to desperation. We are wounded and, somewhere in the midst of all our freakiness, we are longing for healing.

I am a poor Christian. How can I be a witness? Certainly not by pointing to myself and saying, "look how great I am." But Someone Else has come into my life and awakened an unconquerable hope that my poverty might be transformed into humility and love. I don't know how this will reach its fulfillment, but this hope engenders trust in Him, moment by moment, and I begin to find healing. This is something that can become visible in my poor world.

Back to the sacrament of Reconciliation: Here is a sacrament that nourishes hope in a poor man. Here is a sacrament where I can encounter the healing Christ. He wants His love to fill my whole life. This healing and transformation of my self is a slow process, but still God wants to accomplish it. In this sacrament, He offers healing and strength, as a gift that comes forth, in a specific yet ineffable manner, from the glorified life of Christ that remains concretely present in the world -- in my world. It is something real. It is a gift of His love. It is a sacrament.

Here is where I bring my poverty, because I am a poor Christian full of hope. Here I find the promise of God's mercy, the redeeming grace of Jesus, the outpouring of the Spirit, and a real step on the path of communion with Him and with my brothers and sisters in the Church, and every person that shares the path of life with me. I pray that I might rejoice again and again in this gift, this mercy, so that the joy of His life will grow in me, and become more visible and worthwhile to the others who live in "my world."

Working a Wonder

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Our relationship with God is mysterious, and our sufferings are a profound part of this mystery. We are called to share in the infinite life and love of God; we flesh and blood human beings, who have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning even on a good day.

We are called by God to a relationship that is destined to transform us into His likeness, to “divinize” us. This is going to take some stretching, to say the least. And on top of the simple fragility of being a human being, we all have the effects of original sin and our own personal sins with which we must contend.

This is why we suffer. But Jesus has suffered for all of us, and suffers in all of us. He is the reason why redemption and glory are destined to rise up out of our own suffering, if we adhere to Him in faith, hope, and love. The grace of His Spirit reaches us especially in our weakness.

I only see the surface of my life. Deep down, God is working a wonder, and the means He is using penetrate my whole life with its joys and sorrows, and all that is yet unknown. What God wants for me is so much more, so much greater, so much more glorious and joyful, than what I think I want for myself.

Why am I afraid that I can’t trust Him?  Could I have really given myself a better life than the actual life that God has given me?  And can I construct a better future for myself than what God has planned for me? Should I not trust Him?

In eternity, we shall see all and rejoice in all. Here, we see through that dark glass called faith. Sometimes it is very dark, but we must trust God to give us what we need to sustain hope, and to grow in the capacity to respond to His mysterious Love with our own self-abandoning love.

Right Now, Right Where You Are....

Think, think, think, write, write, write, read, read, read, think, think, think, doubt, doubt, fear, fear, think, think, read, read, read, think, read, write, doubt, FEAR....

Really, its as simple as Teresa popping into the office and asking for an apple slice.

He is here.

I can't hold myself together with a comprehensive understanding of myself, or with stuff, or with anything that I try to capture with my conniving and my worrying.

Instead something happens. Someone comes. Someone Else is here.

This is what Christmas teaches me. Of all the billions of people born in human history, there is one who -- right now -- says to me, "I am the meaning of your life."

"I am what you are searching for, what you keep trying to make for yourself, in an effort that leads to desperation again and again, because you know that what you're looking for is beyond all your thinking and understanding and expression; you know its out of reach...."

"Don't be anxious. I have come to dwell with you. I am here, right now, right where you are. And I love you."

Whatever darkness you suffer, remember that He is here.

Whatever sorrow, confusion, guilt: He is here.

He wants to bring you through. He loves you.

"I have come into the world to be its light" (John 12:46).

Rejoice! Its the Christmas season. Happy Christmas Season!

"Cheap Happiness"?

Why do we love distraction so much? What are we hoping to find by chasing after so many things?

I was in Target the other day. I needed raw almonds, and they have the big two pound containers. My plan was to go in, get the almonds, pay for them, and leave the store. Well...maybe I'd peek in the electronics section, quickly. Heh heh.

FLASHBACK: ME, AT TARGET, A COUPLE OF DAYS AGO...

Okay, where are the almonds? Oooh, books! Not much new here. Bleech. Its a bunch of garbage...oh wait, here's Political Scuttlebutt by Fred BigMouth. I wanna take a quick look at this.

Twenty minutes of reading. Then I finally said, "nah, this isn't very good."

Now, why am I here? Almonds!

Let me just check to see if there are any bargains in electronics.

On the way I pass the books and the DVDs and the clothes (let me look at those shirts over there...) and the bling and the food. Everywhere stuff is flashing, aiming for the appetites (and usually aiming low). Eat THIS!!! Giant "Creme*" Puff Poos (*artificially flavored). Sodas! Drink me, drink me, drink me!!! I have VITAMIN C. I have NO CHOLESTEROL. No sugar, no calories, drink me and be beautiful!

Movies? They're all trash, or else stuff blowing up. Two for five bucks.

Oh yeah, everywhere the magic words beckon: ON SALE! Save Money!

S.A.V.E.  M.O.N.E.Y.

Its remarkable: you spend money, but you feel like you've saved money. What a deal! So you spend your money on stuff that you don't need and wouldn't have even thought of buying, but you walk out of the store feeling like a champion. "Look how much money I saved! See, its in bold print, on the receipt."

In reality, you exchanged your money for a bag of junk. Which you are bringing home to a house full of junk. And what is all that junk really worth?

I suspect that the "health" of our economy depends on a lot of us being suckers.

Meanwhile, I'm in Target at office supplies, checking out some pens. Pens are fun. So are calculators, and writing paper, and all these things that no one uses anymore. But I've been here over an hour! I'm going to get the almonds...right after I swing by computer accessories.

Wait, what am I doing? I'm surfing the Target. This is like wasting time on the Internet, but with legs.

I finally got my almonds in the end, and I didn't spend any money on junk, but something still bothered me. A ten minute errand stretched into two hours of what? Distraction. Mostly I'm just laughing at myself here. There's nothing wrong with "window shopping," right? And its not like I was pressed for time.

But this wasn't like strolling down Main Street. I sort of felt like I was being pulled all around the store. Distracted. Not by the trashy stuff (I don't look at those things), but by all the other stuff. Everything seemed cloying. Everything seemed to be jumping off the shelves and saying, "look at ME! I can make you HAPPY."

Its the whole "cheap grace" thing, but in a more diffused mode, because we don't even talk about "grace" anymore. The reason why its being served up, more and more, bigger and faker than ever, is that we're still looking for it. We want transcendence in a package. We want "cheap happiness"! We like to play around with artificially flavored happiness, plastic happiness, processed happiness.

We don't care if its fake as long as it looks and feels real, and as long as its a bargain. Of course, fake is fake. So we're not satisfied, and we keep buying more. That's why we have houses full of junk. That's why we have hearts full of junk (in more ways than one).

Why are we so restless? Why do we keep trying to settle for the cheap stuff? Is it because we know that real happiness can't be bought at any price?

Real Happiness is not cheap.

Real Happiness is not for sale at all.

Real Happiness is free, if we are willing to receive it as a gift. It means becoming like children. It means being humble, and that can't be faked.

It also means making room, at least in the spaces of the heart. Are we willing to let go of our junk?

My 50th Birthday: Surprised by Gratitude

Some "dead soldiers" (and some still living) from my 50th birthday party.
Looks like seltzer was popular. Of the food there is not a crumb left!

January 2, 2013 has come and gone. I more than survived it. It was an occasion of joy and gratitude.

My beloved Eileen put together a simple and intimate party with just my brother and a few friends: people who have been walking the road with me for more than 30 years. There was food and conversation, sharing of memories and expression of hopes. The kids were with us too. It was a happy time.

We had beer and wine, but as crafted beverages, taken in very modest quantities. This is how old folks party. This is how we roll.

I enjoyed a quiet time all day, but the beginning made a deep impression in me. It was a specially blessed time, a "birthday gift" I suppose, and it was a surprise. Remembering Christ is always a surprise.

I got up early in the morning, rubbed my eyes and vegetated for a few minutes (like every other morning), and then remembered the existence of God. So I started to pray, and I was drawn to thank God for my life. I felt as if I didn't have a heart big enough to contain the gratitude that spilled out.

I went to the church early for Mass, said the morning prayer of the Hours, and then -- hoping there would be confession after Mass -- found myself making a pretty thorough examination of conscience. It seemed to unfold naturally and peacefully before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, without any mischief-making by the OCD gremlins in my brain. The gremlins had the day off. Instead I was drawn to a lucid gaze on this, and that, and this, and that, and it was with sorrow that I saw -- in all my circumstances -- selfishness, grasping, and pride nipping away at so many earnest and good aspirations and efforts, and defining so many others.

Yet Jesus and His mercy were there, and so I was not beating up on myself (as I am so often tempted to do). I was repenting, and placing before God my "desire for the desire" to recognize Him and love Him well, and offering everything...even the pride. Take me, Jesus, in all this mess; love me especially in those places in my heart where I don't even know I need You.

"God resists the proud" -- I know this is true, Jesus, but I'm begging You to take me with all my pride because I don't know what to do with it. Make me humble and true. It will take a miracle, but I come to You as the blind man did, begging You to give me my sight, with faith that You -- and only You -- can work this miracle in me. And I also know that even with my repeated forgetfulness and failure, the miracle is still happening. Jesus I trust in You.

It turned out there were no confessions after Mass that day. I can still go this weekend or next week, and the superabundance of His healing mercy will be given, even if I don't "feel" it then. He will complete what He has begun.

But at the moment I felt disappointed. Things weren't proceeding according to the "script" of the penitential pilgrim on his 50th birthday (oh good grief!). I was tempted to be frustrated. Its so easy to take what God gives us and turn it into a project. But oh well. There was still Jesus in the Eucharist.

Jesus in the Eucharist, really present. Jesus!

The Eucharist is the way that Jesus "takes" us and changes us. We are afflicted by those "daily sins"--the fact that they are not grave sins does not mean we should ignore them. They damage us, distort us, and render our witness opaque. They wound and cripple us; how can we recover and grow? The sacraments are remedies that heal.

The Sacraments! Jesus in the Eucharist, always with us, giving Himself to us. Thank you, Lord!

Jesus in the sacrament of Reconciliation. We bring our fractured selves and He floods us with mercy. He restores the grace of God lost by grave sin; indeed there is no sin that is too great for His mercy.

And there is strength in this mercy that shapes the heart, that renews us and draws us beyond the daily faults that hinder (even if they do not break) our relationship with Jesus. These are the sins that we acknowledge at Mass: "I have greatly sinned...through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault." We need to let Him draw us close to His heart. Confession is not a burden. It is a blessing. Bring your troubled, anxious hearts to the fountain of mercy and healing. Go to Confession! Just go. Make it part of your life!

Its a tremendous thing to realize, suddenly, that we don't have to "do" this alone. Jesus is here for us. That's what the sacraments mean. We don't have to conjure up an imaginary Jesus in our minds so that we can "feel" His forgiveness and His strength. Jesus is here. He acts. He gets involved with our lives and makes things happen.

I'm 50 years old. I've had all kinds of thoughts about the challenges of this venerable age (see the previous post). But in the Eucharist I was given gratitude; I had a taste of the thanksgiving that is so much more than a polite acknowledgement, the thanksgiving that wells up in the center of life, with the awareness that I exist as a gift, in the image of God. And that Eternal Love is calling me to His embrace, in moments and gestures and words. I am not defined by my faults and limits (although, so often, it seems that way). The meaning of my life is this gentle calling, and the grace and mercy it contains.

Its not a one way relationship that I construct. In the Eucharist He gives Himself to me. If I allow Him to work in me, He will open my soul, and create in me the capacity to love Him. It is a love and a life that He gives to me.

The Eucharist. Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, for everything.

Good Advice For JJ's Blog!!!

From Holy Cross Abbey (Cistercian), Berryville, Virginia

"To speak of God, we must leave him room,

trusting that he will act in our weakness.

We must make room for him without fear

but with simplicity and joy,

in the deep conviction

that the more we put him at the center

rather than ourselves,

the more fruitful our communication will be."

Benedict XVI

What is "2013"? The Number on My Mind is "50"!!!

Its sneaking up on me, accompanied by that increasingly intense theme music (dum-dum-dum) that everyone my age remembers from the movie Jaws, you know...when the shark is stalking its victim.

Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum: January 2, 2013.

As the ancient peoples used to say, "I have seen many winters."

Or as I like to put it, "I have seen many Spring Trainings."   [If you're scratching your head on that one, its because your not a baseball fan.]

Sigh. I can do this! As the noted American philosopher Satchel Paige once said, "Age is just mind over matter: if you don't mind, it doesn't matter" (and he was still pitching at age 60!).

I don't "mind" at all, really. (Really!) But I have been thinking about it a lot, and also about the wild, head-spinning half century that I have seen in this world, and the unique experience that has made up my own peculiar life. I may as well express some of these thoughts.


Thoughts and observations about the approaching FIVE-OH!

(1) When my Dad turned 50, I was about to graduate from college.

(2) Most Americans at this age have empty nests. They are past parenting, and sometimes even grandparents. They're itchy and looking for something to do. I'm up to my neck in parenthood on various levels, from teens to munchkins who skin their knees and cry and want band-aids for nothing.

(3) Sometimes I read blogs of millennials, and I laugh my head off when they say things like, "Gosh, I was the only person in the group who wasn't over fifty years old!" Well, let me tell you, we feel a lot younger on the inside than we look on the outside. And we still have plenty to offer. :-)

(4) I read this somewhere and thought it was funny: "Inside of every old person there's a young person trying to figure out what happened!!!" 

(5) I remember my mother's 50th birthday. We went on a pilgrimage to the National Shrine in Washington DC. I was a graduate student (!). I was 26 years old, in fact.

(6) In my profession, 50 is the prime of life. Theologians and philosophers "peak" in their fifties and sixties. Everything up to now has been "youthful," "early" work. Finally, its time to get serious!

(7) I got married at age 33. The age range of my children makes me feel like I should be ten years younger. Josefina is only six years old. She has friends whose parents are pretty much half my age.

(8) Note to all those anxious novena-praying twenty-something single ladies out there: Eileen was 29 when we got married, and we have five beautiful children. You can have plenty of children in your thirties, without even having to rush.  So don't give up and don't panic.

(9) Why did I wait so long? What a dummy! No, I know why. Crazy Rome, but so good, and it solidified certain things in me. Who knows? Maybe Rome is still in the future. One of my friends might become Pope (haha, that's actually not totally impossible, but, eh...I'm not worrying about that now). All my meandering turned out for the best. It shows that we have to be patient and trust God to work even through the messes we make. And now Eileen and I are going on 17 years. Time is a mysterious thing.

More advice for the single ladies club: So yeah, patience. Nevertheless, I'll give you some "silly" advice. That good Catholic young man who is your "friend"? I was a bachelor for a long time. Let me tell you a secret. There is something that every single young man wants: FOOD! Really, they want food. They don't know how much they want food. Cook for that man! I speak from personal experience; I was conquered by a loaf of exotic fresh baked bread! 

I'm not being "sexist" here. Its just a fact that you are better than him at it! If you can't cook, learn! You'll learn fast, don't worry. He actually may be able to cook food very well, but he does not know how to feed himself. And he will never learn. He'll be great at cooking one thing, and he'll eat it every. single. night. Hahaha. 

In any case the basic thing to remember is that the twenty-something single Catholic man is a barbarian. I don't care what he has a doctorate in, I assure you the man doesn't know what socks to put on. He is pitiful. Civilize him! If he's called to the priesthood, it doesn't matter because all he needs to wear is black. But if not, he needs you! 

Haha, okay some guys know how to dress. But there is something he fumbles with in life without even realizing it, and if he's really the man for you, you will find it if you look for it. I'm not talking about wimpy guys here; I'm talking about good men. That's the key: find the things he doesn't even realize he's missing. They are signs of deeper things of the heart, and this is what its really all about. If he's truly called to celibacy, God will more than make up for it with his grace, above all in those deep places of the heart (and he'll wear black). Otherwise, he needs you! 

Well, that's my advice just tossed out to people I don't know, based on my own experience and that of numerous formerly clueless single urban professional friends who are now all happily married. Meanwhile, keep trusting in God, ladies. He has a plan for you. And if its not marriage, He will use your "feminine genius" in some other mysterious and wonderful way. Be the great woman God made you to be.

(10) Seriously, single men or single women, whatever your age and your competence, you are very much loved by God, and you can live your circumstances as an extraordinarily fruitful commitment. Paths of life are as unique as people. But remember, if you don't actually make a commitment to be single, God can still surprise you. He's good at that. If He does, it won't be some dreamy thing, though. It will be something that pokes you out of your comfort zone. I've seen all kinds of things. Trust and don't worry.

(11) Its beautiful to see the younger generation maturing and accomplishing things in the world, with their own experience and energy. I really enjoy working and interacting with solid adults who weren't even born when I graduated college.

(12) Really, in some ways I feel more like I'm turning 40. Of course, my forties have been a weird decade. Part of me wants to erase it from my life, but no! It was good for me. I'm leaner (literally) and tougher than when I turned 40. And I have learned that God is in charge, and that I am not smart. I'm just a poor human being. I don't know nuthin' about nuthin' and that's that. The "sophomore" period of my life is over. Am I ready to be an upper classman?

(13) People who are usually younger than me now: doctors, lawyers, parish priests, store owners, journalists, mechanics, students (of course), parents who still have children at home, all athletes, engineers, stockbrokers, middle and even upper-middle business management people, police, and the majority of everybody else.

(14) People who are usually my age or older than me still: popes, cardinals, presidents, heads of state, most bishops, CEOs (other than those who head wacky companies like Facebook), grandparents, Plato's "philosopher king" (minimum age 50), ummm, ummm... great-grandparents!, and also many accomplished scholars and thinkers, especially in theology or the humanities (hey, if you make a defining contribution in these fields before age 50 you're a wunderkind).

(15) I'm grateful that I get to spend most of the day, every day, with a lively, happy 6 year old girl.

(16) Of course that means I'll be pulling my white hairs out during my sixties! ;)

(17) I hope I live a long time, with better health and some energy. Of course, I throw myself upon the mercy of God and His loving Mother, for life and -- I pray -- in my final breath, whenever it may come. Still, I have human hopes, which I try to offer with trust in God's wisdom and mercy. I want Eileen and I to be around for the kids (and grandkids). I want us to be there for them as they embark on their vocations, and into their middle age when they start hitting those big bumps. I want us to be there for them like our parents have been for us. And I want to grow old with Eileen and read poetry together, and go to Rome with her again. These are things I hope for, if it be God's will.

(18) Yes, I want to know Jesus and the joy of the Holy Spirit, and the mercy of the Father. I want to serve the Church, and build her up, and -- of course -- be part of the New Evangelization! Or, rather, I need to be newly evangelized. I need to let the Church, in all of the particularity of the people that Jesus has given to me, build me up! I need to discover the presence of Jesus in all the vast spaces of every day where I still live with a heart that forgets about God. I don't know how He will use me as a witness for others. The most important ways, I expect, will be hidden from me. May He put the love in my heart to cooperate in His infinitely discrete and tender care for others.

(19) I have a sense that I am in the midst of important intellectual and cultural work, and that it is slow, ponderous, time-consuming work. Illness has set me back, but it has also slowed me down and forced me to focus. Many people don't see how intellectual work is real work. That's probably because its so easy to fake it. Sophistry is easy. Playing around with ideas is easy. But its hard to take insights and refine them, explicate them, make them coherent, and polish away all the crudeness so that they will shine like mirrors of real beauty. If there is such a thing as "culture," something worth passing on in history, then our lifetime is only enough to cultivate a very tiny piece of it, with much labor and patience. And we must immerse ourselves in that great community of human wisdom called tradition, while also having a sufficiently rich personal experience to make our own very small contribution.

(20) And of course I want to "be a teacher," somehow. Not because I think I am wise, but because this is my calling. For the little human being, "teaching" is like leading a hike. Neither he nor anyone else in his group has ever climbed the mountain, but others have done it. It is a narrow way. The leader knows the terrain and how to navigate it. He has studied the maps. He knows which trails to follow, which rocks to climb, and he has to make sure that no one gets lost. He has learned things about the mountain, and perhaps even seen pictures. Still, the peak will grant a view that is new and beautiful for everyone.

The Poverty of a Child

Teresa, age one, as baby Jesus in Nativity Play, 2003

The glory of God is not manifested in the triumph and power of a king, it does not shine in a famous city, in a sumptuous palace, but dwells in the womb of a virgin, it reveals itself in the poverty of a child.


The omnipotence of God, also in our lives, acts with the force, often silent, of the truth and of love.


Faith tells us, then, that the defenseless power of that Child in the end overcomes the noise of the powers of the world.

                                            Benedict XVI

The Hidden Faces Gathered at Our Christmas Crib

Our "traditional" Nativity Scene

May God bless the people in China who made it, wherever they are, and the men who accompanied it on ship across the ocean (along with thousands of exact copies), and all the anonymous Stuffmart employees who trucked it, unpacked it, and shelved it, and everyone else who worked with it...all so that we Americans could buy a decent looking and cheap nativity set. I mean this really: God bless you. Each of you on the gigantic chain of global commerce is a real human person. And you are part of our Christmas, by virtue of whatever role you played in the process of bringing this artifact to us. Your work, however "insignificant," is an expression of your human dignity. Every thing in my house is the fruit of human work--the application of the human energy of countless persons I will never know. But it is fitting, as I look upon the image of God Incarnate, that I remember you all; that I remember that things don't just fall out of the sky; that I remember how much we all depend on one another. There is much injustice in how all of this goes into effect, and I have no idea what would be necessary to unravel it all. But at least, I can acknowledge my gratitude to you. At least I can pray for you, that the Child many of you don't know, but who loves each one of you with an infinite love, might embrace you, and all of us, in His great mercy.

Christmas Day at the Janaros

Merry Christmas from the Janaro family!

Jesus Christ is born. Come, let us adore Him!

We went to the beautiful Midnight Mass, and finally got home around 2:00 AM. But Christmas and Easter pictures are a tradition, so we had to take one quickie while we were still wearing our Christmas duds. Then the kids went to bed so that "Santa" could put the presents under the tree.

Shortly after I awoke in the morning, John Paul was peeking in the room. "I have been sent as a scout," he said in his increasingly deep voice. I was bleary-eyed. Who was that at the door?

Was it this guy?

Or was it THIS GUY?

I had to shake my head so I could see clearly. "Okay John Paul," I said, "we need ten minutes."

We soon came out to the living room and saw a bunch of kids ready to open presents:

What? Who are these kids? We'd better have some coffee!

(Really, that's Christmas 2003, with (LtoR) Teresa, Lucia, Agnese, and John Paul. Josefina is not in the picture because...there was no Josefina. Indeed, the universe once existed without Josefina, or any of these other monkeys.)

But seriously, the kids who opened presents yesterday looked like this:

John Paul (these days he brings down most of
the heavy boxes from the attic for Christmas)

Agnese, who is always a challenge to photograph

Lucia, a lovely young lady

Teresa! (She's the one year old baby in the 2003 picture)

                     And FINALLY....

Josefina (who is a year older than John Paul was in the 2003 picture)

Here's something interesting: Look back at the picture from 2003. Do you see the pajamas that the 3 year old Lucia is wearing on that Christmas morning? Now look at the 6 year old Josefina. Yup, same pajamas. Obviously our kids wear hand-me-downs, and Jojo is still working her way through her sisters' old toddler clothes!

After presents it was time to get ready for the arrival of Uncle Walter and "Papa and Gramma" (and more presents). I've celebrated many Christmases with these precious people, who still take care of me after all these years. The first one that I can remember was in 1966, when I was just short of 4 years old. I don't remember much, other than the fact that Walter got a cowboy. I liked his toy cowboy better than anything I got. And I drew lots of pictures.

[Later in the evening, thanks to the distance-bridging technology of Skype, we were able to "visit" with the other grandparents too, who are three thousand miles away in California. Woo Hoo!! Hooray for Skype!]

I want to say how much I love my wonderful wife. Eileen made it a great day for everyone, with delicious food and hospitality, and an inexhaustible patience in managing a crew of kids-who-were-supposedly-"helping" (really, they were a great help).

I am so grateful for the affection that permeates everything she does. She makes Christmas at our home beautiful and merry. She helps me to remember the Joy, which is sometimes hard for me. I can't have joy alone, but Christ is born into the world and He is the One who has woven our lives together, that we might know His joy and thus come out of our own solitude. Thank you, Eileen. I love you.

Merry Christmas!

The Joy of Christmas is a Gift

What's this? A sad Santa?

"....a toy camera, and a coloring book with coloring pencils...."

Toy camera? Jojo waits until Christmas Eve to come up with that idea? Maybe Santa can scrounge something up. Now she runs around singing, "Happy Christmas, Happy Christmas, Happy Christmas" to her own tune.

John Paul and the girls have been baking cookies. The tree is getting its proper Christmas adornments. We will keep it up, bright and cheery, through all those January nights, all the way to February 2. The Christmas tree is a symbol of the New Tree of Life, the life that the child who is born this night is giving to us.

Santa has been dragging around a bit lately. But his family keeps forgiving him, and in their exuberance and chaos and burned cookies he realizes that the joy of Christmas is not something he creates by his own strength and activism. It is a gift.

Christ is born, alleluia. Merry Christmas everyone!

Children, Do What I Say....

I exhort my children to strength of virtue and feats of courage that I do not myself possess. Just think of what the world would be like if grown ups behaved like this:

Don't be afraid.
Stop complaining.
When you say something you know is not true, that's called a lie. You should never lie.
Clean up your mess.
Be careful!
Pay attention!
Stop fighting. Now I want you to forgive each other.
Remember that God loves you so much.
You can't just ignore your sister. If she needs something, you have to take care of her.
I know it's hard, but you still have to do it.
God loves you. Pray for the strength to know and do His will.

If I could manage to do that much each day, in my own circumstances, I would be in a lot better shape than I am now. Still, I must tell my children the truth, and then ask God to make me more of an example of the words I speak. After all, they learn more by example. And of course, I must never forget that God loves me too.

It is very humbling, to be a parent.

(post from 12/22/11)

Is It Real Trust?

"Jesus, I trust in You."

But the voices of Worry get stirred up, and they say: Really? Are you sure you trust in Him? Would you still trust Him if...?

"Stop these thoughts! Jesus, I trust in You!!!"

You're a hypocrite. You have to FIX YOURSELF first. Then you'll be worthy to trust in Him.

"Jesus have mercy on me, a sinner. I trust in You!"

Is it real trust? Or is it actually presumption!!??

"Stop!"

Are you sure you're trusting in the right way?

"Am I sure?
Stop.
Jesus, give me the grace to trust in You. Have mercy on me!"

"Jesus, I trust in You to enable me to trust in You."

"Mother Mary, carry me. Hold me in your heart."

There Are No Shortcuts

I have nothing to say. I have been staring at a blank screen for over an hour. Staring. Really.

Lots of ideas have gone through my mind. The Amerisphere is full of ideas, because we have all been provoked in recent days. Why do these mass killings keep happening? People argue about gun laws. People argue about whether or not these shooters are "mentally ill." People talk about our violent society, our narcissistic culture, the effects of violent video games, the degradation of masculinity, social isolation, family breakdowns, and so on.

Some of these reflections have value. Some of them are rather silly. Many of them are, in part, ways of distracting ourselves. We want to reduce the fundamental questions of life to social and political problems that can be fixed somehow.

Let's figure out what causes this, and fix it!

But many of us are just shaken up and confused. I work in the office of a children's center. Eileen teaches there. We have a six year old daughter. My gosh! There are no words for this.

We have prayers and sorrow and deep sympathy for the families, certainly.

We are also reminded of our own vulnerability, how we have invested ourselves so profoundly in relationships and circumstances that seem to hang by a thread. We are reminded of the presence of the faces we love so much, how dear they are to us, but also how fragile everything is...how easily we might lose our loved ones, even our children.

"Why do people have to die? Why this darkness, this absence, this wrenching separation from someone I love?"

The big questions. We all experience them sooner or later. Even if we are convinced that we "know the answers," our guts will still be torn by their pain.

Christians need to remember this.

Of course, our faith reassures us that there is eternal life, that death has been conquered. There is comfort here; indeed, when life seems incomprehensible we are reminded that our trust in Jesus must be radical and total. We must trust, because it is through love that faith holds on in the most obscure places, the inexpressibly personal places where ideas can seem so cold.

[If I continue writing words here, it is only with the understanding that I'm just stammering, and that I hardly know what I'm talking about. If I write, its only to point to a reality that is infinitely more important than anything I can say.]

Christianity is not "cheap answers to the fundamental questions of life." Christianity is a Person who loves us and endures our vulnerability to the very end, transforming it from within. The "answer" is the way He embraces each of our lives. We are changed by living with Him. We are not changed by a satisfying explanation. We are changed by Him.

There are no shortcuts. We must live through everything, trusting in Him. Especially when we feel powerless and He seems absent. We may not even feel any trust, but still we must trust, we must beg to be able to trust, we must continue to hope even if it all seems wild and impossible. Because He Himself really endures with us all the tears, the separations, the crushed hearts. Really.

He has made it all His own.

We Are Not Left to Ourselves

God has left His Heaven and come down to earth for man...

taking on human flesh and becoming man like us.

Advent invites us to follow

the path of this presence

and reminds us again and again

that God is not removed from the world,

He is not absent,

we are not left to ourselves,

but He comes to us in different ways,

which we need to learn to discern.

And we, with our faith, our hope and our charity,

are called every day to see and bear witness to this presence,

in an often superficial and distracted world,

to reflect in our lives the light

that illuminated the cave of Bethlehem!

Benedict XVI

For the Children who Died....

In prayer and remembrance.

Sandy Hook Elementary School, Newtown, Connecticut.

December 14, 2012.

For the children who died, Jesus have mercy.

For the teachers and staff who died, Jesus have mercy.

For the parents in their grief, Jesus have mercy.

For the families who have endured loss, Jesus have mercy.

For the children who witnessed this horror, Jesus have mercy.

Jesus have mercy, and protect the sanctuaries of the child from all this monstrous violence.

Protect the classroom, and every learning environment.

Protect the home, and the families who build the home.

Protect that inner, sacred space of the child's emerging awareness.

Protect children in every place where they are vulnerable and defenseless. Grant that they might find love, and be nurtured, and supported in every step of their growth.

Protect every child, from the dawn, in that intimate space beneath the heart of his or her mother.

Protect the mother and the child, and the sanctity and inviolability of their relationship, which is always a gift from God.

Give us the strength to love and support the lives of every mother and child, from the beginning, in whatever crises they may face.

Protect the children, from the beginning, from their first moment through all the moments of their epiphany, their opening up to reality, their expression of themselves as persons, created uniquely in the image of God.

Jesus have mercy on us.

Give us hearts that cherish Your beauty reflected in every child.

Give us reverence and humility in our care for the children entrusted to us.

Help us to remember that every child belongs to You.

From whence comes this unearthly, unspeakable violence that invades the human soul, and drives it to killing? So much killing.

So much blood.

Jesus, have mercy on us all. Have mercy on the whole world.

She is Here

Yesterday was a beautiful day.

I gave presentations on Our Lady of Guadalupe to the primary and elementary classes, and I handed out cards with a photo reproduction of the image and Mary's words promising to heal and strengthen and carry us--the words of our Compassionate Mother.

Giving out the cards is a tradition I've had for a long time. I used to do it in my own classroom on the feast day. Usually, December 12 is a final exam date for college students. They would all stumble in, bleary-eyed, in sweat pants, with caps on their heads to cover their unwashed hair, giving one last look to their study sheets. I would give the cards to them first. If any of my former students are reading this, I hope you still have yours.

I was very happy yesterday to speak with children about Mary.

People can analyse these things in hundreds of ways, but in the end its very simple. Mary is a real person. She is the mother of Jesus. And Jesus is my brother. That means Mary is my mother too.

But what good does it do to talk about a "compassionate mother" in a world of orphans? After all, isn't the appalling loneliness of our own lives what we fear most?

"Mother of God and my mother, carry me!"--but when I cry out, I am already in her arms. She is already holding me.

This is what Mary says to each of us: "I am here."

We Are Cradled in Her Mantle

The words of Our Lady of Guadalupe to St. Juan Diego
(as presented in the Nican Mopohua):

"Do know this, do be assured of it in your heart,

My Littlest One,
that I Myself, I am the Entirely and Ever Virgin, Saint Mary,
Mother of the True Divinity, of God Himself.
Because of Him, Life goes on, Creation goes on;
His are all things afar, His are all things near at hand,
things above in the Heavens, things here below on the Earth.

How truly I wish it, how greatly I desire it,
that here they should erect Me My Temple!

Here would I show forth, here would I lift up to view,

here would I make a gift

of all My Fondness for My Dear Ones,

all My Regard for My Needy Ones,
My Willingness to Aid them,

My Readiness to Protect them.

For truly I Myself, 

I am your Compassionate Mother,
yours, for you yourself,

for everybody here in the Land,

for each and all together,
for all others too, for all Folk of every kind,
who do but cherish Me,

who do but raise their voices to Me,
who do but seek Me,

who do but raise their trust to Me.

For here I shall listen to their groanings, to their saddenings;
here shall I make well and heal up

their each and every kind of disappointment,
of exhausting pangs, of bitter aching pain."

. . . .

"Do listen,

do be assured of it in your heart, My Littlest One,
that nothing at all should alarm you, should trouble you,
nor in any way disturb your countenance, your heart.

And do not be afraid of this Pestilence,

nor of any other pestilence,
or any rasping hardship.

For am I not here, I, Your Mother?
Are you not in the Cool of My Shadow?

in the Breeziness of My Shade?
Is it not I that am your Source of Contentment?

Are you not cradled in My Mantle?

cuddled in the Crossing of My Arms?
Is there anything else for you to need?

Nothing else, though, should trouble you,

should disquiet you."