We Can Become Lovers

The world needs Jesus. People need the love and mercy of Jesus. People need the freedom to embrace suffering in a way that does not crush them; they need to know and experience the companionship of Jesus in their suffering. People need the freedom to forgive and to let themselves be forgiven, so that wounds can heal instead of being passed through the generations until they become great scars that hinder the life of whole societies and cultures.

The love of Jesus is everything. Through His love and mercy, I can become a real lover--nothing less than a vessel of God's love. I can make God's love and mercy present in the world. If I look at myself by myself I could never hope to do this. But Jesus loves me, and promises to make me that kind of a person, to heal me and convert me and transform me into a lover. He will make me a lover of God and of human beings in the image and likeness of God, especially those entrusted to me. In asking Him to change me I have already begun to love--a new energy, a new kind of life has been awakened in me. Jesus, make me the person You created me to be.

I place my hope in Him, because I need Him, because what I am writing here comes from real life, from looking at myself, and from Eileen and I acting and thinking and struggling together; it comes from the kids who are growing and need us to care for them and respond to them in new ways. And it comes from the “gathering” of people that my writing has generated, some of whom draw strength from my work, even if it be only a small thing.

Jesus, make me the person You created me to be.

The Strength to Love

It is always a challenge to make room in my heart for the other person. When I love persons--especially those persons who have been given to me as companions in the journey of life--I let them "inside" my heart, and this means embracing their difficulties and sufferings, and making myself "vulnerable" to their faults and limitations. Such is the nature of intimate human love, which is found in different ways in spousal love, familial love, and the love of friendship.

It means that what happens in the life of the other person matters to me. Communion of life is part of the joy of love, and I often speak here about the joys and richness of the life I share with my wife and children. Of course I put forth our best side, hopefully in a realistic way. And I speak of some of the peculiar circumstances that we must suffer. But we are also very ordinary, and have all the problems of ordinary life and human relationships. These kinds of challenges are not very "topical," but they make up the stuff of most of human life.

Am I being considerate, helpful, supportive to Eileen? Am I being a true companion to my wife? Am I living my vocation as husband and father of the family? These are questions for an examination of conscience, and every day I fail in these things, I fall short, I lack love. I am either overly concerned and push myself, trying to dominate the situation, or else I am afraid and I withdraw, because I don't want to be hurt, or simply because I am too lazy. Lord, have mercy on me.

And if she fails me, do I make space in my heart to forgive her? Can I embrace the suffering that it causes me, with a merciful heart, and surround her with merciful love? Do I know that my own failures and my own suffering are surrounded and embraced and carried by a merciful Heart? Jesus I trust in You.

Eileen is preparing something in the kitchen, I am writing, the children are playing, maybe John Paul is doing his homework. What are we hoping for, and what weighs upon us? We are mysteries even to ourselves. Tomorrow is in the hands of God. This moment is His gift to me. O Lord, give me the strength to love.

Raise Me Up Again and Again

Here I am, Lord.
So inadequate.
I try to give
and yet I am wrapped up in the desire to please myself.

Still, every good thing speaks of You.
I need You. I need Your Mercy.
Open my heart to trust in Your Divine Mercy.

In front of my life,
my real life,
I discover that I cannot "do it" all by myself.
I need to pray,
I need You to sustain me,
I need You to raise me up again and again.

Have mercy on me.
Make me an instrument of Your Mercy.
Give me complete trust in You.
Jesus I trust in You.

An Attentive and Faithful Presence

The true educator does not bind people to himself, he is not possessive. He wants the child, or the disciple, to learn to know the truth and establish a personal relationship with it. The educator does his duty to the end, he does not withdraw his attentive and faithful presence; but his objective is that the learner hears the voice of the truth speak to his heart and follows it on a personal journey (Benedict XVI, Homily for January 8, 2012).

As usual, Pope Benedict provides a succinct but profound meditation in these words, and here he addresses the reality of teaching and learning. This is something I have been living all my life, in various aspects: as a "child" myself (a seeker of truth), a student, a professor, a friend, a writer; as someone who tries to share his own experience and understanding, and who seeks in turn to be receptive to what others can show him; someone who tries to offer his life and talents to doing works of mercy, and who is desperately in need of mercy.

The more we come to know the truth--not an ideological scheme or agenda, but the truth about reality--the more we realize that all truth speaks of the Mystery that is the source and meaning of everything, a Mystery that is Personal in the deepest sense, and who calls us to a living relationship with Himself. In presenting us with all the wonderful facets of reality, truth whispers to the heart that it is worthy of adherence and affirmation; it discloses all the goodness and beauty of reality, and thereby points to the One who is Good and Beautiful. Thus we affirm the truth with conviction and joy, and thus we continue to seek it.

The true educator points to the truth, not to his or her self. The truth, ultimately, is the Infinite Mystery who creates and calls the heart of every person. There have, of course, been people throughout history who have proposed themselves as "the answer" for others. They are the manipulators, the violent, the abusive characters of history and of life--in their "purest" form, they are the cult leaders and totalitarian dictators of history. They betray the relationship of persons which ought to exist between teachers and students, leaders and followers. They turn people into slaves, and they destroy families, communities, cultures, and societies.

But there was one man who was different. Once in history, a man came and said, "I am the Truth." Once in history a man said, "come to me, follow me" and that man was not abusive and manipulative. He transformed those who followed Him. They became, not less human, but a hundred times more profoundly human, and more than that, they themselves became reflections of the Mystery; they became--in a unique way--witnesses to the presence of the Mystery dwelling among us in this man. And their followers have carried the light of the hope of the human race down through the centuries, keeping it alive even in the midst of all their human frailty, and bearing witness to all the peoples of the world.

Jesus Christ is totally unique in history. He and He alone stands before the human person--with integrity, with spectacular greatness and goodness and beauty--and says, "who do you say that I am?"

The answer to this question is a continual source of amazement to me. The Mystery that sustains all of reality became a man. Thus everyone's "personal journey" to a "relationship with the truth" finds its true path and its fulfillment in Him. Billions of human beings don't really know Him. Still, if they are searching for the truth, they are searching for Him. In fact, it is He who is calling their hearts. He has come for each and all. He loves them. There is much that is mysterious about this, but for Christians it should inspire a great desire to make Him known to all the world. For as Blessed John Paul II said, "every human person has the right to know the truth that Jesus Christ came for him."

The Infinite Mystery reveals Himself by becoming man in order to give Himself to us. He comes as loving mercy, to be our path and our sustenance and our fulfillment. He comes for the "personal journey" of each one of us, and He draws close to that personal dignity and the special quality, attractions, capabilities and aspirations that distinguish each of our hearts. We have been created to give ourselves in love. He knows who we are destined to be by means of that gift, and He empowers us to achieve it. He gives to all things their attractiveness and beauty and meaning, and then He draws all things to Himself.

The fact that all things find their fulfillment in Him does not mean that things are reduced to "religious stuff" (inasmuch as we conceive of "religion" as a collection of merely human rules and invented schemes and theories). It means that He really is the Mystery: "all things were created through Him, all things were created for Him." His "particularity" in history and in our lives is not meant to suffocate us. Rather it shows that in Him we really will find the fullness of life; indeed we will find "eternal life." His particularity in the life and worship and ministry of the Church brings the Mystery of God close to us and communicates it to us, so that we might live forever as God's children, and so that we might see the vividness of God's mercy and goodness in every aspect of this earthly life, in its joys and hopes and sufferings.

What, then, can someone like me--a "professional teacher"--possibly offer to my students, my friends, my children? What can I, who claim to be an educator, possibly do for them? Can I be an instrument through which they might "hear the voice of the truth," with all of my inadequacy and all my weaknesses? I shall fail again and again. My own personality will get in the way. There are always too many words, too much desire for my own success, too much of the sneaky way in which I try to insert myself into the Christian witness. It is the pharisaical temptation to want for myself some of the awesome attention of the human religious sense, an attention that is meant to be directed to God alone. I want people to know God's love, and yet, like every human being, my inclinations for appreciation, recognition, and success are out of control. Insofar as these inclinations are not ruled by charity and mercy, the "voice of truth" is weakened and can even be obscured. Hypocrisy is almost unavoidable in those who claim to teach about the ways of God, because we fall short of Him in so much.

Still, I must try, and entrust all my efforts to Him. For this is an essential part of my own personal journey.

In many ways, my own children bring things down to earth. The vocation of fatherhood awakens a tenderness for them, and a perception of the uniqueness of each of them, an awe in front of them. The educative task of a father is clearly more than a discourse; it requires a witness. The children need my living witness to the truth. They need the "attentive and faithful presence" of their father. I must "do my duty to the end," which is to love them not possessively, but for the sake of their destiny.

I must be an attentive and faithful presence for them as each of them discovers the path of his or her vocation. I pray that I might rejoice in seeing the particular quality of love in His gaze upon each of them within the circumstances of their lives.

Fatherhood brings me to my knees. I realize that I cannot care for what has been entrusted to me except by depending completely on Him. It makes me remember once again the truth of my own journey, and the Mercy that enables me to make that journey as it unfolds before me.

Walking Around The Neighborhood

So far we've had a mild November, a mild December, and a fairly mild January. I'm glad. It's given us a chance to have some nice walks around the neighborhood. We've walked the streets of our neighborhood for eleven years. I've walked alone. I've walked with Eileen. And then there has always been "Daddy and the kids." Spontaneous walks don't often involve the whole family; usually it's one parent and some kids. I hope that will change, now that Josefina is finally getting big enough.

New Year's Resolution: Walks for the whole family. We should plan them.

The other day, I was out with the four oldest (Josefina and Mommy didn't come). I've been walking with this crew for years, since the days when nine year old Teresa was in a stroller. They were all so little. I had to shepherd them to the side of the road all the time (we don't have sidewalks out here). Now they're a competent and capable crew. But they are still young. They keep me young at heart.

This is our neighborhood in the Shenandoah Valley, where we walk out our front door and gaze at some of the oldest mountains in the world. It's too easy to take it for granted. This is such a wonderful place. We are within a ten minute drive of so many things, yet this is a quiet spot. If we had more money, we'd probably move somewhere else, but I don't think we'd be more happy than we are right here.

This is our estate, in the bright cold sun of a January afternoon. In the summer, the trees are so full that it's hard to see the house. The bareness of winter has it's own beauty, revealing hidden vistas and giving us a more ample horizon. It lets us see the sun setting closer to the base of the trees that surround us all through the neighborhood, and it reveals more of the colors and shades of the sky. When the weather is mild, winter can be charming in Virginia.

Yes, we live in the famous Valley. It seems as though half the streets around here are named after the heroes of the Army of Northern Virginia. Stonewall Jackson marched not far from here, and the echoes of that epic and traumatic and terrible war--which some people call "the first modern war" --still shake these trees.

In our time it is a peaceful place, and yet no one can say how long that will last. What will this year bring? What events loom in the future? No one can say. But we do have this afternoon, and the kids and I can enjoy it. I love being involved in their lives. I have had to slow down many things, and sometimes I have felt frustrated by that fact, but I do have time for the children. This is something that I will never regret. And I can see that it has done them good.

One week ago, I turned 49 years old. I do not think of us as "old parents," but rather as having a "young family." Some of my friends are already grandparents, which is nice because it shows us that it is possible to survive the upcoming stages in our own family history. In mind and aspiration, I feel ten or more years younger than I am. Josefina's teenage years are going to take me well into my sixties, God willing, so it's just as well that I stay youthful in spirit.

But I always tend to get ahead of myself. These days are blessed. I am grateful for them. I can do something today that is good, that builds up my children, my friends, perhaps even you who are reading this.

This is something that we must also remember when we are in pain, or when we are alone. How hard it is to remember, when we are afflicted. The goodness of reality is something we know when we watch the glowing sky through the trees on a winter afternoon. The moments of pain are also mysteriously good. Could it be possible that, in the end, emptiness wins? Never.

Here I am, relaxing in front of someone else's estate (hahaha!):

Open Our Hearts To Your Presence

Dear Lord, open our hearts to your Presence
in this new year,
that we might recognize You
and love You in everything.
Grant that we might be reconciled to one another.
Console and bring healing to those who are suffering,
protect human life and the dignity of the human person,
bring peace
and spare us from the scourge of further war.
Place in our hearts 
worship,
adoration,
wonder,
and committed love for You.
Give us trust in the wisdom and goodness
of Your will for our lives,
and enable us to love one another.

He Comes For Sinners

Mercy is an incredible thing.

During this time we remember Jesus coming among us. He comes for the poor, and for the Gentiles, and for Israel--for the whole world. He comes to seek out and save what is lost. He comes for sinners.

Jesus loves the worst sinners, the people who we would consider disgusting. He loves them, He goes out in search of them, He gives Himself completely for them.

He wants sinners. He wants the most awful people, the creepy people, the people we don't want to touch or even go near. He wants to take away their sins, to change their hearts by His grace, to heal them, to forgive them, and to enable them to love Him. He wants them to be with Him forever. His heart burns with love for them: the gross, ugly, really bad people.

This should be a cause for great hope. For who among us looks in the mirror and sees a face with no cause for shame? The hope of the world is our hope. Jesus wants to awaken in us and draw forth from our hearts a true sorrow for our sins, and then He wants to fill our hearts with His love and transform us and make us beautiful.

On the Cross, in the Church, in the sacraments, and in these beautiful days of the Christmas season that we celebrate, He shows how He has given Himself to us, and how He longs for us.

He wants us to pray, to open our hearts to Him in trust. We must pray. "Lord, make me the person You will me to be. Shape me, change me, lead me. I believe in Your love for me. I trust in You."

The people who are literally disgusting, who have done horrible things, the most horrible things we can imagine--He loves them. He wants them with such a longing; He wants to draw them and convert them and heal them and transform them. He wants us to pray for them.

And He wants us. He loves us. He has come for us, and He gives Himself for us. "Jesus make me into the person You have created me to be. I trust in You."

A New Perspective of Life

Reflecting on our life experience, we are continually astonished by how ultimately short and ephemeral life is. So we often find ourselves asking: what meaning can we give to our days? What meaning, in particular, can we give to the days of toil and grief? This is a question that permeates history, indeed it runs through the heart of every generation and every individual. But there is an answer: it is written on the face of a Child who was born in Bethlehem two thousand years ago, and is today the Living One, risen for ever from the dead. From within the fabric of humanity, rent asunder by so much injustice, wickedness and violence, there bursts forth in an unforeseen way the joyful and liberating novelty of Christ our Saviour, who leads us to contemplate the goodness and tenderness of God through the mystery of his Incarnation and Birth. The everlasting God has entered our history and he remains present in a unique way in the person of Jesus, his incarnate Son, our Saviour, who came down to earth to renew humanity radically and to free us from sin and death, to raise us to the dignity of God's children. Christmas not only recalls the historical fulfilment of this truth that concerns us directly, but in a mysterious and real way, gives it to us afresh....

"When the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons" (Gal 4:4-5). These words penetrate the heart of the history of us all and illumine it, or rather, they save it, because since the Day of the Lord's Nativity, the fullness of time has reached us. So there is no more room for anxiety in the face of time that passes, never to return; now there is room for unlimited trust in God, by whom we know we are loved, for whom we live and to whom our life is directed as we await his definitive return. Since the Saviour came down from heaven, man has ceased to be the slave of time that passes to no avail, marked by toil, sadness and pain. Man is son of a God who has entered time so as to redeem it from meaninglessness and negativity, a God who has redeemed all humanity, giving it everlasting love as a new perspective of life.

Benedict XVI, from the Homily at First Vespers of the Octave of Christmas

Happy 2012, and Keep Celebrating Christmas!

I'm a little late starting the New Year. We've been having a bit of a vacation, so I'm a little out of touch. But the year has begun well. And yes, our Christmas tree still shines brightly during Epiphany week. Although John Paul is back to school, Eileen and the girls have this whole week off. It's great having Eileen around. We get to sleep in, watch funny videos late at night, and even talk about intelligent subjects. We have been blessed to have this time.

The commercial world has left Christmas far behind, but we are still very much in the midst of it. Christmas is about more than just the birth of Christ. Christmas is about the manifestation of God to the world in the humanity, in the flesh of Christ. It is about the appearance of this man in the world, before the eyes of others, the "epiphany" of the mystery of God and His love in Jesus the Son of Mary, in history, to real human beings who begin to recognize Him.

It is the celebration of the way that God has chosen to communicate with human beings, by coming into our midst, by taking the very flesh of the humanity of our own lives and making it "His," not as a beautiful idea, but in real life. He took on a real body, blood, and soul--He became a man--so that He could meet us and enter inside of our lives and embrace us completely. Thus Jesus appears in history and continues to dwell among us in the Eucharist and in the life of the Church.

So we celebrate His "epiphany"; God's manifestation of Himself in and through the real human nature that He makes His own. A man walked the earth who said, "He who has seen me has seen the Father." We celebrate the moments in which He was "seen" for the first time, and the significance of these events for all of us. So He is seen by Mary and Joseph--His glorious face--for the first time at His birth, and then He shows Himself to the poorest and humblest of the earth, the shepherds of Bethlehem. We must never forget that God chose to come first to the poor, to those who carry out the menial tasks, to those who count for nothing in the world.

The rich had to go looking for Him, but He gave a sign that could be recognized by those who were poor in spirit, and the Magi follow the star and bring their wealth to give to Him. Thus He first shows Himself to the Gentiles, revealing that He has come to a particular place and time in order to be the Lord of all places and times, of Jews and Gentiles, of the near and the far.

At the same time, the great event that we celebrate in the Christmas season is a moment in His adult life, the beginning of His public ministry, the moment in which He shows Himself to the chosen people after receiving the baptism of John. This is an iconic moment when the Trinity is revealed, when the Father speaks and the Spirit descends in the form of a dove. God reveals His own inner life through the humanity of the Person of the Son, who with the Father and the Spirit are eternally One God, consubstantial, One God in Three Persons. It takes time for these terms to be articulated, but the reality shines out in this moment: God is One but not solitary; His inner life is an eternal communion of self-giving love. "This is My Beloved Son...."

Ancient tradition calls this event the Theophany, the manifestation of God. It is also the beginning of the revelation of God's design, which corresponds to the deepest truth of who we are as human persons. "Listen to Him," because He has come so as to be, in Himself, the way, the truth, and the life. Through Him, God shows us that He wants to raise us up to a participation in His divine life, to become His children "by adoption." Thus shines before us also the mystery of our own dignity and destiny according to God's loving plan. We come from nothingness. We are destined for eternal life with God, and we will achieve this destiny by being united with this man who is the God the Son, Jesus Christ. He has come to save us and transform us in Himself.

We do not continue to celebrate Christmas because of some excessive emotional attachment or childishness. We continue to celebrate because it helps us to remember the glory of God, and the fact that He has shown Himself to us in order remain with us, to be the light of life, to be our way to Him.

Look at the lights of Christmas and remember the glory of God, the beauty of His face, the manifestation of His amazing love for us.

Mother Mary, Thank You For Everything

This is the last blog post of 2011. Since I shall take tomorrow off, I'll wish everyone a Happy New Year. Tomorrow is also the joyful celebration of the Octave of Christmas. Traditionally this day commemorates the action by which Jesus was ceremonially included among the children of Abraham. The Son of God made man sheds blood in the ritual of circumcision, which foreshadows the mystery of the blood He will shed on the Cross--His life's blood, which He gives to us. It is, once again, a manifes- tation: the sign of the covenant is sealed upon Him who is in Person the fulfillment of the covenant. The Roman rite now observes this day as a special feast in honor of Mary, under the title of Theotokos, the Mother of God. This too is a manifestation, as the celebration of the birth of the Son is inseparable from the miracle of Mary's motherhood.

To me it is a great thing that we begin the year with the celebration of Mary's motherhood. The Son manifests Himself to the world by being born of a Virgin, and the Mother manifests the Son--true God and true man--through the miracle of the Virgin Birth, which with all of its concreteness proclaims and continues the whole miracle of Mary's maternity. The Mother matters, because everything about her is a revelation and a means of communicating this astonishing fact: God really became man.

God loves us. But the point is not to comfort our sentiments, to make us "feel good." The purpose of His love is to transform us, to make us "like" Him, to give us a share in His glory. Christ does not make us complacent and self-satisfied; He is the great Provocation, the call to self-abandonment, to complete trust. We are challenged to use our freedom in order to say--with love--that our whole lives belong to this man.


How is it that we are not overwhelmed by this man? There is the temptation to wish that God had not come so close. A provident God who takes care of us but stays "in heaven"--we sometimes think this is what we really want. There is always the danger that we will reduce our perception of "Christianity" to a kind of comfortable Theism. But the Great Lover is here, and He says to us, "follow me." We are called to embark upon an adventure in which we are not in control, to travel a narrow path that we do not understand, but also to discover a great life, to discover in Him the real purpose of our own humanity.

And the grace of God is the power that shapes us to the measure of this Divine and human greatness. It is the guaranty that we will not be overwhelmed, that the love of the Infinite Mystery is an intimate reality in our lives.

Here it is that Mary appears before me. Her motherhood, Mother of God and mother of all of us, of the life of God in us, of Christ in us. Mary, a real mother. The Woman, in all of the scope and exercise of her femininity, takes her place here, at the center of my life. I could launch into a treatise of Marian theology here, but I prefer--in these last hours of the year 2011--to express quiet gratitude.

It is fitting to end this good year, with all of its drama as the unfolding of the mystery of God's plan for the world and for my life, in this simple way: thank you, Mary. Thank you for being my Mother. The true God who is Lord of all comes to me through you. The face of Jesus appears to me as the fruit of your womb, as a real man born of a woman. Thank you Mary for your love, which brings me such a gift.

Thank you, Mother Mary, for Jesus, for everything. Jesus. Mary. Jesus, I trust in You.

Mercy Is At Work

I'm looking over a year of work on this blog. I think of the possibility of working the "best of" this material into some kind of book. It probably should include pictures. A book about the family? I don't know. It's one thing to write in a blog, which is a living, interactive, developing reality. And the internet seems to straddle the world between my interiority and "what's out there" (even though that may be partly an illusion). But putting my family in a book between covers seems somehow different.

I don't want to put my young and growing teenagers into a literary box that would sit on shelves and stare at them and say, "This is you!" I am only now beginning to see the awakening of their freedom, and my concern is to point them in the direction of truth, goodness, and beauty. Would they feel constrained by a book about their childhood circulating around, even as they try to grow beyond those limits? A book being read by their friends' parents (or even by their friends)?

On the other hand, the kids are all hams and (right now at least) they all want to be written about. We are blessed. There is much goodness to share from our experience, in the midst of all the ordinary and some of the unusual trials that a family can have. It's something to pray about and consider, with my family.

Perhaps there is more than one book developing here. There are prayer poems and meditations, and I expect that if I gathered them together for a book I would find myself writing more. But I don't want people to be fooled by beautiful words into thinking that I understand anything about the mystery of prayer. Sometimes I feel like a hypocrite, doing all this writing about God.

Like most "religious people," I have an inner Pharisee with whom I must struggle. It's especially hard for someone whose profession is teaching religion. It's natural to look for affirmation in the execution of one's profession, and to "feel good about one's self." But then one remembers that one is writing words about God. All of the elements that go into the average person's professional and social interaction, including all the hypocrisy, self-promotion, dissimulation, cunning and self-seeking...and it's all wrapped up in teaching and writing about God! This is a psychologically complicated fact of my life. I love the first places at banquets, and being called "rabbi"! Woe unto me!

What can I do other than throw myself upon the mercy of God? I have been given the gift of expressing myself. I know that words are straw, but there is a place for straw in life and the task of making straw has been given to me. I will make straw. There will be a new book of some kind next year.

For those of you who haven't read the current book, Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy, why not use that Amazon gift card and order a copy? It's straw, but people have found it useful and helpful. The baby Jesus laid on a bed of straw. Get some for your friends too. It's also available in Kindle. Here's the link: http://t.co/ddwYeqX.

Look at me. I'm selling my words about God (mixed in with hypocrisy and dissimulation and tilts that put me in the best possible light). I'm selling them for money. And don't be fooled by this humility routine (the inner Christian Pharisee loves when people recognize and admire his humility). Don't be fooled by me. I am a struggling, divided heart. I am a Scribe. It comes with the profession. "I see," I say, and therefore I am blind. Yet I am also the blind man in the process of being healed, of beginning to see His face.

I am a human being and I have met Jesus Christ. I express that humanity in words, inadequate words, sentimental, pietistic words; words that make it sound too easy, and that give me the false appearance of being "wise" as I toy with mysteries. All these words. All this straw. Use it for your bed. Throw it in your fire and be warmed. Let it dry up the damp ground under your feet. Find something in it.

From my own struggle, what I want you to see is that Mercy is at work. In all my efforts and words the great hope is that you might see His mercy. Because of Him, I have the audacity to hope that you might find it, even in me, in the midst of my many words.

Look for Him. Discover the beauty of His face. I know it's not as easy as it sounds. I know that. But still, He is here, and He is real.

Mercy is at work in the world, in me, and in you.

What Shall We Offer You?

O Christ,
what shall we offer You
for Your coming on earth as a man for our sake?
Every creature that has its being from You
gives thanks to You:
The angels offer hymns of praise,
the heavens give a star;
wise men present their gifts
and the shepherds, their wonder;
the earth provides a cave
and the desert a manger.
As for us,
we offer You a Mother,
a Virgin Mother.
O God who are from all eternity,
have mercy on us!

--from Christmas Vespers, Byzantine Liturgy        

Grateful For What We Have Been Given

Pondering during the Christmas season....

Many are burdened with economic worries. Certainly, we are! The way of life to which we are all are accustomed seems at times to be teeter-tottering on a precipice.

Then I put things in "historical perspective." It doesn't really make me feel better; I like the life I have; it's the only way of living I have ever known.

But just put it in historical perspective for a moment: We the People of the United States...are by far the richest human beings who have ever lived in the history of the human race!

Look at this house I live in, this house that is "much too small" for our family. Ha ha ha! Emperors in all their glory had nothing like the power that is accessible to me at the flick of a finger. I command the light, the water, and even the air temperature of my dwelling. I have two blazing chariots ("used clunkers," but they still go), that can take me all over, so that I am master of my realm.

What nobleman, what lord, what king, what rich smug capitalist from a hundred years ago can say what the average middle class American can still say today, namely, that with a computer, a credit card, and an airline ticketing website, we can travel anywhere we want on this planet within seventy two hours. Decide now? We can be there in three days.

Are we not, materially speaking, the richest and most powerful people who have ever lived?

My little house has magical gadgets that never occurred to Kubla Khan in his wildest dreams of Xanadu. Here, right now, I am sitting in front of the glittering computer square that can make the space between me and anywhere else in the world evaporate.

Louis XIV? Bah! He would have envied my bathroom.

So what is my point? Many in the world today live without what we commonly consider "necessities." 200 years ago no one lived with anything like the material comfort that we possess. We are uniquely blessed.

I don't want to deny that Americans have difficulties. Some of our difficulties are fundamental, and it cannot be denied that the vast power we possess has also created new problems that our ancestors never had to bear. Still, many of us are struggling to manage our blessings. My own "tiny" home, with its five rapidly growing children and creative sleeping arrangements, would be considered "poor" by many Americans. It is sustained economically by whatever two professional educators can scrape together. But by any comparison with the general lot of the human race down through the centuries, we live in astonishing comfort and convenience.

What does it all mean? How are we meant to live in the midst of all these blessings? How can they serve as a foundation for building ourselves up as persons and as a family, for constructive action in our community, and for sharing our gifts and the human possibilities they create with a world that has drawn much closer to us?

I know I can begin with gratitude and wonder. I thank God, and everyone who has made possible the remarkable life that I am living, and I pray that I might find within it the opportunities to build the human dimension of that life.

A Joyful Christmas Day 2011

Christmas day for the Janaros was truly "merry." It was peaceful and blessed, cheerful and fun, and touched with a longing, an exquisite sorrow. We took joy in each other's company, while also having a palpable sense that time is passing, that we cannot capture life's joy but only follow it as it points us to its Source and Fulfillment.

On Christmas Eve, we decorated the tree. The gold papered star that Daddy made many years ago (probably for John Paul's first Christmas) is the same star that we still use. Now John Paul is 14: still young enough to be excited about Christmas, but also old enough to have a detailed understanding of the family rituals, of "how things are supposed to be done." He has four sisters, three of whom have a number of Christmas memories already, while the youngest seems to have become really, consciously aware of the joy of Christmas for the first time. "I'm so 'cited' about Christmas," Josefina has been saying for days.

It's still a special event for Daddy to put the star on the top of the tree, symbolizing that decoration is complete. It was important enough for John Paul to take a picture of it for our digitally documented family life. The baby boy who wasn't even allowed to touch the tree "a few years ago" (so it seems) is now becoming a young man with feet as big as his father's. In a few years, he'll be coming home from college for Christmas. The gold papered star will still be here.

The next morning we went to Mass. Christmas Day simply highlights another aspect of the unfathomable mystery of this singular action, in which Christ gives Himself. Whether in the purple colors of Advent's awaiting, or the explosion of Christmas light and flowers and the Nativity scene, the inexhaustible wonder of the Eucharist shines through. The humility of the Christ child in Bethlehem reminds us of the tremendous smallness and fragility of His gift of Himself in the Eucharist, by which He draws us into the very life of God who is the Transcendent Mystery of Gift and Love.

After Mass, we went home for Christmas morning, where we took our family pictures and them commenced the exuberant fun of opening gifts. Our gifts to one another are home made, or from thrift stores, or--as is usually the case with me and Eileen to each other--things we need for the house and were already going to buy. We don't have a lot of money to buy lots of gifts, but the kids enjoy making or finding small things to give to each other and to us, and the surprise and special feeling that comes from receiving and opening presents never grows old. Then there were many packages that had arrived from California over the course of the past week, from "Nana and Grampa" (Eileen's parents). The result is that we had a lot of gifts.

I sat back and sipped my coffee and watched the children laughing at one another's surprise and enjoying one another's company as they gave and opened their presents. Eileen was across from me in her chair--this amazing woman, this builder of human places, of environments of joy and learning and growing, in our home, in the classroom, in the community. Where does the love come from, that gives this woman the internal and external energy to be so creative, and to prop up and put into place her chronically exhausted husband besides? Christmas with this family seems like an awesome gift. This was my Christmas present: to experience this joy and to recognize that this is my home, and that I am not myself except in relationship with these people. I am loved here, with all my weakness and incompetence. And here the energy to love is born within me.

I also looked at the tree and wondered if this kind of gathering of the children would ever be the same again. They are growing, in life, in relation to us, and in relation to each other. For this Christmas, we had John Paul, Agnese, Lucia, Teresa, and Josefina all still with the enthusiasm and the hearts of children. John Paul is still young enough to be a child at Christmas, and Josefina is finally old enough to be more than a semi-confused toddler. They will change and grow, and this is good. But part of me cannot help longing for "forever" in such a moment, and that is a true longing, because love has an "eternal taste." It's clear that they cannot stay children forever; indeed my life and many efforts are dedicated to their growth and maturity and especially their discovery of their vocations. Still, my longing is not a sentimental nostalgia, because this beautiful moment is a sign, a promise of fulfillment, in which nothing is lost or "left behind." But I am powerless to make this happen; I must trust, I must open my heart, I must let my heart be wounded by hope. In hope, the eternal already begins to dwell.

Later, my parents and my brother came with more presents. My side of the family was gathered, and I saw here too that I was not only a father but also a son. My parents are growing old, and yet they find new joys in their sons and their growing grandchildren. The days are over when my parents hosted Christmas at their house. They can't do it anymore. We are facing with them the challenges of this time of life, where suffering and weakness begin to predominate. And I am still their son, still their little boy, even as I approach the age of 49. Something endures, reminding me of all that I have received from them.

My amazing Eileen cooked a wonderful dinner for us all, and even baked a cake. The kids helped in various ways. I did my best at a task that is becoming my specialty: keeping Josefina out of the way and out of trouble. Christmas Day at our house worked out very well. Not every Christmas has been so happy. Five years ago we spent part of Christmas at the hospital, with Josefina wired up and sick in the NICU, with the staff telling us that they did not know when she might be able to come home. It is hard to suffer at Christmas, but the promise calls out to our hearts especially in sorrow, which afflicts us only because we know that we are made for joy. Here especially, hope must endure. Only hope can endure. We must always keep hope alive, and focus it on the One who is worthy of our trust.

On Christmas day, a Human Face manifested itself to the world for the first time, a Face that is destined to look into the eyes of every other human face. A Voice was heard in the world for the first time, the human voice of Him who created the world, who created every human person in His image, who speaks in the depths of every human heart. This is Christmas: Jesus revealing Himself to the world, presenting Himself as a gift to us "from the beginning."

And Christmas comes, year after year, with the familiar prayers of its liturgical celebration, its festivity and its decoration, its particular family traditions. All of these are signs for us. Even as we change, He is with us. He has come, and He is coming. His love for us endures, and is shaping us.

Josefina's First Theology Lesson

"Daddy, I'm afraid to go into the potty," said Josefina.

"Why, honey?"

"I don't want to be all by myself."

"But you're not all by yourself. I'm right out here, sweetie."

"I don't want to be alone in the potty."

Hmmm. Sometimes the kids 'keep her company.' But she can't always have company. I give her a hug and put my hands gently on her cheeks.

"You're not alone, Josefina. I'm right here. But you're never alone. Jesus and Mary are always with you. And your Guardian Angel. Your Guardian Angel is always right by your side, always paying attention to you and taking care of you."

"But I can't see them."

"You can't see them because they are in heaven with God. But that doesn't keep them from being very close to you."

Now here's the logic of a five year old: "Daddy, when you're in heaven, can I see you?"

I was a little spooked by that comment. God's will be done, but I think there is more work left for me to do on earth before that time comes around.

"Daddy's not in heaven yet, honey. I hope I will be one day, but I'm still on earth, and I pray that I will be here for a long time, so that I can help you to grow up."

. . . .

I want to help her grow up. I want to be here for each and all of them. I want to see them to the path of their vocations in life, and see the fruits of their vocations, and continue to support them, and console them in their sorrows. Eileen and I have so much to do together, to build up our love for each other so that it generates a home where God's call can be heard in the hearts of our children, and fostered to its maturity. And I want to grow old with Eileen, so that when age forces some measure of leisure upon us, we can sit and read poetry and literature together, and travel together to the places of our youth and see great works of beauty again. Of course, we'll never stop working. We have so many ideas for how we can work together.


Ideas and hopes and all things are in the hands of God. I offer everything to Jesus, trusting that He knows my heart and all my hopes and that He is creating the narrow but real path that we all must walk. I pray that I will be willing to surrender everything in that moment that He, in His infinite wisdom, knows is the right moment for me. When He calls, I pray that I might make that final and total entrustment. I pray that I might entrust everything to Him every day, every moment. Everything is in His heart, and belongs to His wisdom and love. In this moment that means I am in this world. And in this world, I must never give up.


There have been times, when I've been brooding in darkness, that I've thought of dying--not of killing myself, because I never forget that there is judgment after death--but just wanting it to end, so that I might go away and disappear. But then I remember the family. The family is there, like a grace, like a singular light, and I know that it is not yet time, and that I must continue to fight.


"You should pray too, that Daddy stays here on earth for a long time yet," I said. For all that my poor human mind can fathom, and that my own poor prayer can discern, I cannot help but think that there is much more work for me to do.

"Come with me to the potty," Josefina replied.

"No. I'll be right here. Remember, you are never alone. Your Guardian Angel is always right with you, and he protects you." We have always prayed to the angels with the children. When you have five children, you realize that the angels are very much involved in our lives, for the good--both great and small.

"But I can't see him," she said again.

I try a slightly different approach. "You can't see him because he's invisible," I said. "That means you can't see him, but you still know he's there."

Then I decided to throw a concept at her.

"The way you know this," I said, "is called faith."

And she looked at me with her big eyes.

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.

A Girl Begins To Be a Woman

Thirteen years ago she came into the world. She has always been a beautiful soul. Agnese, my "little bundle of sweetness," my "little bundle of joy."

Beautiful has always been the word I want to use when I speak about Agnese. I feel a sense of reverence around her. I even feel a little shy.

So I try to tease her to cover my shyness, and she responds in a brusque manner in order to avoid (I think) her feeling of shyness with me.

Agnese is beautiful, but not delicate. She loves to be outdoors. She loves trees, and animals, and lots of space to run and walk and look at the sky. She loves to ride her bicycle. She also likes pretty things, I think, but she doesn't want to admit it. There is still so much of the energetic kid in her heart, and I don't think the core of that will ever change. She loves horses, and I know that one day she will ride them.

Agnese is simple in the way she expresses herself, and simple in her affection. I have begun to learn to appreciate the strength of that simplicity, even as I prod her with my silly humor. She needs to come out more from herself, but in her own way. She doesn't have to be forced.

An interior space is growing within this young woman. She enjoys company and friends, and yet there is a positive desire for solitude, not from fear but because she senses a life inside her that needs to be cultivated and nourished. I see this, and I think she knows that.

Still, I am loud and grandiose and expansive in the way I spread my personality all over the place. As I watch the children grow, however, I have begun to think that I am not as "insecure"--in real life--as I imagine myself to be when I am when I am in a negative frame of mind. I am, by nature, a rather large person, and the family is okay with that. They love that about me. It is insecurity that tempts me to withdraw, and shrink, and disappear.

When I am big and strong and a little clumsy, but happy, they flourish.

Agnese has a sense of humor, especially about the genuine things that happen around the house. She really does not need "jokes," because she has a glimpse of the irony of life.

Something grows inside her. I feel the desire to build and foster a home that is a place for her to grow, a firm ground that has plenty of space for her to explore and discover things, and that will give her strong steps for when she goes forth into the adventure of her own vocation in life.

The Mark of the Fire

I have been wounded by Him in the night,
I have contended with Him,
and He has blessed me.
Now I go through my days,
wounded and limping with His blessing upon me.

I  have been forgiven and healed
from my struggle against God;
readily forgiven,
for there was nothing ever in His strong arms
but love for me.

But to be touched by the love of God
is fire.
And nothing on earth can fill the space
that He has burned away.

I have been healed, but not entirely,
not yet.
Instead I have been sent into the world
to limp through all my days
with the mark of the fire of His mercy upon me.

For He wants the world to know His mercy.

Moussaka

There is a smell coming from the kitchen tonight. It's a meaty smell, with cinnamon and eggplant and onions and mysterious, wonderful spices.

Moussaka.

John Paul has played a major role in the preparation of this meal, which--I think--we are about to eat. He has been busy about the pans with Mommy. Oh what a fine fellow he is!

The Janaros surely have Greek ancestry. Even the unusual name, my great uncle used to say, has an ancient lineage, perhaps pointing to some Byzantine heritage. And all the Sicilians in my mother's family are from Catania, the "Greek" side of the island.

Perhaps this is why I feel within my own heart a mysterious crossroad between East and West. I am synthetic and analytic, mystical and logical; I love spicy food, and a good stout. But it's more than that. It is a mystery of relationships, of ancestors who are real people and who continue to exist. They are, I hope, with God or on that final purifying journey to Him. They know me. I pray for them, and I pray to them. My ancestors.

It was from my African Catholic friends in particular that I learned the importance of appreciating the "communion of saints" concretely, in terms of my own forebearers. So much of who I am has been passed on to me through them, and my life continues to be linked to theirs. Because they are still alive, in Christ, in the communion of saints, even if their bodies were sown in the earth hundreds of years ago.

Who are they? I think their prayers have something to do with the desire in me to be a "place" where East and West meet. Why does the separation, and the lack of understanding, wound me? Why do I "feel" it personally?

Why does the smell of Moussaka from the kitchen raise all these reflections in my mind and heart.

And the children are a world. They take Ireland and Spain and the Philippines from their mother along with my Mediterranean heritage. People from many nations look upon our little family, and many depend on us for their prayers. They also help us. We must remember them and love them.

It's time for dinner. May the souls of our ancestors and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace. And pray for us.

"Our Kitten Alex," by the Janaro Children

I gave the kids the job of writing the blog tonight, and they have provided their own details about life with Alex. This is a collective effort of composition, and although I expect my 14 year old son exercised overall some editorial con- trol, I’m sure it represents the common contribution and individual voices of each. I really don’t know, because I’ve been resting all evening. The project was done entirely without my help (except for the pictures). So, without further ado, here are the Janaro kids….

Janaro children speaking: for those of you who have not checked Daddy’s Facebook in the last 2 months, we have a kitten.  All cat lovers and blogs about the kids lovers out there will love this blog.  It all started when our neighbor gave her old cat to her grandchildren.  Once the resident “top of the food chain” left, the mice started partying and decided to make their merriment in our house (much to the discomfort and annoyance of everyone).  After driving the vast hordes of rodents (possibly 1 or 2 mice) we decided that we must get another predator to guard against the evil rodent hordes.  We looked at various candidates for the job and asked to see their résumé.  Most of them did not qualify for the job (mainly because we were always arguing about which ones to get). 

One night, Mommy got an email from someone saying that they had a kitten that they wanted to give away.  It included a picture of the applicant (kitten) who looked like they fit the qualifications (cuteness, mouse catching capabilities, cuteness, cuteness, cuteness, and fluffiness).  We agreed that she was the perfect kitten for us.  On October 15^th, we finally picked her up.  We incarcerated her in a dreadful plastic cage and she showed her displeasure by meowing all the way home.  When we got home she tried to run away, so Mommy bought some peg boards to make a little pen for her to restrain her instinct to run away from reckless 5-year-olds who want to unrelentingly squeeze and hug her.  Those didn’t keep her from jumping out, so we that night we had to completely cover the pen with cardboard.  By the time the week was over, she had become pretty used to her new surroundings.

After the first night, we still had the problem of naming her.  Her former owner had named her Gracie, but w all agreed that we did not want to name her that.  We looked on websites with popular cat names, looked in the Latin dictionary, thought of characters from literature, but eventually we decided to name her after Alex Ovechkin, the star player on the Washington Capitals, who we are fans of.  Since she is a girl, we named her Alexandra, and we call her Alex for short.

As the weeks went by, we noted her fine qualities (not being too vicious when the reckless five-year-old turns her upside down, liking to be held by the non reckless five-year-olds, not wanting to be held too long by the non reckless five-year olds, etc.).  She is also very good at catching crickets which is a promising sign that she will be able to hold off the vast hordes of mice.  Climbing trees is not one of her strong points however.  When she climbs a tree we usually have to get her down or we need to stretch out a blanket under her.  She is also the one of the most privileged animals in the world because she is the first larger than a mouse animal ever to come into our house (Daddy is allergic to cats and dogs), though she only comes into the house when it is cold outside at night, and then only in the second bathroom. 

We have had her for two months now, and at the rate she is getting pampered and fed, she will be very fat.