I'm Muddling Along. Isn't That Good Enough?

A sick "selfie"! Do I look attracted to Infinity? Well, the palm tree looks nice...

I've spent the past half hour mentally zoning out in front of the screen. I'm not going to complain about being sick. Sunday was a good day. Now I'm mostly back in bed. But there will be other good days.

They're all good days. Some of them are just difficult.

I must bear the difficulties, "carry the cross," and offer it up. Right?

But the problem is, I don't want to bear difficulties. I can't stand it! I'm not good at "offering up" stuff. I'd rather grumble and feel sorry for myself, darn it!

But there are Eileen and the kids, these people who are inescapably "in my face" every day. We've got to have some order, and some effort to get along, so I raise myself up with all my energy and I manage to muddle along.

That doesn't seem like a very Christian attitude, but I'm a bad Christian; really, I do the whole thing badly. I'm not good at trusting, or praying, or loving my neighbor, or taking care of the poor. I'm selfish, lazy, and foolish. I'm the Rich Man (or, at least, I would like to be the Rich Man, feasting splendidly... but in any case I do have the riches of the First World, a table with plenty of scraps falling carelessly all over the place).

I do see Lazarus at the door. Perhaps I'm not so bad. I'm sorry for Lazarus, and I don't want to ignore him. I'll gather some of my scraps and give them to charity. Lazarus is hungry. I'm glad we have "people-who-deal-with-that-sort-of-thing." Trained people. Professionals. Other people.

Of course, the real problem for me is not that I don't want Lazarus to have a nice, happy, well-fed life. The problem is that Lazarus is a weirdo. Lazarus has all these problems, he's difficult, and so darn demanding. Lazarus is "another person," and I'm too tired to be bothered with him!

Feed him. Give him a full plate. In fact he can have the whole dinner. Just keep him outside. Or, forget it, he can have the house. I'll go outside!

What I don't want is for Lazarus and I to get involved in each other's lives. I don't want to love Lazarus, because that would mean recognizing his deeper hunger. It's a hunger that I don't understand, and don't know how to fill. Let him go to a psychologist or a priest or "somebody else." His hunger is too much like my own hunger, and I don't want to feel my own hunger!

What has always struck me most in the parable of "Lazarus and the Rich Man" is the fact that, when the Rich Man is in torment, he asks Abraham to "send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue" (Luke 16:24). He says, "send Lazarus...."

So he knew Lazarus by name. How did he know him? Who was Lazarus? His friend? His brother? His son? Or perhaps just someone from the neighborhood. Still, he knew him by name. He recognized his face.

It is terrible to let a stranger starve at our gate. But the people starving at our gates are people we know by name. Lazarus is our friends, our brothers and sisters, our parents, our children, our spouse.

Our Lazarus lives in the house. Is he starved for our love?

I know what this means for me. It means that "muddling along" is not good enough. We are all too hungry. I must face my hunger and live it and cry out from it and beg to be fed. Then, I will have something to offer.

I Will Praise Him Still

"Why are you cast down, my soul?
Why groan within me?
Hope in God; I will praise him still,
my savior and my God" (Psalm 42:12).

Everything is New and Wonderful

The weather was beautiful today. And I am guardedly optimistic that I am recovering from the most recent flareup of what I call my "rheumatism," which put me in bed and in some significant pain over the past couple of weeks. Rest and patience do appear to be the best medicine for preventing a relapse (at least for the past several years). I'm glad that my present circumstances permit me to be flexible and to moderate my activity and step back when I feel the need to.

Exercise is important, of course, when I can manage it. I was able to enjoy today's weather and walk around the neighborhood a bit. It is easy to forget how lovely it is here in the Shenandoah Valley, but today everything looked new and a little wonderful.

Down the block, a road leads to the commercial area of town.

Of course, that can be explained in part by the fact that Spring is ripening into a green and growing Summer. It is as if you can just stand still and hear the leaves drinking in the sun and the grass drawing up to the sky.

I hope it was a peaceful Sunday for everyone.

Sunset is well after 8 PM, leaving the air warm in the lingering light of dusk.

The Path of Little Cuts

John Janaro around the year 1992

I meant to post this a couple of days earlier, to correspond with its original date, but I haven't exactly been on the ball lately. Nevertheless, it turns out to be a happy delay. This little anecdote has some echoes of the theme of personal suffering as articulated by Msgr. Albacete in yesterday's post.

The young man who wrote these words in May of 1992 was still riding on the cloud of his recent success in the public presentation and defense of his complex theological thesis. He was full of the praise of the examining professors and the audience, and perhaps had begun to puff up with the feeling that he really was as "brilliant" as they seemed to think.

One may or may not be brilliant, but it is not helpful to allow one's self to become preoccupied with any kind of overconfidence, since it obscures the real smallness and fragility and radical neediness that constitutes our human condition, even the condition of someone who is a genius.

I've since learned that whatever brilliance I may have had was easily paralyzed by debilitating disease, and easily turned into a weapon against itself by neurological dysfunctions of the brain. The human person is fragile indeed, but also -- by the force of the implacable aspiration of a living vocation and the strength of Divine grace -- tenacious and adaptable, capable of refocusing and moving forward.

One learns, slowly, that self-satisfaction and pride choke off the true growth of the person, and that what is needed is a realistic assessment of one's capacities and a giving-over of everything to the wisdom and goodness of God, to follow the way that He leads.

As I said, one learns slowly -- for the most part. This lesson is a journey of trust, realism, and self-surrender.

I am still on that journey, 22 years after I wrote these words. I still have a scar on my finger from the injury I describe below. It was a small suffering, but it reminded me that I was on the road to transcendence, a long and arduous road.

Young John Janaro, May 14, 1992:

How Can We Have True Compassion For Those Who Suffer?

William Congden, Crucifixion series

I'm not going to offer my own reflections on such a profound problem. Instead, I have a few striking selections (with notes from me, occasionally, in brackets [ ] ) from a book that is rich in what it offers to both the mind and the heart, by the great and unheralded theologian (and my old friend) Msgr. Lorenzo Albacete. The little book is called God at the Ritz (click the link and buy a copy). The title is both serious and funny, but I'm not going to explain that here. You'll have to get the book to find out.

These thoughts (selected from pp. 81-116) are worth going through, because I think Msgr. Albacete presents an understanding of compassion as "co-suffering" that is essential to how we can really help one another and stand together with one another in solidarity in suffering. This ingredient of "co-suffering," I think, is proper to every gesture of compassion including those that bring relief to the suffering of others.

It's something I want to ponder and develop further, personally as a human being and perhaps also philosophically/theologically. Note that the "audience" for these remarks is not just Christians but all people who search for meaning, who suffer and practice love and compassion:

What is human suffering? Suffering is not the same as pain. Pain is a symptom indicating that something is wrong at one or more of the three levels of human awareness: physical, psychological, and spiritual. [Note: there is an interesting discussion of this point, but the theme is that what distinguishes the core of specifically human suffering is the way it touches a person's identity, the way it introduces a rupture of the person's expectation of the "good-for-myself," or even the presumption of its realization. This rupture, experienced as "against-me," provokes—in the intrinsic reality of human personal suffering—a fundamental and vital question.] 

Suffering occurs when you seek to understand the reason for pain—not the cause of it, but the reason for it—the "ultimate reason" if you will, for "why this should happen." We ask "why?" because suffering breaks our mental schema of how things should be. Suffering tears apart our worldview, our assumptions about life. We ask why in the face of inexplicable imperfection. Asking why drives us beyond our preconceived notions toward something more.

Often, without realizing it, we address our "why" to the Source of meaning. We look for a face that is ultimately responsible for everything. In essence, then, we aren't looking for explanations. We are looking for something else: we are looking for salvation, for redemption. When we suffer, asking "why" moves us toward transcendence.

[This question (why?) is in some way the distinctive form of the experience of human suffering. The question] surges out of the human heart and breaks through all attempts to suppress it. [And, it] opens us to others who are also suffering, thus creating a solidarity among those who suffer. To suffer together means to walk together toward transcendence.

This solidarity is the proper human response to [the] suffering [of others]. This doesn't mean that we "share the pain" of those who suffer. While this phrase is used quite often, I don't think this is possible. Nothing is more intimately personal than the pain of suffering. It is, after all, a wound in our personal identity, and personal identity cannot be shared. Each person is unique and unrepeatable. What we share is the questioning, and thus we suffer with the one who suffers. We "co-suffer" with that person.

The only adequate response when confronted with another person's suffering is co-suffering. It is the only way to respect the suffering of another. Co-suffering affirms the wounded personal identity of the sufferer through our willingness to expose our identity to the questioning provoked by the sufferer's pain. This willingness to share suffering is an act of love. Co-suffering is the way we love the one who suffers.

In our relationship with the one who suffers, we as co-sufferers can impose nothing on the other person. We can only help the other to ask the question "why" by asking it together—that is, by praying together. Praying together with the one who suffers is the just response to the suffering.

The redemption of suffering, as our experience indicates, cannot be found as an "ultimate answer" to a problem: it can only be an event that transforms the drama of suffering into a drama of love and shows love to be more powerful than its denial. The possibility of this event sustains a realistic hope and an unfailing determination to protect and defend human freedom and the dignity of human life.

Fortitude

"Whenever we feel weary or discouraged
along the journey of faith,
let us ask the Holy Spirit
to grant us the gift of fortitude,
to refresh us
and to guide our steps
with renewed enthusiasm."

Pope Francis

An Extraordinary Motherly Protection and Care

St John Paul II, moments after being shot on May 13, 1981

May 13 commemorates two great interventions of the Mother of God in the twentieth century: Her appearance to the shepherd children at Fatima in 1917, and her intervention in St. Peter's Square in Rome to save a bishop in white from what should have been a fatal bullet in 1981.

Saint John Paul II confessed his faith with his blood on May 13, 1981, and the Virgin Mary saved him for the sake of the Church, and the world.

Thank you, Merciful Mother Mary! Thank you for preserving your devoted son who had entrusted everything to you, the bishop of Rome whose motto was "Totus Tuus." Thank you for making of him a great gift to all of us, as a voice in the night, a light in the midst of so much darkness.

Five months later, on October 7, 1981, the Feast of the Holy Rosary, he returned to St. Peter's Square and to his public audiences, where he said:

Again I have become indebted to the Blessed Virgin and to all the patron saints. Could I forget that the event in Saint Peter's Square took place on the day and at the hour when the first appearance of the Mother of Christ to the poor little peasants has been remembered for over sixty years at Fatima in Portugal? For in everything that happened to me on that very day, I felt that extraordinary motherly protection and care, which turned out to be stronger than the deadly bullet."

Anyone who has lived from that day to this day should know that it's worth it to trust in that motherly protection and care, and to have confidence that Jesus is in charge of His Church, always. Pray the Rosary... and don't worry!

All That Lies at Hand

O God, O Jesus, O vivifying Spirit:

Without You I can do nothing.
Without You,
every moment is a crushing burden;
every trial pricks and stings my tired flesh.

Without You,
I do nothing;
I am nothing;
I am a huge, hollow hole of nothing.

O Lord my God;
O Jesus, Redeemer and Healer;
O Holy Spirit—Lord and Giver of Life:

With You
I can do all
that lies at hand

in the small space of today.

With You,
I can endure whatever weight
You ask me to bear in this moment,

trusting in Your wisdom and love.

--adapted from a passage in my book about the challenges of living with chronic debilitating illness: Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy (Published by Servant/Franciscan Media).

Happy Mother's Day

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to two amazing, outstanding women, my own incredible wonderful wife Eileen Janaro, and the tremendous human being who is my mother, Joan Janaro. I love them both more than I can ever express, and I am grateful to them beyond measure. And Happy Mother's Day to all you good mothers, family and friends. Remember: you are GREAT! God bless you all.

Social Media post, May 11, 2014

Here is my beloved wife Eileen.

Young People are Made for the True Richness of Life

May blossoms in the morning.

Last night I had a really beautiful discussion with John Paul and Agnese about the value of learning, of being educated as human persons, of experiencing the meaning of things in the context of truth, goodness, and beauty.

They are already beginning to see these things in high school. (Chelsea Academy has been such a blessing.) But they certainly are old enough. They're opening up like blossoms in the morning of their lives, in the time when their adult personalities are taking shape. Certainly they're having lots of fun, but it's within the context of discovering the true richness of life.

These years from 15 or 16 years old on through college are so rich in the potential for growth, for laying the foundations of one's attitude for the whole of life. What a waste it is to throw these years away in superficial satisfactions. Young people are "wild" because the great upsurge of freedom within them tries to connect anything that is given to it with infinity.

And this society tries to enslave that wildness to individual and reciprocal indulgence; to behaviors, styles, and products that promise falsely to satisfy, but only lead to banality and then a new round of false promises. This society distorts the youthful thirst for life, and deflects it into a pattern of perpetual consumption and dissatisfaction. The result is that people grow bitter with age, but they never grow up.

Nevertheless, people keep buying stuff. There is a lot of money to be made off of perpetually misdirected and frustrated hopes. But it is an outrage to turn the sacred space of the human heart into a den of thieves!

Instead, why not cultivate an environment of true freedom for young people, for our kids? Why not point them in the direction of the more profound truth -- the ultimate truth -- that their mind's eye has begun to seek? These free spirits who continue to grow and surmount boundaries: they are drawn by the Infinite, the inexhaustible Mystery who makes them.

Can we not accompany them and guide them toward the decisive encounter of their lives? In so doing, we will rediscover our own youth.

Wasting Time, Part II: How I Ended Up in Russia

And now I shall continue this rambling story, and you will find that it is not without interest.

I grabbed this book off my shelf yesterday and became absorbed by it, but, as I said, the Lord is merciful. It turned out to be a very interesting book about Saint Sergius and Russian Spirituality. Yes. Really! That book attracted my interest, and I started reading. I found it hard to stop reading. (I challenge anyone to a NERD contest, any time, any place... I will outnerd you!)

This icon has pretty much the whole story.

But seriously: I already knew a lot of what was in this book, and I knew that is was great and deeply significant history, but present circumstances put it in a new perspective.

Sergius of Radonezh is a Russian Orthodox saint of the 14th century. He is one of the great saints of Russian monasticism who also played the role of peacemaker among the factions that were emerging as the Mongol grip was loosened in the north. St. Sergius is a national hero and symbol for Russia, although this is something of an accident of history. His monastery was near Moscow, and his counsel to the prince and his prayers are linked forever to the decisive Battle of Kulikovo in 1380, which was a "Lepanto-like" victory by Christian Slavs over the Mongols.

Stay with me here, because this matters. This is the birth of the Russia we know today. This Russia traces its origin to the great lost city of Kiev, which was a wonder of the 11th and 12th centuries and known well throughout Europe. Ancient Kiev was vaporized by the Golden Horde in 1240, and I mean really vaporized! The Mongols -- an inscrutable confederacy of nomads brought together by Genghis Khan -- were like a combination of an unstoppable force of nature and a ferocious weapon of mass destruction.

Ancient Kiev, the Kiev of St. Vladimir and the people of Rus, was basically nuked. The "Golden Horde" didn't need a bomb. They killed everyone. They burned everything. Then they pitched camp, chewed on dried mutton, rested, raced their horses, and headed for the next town.

They had a simple philosophy. A divine being ruled heaven, and they ruled earth. Their motives for being ruthless weren't very clear, but at some point they realized that if they came to a city and decided not to just toast it, there was a lot of money to be made.

The Christian Slavs who could fled, many to the north. Kiev was erased from the map. Part of the problem of tracing the Slavic heritage is this unparalleled event and its consequences. The Mongols swept over the world of medieval Rus, wiped part of it out and left the rest of it to pay tribute. This was terrorism. But it also became, over time, a migration and partial assimilation, with the "Tartars" settling and some even converting to Christianity. The khans were curious about religion, and even considered Christianity. In the end, however, they chose Islam.

Russia was born over a century later, inspired in part by a monk who was a man of peace, a monk who lived as a hermit and shared his bread with a bear every day, who founded a monastery under obedience to the bishop and served as abbot by building the cells of his novices and bringing them water and food, a monk who counseled peasants and princes, and who convinced princes not to fight with one another.

The Battle of Kulikovo was a matter of self defense. When it became clear that the Horde could not be stopped by tribute or even temporal humiliation, Sergius blessed Prince Dmitri and told him to go forth boldly, trust God, and prepare for death. Many did die on that day, but the Prince lived and prevailed. Muscovy and its princes became the unifying center of the Eastern Slavic world. Eventually they became Emperors with a stature beyond anything St. Sergius could have imagined in the 14th century.

Fascinating stuff. And, in fact, very much worth knowing and remembering.

In celestial glory, St. Sergius prays for peace between his brothers on earth today. May his prayers be heard.

Wasting Time (Part I): The Allure of Old Media

Well, this day was basically a bust. I just couldn't make anything happen today. No words... even though I have to finish an article.

Let me look on the bright side. It was like this today:

It was good coffee too.

Actually, I got totally diverted this morning, and the amazing thing is that this diversion WAS NOT CAUSED BY THE INTERNET! I cannot blame the Internet for sucking up my time today. It wasn't the Internet that Kept-Me-From-Smelling-the-Flowers-and-Watching-the-Sunset-and-Looking-Deeply-Into-the-Eyes-of-Those-I-Love....

Easter lilies don't last long: smell them while you can!

I should have been online. I could have watched the sunset in Jamaica!

As for "the eyes of my loved ones," well... this is just NORMAL around here.

Nope. Don't blame Zuckerberg for today. Blame Gutenberg.

Books.

Long before the Internet was born, I had already developed the talent of "book-surfing." I didn't call it that, of course. I used the technical term for it: research!

Not these books. Another shelf.

All joking aside, surfing the bookshelf is not the most efficient way of acquiring or deepening one's understanding. One of these days I shall blog seriously about a genuine problem, a cultural, spiritual, and personal problem, the real problem of wasting time, which is not so much about "productivity" as it is about losing focus.

For now, I just want to say that I pulled a book off the shelf (it's just like clicking the link) and got lost in it. But the Lord is merciful. I actually did learn something. It's late, however, so I'll leave you in suspense (can you bear it?) and finish the story tomorrow.

Good night. (I hope I don't stay up reading....)

St. Athanasius Helps Us Remember Who Jesus Really Is

In honor of the feast of the St. Athanasius, I am presenting here an excerpt from an earlier book of mine: not the one with the fish bowls on it, but a book published in 2003, entitled The Created Person and the Mystery of God. Since it doesn't sell many copies these days, I might as well "recycle" some of this interesting material. Various parts of this book were initially drawn up for classroom or other lectures. What is presented here, however, was written for a broad audience.

St. Athanasius shows us that the explicit formulation and development of Catholic doctrine was not a matter of abstract philosophical speculation. It was, rather, an unfolding of the central features of the Gospel. Catholic doctrine protects the saving and transformative word of the Gospel from degenerating into a mere human philosophy. It assures that Jesus present in the Church remains free to approach the human person in the fullness of the truth of who He is and what He wills to give to every human life.

St. Athanasius 

The first heresy in Christian history to wield extensive political and social power was a kind of rationalist attack on the Trinity—in particular a denial of the true Divinity of the second person, the Son and Word of the Father. In the center of this storm was the singular figure of St. Athanasius, the celebrated bishop of Alexandria and fearless defender of Trinitarian orthodoxy. The greatness of St. Athanasius was not only his implacable opposition to Arianism in all its forms, but also his insight into the relationship between the mystery of the Trinity and the way in which God truly gives His creatures a share in His own eternal life and glory.

In the first decades of the fourth century, a popular, talented, and politically astute priest in Alexandria named Arius had developed a theory about the Trinity. Up until this time, most attempts by Christian thinkers to shed light on the unity and distinctness of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit had been provisional at best. For Arius, classical Catholic accounts of the Trinity were dissatisfying and ambiguous and seemed to involve the Church in irrational and contradictory affirmations about God. 

He proposed a simple solution, logically coherent, easy to understand, and—at first glance—seemingly consistent with the language of the New Testament: God is one. He is the Unoriginate. The Logos, the Word, is his first and greatest creature. The Word is a reflection of the Divine Being, so perfect that he is called “Son” and God is his “Father” in a unique manner. Nevertheless, he is a creature. According to a famous slogan of Arius which he even set to music, “there was a time when he was not.” This first creature fashioned everything else in turn; therefore he is called “god” in relation to the rest of creation; however he is not divine by nature.  The Holy Spirit, too, is a creature, the first and greatest creature of the Word who is himself the divine-like creature of God the Father. 

What Arius proposed was ingenious and remarkable, and seemed to give a rationally satisfying explanation of the Trinity. In fact, however, Arius had deconstructed the mystery of the Trinity. After causing some significant controversy especially in Alexandria and the other Eastern churches, and arousing the concern of the Emperor Constantine, Arius’s theory was condemned at the Council of Nicaea in 325, wherein the Only Son of the Father was proclaimed God from God, Light from Light, True God from True God, begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father. After this Council, however, the Arian party succeeded in gaining imperial favor by means of deception and intrigue. Enormous political pressure was brought to bear against orthodox bishops by Constantine’s successors, and imperially sponsored synods tried to construct and then impose compromise Trinitarian formulations that secretly favored the Arian position. 

It was under the pressure of the now supposedly Christian (but in fact Arian favoring) Roman political administration that St. Athanasius gave his great personal witness to the Catholic faith. Athanasius was exiled from his see no less than five times during his tumultuous career, because he stubbornly opposed any and every politically engineered compromise with the Arian position. Modern secular historians may often wonder why Athanasius was so passionate and so persistent about what might seem to be an abstract theological point. Yet we can appreciate the energy of his zeal if we realize that he perceived the deep connection between the mystery of the Trinity and the mystery of the Incarnation and Redemption. 

Athanasius’s conviction about the Trinity was inseparable from his conviction about the Christian event and its significance for the life of man. Through the incarnation and redemption, God has made it possible for us to share in His very life. Our union with the Word made flesh gives us a participation in the Divine life. This is the great patristic teaching on deification (“theosis”): God became man so that men might become “gods”—that is, adopted sons of the Father. 

Athanasius perceived the radical implications of Arius’s theories: if the one who became incarnate in the womb of the Virgin Mary was not fully Divine, how could he possibly give us a participation in the Divine life? In the Arian system, the magnificent destiny of the Christian man comes crashing to the ground. The one who walked the earth, who became our friend, who gave us his flesh to eat and his blood to drink, was merely another creature like us. God has not shown us His face nor invited us into his friendship. He remains a stranger to us. 

Thus Athanasius declares: “the Son of God became Son of Man, so that the sons of man, that is, of Adam, might become sons of God. The Word begotten of the Father from on high, inexpressibly, inexplicably, incomprehensibly and eternally, is He that is born in time here below, of the Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, so that those who are in the first place born here below might have a second birth from on high, that is, of God.” Moreover, if the Holy Spirit is not fully God, how can he possibly transform us into the likeness of God? “If the Holy Spirit were a creature, there could be no communion of God with us through Him. On the contrary, we would be joined to a creature, and we would be foreign to the divine nature, as having nothing in common with it…If by participation in the Spirit we are made partakers in the divine nature…it cannot be doubted that His is the nature of God.” 

Thus for Athanasius, the full co-eternal divinity of the Word and the Holy Spirit was not only a truth about the mystery of God; it was also a matter of life or death for man—it was a truth decisive for the human vocation. Only the Divine Word made flesh divinizes His brothers and sisters in the flesh. If Christ is anything less than God, then the gates of heaven are closed and man is still in exile from his eternal home. The comfortable rationalism of Arius, in the end, robbed Christianity of its very heart.

The Work of Tenderness

We have already completed one third of the year 2014. It has certainly been an eventful time. Here in America, the flowers of spring are finally blooming after what was for many of us a harsh winter. The coming of spring was a certainty, but many events in the world are developing in ways that we cannot predict.

We continue to watch and pray over the dramas of peoples and nations, and we still wonder what will happen in the coming months at the crossroads of Russia and Ukraine. We wonder what kind of contemporary agendas may be taking advantage and imposing themselves upon a situation that could otherwise be resolved. There is the old and complex problem of integration, coexistence, and conflict among Slavic peoples whose historic sufferings are rarely appreciated or understood. But there are also many new factors -- strategic ambitions and concerns, political and economic struggles, disputes over natural resources, the great geopolitical centers of power struggling for dominance, advantage, prestige, or even their own corrupt enrichment.

Many of us feel confused about what exactly is going on, and we don't know how it can be resolved, or who should be involved. We wonder what the ongoing, escalating tension on the steppes of Europe's eastern frontier in May of the year 2014 might mean for the West, for the United States, for our children....

Certainly we have hope that peace will prevail. No one wants to imitate the inexorable march to catastrophe of our ancestors a hundred years ago. No one wants to learn by experience the strange, unforeseeable cruelties of global warfare in a new century. We have enough brutality among ourselves as it is. We have enough need to take responsibility for our own families and communities, to turn to God and to one another, to build up the good, to help one another, to bring healing to the broken, strength to the weak, protection to the vulnerable.

We don't need war. We are already living in the midst of war. Each of us has bruises from the long battle waged within our own minds and hearts, and we also live in a society riddled with open violence, and plagued by so many forces that subtly manipulate and degrade the human person. This is our war, the war that still wounds us and the people around us. We need to draw upon the great sources of healing and mercy that have been given to us, and then care for our brothers and sisters. This is our work. We need to become peacemakers, builders of human places -- places of healing -- in our own communities.

May day is observed as Labor Day in many countries around the world, and the Church marks this day as a feast for St. Joseph the Worker. Every human being is called to be a worker; we are called to engage in the circumstances of our daily lives, called to work in mostly humble ways so that goodness and beauty might flourish and grow. If we give our hearts to God, He will work through us so that we can bring to our fragile human world a much needed tenderness.

In speaking about St. Joseph and his work, Pope Francis emphasized this special quality, and we must beg God to make us tender toward one another and our world if we are to hope for peace:

"Saint Joseph appears as a strong and courageous man, a working man, yet in his heart we see great tenderness, which is not the virtue of the weak but rather a sign of strength of spirit and a capacity for concern, for compassion, for genuine openness to others, for love. We must not be afraid of goodness, of tenderness!" (Pope Francis, March 19, 2013)

I Throw Myself Upon His Infinite Mercy

All the events of last week were set within the context of our annual Divine Mercy novena and the celebration of Mercy Sunday. Having journeyed through Lent and the Paschal Triduum, we culminate with the celebration of God's mercy. (Another thing for which we can thank St. John Paul II).

The mercy of God in Jesus Christ is where I find my roots. I don't know where else to stand. Mercy is the creative, forgiving, regenerating love of God beyond all measure. Mercy is the love that gives us what we lack, that empowers us to accomplish what we can't do by ourselves.

Mercy is where I must go, because I am a complete mess as a human being. I'm not happy about that. I want to change (although, frankly, I'm often glad to just be lazy). My love for God is weak. My desire to grow in love is weak. What do I have, really, that I can bring before God in prayer?

Jesus. Every day I pray, "Lord, I throw myself upon your infinite mercy!" After all is said and done, and I find my work and my prayer to be a sorry mixed bag, what's left? Jesus.

God gives Himself. He is the way and the truth and the life. He is my hope for healing and for attaining my destiny. Jesus gives Himself to save me from my sins, and also to give me a participation in the life of God. The life of God! Whoever even thinks about this? Whoever thinks about the fact that Jesus brings not only freedom from sin but also a radical elevation of life to the level of union with God?

Here I am, struggling day by day just to get by, to survive, to tread water in the ocean of my own sanity. And yet I am called to live forever with God. It's difficult even to understand what this means. Do I even want this, really? Yes, I have been created to want this, and yet I live on the surface of myself. I don't know what to do in the end except to throw myself upon the mercy of God.

And this "God" for whom I have been created: who is He? Who is God?

Infinite Giving, Infinite Giftedness and Giving, Infinitely Poured Out: Infinitely, Eternally, Transcending all possible created worlds of limitation and definition such as we have ever known or have ever experienced.

All these words of mine are baby talk; I aim sounds of speech and fall so short. Poor words.

God Is, and God Is Love.

The very inner life of God is love. The One God is a Trinity of Persons. God has revealed Himself as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Let us allow our beloved Emeritus Pope Benedict XVI to help us adore this mystery:

"Three Persons who are one God because the Father is love, the Son is love, the Spirit is love. God is wholly and only love, the purest, infinite and eternal love. He does not live in splendid solitude but rather is an inexhaustible source of life that is ceaselessly given and communicated" (General Audience for Trinity Sunday, 2009).

The Janaro Family Goes to Washington

Heading to the big city

I promised a post and more pictures from our family fun day in Washington, D.C. last week, and with good reason. It was fun! Not like hold-on-to-the-edge-of-your-seats kind of fun. It was a day of being together and sharing in a little adventure.

I went to school in Washington, D.C. I worked there. I lived in the D.C. area. All of that was more than 20 years ago. I can't think of a time when the whole Janaro family -- all seven of us -- went into the city. All we did was go to a couple of museums and hang around the Mall (not a shopping mall, but the long park between the Washington Monument and the Capital Building).

I also grew up in cities, whereas my kids are small town and country born and raised. Which means that they are thrilled and amazed in ways that I will never understand, by activities such as riding the Metro.

"Wow, this is incredible!"

John Paul is veteran Metro rider, having gone to Nats & Caps games, but he still likes it.

Agnese and Teresa: there were plenty of seats but they wanted to stand just for fun!

Lucia looks cool, but if you can see her dimples you know she's having fun.

We got off at the "Smithsonian" station, had our lunch and goofed around a little. The Mall has a leisurely feel to it, even in the middle of the week. It doesn't feel like you're in the capital city of the most powerful nation in human history.

Agnese and the Washington Monument: Are we tourists or what?

John Paul is cool.

"Can we just have the picnic now, please?"

Okay, we eat and then we're off to the sculpture garden and the art museum. The sculpture garden is, well, interesting, with things like this metal tree:

If this ever blossoms, it really will be time for "the return of the king"!

John Paul explains the deep existential significance of this... umm... thingy.

Eileen at the Chagall mosaic, which is amazing (much better than this photo).

Inside the National Gallery of Art, we went through the regular (and quite remarkable) collection, and we were allowed to take pictures. So I took hundreds of pictures with my phone. It used to be, strictly, no pictures, but now you just click away. Phone pictures are not that great, but it's fun just setting them up, looking at the work from different angles, discovering details. And of course, sometimes you just stop and look.

Pictures of a few works that I might not have otherwise noticed, such as:

And many other beautiful works. We spent a lot of time on our feet, but there are plenty of lovely and atmospheric places in the Gallery to rest also:

Josefina relaxes by a fountain.

Then it was off to the Museum of Natural History. We didn't have too much time here (and by then I was out of gas, so I spent most of that time on a bench), but we did get to see THE DINOSAURS. Just in time too: this whole section is closed as of this week for renovations that will take several years.

Josefina thought the dinosaurs were creepy. It took some cajoling to get her to stand in front of one so I could take a picture. She enjoyed the smaller exhibits like the fossils:

"AHHHH! Do I have to smile?"

Prehistoric sea is more in the comfort zone. "Is that real?"

I realize that unless you are the grandparents of these children (Hi Dad, hi Mom!) you're bored by now, so it's time for us to go home:

Back out to the Mall. Clouds in the late afternoon.

Escalators are fun too!

I highly recommend doing lightly planned little trips with the family. Don't try to do too much and don't have huge expectations, but just enjoy what's there and enjoy being together. It's worth it.

Popes and Saints: Our Fathers and Brothers in Eternal Life

Icon photos for the two pope saints

What can I possibly add to this astonishing, beautiful day? I just want to recount a few anecdotes on why it means so much to me.

I was born on January 2, 1963, and one reason I was named "John" was in honor of the remarkable man who was Pope at the time. On that day, 51+ years ago, my mother was giving birth while my father was in the waiting room outside: (Can you believe fathers used to have to do that?!)

But that was both the custom and the rule of those distant days. Personally, I'm glad I got to be with my wife, and to see each of my five children being born. My father, however, had to wait outside, like in the old comedy shows where the Dad is pacing nervously around the room, waiting for the nurse to come in with a bundle and say, "It's a boy!"

My Dad wasn't pacing, though. He was reading LIFE magazine's spread on the opening of the Second Vatican Council. Thus, in a different kind of way, he did "see" something pertaining to his new son, something pertaining to the work to which this "John" would dedicate himself in life. It was, perhaps, in some small way "prophetic."

Pope (now Saint) John XXIII and the Council he called (from LIFE, Dec. 1962).

John XXIII died only a few months after I was born, yet his was a visible figure in the early years of my life. I remember when I was about four years old, my mother -- while folding the laundry -- told me about this "Council," and how many people were spreading confusing ideas in its wake, but that she had read a book by a philosopher who was also a peasant (Maybe I asked, "What's a peasant?" and maybe she said, "it's like a farmer"). My Mom, and many others too, thought that the philosopher-farmer had brought great clarity to the whole situation (and I pictured in my mind some unusual person in overalls and pitchfork: I suspect that Jacques Maritain wouldn't have objected much to this imaginative portrayal of himself). In any case, it was clear that John XXIII's Council had begun something dramatic, and my little heart jumped at the thought that there was this great world of truth.

I've spoken about the powerful influence of St. John Paul II when he first appeared in 1978, speaking the words, "Be not afraid... Open the doors wide to Christ!" All through the 1980s he shaped my thinking and experience of the faith, my sense of belonging to the Church, my sense of what life was all about.

I still have a tee shirt (and it still fits!)

I finally saw him in person in 1993, first in Rome and then at the unforgettable World Youth Day in Denver, Colorado. America put on a "show" for John-Paul-the-Rock-Star, and all of us were ready to be excited by something trivial. But as soon as he began to speak, he took control of this vast crowd. He totally changed the atmosphere, and it was something more than his massive, attractive personality. It was a mysterious Presence that was not him, but that he gave all his energy so that we might recognize and remain focused upon for the rest of the weekend.

St. John Paul and hundreds of thousands of young people spent the weekend with Jesus Christ. Those of us who were there will never forget it.

Then came that great moment, on July 3, 1996. The young John and Eileen Janaro, on honeymoon in Italy, got "newlywed tickets" to a Wednesday audience. Finally, we met and spoke with this man to whom we both owed so much. We asked him to bless our marriage, and he traced the sign of the cross on our foreheads. We spoke, and he gave us that great, intense personal attention. But there was something I had never sensed (up to that point) from a distance: it was his real humanity, his vulnerability, the frailty that was woven through all his strength.

John Paul II really gave himself. He was not "going through the motions." And the most amazing thing was that he didn't hide himself in any way. It mattered to him that he was meeting us; this was a moment of relationship. We were just totally hugging him and saying "we love you" and I felt like he needed that. He too was a human person, and he received and valued the love we expressed to him. The way he responded was totally real; he said, "thank you" and he meant it.

John Paul II was our brother, who suffered so greatly on so many levels, and he allowed us to see that. There were few of the symptoms of his physical illness at that time, but somehow he allowed us to see his need, so that we could love him and he could receive our love. For a moment we were "with" him, we were actually "helping him."

Mexico, 2002. A saint canonizes a saint.

I saw St. John Paul II two more times after that, in Mexico City; first in 1999 and then for St. Juan Diego's canonization in 2002. On the latter occasion some 12 million people crowded into the city and lined the streets of his route to the Basilica. By this time John Paul II could barely move, he was so crippled. I watched him in that special stand-up popemobile and the love was pouring out of him, and I thought, "this is like he has the stigmata...."

His natural human charisma was crucified in the end. That's when I really knew he was a saint.

And now, today, I am full of gratitude to both of these saints of my lifetime. I am grateful for their witness and their intercession. Both, I think, have watched over our family through three generations. Not long ago, St. John XXIII quietly came back into our lives, when Eileen and the kids (and me too) got involved in the work of the John XXIII Montessori Children's Center. And I know that St. John Paul II is my father and my brother in the Spirit. I pray to him every day. He has been with us through so many trials, and he continues to care for us.

I believe that what he has given to the Church and to the world has only begun to be discovered.

These Days Are Rich in Mercy

Especially through His lifestyle and through His actions,

Jesus revealed that love is present

in the world in which we live: 

an effective love,

a love that addresses itself to man

and embraces everything that makes up his humanity.

This love makes itself particularly noticed

in contact with suffering, injustice and poverty,

in contact with the whole historical "human condition,"

which in various ways manifests man's limitation and frailty,

both physical and moral.

It is precisely the mode and sphere

in which love manifests itself

that in biblical language is called "mercy."

        ~John Paul II

          Dives in Misericordia (1980), #3

Christ is Risen, but I'm Exhausted!

"Dear Lord, may I borrow my future resurrected body, in advance (as in, like, now), just so I can keep up with everybody else for a few days?"

I love Easter Week. Divine Mercy novena, flowers, warm spring air, a fridge full of fun food, kids off school and relaxing and just being around one another. Eileen has a little time to breathe (but still plenty to do -- she'll get more breathing time in the summer, God willing).

We are going to take a family field trip on Thursday to Washington, D.C. Everyone is excited about it. I'm excited too... on the inside. But my body doesn't want to go anywhere.

I'm going on this field trip with my family. I don't care what it takes! John Paul is turning 17 in a little over a month. He will be a senior in high school in the fall. From there we know not yet where he will go. And Agnese won't be long in going her way. The family is growing, and this is beautiful. I want them to spread their wings and fly.

I also want to be available for the time we have together.

But I'm so tired. I've had some pain in the past few months, and I'm spending more time in bed during the day (although at least I have a tablet to keep me connected to the world, and even to write a bit). I also read as much as I can.

Physical books are lovely things. Tactile with pages that turn. And they are gentle to the eye. For me, it's hard to rest with an ebook. The light from the inside jacks up my brain, somehow. On the other hand, they're good on days when it's hard to hold open the pages of a physical book.

Josefina having adventures with her dolls.

Then there's Josefina, who comes bounding in to jump on the bed and visit me. I read to her, or we watch a video. Sometimes we just "talk" -- she says, "Daddy, can we talk?" So we talk about things, like her dolls and their adventures, or school things, or cooking, or questions about the body and the soul and death (she's been asking those questions since way back). Sometimes I just say, "Why don't you get a book to read yourself, and I'll read my book?" Heh, it's worth a try....

Well, if I'm going to make that trip, I need to budget my limited energy, so I shall put aside for now the particularly tiring work of writing. I also need to save up some energy in case Josefina wants to "talk" some more!


Wishing everyone a very happy Easter Week!