Category Archives: Articles

What You Have

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, October 2011
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I unlocked the red steel doors of our parish building last Christmas morning, noticing a special holiday silence on the streets. The business executives were safely tucked in the suburbs and the night clubbers were sleeping off a Christmas Eve drunk. Only the drug dealers were roaming the city streets in the early hours on Christmas morning. More people purchase illegal drugs during the holidays because people have to spend more time with their families, I guess. I did notice one thing as I unlocked the panic bar of one of the heavy doors. A man was sleeping next to the door near the corner of the building. He was covered with blankets to protect him from the Christmas rain. However, his face was uncovered. I did not recognize him and there was no reason to wake him up and have him move from that spot. So I went back into the chapel to prepare for our simple Christmas Mass.

As the Eucharist ended, I processed outside to greet the humble assembly on the sidewalk. I noticed that my sleeping friend was awake with his belongings piled up and covered with plastic near the wall. He was bearded and exceptionally tall. He noticed me and I felt his energy standing behind some parishioners I was greeting. He approached me bashfully; his head swaggering from sided to side. He said to me, “ I hope you don’t mind, but I stood in the lobby and listened for about five minutes.” I immediately assured him this is the very reason why we are here on this corner. I then stopped listening. I started telling him that we were closed and would not open for clothing and supplies until after the New Year. He put up his hand to stop me. “No”, he inserted, “I am not here for clothing, I am here for what you have inside now. What do you call the service today?”

I was completely taken aback. I felt red embarrassment dance on my face. I was so quick to judge, so sure I was correct. Then I realized I had to explain what we have inside. I fumbled to explain the Eucharist, the God-made-flesh, the Christmas miracle among the marginalized of the city.

As I reflect on the Christmas scriptures again, his piercing question still unsettles me. I take what we have inside for granted. I now have a new sensitivity for people seeking God and who long for the simplest of praying communities. I was also tied up with my own Christmas loneliness, the holiday haze that still covers my heart and perspective on Christmas morning. His statement snapped me out of my holiday selfishness.

Christmas morning is time for John the Baptist’s testimony to the Light. Every parish community must give testimony to God even though we are exhausted trying to meet everyone’s spiritual expectations. Every worshiping assembly should stop mid-Christmas Eve and find the silence to understand what we are doing in our churches and try to articulate what we have. We have the Word becoming flesh even among the scraggly-bearded and the foul breathed. We have treasures of college students back home only going to church so to keep peace in the family. We need to feed people not only with the Bread of Heaven but also with words of welcome and actions of true acceptance. We need to sort out our disappointments and get over our hurts before we preside at the Eucharist or lead the tired, elderly choir. We have so much of what really matters.

Every worshipping assembly in every corner of the earth proclaims God’s saving power. Every corner may include a man tucked under a bridge or sleeping in the church entryway. Every corner may include a veteran just home from war and full of anxiety to be in a crowded church on Christmas morning. Every corner should include the lonely heart of the priest and the grief of a new widower sitting in the last pew of the assembly. Every corner may include the angry preteen that only wants acceptance from her parents after telling them of her first sexual encounter. Every corner may include the new gay couple that started coming to Mass after a friend’s suicide. These are the corners of the world in need on Christmas morning. People want so much of what we have but we do not see the miracles.

When I open the doors this Christmas morning, I will remember my friend from last year. I am sure I will not see him. I will be reminded of him when I meet the next stranger and invite him to join us inside the chapel. I will invite him to stay beyond five minutes and experience the treasure of all we possess inside our small community of people who believe God-with-us.

Competing Voices

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, September 2011
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I learn the deep meaning of Advent from people who hear voices all during the year. For many people who experience lifelong mental illness, sorting out the voice of hope and love during the holidays becomes very challenging. Last Advent, I spent some intentional time with several people who regularly teach me the complexities of living in our culture and struggling to hear the voice of God.

The paradoxes between Thanksgiving Day and New Year’s Day are legion. Last year on the day after Thanksgiving, the local news stations were reporting that the advertisements in the Oregonian newspaper weighed four and a half pounds. We were all expected to begin the season listening to the voice of consumerism, carrying the heavy load of a newspaper and the burden of purchasing gifts for loved ones. People living in poverty show me the problem of such expectations. Most people cannot afford such gifts. More importantly, most people suffering mental illness do not have loved ones to buy a gift for in the first place. Many families disown their members with chronic mental illness. Other families may be more supportive, but mental illness itself may cause a son or daughter, parent or spouse to break off contact completely. People living on the streets or in low-income housing have little family support and few friends.

I listen to the voice of the Advent gospels with a new ear. I hear the adult voice of Jesus telling us to be watchful and alert. These words get wrapped around much apprehension for many people who hear voices telling them that they are not worthy of Jesus. So many people become agitated and anxious because they feel they do not live up to Jesus’ standard already. Hearing the voice of Jesus in Advent becomes difficult when people already live with a deep sense of unworthiness and depression. The voice of the beloved Savior eludes so many people.

John the Baptist cries out from the desert to prepare us for Christ’s second coming. His clear and sharp voice may also be interpreted in many other ways. For many people who suffer from post-trauma related conditions, John’s voice may bring much fear to their lives. They clench their muscles and cringe when a sudden voice calls out in the night or when there is a knock on the door. I learn to turn down the volume of John’s insistency to straighten up our lives. John wears minimal clothing and eats little food as do so many people who already live outside and survive the cold nights.

Advent articulates the many competing voices of despair and hope, darkness and light, loneliness and communion. These are the mix of emotions so many families face in preparing for the holidays and the coming of Christ. These are the voices our parish communities must help people discern and sort through. We need so desperately to find the voice of God in our lives and parishes. So many people long to sort through the competing and complicated voices that shout that purchasing material things will make us all happy. We need to help people find life amid the overwhelming expectations that every person is happy, joyful and fulfilled in every way. We must sort out for our children their ingrained sense of entitlement that they deserve every toy, gadget and European trip during the holiday season. This is the real work of our worshipping communities during the time between Thanksgiving and the end of the Christmas season.

A twenty-something college graduate stood in line to be anointed after Mass during Advent. I had spoken to him only one time before. He told me that his mental illness was getting worse. He stood in front of me sobbing, leaning his head on my shoulder. I tried with all my faith to find the words of an angel that greeted Mary “Do not be afraid.” So many people are unable to receive the consoling voices of scripture when the many voices inside them are so convincing. The message of fearlessness must be interpreted in every parish community in so many different ways during the Advent season. We all need the many angels of consolation and hope.

Last year at the conclusion of the Advent season, I noticed a sign posted in our parish office window. “On Wednesday, December 23 we will be distributing sleeping bags and backpacks.” I stood before the sign and started to cry. The sign was a reminder of how people were going to spend Christmas, alone in the cold. However, I was also grateful for the small step to provide something warm for people. Advent and life come wrapped in many unfortunate realities amid God’s voice of love.


Off The Wall

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Originally published by Celebrate! Magazine, Fall 2011
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A wooden crucifix hangs on the back wall of our simple sanctuary at the Downtown Chapel in Portland, Oregon. It hangs off-center above the light wood altar. The year when the Solemnity of the Triumph of the Holy Cross was celebrated on Sunday, I decided to emphasize the only cross in our worship space. In the early morning on Saturday, I retrieved our longest ladder from a storage space. I set up the ladder to hang a piece of red fabric behind the crucifix. In our very simple chapel a strip of long colored fabric behind the dark cross easily highlights the liturgical seasons.

I stepped up a few rungs on the ladder and took the cross off the wall and placed it on a side table. I then stepped up on the highest rung of the ladder to hook the fabric on a couple of hidden nails on the wall. Retrieving the cross, I climbed back on the ladder and hung the cross back into its regular position, now over the red material. The fabric seemed to catch the light shining on the cross; it was the perfect way to give a focus to the solemnity.

I started my descent down the ladder and all of a sudden the wooden cross fell to the floor. In a split second the carved wooden Crucifix was now in several pieces on the hardwood floor of the sanctuary.

After enduring a few minutes of panic, I considered blaming the accident on the heavy music vibrations from the nightclub located on the other side of the sanctuary wall. Instead, I had an idea about how to replace the broken crucifix for the time needed for its repair by putting something else in its place. We hang a large painting of the face of Christ, normally found in our rectory, in the sanctuary on Good Friday. It is an explosively dynamic portrayal of the Crucified Christ in red, orange, yellow and blue paint.

When our parish gathered for Eucharist that weekend, the bright, bold painting certainly caught their attention for the solemnity. I never told members of the parish of the accident. Seeing again the face of Christ, many members began to connect the pattern of Christ’s death and resurrection to the faces of people living in poverty. As I listen now to the sacred texts now for the closing weeks of another liturgical year, I see the importance of getting the cross off the wall and embracing its life-giving message in the midst of daily life.

Jesus confronts us with the shattering news that prostitutes and tax collectors are entering the Kingdom of God before the rest of his followers. Jesus reminds us that we cannot come to him unless we are willing to change our ways so to live with honesty and love. Jesus asks us to change our minds about following him because it is never too late. This message embedded in Matthew’s Gospel tells us that we cannot stand apart from the dying and rising of Jesus, but we must live this pattern every day.

I witness people facing up to their heroin addiction with a choice for sobriety or to face certain death. I hear the confession of a sex addict who has never known true intimacy in his entire life, the cross he carries into his next one-night stand. Jesus invites us to change our minds, our actions and follow the will of the Father. The cross is not just a piece of fine art hanging on a clean wall in the comfort of a small chapel. People living in poverty become the message of the cross for every person who enters our worship space.

One of our staff members found an artist who spent the next week repairing the cross. I found all the lost tiny pieces of wood that splintered from the corpus. I cannot help but think of the lost being invited to the banquet feast as I searched the floor. The servants invited everyone to the feast whether or not they were prepared. People were invited to feast on fine wine and good food that is still served to us who decide to follow the Christ. So many people are starving for this invitation because so many people feel so isolated from faith and the church. Not only did I pick up the fragments of wood, I began to see our stray people more clearly. I see many lost teens in our neighborhood. They come because the system of foster care and adoption fails many youth when their families of origin beat them or emotionally abuse them. I read recently that only one-third of parents whose child has disappeared even bother to report the child missing or lost. The Kingdom is ready for everyone.

Jesus tells his followers not to follow the example of the scribes and Pharisees. They put heavy burdens on others and do not lift a finger to help. Jesus reminds his followers that only the humble will be exulted. I fret and worry about the many people at our chapel door all week long. These are the people who are living out the message of the cross. This cross of humility is always before my eyes and gets caught in my heart. This cross is not an artist’s rendition of something that happened years ago. This cross is when people come to us daily needing medication for mental illness, diseases and broken bones. This cross means people have not showered for several months, have no families and often do not care whether or not they live. This cross screams out from frustration, urinates on our doors and eats meals from trash cans.

The life of Christ is not contained in wood, plaster-of-Paris, or bronze. We must love God with our entire heart, mind and soul. Jesus tells us that this cross of love must be lived for our neighbor. To extend ourselves in love and commitment to all people we call our neighbors is hard work. The real freedom of the cross of Christ is to live for other people and not count the cost. We must all see the reality of Christ living among people and not get stuck on an artistic image that does not affect our lives.

Jesus tells us that we are worth our daily wage. We are invited into the Kingdom of God even though we may be stubborn at first and only desire Christ in the eleventh hour. We so often take years to make the real decision to follow Christ and come to live the cross in every aspect of our lives. These reminders help every worshipping assembly live out the message of Christ Crucified. I prayed all week that our crucifix could be put together again and I prayed for people who remain weary and beaten down by life.

The artist put the pieces of the broken crucifix back together. He returned the piece of art to us perfectly assembled and polished clean. I hung the cross back in its place and no one suspected the accident.

I view the repaired cross hanging on our wall with greater respect for people who cannot always put their lives together. They live the reality of Christ’s dying and rising. The gospels teach a new understanding of the cross being lived off the wall. Now when I see the repaired piece of art, I pray for the people who teach me the genuine meaning of the celebration, the Solemnity of the Triumph of the Holy Cross.

The Glittered Dead

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, August 2011
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November in particular exposes memories of the dead. The liturgy celebrates what so many people experience out of doors as seasons change, that life itself gives way to death. The celebration of All Saints and All Souls opens a flood of recollections of the dead. As days get shorter our memories become more intense. The holidays become tender experiences for so many people unable to face the death of loved ones. Love is an incredible bond but so are guilt, regret and shame.

I realized this tension among people who straddle love and regret in the passing of a loved-one some years ago. Members of a family entered my office to prepare a memorial service for a relative. I noticed immediately hardened tension among the living. Each person told me that he or she was closer to the unmarried deceased man than the other relatives. The niece of the gentleman claimed to know him the best. The son raged against her claiming his spot among his father’s affection. The unnamed issues continued to do battle in the confines of my office space.

As the day for the funeral arrived, I felt the tension at peak level. However, what caught my attention before the funeral were the arrangements of funeral flowers that had been delivered to the church. A large colored ribbon flowed out of each traditional display of autumn chrysanthemums and long gladiolas. A word appeared on each ribbon describing the relationship between the person who purchased the flowers and the deceased, -“father”, “uncle” and “cousin”. Each name on the ribbon was written in glue and colored in glitter. The arguments over who was the most important heir continued over which floral design was most expensive and which ribbon carried the largest glittered name.

As I reflect on the gospels for the closing weeks of the liturgical year, I examine the priorities Jesus wants to instill within our discipleship. Jesus insists that the light of the Kingdom will shine brighter among the peacemakers, the poor in spirit and people who mourn humbly in the face of death. My experience teaches me that we need to give people the tools to mourn their losses and grieve prayerfully throughout life. The battles that were exposed during this family’s funeral tell me that we all struggle with our finite existence on earth. So many people are reluctant to believe they have a place in heaven and that relationships on earth can ever be healed, loved and forgiven.

Jesus reminds us that we need to be wise in our preparations for the Bridegroom. My ministry teaches me that we have lost sight of our basic belief that death gives way to life. Many families no longer celebrate funerals. Instead, “Celebration of life” parties have taken the place of the funeral liturgy. A local funeral home has been in business for 160 years. The owner recently remodeled the former chapel to act as a party room instead. Video screens, a grand piano and banquet tables have replaced the pulpit, pipe organ and pews. So many people coming to the funeral do not want any physical evidence of religion, ceremony or ritual. Party planners are replacing funeral directors. The wisdom of God’s invitation is replaced with our human control over how death will be celebrated on earth.

Jesus also tells us that in the end only a few things will be required of us. The kingdom will be offered to those who simply feed the hungry, care for the sick, visit the prisoner and clothe the naked. As believers we will find our true light when we offer service to one another. The person on earth with least influence is our key to heaven. This is the hidden grace of our faith. The Kingdom is open for us who are willing to sit with the dying who make us uncomfortable. The Promised Land is prepared for us who see Christ amid hardship, loneliness, imprisonment and hunger. Christ’s words are clear and challenging, yet our fear of death and our guilt over how we live remain so unyielding. We do not serve people in order to inherit their earthly goods after they die. We serve people in order to discover our true home in heaven and real love now on this earth.

I remember cleaning up glitter for weeks after that funeral. Celebrating each Mass during that time period I saw a speckle or two of glitter somewhere in the sanctuary. I claimed again the family in prayer at the sight of each sparkle. During the month of November, every parish community is invited into people’s memories of the dead. We all minister among arguments and hurt feelings around death so that we may encourage families that our differences will be sorted out in love.


Lost Among Translations

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, June 2011
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Last autumn I attended the annual priest convocation for the Archdiocese of Portland, Oregon. Most of the agenda was focused on the new translation of the Roman Missal. We gathered in a familiar setting near the ocean and the structure of the week was similar to previous years. I overheard many priests express their anxiety about the new translation and how it would be received in their parishes. I heard many others speaking of the week simply as a time to relax and talk with one another. The view of the ocean through the window that led to the meeting room seemed a compelling enough reason to me to be present at the convocation.

We did receive an education about the translation of the Roman Missal. We listened to words of many of the presider’s prayers and people’s responses. We discussed our responsibility for implementing the changes. We discussed the need for more education about the liturgy in every worshipping community. However, these are not the issues that I found powerful and provocative about the meeting.

We adjourned for a fifteen-minute break after the last session on the new translation of the liturgy. The meeting then turned quickly to another topic. We reconvened to learn more about the dire topic of human trafficking. The sex trade in Portland is so bad that city officials asked the Archbishop if they could address all the priests of the Archdiocese. Portland is the place for pimps. The sex trade has found its home along the Interstate 5 freeway because Portland is readily accessible to Canada to the north and Mexico to the south. We learned how easily young high school girls are solicited in our local suburban malls by conniving johns. Pimps lure teenage girls into prostitution who seem timid or shy, who wander the mall looking lost, forgotten and in need of attention. These men may find such girls after school walking alone in a mall or a city sidewalk. Most often the young girls do not get along with their parents. They are easy targets for a john who promises freedom from parental authority, offers many material possessions and entices her with a chance to travel.

It took me more than a few minutes to make the mental transition from the Roman Missal to local prostitution. I could not comprehend the vulnerability of these young women and the brutality of their johns. In stunned silence we viewed a PowerPoint presentation on prostitution. The attention of every person in the room was directed on the horrifying statistics of poverty, neglect, abuse and prostitution. I realized during that meeting with my fellow priests how many people are lost amidst our inability to translate our faith into the real issues of life.

As we reflect on the liturgical gospels for the Twenty-fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time until the Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, I understand once again the connection of translating the gospel message into the messiness of real life. People need a second chance from the landowner who wants to hire workers for the vineyard. Those of us who listen to the gospels every weekend in the comfort of our sanctuaries must be able to welcome people who come to faith even in the eleventh hour. The addict from the suburbs speaks to me on the phone because he wants yet another chance to keep his children after experiencing a weekend blackout. God’s invitation supersedes our rigid rules and certain limits about who is worthy to receive a daily wage. The last will be first and the first will be last.

I hear the gospel of the son hesitating to work in the vineyard when I experience my own uncertainty accepting the smelly veteran or the woman who has stolen from us. I cannot put limits on people’s response to God and to the invitation to believe in miracles. Our worshipping communities must not write off people we label as lost, mentally ill, dirty, abused or people who just feel they do not belong. Everyone belongs within the mercy of God even when we wait until the eleventh hour to believe in God’s invitation.

Jesus tells us that tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom of God ahead of other people. I see this with my own eyes in our parish community. The lives of the marginalized and destitute form our humble worship every day. This is the real, honest and genuine translation of the liturgy that our faith must be lived in real life. I realize my hesitancy to accept the girl who continues to cut her self and the one-tooth man with halitosis. Even when I am most tired, I hold on the holy words of Jesus to believe that God still loves our broken world.

The real translation of the Mass in every generation invites every person to the feast. From the byroads of Interstate 5 to the back roads of city alleys, the feast is always ready for everyone to attend. We gather with friends and strangers alike, filling our sanctuaries. The liturgy sends us out into the world to translate bread and wine into the living Body of Christ.


Message in a Bottle

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Originally published by Celebrate! Magazine, Summer 2011
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A friend traveled to Saint Joseph’s Oratory in Montreal in Quebec, Canada last autumn. My religious community, the Congregation of Holy Cross, commissioned him to journey to the site of the many healings attributed to Saint Andre Bessette, CSC. His task was to photograph the celebrations of Brother Andre’s canonization both in Montreal and in Rome. During his visit to Montreal he photographed pilgrims walking on their knees on the steep steps of the Oratory. He shot people praying in the chapels and gardens and the room where Brother Andre lived. My friend even photographed Brother Andre’s heart that is still enshrined at the Oratory.

When the photojournalist arrived back in Portland, we shared coffee, stories and the photos from his journey. As we sipped coffee at a local coffeehouse, he handed me a white paper sack and told me it was a special gift. I opened the wrinkled bag and took out a bottle of Saint Joseph’s oil from the Oratory’s gift shop. An artist’s sketch in blue, red and white of Saint Joseph carrying a white lily adorns the plastic bottle.

These words appear in several languages on the side of the 500ml container: “Brother Andre often advised those who came to him to rub themselves with some vegetable oil which had been burning in front of the statue of Saint Joseph. Even today, oil used in this manner remains a link with our tradition. It is an expression of faith. It is not the oil itself which cures, but the Lord who hears the prayers of the faithful.”

The unopened bottle of oil still sits on a bookshelf next to my bible in my bedroom. I admit I really do not know how to use it. I am not sure where this oil of devotion fits into the healing ministry of the Church today. In fact, I am deeply confused about many aspects of healing and how we carry on the tradition of Jesus reaching out to the leper, the blind man and the Canaanite woman’s daughter. I firmly believe there is a message contained in the bottle of oil. I just do not know how to get it out of the sealed bottle and into people’s lives.

Many believers question the use of such oil today within worshipping assemblies. Some people associate healing with snake oil salesman and sleight-of-hand trickery of fundamentalist preachers trying to make a living. Many liturgists frown upon such personal devotion because a bishop in the context of the Chrism Mass has not blessed this oil during Holy Week. This oil does not fit into the traditional sacramental life of the Church. This oil goes well beyond the clerical role of anointing the sick and forgiving sins within the seven sacraments of the Church. This bottle of oil used in the tradition of Brother Andre seems far removed from the sacramental, clerical and liturgical norms.

I know I am also not alone in my skepticism about physical, emotional and spiritual healing within the Church today. People are suspicious about healing because first of all we are all powerless over suffering. I have known and observed priests who refuse to pray with people individually because they are afraid to enter into the depths and uncertainty of people’s real suffering. Others are squeamish about body pain, surgeries, bloody accidents, physical abnormalities, paralysis and the fact that suffering itself is uncontrollable. Sacramental rubrics, liturgical rites and decrees from the institutional church cannot control suffering. For many clergy, if suffering cannot be controlled, the best form of healing is to avoid it all together.

I am also suspicious of healing based upon my graduate studies in our liturgical tradition and my training in pastoral and professional skills. The professional minister today is trained to avoid such attempts to heal because it does not fit into any field education requirements or competencies. In many ways the professional model of the church today has drained much of the Spirit’s presence out of any notion that healing happens with vegetable oil, scapulars, personal devotions, holy cards or prepackaged devotions of any kind.

During the lifetime of Brother Andre, the ministry of healing was a prime mission of many religious communities.  Religious communities of men and women in the past set out on horseback in the United States to found and build hospitals, orphanages, and care facilities for anyone who was lost, forgotten, ill or dying. Today the presence of priests, brothers and sisters in institutions of healing has given way to the latest technology and concerns over insurance coverage. Our church has lost much of its personal mission of healing.

I am desperate to find healing today. I simply do not know where to turn to discover answers. I stand daily amid the brutal chaos of people living with severe mental illness. Many people hear voices that tell them to kill themselves, to ignore their medications and to punish themselves. People sit in the rain around our building and cry out in the night. They lash out at passersby and refuse to speak with their counselors who are assigned to our streets.

I pray for healing for people who blame homeless people for being homeless. I want healing for every family so that our gay and lesbian children will not be abused or bullied. Hundreds of children have fled into the woods or the streets in Oregon because of domestic abuse. I lash out in the night to God that young girls are being trafficked in our suburban shopping malls or in upscale grade schools. I am not sure how much more I can take of the young mother diagnosed with breast cancer or the addict that refuses treatment or the honor student who cuts herself.

I realize I cannot control countries at war or how the institutional church treats people. If I can find my way into this bottle of oil, I may be able to focus my belief that God alone heals. I desire healing amidst the shambles of people’s stories and their regrets from the past. I am now realizing the message in the bottle is also for the cynic and the critic.

Hundreds of people came to Brother Andre every day during his ministry. I now sense his frustration about people’s lives. Andre first guided people to stay close the healing sacraments of the Church. However, so often people were not healed. They needed so much more than what he could give them. He reached for the oil that was there at the Saint Joseph statue because that is what was available to him. Brother Andre told some mothers to wash their children in dishwater and or to go to confession. He said all those things because he did not have answers to the depths of people’s suffering and anguish.

There is something in this bottle of oil that frightens me. I must come to terms with God’s healing love in the world that is more potent than my fear and more consoling than the oil from the Saint Joseph statue. God’s healing happens without our permission, rules or guidelines. God does not commit healing power only to the well educated, the immaculately dressed or the clean cut. God’s healing happens amidst the mess, chaos and confusion of everyone trying to figure out how to ease suffering, whether of others or their own.

God healed many people through Brother Andre’s intercession even though Andre was not a priest, not within the confines of the sacramental church.  The oil for so many was simply a reminder of what they already knew but had forgotten in the midst of their pain, that God alone eases suffering, forgives sin and offers new life for the body and the soul.

Someday I will have the courage to open the bottle of oil. I will take the risk of unsealing the bottle and opening my heart. I will risk that my relationship with suffering people allows God to enter and heal everyone beyond my imagining. I will take the step to pray with people upon their request. I will pour out the holy oil and believe in the miracle that Jesus’ passion leads to new life for me and for every person. Someday I will receive the message hidden in the plastic bottle on my bookcase.

She Keeps Calling Out

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, May 2011
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I so admire the Canaanite woman. I always look forward to hearing her strong voice calling out to Jesus and the disciples (Matthew 15:21-28). She was crippled in fear because of her daughter’s illness. She desired the healing touch of Jesus even though she was not a lost sheep of the house of Israel. The strong-voiced mother clamored at Jesus’ side to change his mind about who could receive his love.

We enter into this courageous story again on the Twentieth Sunday of Ordinary Time (August 14). This nameless woman’s voice bellows out to us from long ago and it is still not silent. From her suffering comes a profound model of persistence and hope. Her love for her daughter was not going to be neglected, put aside or buried in society’s rules. Her voice rings out to Jesus’ ear and across the generations to our day and time.

This persistence and patience rises from deep faith. Her determination was fueled by the fact that she was out of the bounds of Jesus’ love because of her heritage and background. I am so intrigued that someone from the margins of Christ’s care teaches the rest of us how to pray tirelessly and how to bring our deepest suffering to the person of Christ. This woman, like so many women, teaches us how to believe and how to come to God with profound honesty.

I am reminded now of my dear friend, the Canaanite woman, because a year ago we welcomed a new pastor to the Downtown Chapel. His installation as pastor took place during our Saturday Vigil Mass. Parishioners presented him with the Gospel Book, the Sacramentary, a green stole, the Oil of the Sick and the collection basket. At the exact same time, a group of prostitutes were meeting in the basement directly below the chapel. I kept hearing people enter the building from the side entrance. I wondered if our new pastor really understood where those liturgical symbols were going to lead him if he accepted them with his whole heart. The voices of women caught in human trafficking were right under our feet. All during the liturgy, my mind kept going downstairs, deep into the darkness of the building where the women in need were stirring. Our parish hosts this group every Saturday evening. On that evening I really heard the voices calling out for new life, change and healing.

The Canaanite woman’s persistence celebrates for me the many voices of women who beg us for acceptance, healing and belonging. I see this persistence in our chapel, our basement and in every part of our parish community. A group of retired women nurses wash feet, cut curly-long toenails and offer advice for caring for diabetes every Wednesday morning, also in the basement. These women act out the Scriptures, speak up about people’s needs and offer prayer for people in profound need. This hidden, often silent action of our community helps us all transform our indifference into genuine prayer and concern.

I pray I never become deaf to the cry of the Canaanite woman. As I hear the prayers from a homeless mother whose child needs diapers, medical care and shelter, I know I cannot rest. I must continue to work to bridge the lives of suffering people into the mission of the Church. I hear the cries of tireless immigrant mothers having to leave their children back in the home country. I cannot turn a deaf ear to a middle-aged child who has to leave behind her aging mother in a nursing home in another state because she has to care for her fatherless children. I must open my ears, heart and prayer to the woman who struggles for food, rent assistance and education for her children. The strong voices calling out for new life are all around us, even in the basement.

Our ministry among God’s people surviving poverty encounters much resistance. We struggle with health care, other people’s prejudice, indifference and apathy. However, I take great consolation from a woman who had no power, authority and voice in the culture of Jesus’ time. In the midst of her powerlessness, she changed Jesus’ mind. She told him that even dogs receive table scraps. Her faith saved her and healed her daughter.

I cling to the fact that there are enough scraps from our common altars to feed the needs of all people. There is enough love from us, the Body of Christ, to hear the voices of people calling out in need well beyond our common sanctuary steps. From the basement to hospital beds, from migrant worker camps to the suburban poor, we must all have the courage to help change the mind of Christ by our faithful and humble prayer.


Urgent Care

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, April 2011
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Every morning our parish welcomes lost street pilgrims into dry shelter. Our staff and dozens of volunteers strip away our preconceived notions about stinky people and jobless wanderers. We hear the frightening outbursts from homeless sufferers of undiagnosed mental illness and we welcome all people to rest awhile.Our acceptance of these forgotten people barely holds back the waves of citywide discussions of the undesirable homeless teens, the filthy street urchins playing guitars while sitting on public sidewalks. Our open-door hospitality barely sways public opinion about the lazy, crazy and filthy people who do nothing for society. We welcome people because stomachs are empty, bodies are tired and naked, feet are dirty, wives are abused, jobs are lost and friends are still imprisoned. This is the urgent, daily work of hospitality in our parish community.

Living the gospel call to true, authentic hospitality challenges our parish community daily. Our morning hospitality remains scrutinized by the judgmental opinions of so many jobholders walking by our building. Some people in long-term recovery accuse us of being in denial and label us as “enabling.” Welcoming the lost and forgotten, without bias, judgment or superiority tests our faith to the core. This core of authentic welcome lies within the persons of God, the relationships among the Trinity.

I rest in this message of the Holy Trinity. I believe with my whole heart that the hidden relationships among God the Father, Christ our Savior and the communion of the Holy Spirit offer all Christians a definitive model of hospitality. As I reflect on the liturgical gospel for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, I feel this urgency of hospitality. I capture a glimpse of eternal life when tired folks rest with a cup of hot coffee, enter into an honest conversation and receive some clean clothing.

Every Christian community must take the risk of living the mystery of the Holy Trinity. The Sign of Cross is not just a mark on our mortal bodies, but radical welcome for all people to live within the love of God. The Trinity is not an obscure concept celebrated in our sanctuaries, but an invitation for all people to risk love, kindness, compassion and true hospitality. Radical acceptance among strangers enables people to experience a glimpse of eternity. Living the mystery of the Holy Trinity suggests that all people must be welcomed no matter their place in life.

Every morning we circle our volunteers around a table to reflect on the upcoming Sunday gospel. College students, retirees, parishioners and other volunteers from all walks of life hear the sacred text proclaimed in our hospitality center. The formation from these gospels propels even non-believers to connect the foundations of the Christian faith to service among God’s beloved. In these morning sessions, we all experience this urgency of hospitality because we understand we may only have one opportunity to welcome a stranger.

Our parish is just a few blocks from the train station and bus terminal. People step off the train and hear by word of mouth that our parish is the place to go for basic needs. A young unwed mother hops off the bus and is told that we can help with diapers for her infant. An elderly man needs a blanket for the night and a runaway teen is looking for someone to listen to his story. The Trinity manifests love in the simplest of places, among outcasts searching for basic belongings.

I also feel this urgency because so many young people do not experience the Church as a meaningful place for their lives. Our staff connects with over fourteen colleges, universities, seminaries and schools of nursing over the course of a year. Hundreds of high school students participate in formation sessions that invite students into the depths of people’s suffering. Hospitality is not wasted among the young, the lost and those who question everything.

The celebration of the Holy Trinity in every parish must open us all to the overwhelming compassion and mercy of God. We must not allow our fearful judgments and familiar prejudices to put boundaries on God’s relationship with people, or to suggest that some people are more deserving of love than others. The liturgical celebration reminds me to calm down among situations I cannot control, fix or heal. I must remember that God longs to be in union with God’s beloved.

I enter more deeply into the mystery of the Holy Trinity and experience an insistent need to welcome people who think they live far out of the bounds of God’s love. Every Christian becomes a messenger for the hidden life of the Trinity, an expression of deep love, commitment and belonging. I discover every day that the true mission of the Church is to live in the tight circle of the Trinity, accepting everyone into the life of God’s redeeming love.


Holding On

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Originally published by Ministry & Liturgy Magazine, March 2011
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I hold much fear within my body. I struggle to find my way out of the self-doubts and worries I carry with me from the past. Fear clings to me when new situations demand more of my attention or concern for others. I even realize how selfish I can be when one door closes in my life. Waiting for new life makes me impatient and restless. I wait for the depths of Pentecost in my own life.

I cannot imagine the fear that locked doors and huddled the disciples together after the death of Jesus. Painful uncertainty cramped their future plans. Grief suffocated their thoughts about living the example Jesus offered them. They crouched down in fear and hung on to the hands of each other behind those barred doors. The room and their lives seemed forever darkened.

Pentecost was birthed from this hand wringing and sweat about the future. Christ appeared in the stuffy room behind the closed and locked doors of their hiding. He opened up their lives with his very presence and the offering of his lasting peace. The key to stepping out of the dark room and into their future was the healing balm of Christ’s love and forgiveness. The hands of Christ’s followers opened up to receive him. Fear seemed forever useless.

I heard a new image of clinging to fear a few months ago. On First Fridays I lead a daylong retreat exposing people to matters of faith and poverty. The retreat includes a tour of our neighborhood that reveals controversial issues of adequate housing, nutritional food and affordable healthcare for people surviving poverty. I led this particular tour with a group of deacon candidates and their wives.

After the tour, one of the candidates shared that a deep memory of his mother surfaced during the tour. He remembered his mother taking him by the hand on a street corner and crossing to the other side to avoid homeless, smelly people. He began to cry as he realized that holding his mother’s hand taught him to fear people who were different from him. He acknowledged his mother’s instinct to protect him. He then confessed to the group that it was time for him to grow up, to let go of the hands of people who teach him to be afraid. This was Pentecost for this middle-aged man preparing to be ordained to serve the needs of people. This wake-up call released him from years of prejudice and ridicule toward God’s people living on the streets. This memory opened the door to discovering Christ’s peace within him and in people he has been called to serve.

Every worshipping community must let go fear in order to serve people in need. Pentecost pries open our fingers and challenges us to embrace God alone. Every community must let go of preconceived notions of people considered to be society’s outcasts. Pentecost invites us all to let go of the relationships that still teach us to stingingly criticize other people. We must not believe that separation and isolation are Gospel values. We must release our grasp from people who keep us in our childish ways. When we wake up to the Gospel our old patterns of negative thoughts and inaction fade. We welcome the Spirit as adults in full, active membership within the Body of Christ.

Pentecost vibrates our conscience and activates our hearts. Pentecost is not about shrouding the sanctuary in red silk, but celebrated when people have enough food to eat and sufficient clothing and adequate housing. This great celebration happens when our negative attitudes are replaced with genuine community, the Church. This solemn feast continues to break down walls and barriers. We must believe that we are called to welcome people who have given up on the Church, who are tired of the fight of being isolated because of mental illness, sexual orientation or living below the poverty line. We must listen to the sojourner no matter her experience. We must walk among the brokenhearted no matter how he has been treated in the past. Pentecost cannot be tapered to fit our prejudices or slip comfortably into our oppression of other people.

I witness doors flying open to new life every day as I am changed living among the marginalized. Only God heals people from destructive patterns of drug abuse, prostitution, broken marriages and thoughts of suicide. God’s beloved people teach me to let go of the hands that intended to protect me but also taught me to fear. Ministry among people who have no power in society is celebrated with great joy not only on Pentecost Sunday but every day, when we all decide not to live in fear and darkness.


Getting Our Feet Wet

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Originally published by Celebrate! Magazine, Spring 2011
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I admire our young whistleblowers. I am not referring to corporate moles or people who want to snitch on other people’s errant behavior. I am speaking about the young volunteers in our parish who are trying to tell us that so many situations in life need changing. These young students and many other twenty-something believers are finding their true vocations among suffering people.

These faith-filled followers of the gospel are blowing the whistle on the fact that so many people are starving for nourishing food, genuine companionship, available housing and affordable health care. These vocations are rooted deeply in the belief that God is still healing people and that everyone deserves at least the basics of life. Because these vibrant young people believe in the love of God, they are speaking out about the apathy, prejudice and lack of faith they find within the church today.

On October 17, 2010, the Church of Canada and all of our ministries in the Congregation of Holy Cross celebrated the canonization of Brother Andre Bessette, CSC. His legacy to our religious community is one of profound healing and hospitality among the sick and marginalized.  On that morning during Eucharist here at the Downtown Chapel in Portland, Oregon, two young people spoke about how their lives have been changed volunteering and ministering among God’s forgotten flock.

Taylor hobbled up on crutches to the microphone. He spoke deliberately, with great strength even though he had broken his leg in a bicycle accident. He told us that he has been volunteering here since he was fourteen years old. Taylor arrived here as a shy, skinny junior high student struggling with many personal issues. He has remained at the chapel volunteering because he has found his voice and purpose in life. Taylor now is a senior at the University of Portland and envisions his future tackling issues of poverty both locally and globally. He also served migrant worker camps while attending high school. He traveled to Kenya last year to explore environmental issues and now wishes to operate an orphanage in Kenya after college. His words on that day of celebration seemed so piercing and hope filled. He reminded us that faith lived out in this parish has profound meaning.  I felt such great gratitude for what God continues to reveal to Taylor and his response to people in need.

Valerie approached the microphone next feeling homesick for our community. She traveled from Chicago back home to Portland for the weekend to celebrate Saint Andre with our parish. She served as a staff member here and misses her hands-on work.  Valerie now attends the University of Chicago pursuing a degree in social work. She believes the link to real personal and social healing is through serving people surviving poverty. She connects Andre’s life of healing and hospitality with the vision and purpose of Dorothy Day.

I am so inspired by Valerie’s faith. Valerie told us that she was received into the Catholic Church as a senior at the University of Portland. One of her defining moments of faith was standing in a line for free health care during college. She was so afraid of being identified as “poor.” While she was standing in that line she was reading a book about Dorothy Day’s life that explained the concepts of human dignity being revealed by God’s love. It was a true moment of insight and conversion for Valerie. Her deep desire to serve people surviving homelessness and mental illness was born.

I reflect on these young vocations of love and service as we enter into the Easter season.  The Fourth Sunday of Easter in particular point us into the direction of Jesus, the Good Shepherd. On this Sunday we traditionally pray for the next generation of church vocations. There is much fear in the church today about the decreasing numbers of vocations to religious life and priesthood. People blame parents for not inviting children into traditional vocations while other people blame the sex crimes of the clergy for dwindling numbers of young men considering seminary. Some people blame a new liberalism while others blame the new conservative trappings of religious life.   There seems to be human blame in all directions, while Jesus is inviting young people to discover new roles as servants of the Shepherd.

Taylor and Valerie have entered the gate of Jesus through their own suffering. Jesus has welcomed them into a vocation of dedicated service that will last for years to come. These vocations are so genuine and honest, so faithful and solid. I am humbled as a priest that members of this generation continue to guide me into the Shepherd’s gate with their lives of integrity and purpose.

Valerie shared with me after the celebration of Saint Andre that she remembers standing in our lobby during one of her first weeks at the parish. One of her duties was to welcome people through our red doors for the various services we provide such as food, clothing and hygiene products.  She remembered that her feet were wet from riding her bike to work that morning in the rain. As she welcomed people she realized that everyone’s feet were wet, except the shoes of homeless people were squishing water. She realized she was called by God to offer dry socks. She then told me that she prayed she would have enough faith to offer shoes. Valerie then realized that she would need more faith to get people housing so they do not have to sleep in the rain. After visiting the parish for Andre’s celebration, Valerie realized that she could imagine healing large enough now to end homelessness.

Entering the gate for any believer to care for the shy sheep means dealing with messy situations. Walking through the gate also demands tremendous faith. These hands-dirty vocations of our young people show me that Christ is still inviting people into the life of passion, death and resurrection. I see the red door of our parish building being the eternal gate of welcome and hospitality, the entry into the sheepfold. I see shepherds of young people relating to people lost among the briars of prejudice and selfishness and forgotten among the wealthy and well deserving.

Valerie and Taylor know their sheep. The sheep also know their voices. These two vocations are authentic because both Taylor and Valerie have known suffering, personal loss, fragile egos and hurtful relationships. People suffering poverty respond to Valerie and Taylor because they do not hide their need for God or their own personal loneliness and poverty. They are leaders who are one with the sheep.

I long to get my feet wet in service alongside these new vocations. They hear the Shepherd’s voice with clarity and purpose and teach me to persevere. I want to work among Taylor and Valerie and others who believe that faith will heal people and that working together will someday bring homes for everyone to protect them from the rain.