John Janaro's Blog, page 150

"All You Who Labor and are Burdened..."

Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light" (Matthew 11:28-30).

This feast day, and this way of approaching Jesus - drawn by the unimaginable depth of the love of His human heart - is a refuge for me.

For I am one of those who labor and are burdened. Illness is part of it, of course. But it's deeper; it goes down to the core of my personality. I am a large and broken person, with "the grandeur and the misery" of being human tied together in huge knots all through my soul.

There is still so much pride in me. So much ego. Much of my burden is there. But that's not all of it. There is also something that I can no longer escape at my age: it's a real undeniable pain, like a wound, like a constraint of nature: the pain of the failure to fulfill the great potential of my own life. The fact that this failure was mostly unavoidable, due to illness and uncontrollable circumstances, does not mean that it's painless. I don't let it define me. I don't dwell on it too much. But I can't pretend it's "nothing" either.

Perhaps I now embody, in some measure, the "type" of personality that I remember hearing described in my youth with reference to someone else much older, someone with vision and achievements marred by catastrophe and frustrated by the narrow space of action that confined him thereafter: "He is a marvelous wreck of a man." 

I came to know that particular man well in his last years. The description was fitting, up to a point. But his limitations humbled him and opened his heart radically to his need for God's salvation - for God's mercy. This was something new and transforming, and there was "lightening" of the burden in it; he found a measure of rest and a wisdom that he tried to communicate to others.

But the burden did not go away. Sometimes it overwhelmed him. Nevertheless, he knew he wasn't carrying it alone.

And now I find myself an "elder" with achievements and catastrophe in my past, and limitations going forward in my remaining years (none of these are as great - or as terrible - as those of my old friend from my youth, who went home to God a long time ago).

Still I remain a very "large" person, with a vast span of interests and concerns, full of aspirations and frustrations, generous but proud, broken in so many ways.

I talk too much (verbally and in writing). I always have, of course, but it has become more evident even to myself. I suppose this is for the better: it's so easy to become a crashing of cymbals, a colossal wind-bag, a bore without even realizing it.

Yet people like me are terrified of being useless, of being ignored. I have a "large" pride. It's what's called a big ego. That's part of my burden, but it doesn't explain everything.

Knowledge puffs up. Others admire knowledge when it's in alliance with political or social power, or when it can otherwise serve some practical purpose. But when the "large" person is sidelined or begins to grow old - when it becomes clear to everyone that he or she is no longer a "player" in the game - admiration fades, and is replaced by a kind of deferential tolerance (at best) or contempt or (what is most feared) invisibility.

I don't want to live this way. I want to change.

I must learn to become "small," but not by reducing myself, ceasing to learn, ceasing to be fascinated by reality. Not by changing my basic personality through some strange psychic self-mutilation. Rather, I must continue to pursue wisdom and understanding, and to sustain the broad scope of my sensibility toward people and things. I cannot give up caring about life.

All of that must remain and grow. What must decrease are the illusions of self-centeredness and self-sufficiency, the illusions of power and autonomy. And at this time of life, one is compelled more and more to give way to obviously irreversible losses and the approach (even if not yet imminent - though "who really knows?") of one's own mortality.

The mysterious part of our "burden" is this inescapable poverty that makes us all small in the end - the poverty of suffering and death. It will either humble us or crush us.

I'm more aware of how overgrown, misshapen, and broken I really am. A rich person (whose riches, after all, turn out to be junk) cannot pass through a needle's eye. That point of entry lies before me, and I cannot ignore that my path gets very narrow in proportion to its proximity.

Will I learn to be "meek and humble of heart"? I am frightened. The scope and weight of the burden are heavy indeed. But Jesus says, "Come."

Is it such a difficult invitation? He promises "rest" in His own measure, and it is possible to find it in Him. His burden is "light" - a seeming paradox, appropriate when we realize that He is speaking of His human heart. His human heart suffers all the brokenness that we have wrought upon the reality that He - through His divine power and wisdom and love - has created.

My large and broken self becomes small, when it is encompassed in His great, humble, Broken Heart.

"God is a Good Father"

Some words from Pope Francis:

"Twas a Night Before Christmas"...Six Months Before, in Fact!

"You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High 
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation 
by the forgiveness of their sins" (Luke 1:76-77).  .

Merry "Pre-Christmas"! - today we celebrate the Birth of John the Baptist. Notice that six months ago was Christmas Eve (can you believe it!!??) and six months from today will be... Christmas Eve!

If you're Christmas shopping now, you're either really early... or really, really late! 

But seriously, this very ancient liturgical feast common to Western and Eastern traditions precedes Christmas each year by six months, just as John was the Forerunner of the Savior, the great prophet whose singular mission was to point to the Word-made-flesh and prepare the way for His coming and His ministry.

The Greek icon above covers the events of this feast and the Biblical texts we read for it (notice Zechariah with the writing tablet). For those whose patron saint is John the Baptist, today is your "Name Day" (and mine too!

Happy Holidays... in June!!

This week is a WEEK OF HOLIDAYS on the liturgical calendar, especially in the Latin (Western) observance. 

There is a convergence of fixed celebrations and feasts that vary depending on the date of Easter (which was late this year). Hence we have a rather exceptional week of Summer holidays in which to rejoice and give thanks to the Lord for His glory and His love (never forget to be joyful), and also to honor His servants:

June 23: Corpus Christi Sunday.
June 24: Solemnity of the Birth of Saint John the Baptist
June 28: Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus
June 29: Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul
June 30: Sunday!

Yes, June 30 is "only" a "regular" Sunday, but let's not take it for granted.

Every Sunday is a holiday, a "little Easter," a day for worship, for joy, for rest from our toils, for special attention to being with those we love, for sharing love with others. 

We need Sunday. When Sunday is forgotten, the world grows sad and cruel. But we have been created for joy.

Happy Holidays!!

Midsummer Janaro Anniversary

⭐It's our Anniversary!⭐

June 22 marks twenty three years with this wonderful and amazing lady, Eileen Janaro.❤ Here we are on our wedding day in 1996:


And here are the same two people at the same brick pillar in front of the same church, exactly TWENTY THREE YEARS LATER:


Ah, it really is beginning to feel like "a long time ago" since that wedding. A generation has passed, a generation has grown up ... but love and gratitude are ever new.❤

Solstice... But Which One? It Depends on Where You Live...

Happy Summer 2019!!

Bring on the fun, right?  .

World Cup 2019: Go Girls Go!!

Things are really starting to get into gear now with the 2019 World Cup in women's soccer. We are moving into the Round of 16, with its single elimination games.


Thus far, the "team to beat" has more than demonstrated that it is indeed the team to beat. The United States Women's National Team rocked their way through the group stage, scoring 18 goals in 3 games and giving up... zippo.

This is an awesome team. Nobody wins "the beautiful game" without getting a few breaks—after all, it is a bouncy ball getting kicked around a field.⚽

If they get the breaks, though, USWNT will win it all. Dang, these girls can play this game!

Bright June Evenings

It's the high point of the season.

The sun is going down a few minutes before 9:00 PM, and it makes pretty much the full arc from East to West with 15+ hours of sunlight in a day. Sunset has moved steadily North on the horizon since Winter, all the way up to the spaces between houses on the next block.

Plenty of light at 8:40 and beyond in the evening.


Then the transition from sunset to twilight lingers on well past the 21st hour mark. 

I love all this light!

John Wu and the Journey "Beyond East and West"

Among those bridges-between-East-and-West that I have been seeking in recent years, Professor John C. H. Wu is one who has the tremendous span of a profound education and a contemplative sense of his own identity as a Chinese Catholic.


My article on his "conversion story" in this month's issue of Magnificat barely scratches the surface of the scholar and the man, from whom I think we have much to learn in the 21st century.

There are no short cuts to understanding China. I do not think that I will get very far in my remaining years, but I hope that I might at least be able to convince others in the West to learn more about the deep roots and long history of a civilization that is becoming a global protagonist (even if, for now, it wears the distorted and superficial garb of a Communist-Capitalist-Corporate State).

We must encounter China. It is imperative. John Wu can be a great help to us.

Father's Day Without My Father

Well, it's Father's Day. I have missed Dad a lot today.

"Missing" turns out to be a rather precise term. He is not in any "place" in this world that I can go to, or call, or even find on a map. He's not puttering around the condo in Arlington, or in his wheelchair at Greenfield. He's not "around" in any kind of empirical way.

"Where" is he?

I know he lives. He walked with Jesus in the Church, faithfully, in this world; and thus we have entrusted him to God in the hope of eternal life. He lives in God's love, whether in the fullness of beatitude or in that final mysterious passage of preparation and purification which most of us will need - the "bridge" between death and glory known as purgatory.

In any case, the relationship continues, and there are "signs" of its ongoing significance. They pertain especially to the concreteness of the Church, the bond that unites us in Christ's body, the Eucharistic liturgy, the prayers for his eternal rest and also the confidence we place in his prayers on our behalf and the fruits of his labors from all his years of earthly life.

There is real, meaningful consolation here. But it stretches us beyond the horizon of this world. It's not a trick that somehow "brings him back" to us. On the contrary, it only makes it clearer that the journey of this life means so much more that what we think we can control within the narrowness of our own interpretations.

Then there are all the memories, so many more than I realized I had. There is much to reminisce about, but memories also pop up surprisingly, evoking unexpected emotions that I don't understand.

It's like the memories have acquired a new dimension, demanding to be seen in a new way. The memories seem "restless," sometimes, as though there are aspects of them that I have not yet noticed, or resolved, or appreciated.

I do believe that my father loved me more than I ever knew. How little I appreciated that love. Here, even more than in the "missing" of him, I find a kind of sorrow. It's a sorrow that draws me to seek forgiveness from him, and from God whose gift he was, irreplaceably, in my life.

I guess this is part of grief, this sorting of memories, with a more vivid and poignant awareness of the need for forgiveness.