John Janaro's Blog, page 255

God's Innermost Secret

Trinity Sunday.

"God's very being is love. By sending His only Son and the Spirit of Love in the fullness of time, God has revealed His innermost secret: God Himself is an eternal exchange of love, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and He has destined us to share in that exchange" (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 221).


Andrei Rublev's Icon of the Trinity (Moscow, c. 1410).

Robins in Spring

Here's a vigilant, chirpy, and very busy robin. I wonder why? Hmmmm...


Aha! The robin (and I got tons of lovely, closeup shots of her) is caring for THE NEST!




Momma Robin is busy rustling up some LUNCH. Some folks will be grossed out by this picture, but this is just nature. This is what birds eat. And, as a fisherman of many years (though, alas, not recently) this looks very good to me. This looks like bait:


Looks like Momma has three baby robins. The furthest to our right is showing us a profile, with eye not yet opened. I hope y'all don't mind this "nature documentary" -- I'm just fascinated by all of this that's happening in our front yard. (And we're doing our best to make sure Reepicheep the cat stays away!)

This Crazy Family Life

Like most bloggers, I post the "good pictures" of the Janaros and their doings. But I presume that nobody thinks we have an "idyllic Catholic family life."

Oh my, no. No, no, no. It's quite crazy, really.

I have frequently mentioned on the blog that ours is a home with a disabled father and a mother who has to work. We really do have a happy home, though. Not perfect at all, but happy. Fragile, but happy. Happy, but crazy too.

Other than school, daily schedules can be quite chaotic and subject to change at a moment's notice. The kids and their mother come and go on all sorts of errands, engagements, and adventures. Eileen has school-related meetings, Teresa has karate, John Paul has basketball or tennis, Agnese and Lucia have choir or sports, and everyone has homework and studies and tests to prepare for. The girls are in high demand as virtuoso babysitters. Everyone also has friends. And Eileen somehow finds a way to shuttle one and all back and forth to their activities.

But who is the most wiped-out, exhausted person in the house every day? Me .

Last year our second car, a 1994 Toyota Camry, finally pooped out (in the sense that it needs more repairs than we can afford -- the engine is still just fine -- ANYBODY WANNA BUY A CAR FOR PARTS?). We have been a one vehicle family since the past summer. One vehicle, seven people.

Granted, the "one vehicle" is a Legend. The inimitable 1993 Toyota Previa minivan. We've had it for twelve years, and though it has become a bit of a sardine can, it still gets us around. Eileen almost always drives. I only drive short distances on familiar roads. Driving has become more difficult for me, probably because of the side effects of medications that I need to get through the day.

Eileen bears so much of the burden. She doesn't complain and she doesn't want me to worry about it. But I do.

Meals are often "grab-and-go," and that's not ideal. But we do have dinners all together sometimes during the week, at the dinner table. It's hard during the school year, but dinner together is an especially good time, because we really do have fun together.

We are squeezed into a very small house and basically stuck with its mortgage. So we bump into each other a lot, squeeze past each other, and try to remember Pope Francis's "three words" (see picture): Permesso ("excuse me" or "may I?"), Scusi (sorry about that), and Grazie (thank you). We joke sometimes that an Italian heritage family also needs a forth word: Basta! (Enough! Stop! C'mon, quit making a fuss!).

We shout at kids (sorry, Dr. Montessori), and kids shout at each other, but we can laugh and forgive. We are funny, peculiar, smart, disorganized, cheerful and joyful. We are blessed by one another. Our happiness as a family is as secure as one can hope for in this life.

Still, the kids are young and none of us knows what may come in time. We are on a road together. I beg Jesus every day to keep our family united with Him and with one another. And Mary and Joseph and St. Michael and our guardian angels and St. John Paul II....

Every Sunday the family goes to Mass together. The Mass and the Eucharist are the rock of our life together. On Sundays we are gathered into the heart of Jesus and sent forth again, with Him, on the journey of our time with all our needs and hopes and our growing.

The Rosary is a crucial component of our family life. It is our goal to pray it together every day, but it doesn't always happen as a family event, and when it does we don't always have full participation.

As our children grow into young men and women, we want to educate their freedom rather than require them to conform in a way that might engender resentment against the Rosary now or later, when they are adults. A positive witness from us, we believe, will bear greater fruit, as we entrust everything to Mary's loving heart.

And, of course, Josefina is always a "wild card" who can sometimes get us all laughing during the Rosary without even trying. And some really great family discussions have come about in the time we spend procrastinating before saying the Rosary.

Our house is crazy and messy and cluttered. Eileen works so hard to keep everything going, teaching, taking care of me, mothering, running the home, and filling in all the gaps left open by my own incapacity. Thank God she has such amazing resourcefulness, but the strain is hard for her and I am broken again and again by the limits that keep me from contributing more in the way of nuts and bolts and the elbow grease that one usually expects from the biggest person in house. Not to mention financial stability.

We manage, but it's humbling every day. How does a man bear being put on the shelf, living every day in front of the fear that he is useless? He fears that he is useless in the lives of his wife and children, in building up his home. It is an awful solitude.

Yet in the midst of this solitude, new possibilities open up.

I know I wouldn't be much of a homemaker even if I were healthy, since I have zero domestic skills ... in fact, I have negative domestic skills (ask anyone in the house and they'll tell you): too often practical tasks that I try to handle end up on the edge of catastrophe. As it is, I have no little struggle keeping myself together through the day.

But I am, in an odd way, the anchor of the home. I am the one who is here, almost all the time. When I go out, it's usually with the rest of the family. I go in with Eileen and the kids to the Montessori school during the week.

I do my writing and my study in my corner of the living room, and our living room has become a place where we all like to hang out.

I take walks around the neighborhood, or in the area of the school. If anyone is home, they know I'm here. In a very elemental sense, I "hold down the fort." (I usually let the answering machine take calls when I'm alone, because they are almost never for me, and the machine takes better messages than I do... really.)

I can talk and I can listen, and I take an interest in everybody and lend an ear. This creates the unusual situation of a very "accessible Husband/Dad." Not being able to do much has its advantages. If someone needs to talk, I have all the time in the world to listen. A child may only want to talk once a year, but for that one time it's worth putting in the effort of being here.

Meanwhile, I share time with Eileen and the kids. Even if we are just sitting in the living room reading. Of course, an atmosphere of conversation tends to arise around me. The house is full of talk, serious or silly or both. Other times it's full of music.

I listen especially to Eileen as she shares with me the accomplishments and the problems of her work. She loves her task as an educator and a pioneer in the enterprise of the John XXIII Montessori Children's Center.

All of the children have received their elementary formation there, and Teresa and Josefina are still attending. I try to participate by being on the staff (I have this large title that I can't even remember right now). What matters is that I share her passion for this work and her investment of herself in it, that I love it with her and support her efforts.

I try to affirm and remind her of her value, which is something I can see more than anyone else.

I'm often absent minded, or wasting time on the Internet, or obsessing over photographs. I get absorbed in drawing out my own projects or procrastinating. I can so easily withdraw into my own brooding self and mourn my own frustrations. But I must dedicate myself again and again to remembering that she has to come first. One of the things that has saved my sanity is that -- at the very least -- she needs me to NOT GO CRAZY.

And through it all, we still love to be together. Thank God.
I know that I am not useless. But my peculiar place in our odd family is so hard to grasp. Perhaps there is a gift in this fact: I have to learn my task as it unfolds according to my possibilities and the variations of my health. And I am no less lazy than any other human being, but I struggle against it; I keep returning to the moment, and to the challenge of giving whatever I have to offer.
Then I repent of my sins, again and again, and I give the whole mess to Jesus and beg Him to keep me going. I beg Him to put it together even in the moments that I don't understand. I pray.

I write my blog when I can. And I know there are people who are struggling to find peace and need a lifeline. I'm begging for peace, for a lifeline, every day. Begging Jesus.

There is only one Absolutely Reliable Person, and that's Jesus. Wherever we are, we have to talk to Him every day, really, like it's a matter of life and death (because it is). That's the core of living faith: relationship with Jesus. Trusting, because He doesn't do things the way we expect Him to, but He does bring everything to the good.

As for the Janaro family, we live by prayer and work and suffering, by trying to love one another, by permesso, scusi, and grazie.

Especially GRAZIE, "Thank You," because we have so much to be grateful for, to God and to one another.

Throwback: First Faces in the "Book"

The Holy Spirit: Leading Us to Fulfillment

Come, Holy Spirit!

Today our fifty days of Easter celebration come to fulfillment in the great feast of Pentecost. Our Father in heaven has poured out His Spirit upon us through the death, resurrection, and glorification of Jesus His Son, who was born of the Virgin Mary and has become our brother. In Jesus, God embraces every dimension of our lives, and we are drawn into this embrace by grace, by His continual superabundant gift, by the work of the Holy Spirit within us.

I know I need above all to pray for the grace to let God have His way in my life. So I pray for an increase in the Gifts of the Holy Spirit: for wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, piety and the fear of the Lord. The Holy Spirit gives His gifts to every Christian, and through them we grow in the likeness to God, which is our vocation.

Each one of us is called to become “godlike”—that is our destiny, to “participate” in the life of God. We know that it is here that our ultimate happiness lies, but God alone knows what our true destiny really “looks” like (“eye hath not seen…”). So we must let Him lead the way....

I only see the surface of my life. Deep down, God is working a wonder, and the means He is using penetrate my whole life with its joys and sorrows, and all that is yet unknown.

What God wants for me is so much more, so much greater, so much more glorious and joyful, than what I think I want for myself. In eternity, we shall see all and rejoice in all. Here, we see through that dark glass called faith. Sometimes it is very dark, but we must trust God to give us what we need to sustain hope, and to grow in the capacity to respond to His mysterious Love with our own self-abandoning love.

~From my book Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy (see HERE for more details)

Blessed Romero of the Americas

The image above depicts in iconic form the martyrdom of Blessed Oscar Romero, Archbishop of San Salvador, shot and killed while saying Mass on March 24, 1980. Here I have placed this Salvadorian artwork in a setting with a red background and an olive cross.

Today, May 23, 2015, Archbishop Romero was raised to the honors of the altar. It has been a day of great joy for the people of El Salvador and countless others all over the world.

It has fulfilled a longstanding hope of my own, and I hope it will lead to a greater appreciation and a deeper study of this exemplary and heroic Catholic bishop.

Blessed Oscar Romero's legacy is only beginning to be understood. The image that expresses the culmination of that legacy, of course, is the devastating, bloody photograph taken moments after Romero fell at the altar during the offertory, pierced by an assassin's bullet. It is raw and inescapably jarring:


Martyrdom is a great grace in the mystery of God's plan, but attempts to comprehend it in the categories of this present age inevitably break down. It is not surprising that Romero is held in great esteem by the world in general. He is regarded as a heroic defender of human rights, and this is certainly true. But in order to really understand the significance of his witness, it is necessary to appreciate the profound grace that shaped his way of looking at human persons and the world.

Blessed Romero died for his faith. It was his conviction that in Jesus Christ eternity intersects with the present moment. The glory of Christ will transfigure all of the labor of daily life in this world. Christ "raises up" in eternity all the efforts for God's goodness, justice, truth, mercy, and wisdom that we take on in union with Christ's offering of Himself.

It was the glory of Christ the redeemer that motivated all of Archbishop Romero's courage and love, and that convinced him that he needed to risk everything on behalf of the people entrusted to his care. Blessed Romero didn't die for some abstract ideal of justice, nor to advance any political ideology. He died because he allowed his faith to shed light on the circumstances he faced, moving him to recognize and to insist that his people deserved real, concrete justice and that the Gospel required their cries to be heard.

Romero judged that it was his duty as bishop to denounce the oppression of the poor. He understood himself as a shepherd who was responsible before God for all his people, especially those who had no voice of their own. And he insisted that it was his duty, and therefore his right, as a bishop to denounce in the name of Christ the evil perpetrated by those who held worldly power.

He was always ready to promote peaceful and constructive protest, dialogue and reconciliation, and to mediate for solutions in his troubled country that were both realistic and uncompromising on human dignity.

The world has changed in many ways since 1980. The Americas have changed in many particular circumstances and in the challenges they face (though the poor still cry out to heaven for the bread that is theirs by right).

What remains is the need for Catholic bishops with evangelical courage and love, who cannot be bought for money or prestige, who care not whether they are applauded or condemned or ignored by the image makers of society, but only that the mercy of Jesus might be communicated to the poor and suffering, to human hearts made for God.

The world needs Catholic bishops who will speak Gospel truth to worldly power, in season and out of season, ready to witness with their blood. Blessed Oscar Romero has shown them the way. He has shown all of us that the hope of Christ is the enduring and fruitful way to perceive and engage the needs of our society.

Blessed Romero of the Americas, Pray for us!

"As a Pastor, I am concerned about being present with those who suffer."

The Work of Shaping My Heart

Please Don't Enter the "Fear Zone"!

It's easy to fall into the tendency to think of "Christianity" as merely a worldview, or a collection of ideas that explain the universe and direct us regarding what we should do. It's easy to act as if Christianity is primarily an intellectual system that has to be expounded and defended in competition with other intellectual systems. In fact, it's easy to go through the day reading about Christianity and writing about Christianity and talking about Christianity--all the while seeming to forget the reality that makes it worthwhile:

Jesus Christ.

How do I live so much of my life without an awareness of Him? Why does my heart not converse more with Him? O sure, I "pray"--but it's like I'm an official making a report to my boss from time to time. Or even if I speak with Him in sugary, "personal" terms, so much of it is still a game of dodge and duck, an effort to "love" Him but still keep Him at arms length. Which, of course, is the way I interact with the human persons who are important in my life. Please don't enter the fear zone.

But He said, "Do not be afraid."

How seldom do I just enjoy being with Him. Of course I have to attend to the many tasks of life. But He is with me, and He is inside of those little things. I feel as though I say morning prayer and then leave Him there on the wall. Why do I try to leave Him behind?

Sometimes I will turn to Him during the day, even with great intensity...when I need something! "Jesus, give me...." Why are there not more simple, joyful expressions of adoration and love.

What's the problem? I love Him. Of course I do. But I take Him for granted. And I am a little...afraid.

"Fear is useless. What is needed is trust."

I know. But I am still afraid. Why? I'm afraid that I can't measure up to Him. Of course I can't. I'm also afraid to let Him do what He wills with me. Lord let me see that what You want for me is for my happiness. It's the only thing that can make me happy.

I want to love You more, Jesus. I want to trust in You more. I want to live my life as a relationship with You.

"Lord, you know that I love you." Under all the junk and the forgetfulness and the fear,
I love you. Jesus I love you. Jesus I trust in You. Have mercy on me. Deepen my trust.

Pentecost is Coming

We are in the week between the Ascension and Pentecost, the "Great Novena" of expectation. The Easter Celebration is approaching its fulfillment.


The light of the Easter Candle which began on the night of Holy Saturday has accompanied us through these days, and the true fire which is that new life in the Spirit is -- we hope -- burning more brightly within us, burning with the intensity of a greater love.


Let us deepen our hope in these days as we approach with real expectation the feast of Pentecost, and let us all cry out together:

Jesus Says, "I am Leaving the World and Going to the Father"

Entrance to Abbey Church, Holy Cross Monastery, Berryville, VAIn recent weeks, the Gospel reading for the day has been taken from what is sometimes called the "farewell discourse" of Jesus in the Gospel of John, chapters 14, 15, and 16.
Many classic verses are found here. "I am the way, and the truth, and the life" (14:6). "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (14:9). "I am the vine; you are the branches... apart from me you can do nothing" (15:5). Then there are those words about His gift of His peace, and bearing abundant fruit, and exhortations to "abide in Him" and "keep His commands," and especially "this is my commandment: that you love one another as I have loved you" (5:12).
This part of the Gospel is so rich; indeed it is quite overwhelming. It takes about twenty minutes at the very least to read the three chapters continuously with attention. I should know. For almost a decade my spiritual father was an old Cistercian monk at Holy Cross Abbey in Berryville, Virginia. Fr. Edward died in 2012, and at some point I will have to devote a post to him and the very great blessing he was for me and my family in times past. Right now, I mention him because he always gave the same penance for confession: the prayerful reading of John 14-16.
This seems like a bit more of a time-and-effort investment than most "standard" confessional penances, but I am grateful for the frequent reading of this text, which has taught me a little how to listen to it and dwell with it.
The "discourse" is a profound exchange between Jesus and the disciples. As is so often the case, however, the disciples don't understand. Jesus uses these great images that are familiar to us, but the disciples are confused. Jesus speaks of Himself, His Father, the Spirit, the world, and the disciples themselves, but they are not sure what he means by all of it.
When we read these texts, we are dazzled by their depth and inspired by all the often-heard themes. Still, perhaps we sympathize with the disciples in a certain way.
Maybe we have studied the Bible for years, but do we really "get it"?
"We do not know what he is talking about" (16:18) the disciples are saying near the end of chapter 16. Two thousand years later, we can still appreciate their perplexity. We too may wonder, "What is He talking about?"
We have the benefit of the apostolic witness to Jesus Christ after the resurrection and Pentecost, as well as the development of doctrine, the tradition and the Fathers, the teaching of Christ's Church, many good modern commentaries, and our own prayerful reading in the light of the Holy Spirit. These resources assist us, but the heart of the text remains an awesome and beautiful mystery, and it brings us more and more to a simple gaze full of silence, adoration, and love. We are drawn to "abide" in Him, and allow Him to dwell in us, with the Father and the Spirit.
Here is one of the powerful moments in the New Testament when we encounter the Infinite Mystery made flesh, the One whose presence is decisive for the destiny of every human person.
Within the narrative, however, the disciples remain confused.
But just then comes a moment in the text when the clouds seem to open for them. Jesus says something that strikes the disciples in a different way, that breaks through and appears clearly, even if only for a moment, in their minds and hearts.
Jesus says:

"I have said these things to you in figures of speech. The hour is coming when I will no longer speak to you in figures, but will tell you plainly of the Father. On that day you will ask in my name. I do not say to you that I will ask the Father on your behalf; for the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God" (16:25-27).

And then He says a single verse that sounds like something He has already said many times. Yet this time it stands out; it seems to touch the disciples for the first time in all its richness. If we ponder it for awhile, we might be touched by it too. Jesus says:

"I came from the Father and have come into the world; again, I am leaving the world and am going to the Father"  (16:28) .

The hitherto bewildered disciples seem suddenly awakened by these words. Perhaps they don't know what they are saying, and yet they are impressed with a luminous certainty, as if they are standing before Jesus transfigured. They are greatly consoled and illuminated. Suddenly they rejoice, and cry out with a newly found joy.

"His disciples said, 'Yes, now you are speaking plainly, not in any figure of speech! Now we know that you know all things, and do not need to have anyone question you; by this we believe that you came from God'" (16:29-30).

Perhaps we reach this point and wonder what we've missed. What did Jesus say that suddenly made it all clear?
I wonder if these words might indicate the very heart of the matter. The Eternal Mystery -- source and fulfillment of all things -- is the Holy Trinity, in which the Son is eternally generated by the Father. And the Father and the Son eternally breathe forth the Holy Spirit.  The Trinity is, of course, the transcendent, "super-dynamic" and "always" realization of the exchange and overflow of Love, a mystery that transcends words like "coming" and "going."
Yet this is why the Son of the Father has been made flesh. Jesus has come into the world above all to reveal and glorify the mystery of the Holy Trinity, the mystery of the God who is Eternal Love. "I came from the Father and have come into the world; again, I am leaving the world and am going to the Father."
Earlier in the discourse, Jesus told them, "If I do not go, the Advocate [the Spirit] will not come to you. But if I go, I will send Him to you" (16:7). Now He appears to be synthesizing everything in a few words that refer to His "coming-from-the-Father" and His "going-[returning]-to-the-Father."
Perhaps these words open the hearts of the disciples to Jesus's relation to the Father in the Spirit. Perhaps they grasp for a moment His whole mission: He who is forever generated from the Father is sent by the Father into the world to "open up" the life of God so that those who adhere to Him might share that life through Him, so that they might be raised up into the Father's glory in the Holy Spirit.
The Voice and the Dove at Jesus's baptism. The luminous Glory of Tabor and the Voice again. Transfiguration. Infinite Love who is Father, Son, and Spirit, revealing His Trinitarian mystery and freely pouring forth His glory and His love and His mercy upon the world.
Is this what stirred the ardor of the disciples and drew forth for a moment their joyful affirmation of faith?
Still, in the "farewell discourse," Jesus knows that His coming-and-going has not yet reached its definitive moment. The Cross remains before Him:

Jesus answered them, "Do you now believe? The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each one to his home, and you will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!" (16:31-33)