John Janaro's Blog, page 288

Are New Evangelizers Ready to be Hated, Tortured, and Killed?

The New Evangelization is not going to be easy.

No matter how clever Christians are; no matter how kind and gentle and patient; no matter how edgy and cool the presentation; no matter how much Christians bend over backwards and stand on their heads and tiptoe around so as not to offend anybody....

"They will hand you over to be tortured and will put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved" (Matthew 24:9, 13).

A genuine witness to Jesus is always a proposal. It is by nature a provocation. It awakens and calls forth human freedom. Christians often fall short in their ways of proposing the gospel, thereby spreading confusion and rendering the gospel obscure at least in part. Still, evangelization takes place even with all the weakness of Christ's disciples. The Church continues and grows throughout the unfolding of the drama of redemption. In our time, however, Christians are making a fresh commitment to take up with seriousness and in a new way the task of evangelization.

The "New Evangelization," among other things, seeks to spread the gospel in the context of a deeper awareness of the dignity of the human person and human freedom. It is clear that Christians witness truly only insofar as they are instruments of Jesus's presence to the human heart. This true witness is full of respect for the human person; it is delicate, affirming, kind, without pretense, amiable, humble, full of conviction about the truth of Jesus, but also open to the unfathomable ways of His mercy and ready to accompany human persons on the mysterious journeys that constitute their own vocations. It is joyful, beautiful, full of vitality, loving, peaceful, patient, merciful, self-effacing.

But it is what it is. It points to Someone who wants to give Himself to another person, and therefore it cannot help touching freedom, and pointing to the fact that this Someone is asking for a decision.

Even if a Christian says nothing, the way he or she lives in the midst of others inevitably becomes something that both attracts and frightens the human heart. An authentic Christian life witnesses to Jesus, and therefore to the mysterious destiny for which every human heart has been made.

It is therefore inevitable that, in front of an authentic witness, people will be provoked. They will make decisions, and that means that some will decide to resist. Even if this decision is not final and irrevocable, it generates opposition and violence against Christian witness, and therefore against Christians themselves.

If people decide to resist or to flee from Jesus, from the very gift of Infinite Love for which they have been made, they will struggle and fight against Him and against anything and anyone who reminds them of Him. But Jesus never gives up. He keeps loving, all the way through the cross.

As followers of Christ, we must do the same. We are called to be witnesses to His love, and to share in that love all the way to the cross, to love in the face of rejection, opposition, and violence.

This suffering can take various forms in our lives. We won't often be killed physically, but we may be ignored, marginalized or forgotten. We may be harassed, slandered, or treated with contempt. We may be divided from our families and friends, and constantly reminded by others that we are different and strange. We may be forced into social or even material poverty.

Or perhaps we may be applauded, but misunderstood. We may be hailed and cheered by people for all sorts of reasons, and perhaps it will be our vocation to endure this fleeting adulation, and even to accept the fact that many people are going to misinterpret our gestures. But we are not seeking applause. We are seeking the truth and the beauty of Jesus, and whatever it is about our witness that attracts people "on the surface" is eventually going to challenge them to invest themselves more deeply. Sooner or later, all those cheering people will discover that they have to decide whether to stay or leave.

Sometimes it happens that a genuine Christian rides a wave of "popularity." Recall that Jesus was wildly popular all over Galilee and Judea, and above all in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. He could have been made king, if He had wanted to be a king in this world. But He didn't. He wanted something much greater. He knew that Palm Sunday was leading to Good Friday.

Thus the path of the New Evangelization also leads to Good Friday, to the cross. We must be prepared for that fact, and indeed allow it to form our lives and our testimony. If the crucified and risen Jesus is at the center of our own lives, then we will give a living witness to Him and His love for every person. An authentic Christian witness is a gratuitous love that endures all things, and its vitality comes from the Love that has conquered death.

Jesus is With Us in Our Suffering... Really!

The Gospel readings of this time of year openly proclaim the suffering that comes with belonging to Jesus Christ. Whatever our sufferings may be, if we endure them in union with Jesus -- or, to put it another way, if we recognize our own sufferings as belonging to Jesus Crucified, to Him who has made the suffering of every person His own, then He will shape our hearts through this endurance into vessels that share in His love. Thus He will bring us through death in Him to Resurrection.

The love of Jesus that changes us and brings us to fulfillment is resisted by the "world" -- that is, by the realm of all that closes itself to God and His love; not only the exterior "nations" and the powers that be and the media, etc., but also every aspect of our own selves that has not been completely given over in trust to His transforming love.

To say that "God permits us to suffer so as to bring about a greater good" is more for us than a theoretical conclusion in metaphysics; it is more than a resigned "consolation of philosophy." It is a miracle that is happening in this very moment, because Jesus is with us in our suffering, and whether or not that brings us any consolation is not what matters. What matters is that it is a fact: He is present, and when we stay with Him, when we endure in recognizing and adhering to Him even in the deepest darkness, He changes us.

In the darkest, most painful, most incomprehensible moment, He has hold of us. If we stay in His arms and endure with Him, then He will raise us with Him to an eternal glory that is beyond our understanding, but that draws us through hope, and that begins -- even now -- in the radiance and the mysterious power of the love by which we say yes to Him, by which we endure our weakness being taken up by Him. For "the weakness of God is stronger than men" (1 Corinthians 1:25), stronger than everything.

This love seems so small and helpless and may be unnoticed in the world, or even by the person who thus loves. It is the smallest of seeds, sown deep in the earth and broken open, that rises up to an abundance of fruit.

Autumn's Colors are Full of Peace

Leaves in full bloom. There are still a few on the trees.
"Geepers, JJ... don't you think the blog has been a little 'heavy' lately? Or, to use the Italian term: Pesante!" (With the appropriate hand gesture, this term says something like "c'mon please, stop, you're killing me here, enough"!)


Che pesante! Janaro, troppo troppo. Basta!
Yeah. Basta cosi! (enough!)

Heck, my parents read this blog: they are two of my five faithful readers. ("Don't worry Dad, Mom, I'm okay... really, just the usual usual, you know... I'm fine.")

Cool cloud formations!Its time to look at nature for a while. Clear, crisp cool days, and fallen leaves. Autumn's glory is passing, but I do want to revisit a few pictures of these beautiful weeks.

Its great to look at the colors and breathe the air. Sunshine, even with its November slant, just fills a person right up.

Autumn started crazy with rain and then August-like heat. But once things settled down, all the beautiful colors came in. They turned out to be quite exceptional this year, for a Virginia Autumn.


The driveway to Chelsea Academy. No comment necessary.
If you can take your eyes off that blooming red tree, you can see the Blue Ridge.
This is our stretch of the great ancient Appalachian mountain range, some of the oldest mountains in the world. They surround us in this valley; they stand over us quietly with patient faces of stone bearded with trees. At this time of year, other colors become clear in that blue horizon.





Some of the best colors this year, however, were right in our neighborhood. I love to go close to the leaves and just look at them:


We have maples too in Virginia.
Here's a rare one that I took a couple of weeks ago: I aimed the camera at a parking lot and, zoom, voila, everybody! (Except me, of course.) It has become pretty rare to get Mommy and all the kids all together in a picture in an unplanned, unguarded moment. Unfortunately, its not very clear, and I only got Eileen's back (Jojo too, but we see plenty of her in pictures). Still, it gives a sense of how the family occupies space in the Fall of 2013. (And, yes, the big guy is John Paul. There they are admidst the colors. I love these people so much!)


The Janaros in the parking lot. The one constant over the last nine years is that odd white
minivan, the fabulous antique 1993 Toyota Previa. This is the one with the engine under
the driver's seat, and what an engine it is! This van was already old when we bought it,
and the engine had a bazillion miles on it, but it was a Toyota. After nine more years and
five kids and another bazillion miles, the engine still runs sweet! Which is just as well, be-
cause if it ever did break down, there aren't any mechanics left who'd know how to fix it
(or even how to find it). No matter; the doors will fall off this van before the engine goes.
The weather has gotten cooler since then, which requires people to wear warmer clothing in the mornings when they go to the Montessori Center.


You knew I'd find a way to get her into this blog. And the pretty lunch box too!
This time of year, when I step out my front door and walk down the street, its a bright and colorful place, with the Blue Ridge mountains rising up gently beyond the curve further down the road. A few weeks ago, there was still quite a bit of green mixed with changes:


Our street, sometime late in October.
For contrast, I decided to take another picture this afternoon, as the sun was already quite low. We often have unusual angles of light this time of year. Once the trees become bare, new vistas open up. Winter is not so depressing, really. In fact it lets us see many things we can't see when the trees are full. Right now there are still some leaves, and some color, on the trees:


The low sun speckles gold light on the shadows of the mountain.
The ground is now thick with fallen leaves. Now is the time that we begin to appreciate winter greens, like the ivy in our yard. Its all the green that's left.


Time for the rake! :-)

The Chain Saw in My Brain

Jesus said to his disciples,
“Things that cause sin will inevitably occur;
but woe to the one through whom they occur.
It would be better for him if a millstone were put around his neck
and he be thrown into the sea
than for him to cause one of these little ones to sin" (Luke 17:1-2).


Oh no. Jesus said, "Woe!" That gets my attention.

<And the mental gears start to turn and turn and turn and SPIN, brroom, brrooooooom!>

"Oh woe, woe... woe to ME. I'm a crummy father, that's what I am, and my little ones are going to sin because I'm not doing enough to teach them, protect them, stop them, help them, love them, give them a good example, work them harder, appreciate them, teach them, show them, help them, I'm not doing enough, I give a bad example, I'm not doing enough, I'm not doing enough...."

<"John, TURN OFF THE CHAIN SAW!"> Says the voice of an old priest friend of mine. Its a voice in my memory, reminding me that my mind is a chain saw that cuts through obstacles and barriers to see the truth of things, but sometimes it gets turned around and then it starts cutting my brain into pieces. Turn off the chain saw! But its spinning around and I've lost control and I don't know how to shut it off!
. . . .

It can be a simple thing, like hearing the reading from this morning's Gospel. Suddenly, I am tempted to feel like Jesus is condemning me personally. I feel like I'm the person who should be thrown into the sea with the millstone around my neck; I'm the goat to whom He says, "Depart from me;" I'm the guy not properly dressed at the wedding feast; I'm the Pharisee, the hypocrite, the one who Jesus looks at and just wants to thrash.

I'm not sure whether other people are troubled in quite this way. But it troubles me. Sometimes Jesus in the gospels feels like He's hard to get close to. I feel like He's saying, "I'm not going to love you and be your friend until you straighten out your life. Go away and fix yourself and come back when you are worthy."

But I know that He isn't saying that to me.

The devil would like for me to believe these thoughts. The devil wants me to be afraid of Jesus, or to get discouraged and just give up. He meddles in all of this. But he is not running the chain saw. Nor is it (simply) a spiritual bad attitude or a lack of self-esteem or a failure by me to do this or that. Certainly my failures are abundant. But that is not where the root of this problem lies.

My brain is "tilted" -- the images and the words get associated with the wrong memories, and certain problems (that may have some basis in reality) are filtered through a hormonal/neurochemical matrix that distorts them or exaggerates their intensity. And thus the images pour through my brain and the ideas and judgments arise in my mind. Intelligence and freedom are on the scene here, but they are limping badly. This delicately constructed body-soul human person has a sickness.

We experience illness in ourselves by self-reflection. If I cut my arm, I feel the pain and I see the blood and I say, "I cut myself." That's simple enough. If I start to lose my hearing suddenly, I might be more confused. I might think, "Why is everything so quiet?" I might tell people to speak louder. I might not realize that I myself have the affliction. When the affliction involves the complexities of the brain, the nervous system, and all the factors that shape perception, it can be very difficult for me to recognize it in myself, to see that there is an illness that is hindering me in the activity of understanding and judging reality and myself.

But even with the reflective effort to understand a "mental" illness, backed by mountains of clinical and scientific study, I still lack the full emotional strength of conviction. Even as I write this, my mind says, "are you sure this isn't all baloney? Are you sure you're not the Pharisee or the hypocrite...?" The illness is so close to my sense of self, much closer than if I just had a broken leg. In the latter case, I wouldn't have these thoughts. I'd just look at my leg. (So would other people, and that would be a lot easier for them too.)

And we have also a real intersection with the self, the conscience, and freedom here. Maybe I am a bit of a Pharisee. But we must lay that to one side for the moment, and face the fact that we are dealing with a sickness. This is not a freely chosen position in front of reality. This is an affliction that distorts reality, like clouds cover the sun.

I don't know how much of a hypocrite I really am. I'm a sinner. I know that. But my mind, with all its rich intensity thwarted by distortion, can take that "negative" factor and blow it way out of proportion and focus.

What can I do, here and now? But before I take Jesus's rebukes and use them to condemn myself, can my reason enter into the matter and at least do some mental pain management?

Yes. If intelligence can still limp, it should at least limp. By limping we can move in the right direction. So in this case, I have to remember that Jesus is speaking to the whole human race, and that there are some very, very, very BAD people out there. Its not judgmental or self-righteous to acknowledge the fact that some people are knowingly and deliberately malicious; there are people who like being bad, people who decide to be bad, which is to say, to oppose what they understand to be "the Good," and not out of weakness but out of strength. Some people are like this... maybe many people are like this.

Jesus warns and threatens in graphic ways because He loves these people too. He's trying to wake them up, not just from sleep, but from a self-induced coma.

This is a reasonable supposition for me to make, but it does not follow that I can sit down and decide who those really, really bad people are. Another person's freedom does not manifest itself so plainly to us. It plays itself out within all the complexity of a particular human person of body and soul and so many hindrances including those I've described above, We know what's good and what's evil, but since we can't read hearts, we can't really judge to what extent someone is willfully bad and to what extent they are afflicted and distorted because they are sick, or wounded by life, or carrying terrible hidden sufferings. Only Jesus can know that. He knows what each person needs to hear.

Jesus is Compassionate Truth: He is
the Truth who comes to dwell with us.
He is Mercy who has come to save us.I'm a sinner. I want to follow Jesus, but I'm weak. Yes, I sin. Sometimes stubbornly. But Compassionate Truth comes to get me. Truth is hard, but its also my companion that helps me up each step and sometimes even carries me. It deeply understands my weakness and how to work it into strength, with patience. The voice of Jesus to me is always the voice of "Compassionate Truth." I'm a sinner. Jesus loves sinners. He came to save sinners.

If I read the Gospel and feel condemned by it and rejected as an evil person, that is not Jesus talking. Its not my conscience talking. Its depression that's talking; its obsessive compulsive disorder that's talking; its this complex affliction that's talking, blowing my faults completely out of proportion. I'm sensitive, perceptive, and I think deeply, but my neurological / psychological / emotional condition sends all of that down the sink toward the negative: All I can hear is "Maybe I'm the bad one. Why is He so mad at me? I feel terrible about myself!" If I find vanity, self-centeredness, or mixed motives in myself (as I inevitably will), the chain saw starts cutting and digging in to get the badness, to get every bit of it, but it never finds it all, it never gets it out. So it keeps cutting....

And if I happen to be feeling okay with Jesus, I can easily find something else to obsess about and get down on myself: I worry about the next doctor's appointment, the next writing deadline, trying to sleep or accomplish other basic life tasks that should be easy, or getting sick or dying, whatever. The chain saw looks for things to cut. Sometimes I get a handle on it, and I see that it can be used to build, to open up places, and to bring order and clarity to the world outside of myself. But its hard to keep it turned in the direction of reality and the task at hand.

I've had forty years of this kind of stuff (not all the time, but on and off, dormant then triggered... more recently, much better but far from cured). I've learned to deal with the medical and emotional aspects, and do that as much as is necessary. "Success" here is not "being medication and therapy free" -- success is having things more or less in perspective (if meds and therapy are necessary for that, for however long, its no big deal... I thank God for the help).

And I also have to tell my mind: "Listen to the voice of Compassionate Truth, of mercy. Tell the condemnations to SHUT UP!"

Its not easy, but its possible. It can be done. I have learned over the years, however, that it cannot be done alone.

The Internet: Are We Addicted, or Do We Just Use It Too Much?

You're online a lot. Probably much more that you would like to admit on any survey. Lets face it: you worry sometimes that you might be "addicted" to the Internet.

(Of course I'm just using the editorial "you" in this post. I'm not implying that you, personally, dear reader, have any kind of problem like this.)



Okay, first of all, I certainly recognize that this can be a real problem. The Internet is powerful, stimulating, and easily accessible. I expect that it can trigger or exacerbate various mental disorders, chemical imbalances, or other neurodysfunctions.

It can also shorten people's attention spans, make them more gullible, more argumentative, and more scattered and distracted in their hearts. The Internet is an almost inexhaustible resource for people to get themselves into all sorts of trouble and preoccupations about things that they can't change and therefore shouldn't worry about because, really, this stuff is none of their business.

The medium lends itself to being misused in these ways. There is also easy access to information and images that can positively fracture the human personality. That's another topic. I have nothing to do with that (nor, as far as I know, do any of the other five people who actually read this blog). But I know all about how the Internet can be distracting.

Of course, I use the Internet for good reasons! I use it for "research," and writing, and to encourage people, and to communicate edifying things, and to learn about important events, and to be a presence on this "digital continent" (as Benedict XVI called it). I want to be in the vanguard of the NEW EVANGELIZATION!

Clearly I have a well-ordered, balanced, virtuous, unselfish approach to using the Internet. Right?





HA! Not even close. I'm hooked just like everybody else.

I am trying to use it well. Some days I do better than others. I'm convinced that its good to be online, and so -- inspired by that great battle cry of G. K. Chesterton, "If a thing is worth doing, its worth doing badly!" -- I march forward on the digital continent. I must learn and grow, here... just like everywhere else. Meanwhile, I pray that the Lord will "write straight" with my rather crooked lines.

All of this is fine, as far as it goes. I know that I'm not a person who is called to give up all electronic devices and go live on an Amish farm. Even there, I think I would probably develop an "inordinate," self-centered attachment to my plow, or my patch of ground, or even my sense of having kept myself pure from the lures of the modern world. I don't need the Internet to be distracted. I can distract myself very well just with my own mind.

Truly, I mean no disparagement here to Amish farmers, nor to agrarians in general. I love agrarians. I have many agrarian friends. I love to read agrarian blogs (heh!) -- We are all given different gifts by the Lord. We can all help and learn from one another.

And I appreciate their gifts... especially when they are gifts of FOOD. Milk from grazing cows. Eggs from ... chickens! I mean straight from the chicken -- eggs that have not been subjected to the approval of 15 different bureaucratic agencies after traveling two thousand miles in a refrigerated truck. Squash, cucumbers, spinach in all of their glorious genetic originality, in all their various shapes and sizes and even with marks where real bugs (!) chewed on them. Bring on the food!

Its great. But I'm not a farmer. I'm a nerd.

Okay, some folks would say I'm an "intellectual" (frankly, I think I prefer the term "nerd"). I'm a thinker, and (I hope) a knower. I want to learn about reality and help others to learn, to see how fascinating everything is, and how many facets of reality there are to consider.

I'm a teacher.

I'm a nerdy teacher. My wife can come to the office at the John XXIII Center and ask me to give a "short introduction" to "the Middle Ages" for 9-12 year old kids. When? In a few minutes.

I told her I would need a large map of Europe and the Mediterranean. And then I went out and started talking to the kids. No notes. No prep. And it was interesting.

I can do the same thing in writing, though not as quickly as when I was younger. And its not easy, although it appears easy (to others and, unfortunately, often to me also... until its too late). It takes a ton of energy, and yet I love it in a way that verges on compulsive. Nevertheless, in the present circumstances of life all of this means that I have the capacity to do some good on the Internet. I think....

But there's more to it. There are more fundamental reasons why I feel called to write and to teach and to just be a human being using the New Media, even with their dangers and distractions. Its about the fact that, in all our efforts to communicate through whatever medium and in whatever context, we are persons living in relationship with other persons. Communication is always personal. If it is not a gift of self, it becomes sterile.

The Internet can easily distract us from the fact that we are persons who are called to be gifts to one another, called to give and receive love. Here, just like everywhere else, the person is on the line.

And I see that this is true. I see the possibility of giving myself and appreciating others in this land of symbols and images and words, this "digital continent" that is so revealing and obscuring, so full of lights and sounds and colors and pathways and signs that play upon (or strengthen and deepen) our longing to see in full the face that looks upon us with love.

Those Merciful Hands

Our sins are also in God's hands,
those merciful hands
with their "wounds" of love.
It is not by chance
that Jesus wanted
to preserve the wounds on his hands
to make us feel his mercy.
This is our strength and our hope!

 - Pope Francis

Remembering November 2005 (cont.): From Car Crash to Baby?

I prayed for a baby in 2005. So how did we get to HERE?
Here is the continuation and conclusion of the previous post from All Souls Day. It was originally posted on November 6, 2011, and it appears here with some revisions and updating.
I hope its not presumptuous of me to see the mysterious workings of God's providence in all of this muddle. Picking up where we left off, I had just been in a major car accident (which was totally. my. fault.), where my vehicle went off the road because I was rushing to get back from the monastery where I had gone to pray that morning. My heart was full of sorrow as I prayed for the soul of a very close friend who had just killed himself after a long struggle with major depression. I had prayed (hastily) nine Divine Mercy chaplets for his soul, his family, and that we (the Janaros) would have another baby. How did that last one get on the list of intentions? I was barely on top of my heath at this time, but I had a hope in my heart. I didn't know when; I was just hoping I might be well enough..., we were following the Catholic Church's teaching, of course, in these matters. I was hoping I might get well and stay well. Instead, I was about to get sicker. I had a major concussion, but didn't know it... yet.  

------------------

“I’m fine,” I told myself.

I had "walked away" from it all with nothing but a traffic ticket (which I fully deserved). The car was totaled. I felt shaken up, a little overwhelmed, a little out of joint.
It was a Friday afternoon by the time things settled down and I had my rental car. I decided it would be a good idea to see my chiropractor on Monday, so I made an appointment. Then I tried to push my way through the many activities of a busy weekend.

Something wasn’t quite right.

Indeed it wasn’t. I should have been in bed. Complete rest will slow the progress of neurological damage after a concussion. Running around like crazy can make it worse.

I ran around like crazy through the rest of Friday and Saturday. Crazy in more ways than one. I became increasingly confused. But not enough to stop me from getting through my business.

Then on Sunday I started losing my balance.

Oh no, I thought. Here goes Lyme disease again! There are so many diverse symptoms that can accompany a Lyme flare-up that you tend to thing the buggers are stirring whenever things don't feel right. (Who knows? Maybe they are....) I was also fatigued, but that was nothing new. And confused.

Monday morning I made the short drive to the chiropractor. By then it had been 72 hours. I was slow-minded, confused, and had balance problems. I wasn’t feeling very well, but I was used to not feeling well. Neither my wife or I realized that I shouldn’t have been driving anywhere at that point.

The doctor looked at me for a few seconds, and then asked, “is your wife at home?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Call her, and if she can’t get you we’ll call an ambulance. You need to go to the emergency room right away. You’ve got a concussion.”

“A what?”

That’s what it was, all right. I couldn’t even take a few steps with my eyes closed without falling over. The ER doctors explained the basics to me, and my own doctor and a neurologist followed up. I had a major concussion. I was ordered off my feet for a week. I was told it might take a couple of months to recover normal brain functioning. Meanwhile I was supposed to take it easy and avoid stress as much as possible....

“Ah...heh, heh...I’m a teacher...ha...y’know, taking care of students, grueling lectures, papers, finals, senior theses coming up....” Stress? That’s the job description.

What could I do? We were two thirds of the way through the semester. I couldn’t just bail out on my “kids” (as I always used to call my students). So I worked six brutal weeks, laying down with splitting headaches between lectures, wearing sunglasses to cut light sensitivity, seeing students in my home as much as possible, and even having a few read their papers to me aloud. I needed pain medication to get my grades done, which contributed further to wearing down my immune system. This was just like asking for a relapse.

I finished the grades. But my overall health was a wreck. And the concussion wasn’t healing. I had headaches. I had increasing difficulty following a conversation. And although I could still lecture, I was finding it harder to put words together in ordinary circumstances. I was still losing my balance.

By the middle of January, instead of being at opening weekend for the Spring semester, I was in the hospital. I seemed like I was back to square one. Sick as a dog. The college gave me a medical leave of absence. My entire Spring semester of 2006 was cancelled. BAM!

Needless to say, I was demoralized and depressed.

Why had this happened?

When I got out of the hospital, I did nothing but rest for two months. I played games with my children. My limitations forced a certain simplicity upon me. The anger faded, and I began to heal. I also began to see a Catholic psychotherapist. This too was the beginning of a whole new dimension in living with my illness.

I was forced to rest, and I began to heal.

On the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, the college chaplain came to visit me and gave me Holy Communion. Something began on that day, something that has slowly grown in me even in the midst of many subsequent setbacks in physical and mental health. Something deep in me began to heal. I was being prepared for a new task in my life.

As I began to feel better, I started working out. My strength returned, and with it a measure of energy that I had not felt in years. I started working on papers for publication (ended up publishing two papers that spring), and by March I was doing everything but classroom lecturing. The previous year, I had patched myself together to return to my work. But now, I was beginning to feel well.

Healing, as it turned out, has proven to be a much more complicated task than it appeared in those months. Still this temporary health was a blessing, and though I’ve had many setbacks and struggles since then, God has brought us through them all in a way that has made it possible for me to give attention to what was closest to my heart.

Indeed, it was this window of health that made possible the great gift that I had prayed for on that November morning.

Eileen and I prayed in those months, about a possibility. We talked about it. We knew there were risks. But we judged in faith that God wanted us to take them. We prayed for another child.

And God blessed us. Thus also -- in an unexpected way -- God granted my prayer from that November morning.

If we had seen the road ahead, with all its trials, would we have had the courage?

It is good that life is in the hands of God. Because looking back at that difficult road, we see even the darkest places lit up by the face of our beloved Josefina, and we have never had the slightest regret.

God’s ways are mysterious, and I still do not know how His answer to my prayers for sufficient health and strength will unfold. But I do know that I was struggling with work and keeping my head above water in those days. This was an absorbing focus of my energies, and there was no thought of another child and no intent to actively seek one. We were always intent on adhering to Christ present in the teaching of the Church, and we had many friends to encourage us and share this adherence with us. Thus we did not (nor have we ever) use artificial contraception. Still, we were not actively seeking to have another child.

At our age, we were almost resigned to the idea that Teresa would be the "baby" of our family. Back in November of 2005, there was only a desire and a prayer, reaching out to some wild unknown future.

We were a family of four children and a father who struggled with his health and the burdens of a difficult job. Then the burden and the struggle were taken off my shoulders. I was forced to rest, in body and in mind. From this rest I found energy and health (even though, as it turned out, only for a time, and as a preparation for new trials that I have already described on this blog). This time engendered in us the hope and the willingness to risk asking for an unlikely gift, and a space was opened in the history of our family for another child.

Without that accident that God permitted to happen as a consequence of my foolishness, there probably never would have been a Josefina Janaro.

Can anyone imagine this family without her?

Thus what seemed miserable at the time became the beginning of an immeasurable good. And it was not my plan that produced this but God, who works everything for the good.

I think perhaps He allows us to perceive His wisdom at work, or at least to glimpse it a little, enough to muster the courage to take risks.

Remembering All Souls Day 2005

The beautiful morning of November 2, 2005. I took this picture to remember the
peace I found that morning. I had no idea what would happen a hour later.[Since I can't tell the story any better, here is a revised version of my post from November 2, 2011. Mysterious and traumatic memories....]

I woke up very early on a crisp, clear morning, and a thought immediately took shape in my mind.

It was All Souls Day, November 2, 2005.

For the past several weeks, I had been carrying around the awful burden and the anguish of my friend’s suicide (see posts from October 2011: The Middle of October and I Cannot Leave Them Alone).

My plan was as clear as it was sudden: I decided to drive up to the monastery that morning. It was not yet dawn. I could get there in time for Mass, make a holy hour for my friend’s soul and his family, confess and speak with my spiritual director, and drive back just in time for my 10:30 class.

I was in my first semester back to teaching after my first struggle with Lyme disease. During the past year I had undergone extensive treatment. I appeared to be in remission, but I still found that I had to pace myself. My health still seemed precarious. This too weighed on me.

And yet on this morning, the world felt light. Anything seemed possible.

I drove up to Holy Cross Cistercian Monastery in Berryville, Virginia on old familiar country roads as the sun came up. And I had another idea. I decided to pray a novena of chaplets to the Divine Mercy: in the next hour I said nine chaplets in a row–this precious novena that we pray on the days between Good Friday and Mercy Sunday, this novena that I prayed in 1995 that God might send me the woman he wanted me to marry and send her “soon” (Eileen called a couple of weeks later and said she wanted to move to Virginia), the chaplet of Divine Mercy that I say every day, that played such an important role in my mature conversion to the Church and has been a continual source of sustenance and consolation and nourishment in building up my life.

I prayed this novena of chaplets as part of my devotions that morning and I had three intentions: (1) for the soul of my friend, and the consolation of his family; (2) for the restoration of my health; (3) that we might have another child.

Teresa was about to turn three. We had our four beautiful children–for a couple that got started in their thirties, we felt blessed. We were grateful. And I was still sick. I was taking a lot of medications. Yet, on that morning, something in me was moved to pray for this, to desire it ardently. Another child. Every child is a miracle and a gift from God. It was a little bold on my part to ask for another, especially since I hadn’t even talked to Eileen. But it was a secret desire in my fatherly heart, and I brought it to God that morning, along with my prayer for the soul of my friend.

I got to the monastery in time for the end of Mass, made my hour of prayer, and then was able to see Fr. Edward, the beloved old Trappist monk who guided me for nine years of my life, whose advice on prayer, silence, the presence of God and the living of human relationships still remains rooted in me. (He helped me for two more years, but he had to go to a nursing home finally, when his mind had become as simple as his prayer; for him perhaps a blessing, but a loss–in one way, at least–for me. He died in July of 2012. May God grant him eternal glory.)

The day seemed kissed by God. The silence of the monastery was a great balm for my aching soul, the words of Fr. Edward were wise, the fall air was fresh and the colors majestic. I took a few pictures with my camera. It had been a beautiful morning, like a taste of heaven.

I looked at my watch and realized that I had to leave in order to get back in time for class. Any former student of mine reading this remembers my Mediterranean sense of time, always “a little late.” I was trying to correct this bad habit. I was determined to be on time for class.

Oh, but first I had to stop in quickly to the gift shop to get a prayer card for the family. That took just a little too much time....

Well, I would just have to make up the time by driving faster on the way back.

God’s grace meets my stupidity. Again. How does He put up with me?

*Dear people, listen to me. DON’T DO THIS! Drive safely. Don’t speed. Don’t think, “I can handle it. I know the road.” A car, when it loses control, can become an instrument of death – for you, or for other innocent people. I don’t care how good you may think you are, or how many times you’ve driven over that road, there are speed limits for a reason. It only takes one mistake, one mechanical failure, one queer obstacle on the road, one slip of the mind, one misjudgment. Yes, life is full of risks, but this is an unnecessary risk. Slow down, pay attention, stop worrying, drive your car safely. Do it for the sake of your family, of other drivers, of yourself.*

. . .

Speeding along and worrying about being on time. The old car’s got a pretty bouncy suspension. Country roads. Watch the curves. Here’s a nice straight stretch. No cars coming the other way.

Oh, railroad tracks. THUNK. What was...?

Airborne.

Heading toward the side. There’s a tree. A tree. Me, the air, and a tree in autumn bloom...in a split second of high speed.

The tree whizzed passed just to the left of the car.

Grass wheels hit spin around I’m bouncing everywhere STOP.

Alone.

Thank God there was no one else coming the other way. Thank God. God forgive me.

. . .

“Are you sure you’re alright sir?” the policeman asked. “Do you want us to take you to the hospital?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” I was sitting on the ground. I was staring. He asked more than once.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

A concussion only begins at the time of impact. The brain hits the inside of the skull, and there is a cascade of neurological damage that takes place over the course of the next 72 hours.

*You've just been in a serious car accident? YOU ARE NOT “OKAY”! Get yourself checked out.*

I got into the tow truck with the driver.

The car was totaled. It was an old car, and only had liability insurance. This accident was a solo job. “I’m okay, though” I said to myself, feeling only a little dazed in the head as the reverberation of the concussion continued to shred neuropathways in my brain.

“What happened to this beautiful day?” I wondered. “What about my prayers? My novena? And the sense that God was taking care of me? How does this fit in?”

How indeed? It was the beginning of a mysterious and dramatic period in my life. November 2, 2005. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.


to be continued....

Josefina's Birthday: Our Miracle Girl Turns Seven!

Right out in our yard!So we bid October goodbye again. Autumn has finally come to the Valley and the trees are "blooming." This one in our front yard has never looked better. There are glorious colors all around the neighborhood.

So much colorOf course, the daylight is shrinking. And for me, this stretch of time remains full of memories: mysterious and traumatic memories. I've written about these events before (see posts from Oct.& Nov. in 2011 and 2012).

One of them, of course, was the unexpected premature birth of Josefina on October 26, 2006. It was the beginning of her seven month stay in NICU and PICU, with the surgeries and the ups and downs and the waiting....

A few days ago, Josefina celebrated her seventh birthday. No, that's not a mistake: she is seven years old, as in "7". S-E-V-E-N. I'm talking about this child right here:


You still have to watch where you sit, or you might mistake her for a pillow!
She weighs 34 pounds and is barely three feet tall. She's a little tweety bird! If her voice were any higher pitched, only dogs would be able to hear it. She wears size 4T, and there are four year olds who are taller and heaver than she is. She climbs around like a monkey, and is quick to perch on my shoulders at every opportunity. My shoulders don't always feel up to it, but I try to bear up if I can... after all, she weighs almost nothing.

Don't worry, she was totally latched on, arms and legs. I was choking to death, but.... (just kidding!)
Its true that she got a very pretty haircut recently, which makes her look more mature. But gosh, she still fits into the Lamby costume that Eileen made for the kids when they were toddlers. Somewhere there's a picture of Lucia at age three practically bursting out this thing. Nobody has ever come close to wearing it at the age of seven.

Okay, I'll admit its bit tight, but still... she's a little lamby!
I'm beginning to suspect that Jojo might actually be a hobbit!

Seriously, she looks like a five year old who is on the small side. But she eats and digests normally. The doctor is not worried; all of this is still not unusual for a pre-mee with her circumstances. She is healthy and certainly has lots of energy (whew!). Mentally she ranges from preschooler to first grader. But she's coming along well. I pay a lot of attention to her, and I can tell she is going through a lot of development, even though its hard to believe since the "package" looks the same.

How old? I don't know. I'm pretty sure she still wears that outfit though!
Of course, she's bigger than her NICU days. Here is such a tiny little being, surrounded by what
Paul Hewson calls "science and the human heart." I often see her today and want to cry with
gratitude, to God and also to many people. Human beings can do so much good, if they choose.
Because I've been home so much in these years, I've spent a lot more time with her than I did with the other four during these early years of their development. I haven't replaced her mother (and, thank God, she's with her mother very much, even if sometimes its in the classroom). No one can "replace" a mother, who is so very different, in an essential way, from a father. Even when the father is the parent who is the "anchor" in the house (i.e. he's there every day, except when everyone goes out), he remains the father.

And he needs to come through and be the father, even in unusual circumstances and with disabilities. He doesn't have to be afraid of these limits; in fact, the children will learn some special things by being with him -- things that they may not have otherwise learned: things about flexibility, about their own important and active place in the family, about compassion.

But still, aren't fathers wrapped around the little fingers of their cute little daughters?

Somewhat, yes. But I don't pamper her all the time. Really, honestly, I don't! I can only be hoodwinked so far. I have three other daughters, so I have a little experience here. And I've learned a thing or two from Montessori about encouraging the child to grow without artificial praise, and disciplining her (whenever possible) by breaking down the problem and offering her possibilities to choose.

Of course, there's plenty of the old fashioned hollering. If we're leaving for Mass in two minutes: "put those socks on NOW!" Stuff like that. You all know how it is.

On the other hand, we sat for a couple of hours the other day with a globe and just talked about different countries and continents, and the North Pole and South Pole and the arc-a-tic kir-kul (Wait, wait, what kinds of sounds are made by "c"? You have a "c" and an "i" there...).

She's fascinated by geography and finding places, as she pipes away in her "helium-balloon" voice.
And so we celebrated here birthday and had lots of fun:

When it comes to opening her own presents, Jojo doesn't need any help.
But she's still thrilled by something like a pink ball (because its her ball).
But she also loves her new paint project set.
And then came Halloween. Here's Lucia, Teresa and Josefina in what I call "minimalist" Halloween costumes.

Josefina is a "Native American" girl. Most people thought she was Pocahontas. Even though
she fits into the "Lamby" costume, she didn't want to be a Lamby. So Mommy got creative
at the last minute, with the help of some feathers, a headband, and a dress she wears a lot.
Teresa, who turns 11 next month, is a "Cow Person" (LOL!) Hat, vest, and rope: all in stock; no purchase necessary.
Lucia (age 13) is taking French this year. So she put on a knitted beret, e voila! -- La Femme Francaise!
(Lucia is becoming a beautiful young lady. I'd love to write a blog about her, but she's shy...  )
Well, that's a pretty good update as we enter the month of November. Don't tell me that the year has gone by "fast," because it has done no such thing. It has been some kind of wild and wacky year. A lot of things have happened, and we still have two months to go.

May the Lord show us the beauty of every moment.

Blessed Chiara Badano: My "Spiritual Kid Sister"

I probably talk to Chiara Luce Badano more than any other saint (except for Mary). I ask her to pray for a lot of things. I don't think I've asked for a miracle; I pray for many concerns (my own and those of others) where her intercession remains hidden, although I believe that she does intercede and that she is great and deeply inserted within the heart of Jesus.
There are some saints that I listen to, primarily -- which is not to say that I "hear voices," but rather that I learn from their teachings and the counsel they gave during their lives. Augustine, Benedict, and Bernard; Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure; Ignatius, Francis De Sales, Therese, Padre Pio, Edith Stein, Mother Teresa, John Paul II (although I talk to him a lot too).
Chiara Luce is like a kid sister (she would be 42 years old if she were alive today).
It seems easy to talk to Chiara Luce from within myself. She's a simple heart. She left no treatises and not many words, although the few we have are precious. But I want to ask her to pray for me and my children and our family; to pray for "young people," certainly (that's her special assignment), but also for all the suffering people I know -- especially people who have cancer with all of their grueling struggles. She's been through all that, and not long ago. She's also close to shut-ins and people with chronic pain; people whose lives are derailed by illness (young, middle aged or old).
I think she has a special understanding and a special compassion for those (like me) who suffer from mental illness. When she was in the hospital, she gave her time and her companionship to another woman suffering from depression (even though Chiara herself was in great pain and in need of rest). When she was younger, she once told her mother not to speak harshly about the drug addicts. "They are the lepers of our time," she said.
There's another reason why I am moved to open my soul to her. She was known in life to be an exceptionally good listener. She gave time to her friends, listened to their problems and doubts, and took things into her heart. She once said that she didn't speak much to people about Jesus, but just tried to be a living witness and instrument of His love.
Chiara Luce never condemns me. She is never harsh.
Yet the witness of her life scares me out of my wits. (And she knows that too.) Her life makes it so clear that this "Jesus" thing is really real; its not a mind game. It means tossing it all up and following Him wherever He leads me. Scared? I don't think I even understand what it means to surrender everything, to become His Love, with no regard for my own interest. I feel overwhelmed. I can't get it inside my head.
Not to mention the fact that I'm just so plain old fashioned selfish. The Lord is teaching me through life and suffering, mercifully and with great patience. And Chiara Luce will stay with me and listen to me and be my friend along the way. I don't deserve the attention of so great a heart.
And I bring her the needs and intentions that people ask me to pray for. O yeah. Because she's the real deal. You should ask her to intercede for you, in bearing pain and suffering, and to grow in the love of God.
Ask her to pray for you. And expect miracles.

This is an unofficial (i.e. non-liturgical) English translation of the Collect for her feast day. My hope is that God's grace will indeed "transform deeply my soul" -- beginning with an attraction to this light of love, a desire to live with this serene trust.
Father of infinite goodness, who through the merits of your Son and the gift of the Spirit have set alight with love Blessed Chiara Badano, transform deeply our soul so that, following her example, we too become capable of always doing Your holy will with serene trust. Through Our Lord Jesus Christ your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God forever and ever, Amen.