John Janaro's Blog, page 306

My 50th Birthday: Surprised by Gratitude

Some "dead soldiers" (and some still living) from my 50th birthday party.
Looks like seltzer was popular. Of the food there is not a crumb left!January 2, 2013 has come and gone. I more than survived it. It was an occasion of joy and gratitude.

My beloved Eileen put together a simple and intimate party with just my brother and a few friends: people who have been walking the road with me for more than 30 years. There was food and conversation, sharing of memories and expression of hopes. The kids were with us too. It was a happy time.
We had beer and wine, but as crafted beverages, taken in very modest quantities. This is how old folks party. This is how we  roll.
I enjoyed a quiet time all day, but the beginning made a deep impression in me. It was a specially blessed time, a "birthday gift" I suppose, and it was a surprise. Remembering Christ is always a surprise.
I got up early in the morning, rubbed my eyes and vegetated for a few minutes (like every other morning), and then remembered the existence of God. So I started to pray, and I was drawn to thank God for my life. I felt as if I didn't have a heart big enough to contain the gratitude that spilled out.

I went to the church early for Mass, said the morning prayer of the Hours, and then -- hoping there would be confession after Mass -- found myself making a pretty thorough examination of conscience. It seemed to unfold naturally and peacefully before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, without any mischief-making by the OCD gremlins in my brain. The gremlins had the day off. Instead I was drawn to a lucid gaze on this, and that, and this, and that, and it was with sorrow that I saw -- in all my circumstances -- selfishness, grasping, and pride nipping away at so many earnest and good aspirations and efforts, and defining so many others.
Yet Jesus and His mercy were there, and so I was not beating up on myself (as I am so often tempted to do). I was repenting, and placing before God my "desire for the desire" to recognize Him and love Him well, and offering everything...even the pride. Take me, Jesus, in all this mess; love me especially in those places in my heart where I don't even know I need You.
"God resists the proud" -- I know this is true, Jesus, but I'm begging You to take me with all my pride because I don't know what to do with it. Make me humble and true. It will take a miracle, but I come to You as the blind man did, begging You to give me my sight, with faith that You -- and only You -- can work this miracle in me. And I also know that even with my repeated forgetfulness and failure, the miracle is still happening. Jesus I trust in You.
It turned out there were no confessions after Mass that day. I can still go this weekend or next week, and the superabundance of His healing mercy will be given, even if I don't "feel" it then. He will complete what He has begun.
But at the moment I felt disappointed. Things weren't proceeding according to the "script" of the penitential pilgrim on his 50th birthday (oh good grief!). I was tempted to be frustrated. Its so easy to take what God gives us and turn it into a project. But oh well. There was still Jesus in the Eucharist.
Jesus in the Eucharist, really present. Jesus!
The Eucharist is the way the Jesus "takes" us and changes us. We are afflicted by those "daily sins"--the fact that they are not grave sins does not mean we should ignore them. They damage us, distort us, and render our witness opaque. They wound and cripple us; how can we recover and grow? The sacraments are remedies that heal.
The Sacraments! Jesus in the Eucharist, always with us, giving Himself to us. Thank you, Lord!
Jesus in the sacrament of Reconciliation. We bring our fractured selves and He floods us with mercy. He restores the grace of God lost by grave sin; indeed there is no sin that is too great for His mercy.
And there is strength in this mercy that shapes the heart, that renews us and draws us beyond the daily faults that hinder (even if they do not break) our relationship with Jesus. These are the sins that we acknowledge at Mass: "I have greatly sinned...through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault." We need to let Him draw us close to His heart. Confession is not a burden. It is a blessing. Bring your troubled, anxious hearts to the fountain of mercy and healing. Go to Confession! Just go. Make it part of your life!
Its a tremendous thing to realize, suddenly, that we don't have to "do" this alone. Jesus is here for us. That's what the sacraments mean. We don't have to conjure up an imaginary Jesus in our minds so that we can "feel" His forgiveness and His strength. Jesus is here. He acts. He gets involved with our lives and makes things happen.
I'm 50 years old. I've had all kinds of thoughts about the challenges of this venerable age (see the previous post). But in the Eucharist I was given gratitude; I had a taste of the thanksgiving that is so much more than a polite acknowledgement, the thanksgiving that wells up in the center of life, with the awareness that I exist as a gift, in the image of God. And that Eternal Love is calling me to His embrace, in moments and gestures and words. I am not defined by my faults and limits (although, so often, it seems that way). The meaning of my life is this gentle calling, and the grace and mercy it contains.
Its not a one way relationship that I construct. In the Eucharist He gives Himself to me. If I allow Him to work in me, He will open my soul, and create in me the capacity to love Him. It is a love and a life that He gives to me.
The Eucharist. Jesus.
Thank you, Lord, for everything.

Good Advice For JJ's Blog!!!

From Holy Cross Abbey (Cistercian), Berryville, Virginia












"To speak of God, we must leave him room,
trusting that he will act in our weakness.We must make room for him without fearbut with simplicity and joy,in the deep convictionthat the more we put him at the centerrather than ourselves,the more fruitful our communication will be."
Benedict XVI

What is "2013"? The Number on My Mind is "50"!!!

Its sneaking up on me, accompanied by that increasingly intense theme music (dum-dum-dum) that everyone my age remembers from the movie Jaws, you know...when the shark is stalking its victim.

Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum: January 2, 2013.

As the ancient peoples used to say, "I have seen many winters."

Or as I like to put it, "I have seen many Spring Trainings."   [If you're scratching your head on that one, its because your not a baseball fan.]

Sigh. I can do this! As the noted American philosopher Satchel Paige once said, "Age is just mind over matter: if you don't mind, it doesn't matter" (and he was still pitching at age 60!).

I don't "mind" at all, really. (Really!) But I have been thinking about it a lot, and also about the wild, head-spinning half century that I have seen in this world, and the unique experience that has made up my own peculiar life. I may as well express some of these thoughts.


Thoughts and observations about the approaching FIVE-OH!

(1) When my Dad turned 50, I was about to graduate from college.

(2) Most Americans at this age have empty nests. They are past parenting, and sometimes even grandparents. They're itchy and looking for something to do. I'm up to my neck in parenthood on various levels, from teens to munchkins who skin their knees and cry and want band-aids for nothing.

(3) Sometimes I read blogs of millennials, and I laugh my head off when they say things like, "Gosh, I was the only person in the group who wasn't over fifty years old!" Well, let me tell you, we feel a lot younger on the inside than we look on the outside. And we still have plenty to offer. :-)

(4) I read this somewhere and thought it was funny: "Inside of every old person there's a young person trying to figure out what happened!!!" 

(5) I remember my mother's 50th birthday. We went on a pilgrimage to the National Shrine in Washington DC. I was a graduate student (!). I was 26 years old, in fact.

(6) In my profession, 50 is the prime of life. Theologians and philosophers "peak" in their fifties and sixties. Everything up to now has been "youthful," "early" work. Finally, its time to get serious!

(7) I got married at age 33. The age range of my children makes me feel like I should be ten years younger. Josefina is only six years old. She has friends whose parents are pretty much half my age.

(8) Note to all those anxious novena-praying twenty-something single ladies out there: Eileen was 29 when we got married, and we have five beautiful children. You can have plenty of children in your thirties, without even having to rush.  So don't give up and don't panic.

(9) Why did I wait so long? What a dummy! No, I know why. Crazy Rome, but so good, and it solidified certain things in me. Who knows? Maybe Rome is still in the future. One of my friends might become Pope (haha, that's actually not totally impossible, but, eh...I'm not worrying about that now). All my meandering turned out for the best. It shows that we have to be patient and trust God to work even through the messes we make. And now Eileen and I are going on 17 years. Time is a mysterious thing.

More advice for the single ladies club: So yeah, patience. Nevertheless, I'll give you some "silly" advice. That good Catholic young man who is your "friend"? I was a bachelor for a long time. Let me tell you a secret. There is something that every single young man wants: FOOD! Really, they want food. They don't know how much they want food. Cook for that man! I speak from personal experience; I was conquered by a loaf of exotic fresh baked bread! 

I'm not being "sexist" here. Its just a fact that you are better than him at it! If you can't cook, learn! You'll learn fast, don't worry. He actually may be able to cook food very well, but he does not know how to feed himself. And he will never learn. He'll be great at cooking one thing, and he'll eat it every. single. night. Hahaha. 

In any case the basic thing to remember is that the twenty-something single Catholic man is a barbarian. I don't care what he has a doctorate in, I assure you the man doesn't know what socks to put on. He is pitiful. Civilize him! If he's called to the priesthood, it doesn't matter because all he needs to wear is black. But if not, he needs you! 

Haha, okay some guys know how to dress. But there is something he fumbles with in life without even realizing it, and if he's really the man for you, you will find it if you look for it. I'm not talking about wimpy guys here; I'm talking about good men. That's the key: find the things he doesn't even realize he's missing. They are signs of deeper things of the heart, and this is what its really all about. If he's truly called to celibacy, God will more than make up for it with his grace, above all in those deep places of the heart (and he'll wear black). Otherwise, he needs you! 

Well, that's my advice just tossed out to people I don't know, based on my own experience and that of numerous formerly clueless single urban professional friends who are now all happily married. Meanwhile, keep trusting in God, ladies. He has a plan for you. And if its not marriage, He will use your "feminine genius" in some other mysterious and wonderful way. Be the great woman God made you to be.

(10) Seriously, single men or single women, whatever your age and your competence, you are very much loved by God, and you can live your circumstances as an extraordinarily fruitful commitment. Paths of life are as unique as people. But remember, if you don't actually make a commitment to be single, God can still surprise you. He's good at that. If He does, it won't be some dreamy thing, though. It will be something that pokes you out of your comfort zone. I've seen all kinds of things. Trust and don't worry.

(11) Its beautiful to see the younger generation maturing and accomplishing things in the world, with their own experience and energy. I really enjoy working and interacting with solid adults who weren't even born when I graduated college.

(12) Really, in some ways I feel more like I'm turning 40. Of course, my forties have been a weird decade. Part of me wants to erase it from my life, but no! It was good for me. I'm leaner (literally) and tougher than when I turned 40. And I have learned that God is in charge, and that I am not smart. I'm just a poor human being. I don't know nuthin' about nuthin' and that's that. The "sophomore" period of my life is over. Am I ready to be an upper classman?

(13) People who are usually younger than me now: doctors, lawyers, parish priests, store owners, journalists, mechanics, students (of course), parents who still have children at home, all athletes, engineers, stockbrokers, middle and even upper-middle business management people, police, and the majority of everybody else.

(14) People who are usually my age or  older than me still: popes, cardinals, presidents, heads of state, most bishops, CEOs (other than those who head wacky companies like Facebook), grandparents, Plato's "philosopher king" (minimum age 50), ummm, ummm... great-grandparents!, and also many accomplished scholars and thinkers, especially in theology or the humanities (hey, if you make a defining contribution in these fields before age 50 you're a wunderkind).

(15) I'm grateful that I get to spend most of the day, every day, with a lively, happy 6 year old girl.

(16) Of course that means I'll be pulling my white hairs out during my sixties! ;)

(17) I hope I live a long time, with better health and some energy. Of course, I throw myself upon the mercy of God and His loving Mother, for life and -- I pray -- in my final breath, whenever it may come. Still, I have human hopes, which I try to offer with trust in God's wisdom and mercy. I want Eileen and I to be around for the kids (and grandkids). I want us to be there for them as they embark on their vocations, and into their middle age when they start hitting those big bumps. I want us to be there for them like our parents have been for us. And I want to grow old with Eileen and read poetry together, and go to Rome with her again. These are things I hope for, if it be God's will.

(18) Yes, I want to know Jesus and the joy of the Holy Spirit, and the mercy of the Father. I want to serve the Church, and build her up, and -- of course -- be part of the New Evangelization! Or, rather, I need to be newly evangelized. I need to let the Church, in all of the particularity of the people that Jesus has given to me, build me up! I need to discover the presence of Jesus in all the vast spaces of every day where I still live with a heart that forgets about God. I don't know how He will use me as a witness for others. The most important ways, I expect, will be hidden from me. May He put the love in my heart to cooperate in His infinitely discrete and tender care for others.

(19) I have a sense that I am in the midst of important intellectual and cultural work, and that it is slow, ponderous, time-consuming work. Illness has set me back, but it has also slowed me down and forced me to focus. Many people don't see how intellectual work is real work. That's probably because its so easy to fake it. Sophistry is easy. Playing around with ideas is easy. But its hard to take insights and refine them, explicate them, make them coherent, and polish away all the crudeness so that they will shine like mirrors of real beauty. If there is such a thing as "culture," something worth passing on in history, then our lifetime is only enough to cultivate a very tiny piece of it, with much labor and patience. And we must immerse ourselves in that great community of human wisdom called tradition, while also having a sufficiently rich personal experience to make our own very small contribution.

(20) And of course I want to "be a teacher," somehow. Not because I think I am wise, but because this is my calling. For the little human being, "teaching" is like leading a hike. Neither he nor anyone else in his group has ever climbed the mountain, but others have done it. It is a narrow way. The leader knows the terrain and how to navigate it. He has studied the maps. He knows which trails to follow, which rocks to climb, and he has to make sure that no one gets lost. He has learned things about the mountain, and perhaps even seen pictures. Still, the peak will grant a view that is new and beautiful for everyone.

The Poverty of a Child

Teresa, age one, as baby Jesus in Nativity Play, 2003

The glory of God is not manifested in the triumph and power of a king, it does not shine in a famous city, in a sumptuous palace, but dwells in the womb of a virgin, it reveals itself in the poverty of a child.


The omnipotence of God, also in our lives, acts with the force, often silent, of the truth and of love.


Faith tells us, then, that the defenseless power of that Child in the end overcomes the noise of the powers of the world.

                                            Benedict XVI

The Hidden Faces Gathered at Our Christmas Crib

Our "traditional" Nativity Scene

May God bless the people in China who made it, wherever they are, and the men who accompanied it on ship across the ocean (along with thousands of exact copies), and all the anonymous Stuffmart employees who trucked it, unpacked it, and shelved it, and everyone else who worked with it...all so that we Americans could buy a decent looking and cheap nativity set. I mean this really: God bless you. Each of you on the gigantic chain of global commerce is a real human person. And you are part of our Christmas, by virtue of whatever role you played in the process of bringing this artifact to us. Your work, however "insignificant," is an expression of your human dignity. Every thing in my house is the fruit of human work--the application of the human energy of countless persons I will never know. But it is fitting, as I look upon the image of God Incarnate, that I remember you all; that I remember that things don't just fall out of the sky; that I remember how much we all depend on one another. There is much injustice in how all of this goes into effect, and I have no idea what would be necessary to unravel it all. But at least, I can acknowledge my gratitude to you. At least I can pray for you, that the Child many of you don't know, but who loves each one of you with an infinite love, might embrace you, and all of us, in His great mercy.

Christmas Day at the Janaros

Merry Christmas from the Janaro family!

Jesus Christ is born. Come, let us adore Him!

We went to the beautiful Midnight Mass, and finally got home around 2:00 AM. But Christmas and Easter pictures are a tradition, so we had to take one quickie while we were still wearing our Christmas duds. Then the kids went to bed so that "Santa" could put the presents under the tree.

Shortly after I awoke in the morning, John Paul was peeking in the room. "I have been sent as a scout," he said in his increasingly deep voice. I was bleary-eyed. Who was that at the door?

Was it this guy?


Or was it THIS GUY?


I had to shake my head so I could see clearly. "Okay John Paul," I said, "we need ten minutes."
We soon came out to the living room and saw a bunch of kids ready to open presents:
What? Who are these kids? We'd better have some coffee!

(Really, that's Christmas 2003, with (LtoR) Teresa, Lucia, Agnese, and John Paul. Josefina is not in the picture because...there was no Josefina. Indeed, the universe once existed without Josefina, or any of these other monkeys.)

But seriously, the kids who opened presents yesterday looked like this:
John Paul (these days he brings down most of
the heavy boxes from the attic for Christmas)
Agnese, who is always a challenge to photograph
Lucia, a lovely young lady
Teresa! (She's the one year old baby in the 2003 picture)

                     And FINALLY....
Josefina (who is a year older than John Paul was in the 2003 picture)

Here's something interesting: Look back at the picture from 2003. Do you see the pajamas that the 3 year old Lucia is wearing on that Christmas morning? Now look at the 6 year old Josefina. Yup, same pajamas. Obviously our kids wear hand-me-downs, and Jojo is still working her way through her sisters' old toddler clothes!

After presents it was time to get ready for the arrival of Uncle Walter and "Papa and Gramma" (and more presents). I've celebrated many Christmases with these precious people, who still take care of me after all these years. The first one that I can remember was in 1966, when I was just short of 4 years old. I don't remember much, other than the fact that Walter got a cowboy. I liked his toy cowboy better than anything I got. And I drew lots of pictures.

[Later in the evening, thanks to the distance-bridging technology of Skype, we were able to "visit" with the other grandparents too, who are three thousand miles away in California. Woo Hoo!! Hooray for Skype!]

I want to say how much I love my wonderful wife. Eileen made it a great day for everyone, with delicious food and hospitality, and an inexhaustible patience in managing a crew of kids-who-were-supposedly-"helping" (really, they were a great help).
I am so grateful for the affection that permeates everything she does. She makes Christmas at our home beautiful and merry. She helps me to remember the Joy, which is sometimes hard for me. I can't have joy alone, but Christ is born into the world and He is the One who has woven our lives together, that we might know His joy and thus come out of our own solitude. Thank you, Eileen. I love you.
Merry Christmas!

The Joy of Christmas is a Gift

What's this? A sad Santa?"....a toy camera, and a coloring book with coloring pencils...."

Toy camera? Jojo waits until Christmas Eve to come up with that idea? Maybe Santa can scrounge something up. Now she runs around singing, "Happy Christmas, Happy Christmas, Happy Christmas" to her own tune.

John Paul and the girls have been baking cookies. The tree is getting its proper Christmas adornments. We will keep it up, bright and cheery, through all those January nights, all the way to February 2. The Christmas tree is a symbol of the New Tree of Life, the life that the child who is born this night is giving to us.

Santa has been dragging around a bit lately. But his family keeps forgiving him, and in their exuberance and chaos and burned cookies he realizes that the joy of Christmas is not something he creates by his own strength and activism. It is a gift.

Christ is born, alleluia. Merry Christmas everyone!

Children, Do What I Say....

I exhort my children to strength of virtue and feats of courage that I do not myself possess. Just think of what the world would be like if grown ups behaved like this:

Don't be afraid.
Stop complaining.
When you say something you know is not true, that's called a lie. You should never lie.
Clean up your mess.
Be careful!
Pay attention!
Stop fighting. Now I want you to forgive each other.
Remember that God loves you so much.
You can't just ignore your sister. If she needs something, you have to take care of her.
I know it's hard, but you still have to do it.
God loves you. Pray for the strength to know and do His will.

If I could manage to do that much each day, in my own circumstances, I would be in a lot better shape than I am now. Still, I must tell my children the truth, and then ask God to make me more of an example of the words I speak. After all, they learn more by example. And of course, I must never forget that God loves me too.

It is very humbling, to be a parent.

(post from 12/22/11)

Is It Real Trust?

"Jesus, I trust in You."

But the voices of Worry get stirred up, and they say: Really? Are you sure you trust in Him? Would you still trust Him if...?

"Stop these thoughts! Jesus, I trust in You!!!"

You're a hypocrite. You have to FIX YOURSELF first. Then you'll be worthy to trust in Him.

"Jesus have mercy on me, a sinner. I trust in You!"

Is it real trust? Or is it actually presumption!!??

"Stop!"

Are you sure you're trusting in the right way?

"Am I sure?
Stop.
Jesus, give me the grace to trust in You. Have mercy on me!"

"Jesus, I trust in You to enable me to trust in You."

"Mother Mary, carry me. Hold me in your heart."

There Are No Shortcuts

I have nothing to say. I have been staring at a blank screen for over an hour. Staring. Really.
Lots of ideas have gone through my mind. The Amerisphere is full of ideas, because we have all been provoked in recent days. Why do these mass killings keep happening? People argue about gun laws. People argue about whether or not these shooters are "mentally ill." People talk about our violent society, our narcissistic culture, the effects of violent video games, the degradation of masculinity, social isolation, family breakdowns, and so on.
Some of these reflections have value. Some of them are rather silly. Many of them are, in part, ways of distracting ourselves. We want to reduce the fundamental questions of life to social and political problems that can be fixed somehow.
Let's figure out what causes this, and fix it!
But many of us are just shaken up and confused. I work in the office of a children's center. Eileen teaches there. We have a six year old daughter. My gosh! There are no words for this.
We have prayers and sorrow and deep sympathy for the families, certainly.
We are also reminded of our own vulnerability, how we have invested ourselves so profoundly in relationships and circumstances that seem to hang by a thread. We are reminded of the presence of the faces we love so much, how dear they are to us, but also how fragile everything is...how easily we might lose our loved ones, even our children.

"Why do people have to die? Why this darkness, this absence, this wrenching separation from someone I love?"

The big questions. We all experience them sooner or later. Even if we are convinced that we "know the answers," our guts will still be torn by their pain.
Christians need to remember this.
Of course, our faith reassures us that there is eternal life, that death has been conquered. There is comfort here; indeed, when life seems incomprehensible we are reminded that our trust in Jesus must be radical and total. We must trust, because it is through love that faith holds on in the most obscure places, the inexpressibly personal places where ideas can seem so cold.
[If I continue writing words here, it is only with the understanding that I'm just stammering, and that I hardly know what I'm talking about. If I write, its only to point to a reality that is infinitely more important than anything I can say.]
Christianity is not "cheap answers to the fundamental questions of life." Christianity is a Person who loves us and endures our vulnerability to the very end, transforming it from within. The "answer" is the way He embraces each of our lives. We are changed by living with Him. We are not changed by a satisfying explanation. We are changed by Him.
There are no shortcuts. We must live through everything, trusting in Him. Especially when we feel powerless and He seems absent. We may not even feel any trust, but still we must trust, we must beg to be able to trust, we must continue to hope even if it all seems wild and impossible. Because He Himself really endures with us all the tears, the separations, the crushed hearts. Really.
He has made it all His own.