Parish Life

God Bless Mike (below). This is one of the hardest summer assignments he will have as a seminarian. I, having completed CPE last sumer, am living happily in a parish of my own diocese. I arrived a week ago, and life has been busy. There have been some wonderfully challenging moments already, though the most interesting of which was being called upon to translate the rite of baptism into Spanish as the baptism was occurring because the sponsors spoke no English. It was not as smooth as I would have liked, but I was understood, and there are now two more Catholics in this world. I am just taking a few minutes today to catch up on some communications before setting out to take Holy Communion to the homebound. Apparently Father has decided to put his sole installed Acolyte to good use.

I am rapidly discovering how quickly one begins to fall in love with God's people. I have met some marvelous people already, and there are still more to meet. Parish life is great.

Home Sweet Home

Finals are over. Thanks be to God. The papers are all written and graded, the final grades are recorded, and summer is here. There is tremendous relief in knowing that the year is over. As Pilate said, "What I have written, I have written." And now, I have a few more days of summer bliss before the work of a summer assignment sets in. I have managed to have a marvelous time doing a lot of nothing. (Be assured, not all seminarians are lazy. I assume my peers have been much busier than I have.) Below you will find some photos of how I have managed to waste a few days so far.

1) I went fishing with my dad and brother in the lovely Rapid Creek in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I caught a small one and turned it loose. Dad and my brother caught none.






2) I have been watching a lot of jack rabbits and antelope. There are a lot of them around this year.







3) My family and I went to the Casey Tibbs Matched Bronc Ride (basically a Rodeo) in Ft. Pierre, SD. It is a rodeo dedicated to the memory of the famous South Dakota rodeo cowboy, Casey Tibbs.




4) I attended a rally in Support of HB1215, a law which eliminates abortion in South Dakota.



5) At the end of the week, I will join the diocese in celebrating the ordination of Jim Hoerter to the priesthood. it will be a wonderful celebration for us.


So, that's been the last two weeks or so in a nut shell. There will be more once my summer assignment officially begins.

The Pascal Mystery...and Weather

Have you ever wondered what people mean when they say that we all must live the Paschal Mystery and that we cannot have Easter without Good Friday? This is certainly something I've struggled to understand for quite some time. How can it be that we come to the greatest joy through suffering? It certainly does not make sense in our current cultural context in which suffering is something to be avoided at all costs because clearly no good can come from it. Well, perhaps this is not so clear as our society would have us believe. Let me give you an example. I'll use an analogy that is very appropriate for Minnesota...a weather analogy.

I always pity those who live in climates that are beautiful and sunny almost year round. This may sound a bit odd, but I think I would get sick of having one sunny and gorgeous day after another. For one thing, how do people in those climates make small talk? In Minnesota we have just been blessed with several rainy, cloudy, dreary days. Yes, I said blessed. No, not because I am morbid and particularly enjoy the darkness (although it can be refreshing from time to time). I consider these days a blessing because, while they were beginning to weigh on me and make me a bit frustrated, when the sun finally did break through yesterday and again today, my heart sang!

There is nothing like a beautiful sunny day after a stretch of more depressing weather. There is nothing like the spiritual growth that comes from a period of dryness, temptation, trial by fire. There is nothing like celebrating and living the joy of Easter and Christ's Resurrection after suffering with him in his Passion and Death. How can we know how wonderful and joyous are the highs unless we have experienced and gained an appreciation of how dreadful and sorrowful are the lows. Living the Pascal Mystery may not always be present, but bring it on! For in the end we know that light, joy, and life triumph!!

Don't forget, we are still celebrating Easter!

In the realm of athletics, some members of both St. Paul Seminary and SJV have been able to play basketball together (usually Fridays). This has been an excellent opportunity to get to know some of the guys at the other seminary, while competing and getting some exercise. The more the two seminaries located at UST unite through formal and informal activities, the better. Together, and only by the grace of God, we can transform this campus.
Thanks for joining us this semester SJV!

Tradition

I grew up in the ranch country of western South Dakota, near the center of Meade County (the fourth largest county in the nation, mind you). My nearest neighbors lived about a mile away. The nearest grocery store was sixty miles away in the little town of Sturgis (yes, the Sturgis of motorcycle fame). We had no movie theaters, no swimming pools (other than a stock dam, which was usually filled with stinky black mud and leaches) and basically none of the other amenities to which “town kids” were accustomed ( I have always resented the fact that we didn't have an ice cream man, with a funny little truck and a happy little song). Rather, to entertain ourselves, especially in the summer, groups of people would get together, roast a pig in the ground, and play guitars and sing. This would go for hours until the kids had all fallen asleep and the adults' fingers were too sore to play any longer. It was a ritual of community living for the ranch folks. It was a time to hear the latest gossip, to remember the old stories, and mostly, to have a good time. I miss those days.

I had an experience not entirely unlike those pig roasts of my youth on Friday night. One of the newly ordained deacons is originally from Vietnam. He had invited a huge crowd of guests for his ordination. They all came, and when I walked through the party, they had already been eating for an hour or so. I was invited to join them, and gladly accepted the offer. After eating my fill of shrimp, crab, and Vietnamese noodles, I was getting ready to leave. About that time, the rest of the group was just getting ready to start the singing. It was karaoke – not exactly the old sad country western guitar classics of my youth -- but it was real people singing the songs they knew and loved. It was an awful lot like home (except that they all spoke Vietnamese, so I couldn’t follow the conversation most of the time.)

Eating with the Vietnamese on Friday night helped to remind me why I am here. I remain in the seminary so that I can ultimately go back to the people who raised me. In the ranch country, children are community property. People look out for one another. I was, and to some extent, I remain, what the neighbors out home refer to as “one of our kids.” It was they who raised me in such a way that I was able to answer the call to enter the seminary. It is they who encourage me to stay the course when I go home. I am tremendously grateful to them for that. I am indeed one of their kids; I long for the day when they can be my people.

Back in Black

Due to a recent ordination, nearly half the men of our house are now wearing clerical dress. This is truly awesome. They say that the clothes make the man, and in this case, there is some truth. Like the uniform of a soldier or a police officer, the recognizable garb of the priest comes with some expectations about the behavior of the wearer. I cannot see this as a bad thing in our contemporary society. Perhaps we should all be held to higher behavioral standards...

Turn the other cheek...

Speaking of chess, I learned Jesus' lesson to "turn the other cheek" rather than demand "an eye for an eye" the hard way. "How could this possibly relate to chess?" you might ask. Let me tell you.

If you've read the previous blog, you've heard of the infamous Rev. Mr. (soon to be Rev.) John Paul. And you know that the final game in the SPS chess tournament is between him and our very own Mike. To get to this point, the good Rev. Mr. had achieve victory in several games. Three of these were played against pre-theologians of the first floor. You could say that he "rocked first floor like a hurricane," leaving nothing but total destruction and mayhem in his path. I was the first of his first-floor victims.

This is a story of strong winds and heavy rain; it is a story of the pursuit of revenge and of utter defeat. This is my story.

On a beautiful spring Sunday afternoon the Rev. Mr. and I decided to play our chess game on a picnic table in the garden outside of the chapel. It was a very cordial game and the two of us, for the first 30 minutes or so, seemed pretty much tied. But Hurricane John Paul was gaining strength and becoming more menacing with every move. I was getting a bit concerned. I was also sick and tired of being on the defensive. So I thought to myself, "Eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. He put me on the defensive, now I am going to shock him by putting him on the defensive by using my queen to put him in check. I bet he's not expecting that!" Indeed, I'm sure he wasn't, probably because he recognized that this would be a very foolish move and clearly I would be too wise to make such a move. Well, he was wrong. I placed my queen. He looked a bit shocked. However, not for the reason I suspected. It was not a shock or horror, but rather a shock of "how could he possibly make it so easy for me to take his queen?!" Yes. My desire for revenge turned out to be my Achilles Heel. For without a moment's hesitation, he picked up his knight and trampled my queen beneath his hooves. I was speechless (those who know me will probably tell you that this is quite rare). I had failed to protect my floormates from this most ferocious storm.

Moral: "Eye for an eye" in chess hurts us all.
Moral 2: Mike must put an end to the Rev. Mr.'s destructive pattern without acquiring it himself. Is he up to the challenge? We can only wait and see...

"Turn me over; I'm done on this side!"

This is a well-known saying about the final words of St. Lawrence. The famed-story goes like this: Upon being sentenced to death for his faith by being literally roasted at the stake, Lawrence, a Roman deacon of the third century, "was stripped and bound upon this iron bed over the slow fire, wich roasted his flesh little by little. Having suffered a long time, he turned to the judge and said with a cheerful smile: "Let my body be turned; one side is broiled enough." After having been turned over a while, he turned to the executioner and said, "It is cooked enough; you may eat."

What are all these musings about being "roasted on an open fire" ... on the day when the Church commemorates the feast of Sts. Philip and James.

At this time of the academic year, seminarians are accustomed to a formal evaluation process, in which seminary faculty members assist the student on their way towards priestly ministry. In a sense, it can feel like being "roasted on an open fire." For no one finds it comfortable to be in a discussion about one's strengths, much less one's weaknesses. No one likes to be probed as to the reasons for why we act in certains ways in certain situations. Why does the seminary have this process?

I think that the reason it is in place is because it is one of those ways in which, as an institution, the seminary recognizes that her students are all diamonds in the rough. The formal evaluation process, while being one of those directives from the "powers that be", is just one of the ways that each man's rough edges can begin to be smoothed away over time. In so doing, more of the diamond can be experienced by people, rather than the rough edges. It is a chance for others to help one to recognize those areas of growth which can hamper priestly ministry. It is another one of those opportunities wherein the Lord would give us a healthy serving of "humble pie." It is a chance to be shown that we are not as perfect as I think I am.

It is a lifelong process; no one masters it on this side of the grave. Deitrich von Hildebrand has written a beautiful book entitled Transformation in Christ in which he describes the necessity of this process for anyone who is serious about their Christian discipleship. It is a beautiful, yet painfully slow, transformation. But there's something about it which helps me to understand the words we so often hear in the letters of St. Paul, "I have been crucified with Christ, yet I live no longer I, but Christ lives in me." (Gal 2: 19-20)

Maybe this St. Lawrence guy knew something that I'm still getting a grasp of. I'm sure that he didn't have Christmas thoughts of chestnuts in his head as he was being roasted. Maybe it was more of a committment to the message of the Gospel for which he laid down his life. Maybe we could ask this saint to help us make his words our own: "Turn me over", Lord from whatever patterns, attitudes and behaviors in my life do not reflect you nor your love. "I am done" with trying to do things my way. Let your will be done in my life.

St. Lawrence, ora pro nobis.

Anti-Catholic Sentiment

My American Church History class has prompted me to think about a number of issues. One such topic has unfolded as follows:

I have heard it said that the only prejudice that the American culture remains willing to tolerate is the not so subtle anti-Catholic mentality that seems to permeate much of American civil life. Most of us have heard of the fears from the 60’s that John F. Kennedy would become a puppet president whose administration would only be a front for the workings of the Pope in America. I suspect an equal number of us have seen the proliferate anti-Catholic propaganda that is passed out among certain Christian sects. Others of us have experienced the Ash Wednesday stare - that look you get when you go out in public after you receive your ashes. Many of us have been labeled as misogynistic, intolerant, old fashioned, or just plain ignorant because of our faith in the teachings of an “archaic” Church.

I’m not sure that all of these things add up to bigotry or prejudice, but I do think they bespeak a certain ignorance. It cannot be ignored, however, that unambiguous prejudice against Catholics has been a part of American history. From the unwillingness of colonial governments to permit Catholics to hold public office, to the hesitation on the part of President Grant to allow Catholic missionaries on the Indian Reservations, to the worries about President Kennedy in the 60’s, Catholics in America have, at best, been tolerated. At worst, they have suffered outright persecution.

Intolerance of Catholics takes on a more personal meaning for me when I consider, for instance, the stories that my grandfather told of the Ku Klux Klan and a churchyard cross burning that occurred at his parish during his childhood. The Klan was active in trying to scare Catholics out of Western South Dakota. Besides some of their typical scare tactics, it is claimed, though it remains unproven, that they were also responsible for the murder of a priest in the Diocese of Rapid City.

The question that arises out of all of this is, “Why the Catholics?” What have Catholics done to provoke such ire? Why are we so frightening to people? Though history offers some insights, it can provide no satisfactory resolution to this question. I’m certainly no martyr, but I can’t help but consider the words of the Beatitudes. Blessed are they who are hated and persecuted for my sake . . .

Are Explicit Images Legitimate?

One of the best known photographs of all times is the June 1963 picture of a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who lit himself on fire in protest of his government. The photo is graphic, yet it serves to illustrate a point that mere words would never have communicated. It was widely circulated in protest of America’s involvement in Vietnam. Similarly graphic photos have been used to protest wars, animal slaughter practices, nuclear testing, and a wide variety of other controversial topics. Men and women with religious inclinations have not been immune to this practice.

I am a South Dakota citizen preparing to serve the people of the Diocese of Rapid City. In January, I rejoiced that our state legislature passed House Bill 1215, and that shortly thereafter, Mike Rounds, the Governor of the state, signed the bill into law. This legislation makes it a crime to perform an abortion in the State of South Dakota, and doctors convicted of the crime can face a five year prison sentence. This bill, as might be expected, has provoked quite a fire storm among South Dakota voters who, it seems, will likely be asked to vote on whether or not the bill should be allowed to become law in the fall elections.

Debate has been particularly fierce on blogs and other internet forums. On one South Dakota blog, a writer recently submitted links to explicit photos of the remains of those children who have died as a result of abortion. There was a strong visceral reaction to this posting, and many people called for the moderators of the blog to remove the post and/or links, calling them indecent. I will spare you the details of the pictures, but suffice it to say, my stomach churned when I saw them. I think that the entire episode poses an interesting question, however. Can we legitimately use graphic photos, such as those that show the truth of the results of abortion, as a means to convince people of the evil of the practice? In some ways, it seems that we should; abortion is barbaric and pro-abortion people should know what they are supporting. On the other hand, what about the dignity of those whose pictures we are using to achieve our ends? Are we abusing their dignity? What of the innocent children who will also see the photos when we display them? Should they be subjected to such imagery? I’m not sure where I come down on this issue, but it has certainly given me reason to take pause and consider it.

It is time for a short rant from your friendly neighborhood pre-theologian.

I am currently working on a presentation on the principles of Catholic art. The big problem I am having is coming up with a definition of art better than "Whatever I point to and say 'That is art.'" Has art become so badly relativized that it cannot even be defined any more? Who could possibly qualify as a competent judge of contemporary art? Roger Ebert? Paris Hilton?

It seems to me that prior to the twentieth century art had defining characteristics. I can look at a painting and say "that is an example of cubist portraiture," but I can not do the same with the infamous urinal pictured in a previous edition of this blog. Are there no longer any standards by which to judge art?

Will the real twenty-first century art critic please stand up?

Confirmation, a Tongue of Fire and a Furnace

This past weekend was rewarding. The 10th graders from my Teaching Parish whom I have been teaching and preparing this past school year were confirmed at the Cathedral. Bishop Richard Pates was the celebrant and there were many confirmands from various parishes present. I had the privilege of serving the Saturday morning Mass.

The next day at their home parish there was a special Welcoming Mass for them and a reception in the fellowship hall afterwards. I was also there for that.

It is a great thing to see young people recieving this final sacrament of initiation and begin living their adult lives of faith. It is also humbling to know that they (as we all do) need prayer and support so that the gifts of Holy Spirit will be ever fruitful throughout their lives.

I remember when I was confirmed a the age of 16 I chose the name "Daniel." It is a noble name that means "God is my judge." I always liked the wise and faithful Daniel that survived King Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace. I hope that my students' (and my own:) faith will remain as steadfast as his in tribulations.

For reflection...

In lieu of a longer blog post, I thought I would offer this short prayer for your reflection. I came across it as I was flipping through the pages of my Manual of Prayers book from the North American College in Rome. I was having one of those "I'm not in the best of moods" days and this prayer cheered me up. Something about the rhythm calmed me. Perhaps it will be helpful for you as well. The prayer is simply entitled, "Christ."

Be within me, every part--In my mind, my voice, my heart--In my mouth, on my lips, even in my fingertips. Christ be in my eyes, and ears--to bless my joys, to calm my fears. Be with me through this busy day in all I think, and do, and say. It matters not by day or night, if you are with me, I'll do all right. And the world will be a better place if you are shining through my face.

Amen. God bless you during this Easter Season!

Fly Fishing and the Serra Club

Yesterday, I was somehow able to find the time to go fly fishing for a whole day. The weather was perfect. We set out immediately after Mass in the morning and after a few stops to buy some equipment, we were out on the river around 11:30. This was my first time trying to fly fish - and I didn't do so bad. I managed to find the public access point and get suited up. From there, things got a little shaky. First, as I stepped into the water for the first time in the muddiest part of the river with my padded wader boots, I thought I would soon be swallowed up into a pool of mud; unable to move, I would sink like the wicked witch of the West until the trout would be able to get the last laugh as they unknowingly swam over their make-shift muddy tombstone of the idiot fisherman and ate their next meal of a real fly landing on the water above them. Actually, I was in two feet of water and I was just having problems moving in the mud without falling - and I nearly did fall twice. That would have been unfortunate. After finally making it into the river, I quickly decided to cast...or decided to cast quickly. In short time, there were two hooks attached to fly patterns in the trees lining the shoreline, and I was out two bucks. Hopefully, nobody decides to build a tree fort there. Not to be deterred, I tried a more open area where I couldn't possibly snag my hook on the brush nearby. The tree that I then hooked my line on put up quite a fight and kept my fly. I saw a trout rise then. There's probably a great lesson there somewhere. Finally, I got my cast fine-tuned and had a relatively un-eventful next five hours until going home, having caught no trout. So much for beginner's luck. (Actually, I had a lot of fun and it was a great way to relax after a busy week in the seminary, but it's more fun to make life melodramatic).

On a different note, I was able to go to the 10th anniversary celebration of the Wright County Serra Club on Thursday with Msgr. Callaghan and a fellow seminarian. It was wonderful, as always, to see the Serrans who do such wonderful things for us seminarians (and priests, religious, etc.). Not only do the Serrans pray for us and support us in so many ways, but at various times throughout the year, they will leave us cookies and various baked goods. You can't beat that. The program for the 10th anniversary was great; Msgr. Callaghan was the keynote speaker.

Off to start another week of seminary. Only one class tomorrow because the other was cancelled.

He is risen, Hallelujah!

What a wild ride these last few days have been! The celebration of the Holy Triduum, the most holy days of the Church's year, at the Cathedral and at the parish was an occasion to pray these mysteries in a way that showed to me the importance of faith in peoples' lives. The richness of each of these liturgical celebrations is almost overwhelming ... I was quite tired on Easter Sunday when I was finally done with my liturgical assignments.

Nevertheless, the time of Lent is past; the time for celebration is here. Ya know, at first glance, there's not much difference between the words "fast" and "feast" -- common words used during these seasons. As Catholics, we love to feast. Who doesn't? But when it comes to fasting, we struggle with it. Again, who doesn't? There is something in the Catholic psyche that knows the necessity of both ... in moderation, of course. The past 40 days of Lent, we fasted -- or at least tried our very best. In the season of Easter, there are 50 days to celebrate! Now that's what I'm talkin' about! 50 days to celebrate the abundace of the Lord's blessings.

The difference that might be most immediate to most people is one tiny letter: E. Could it be that that E stands for Easter?!?!?!?!?! If we had fasted to the best of our abilities, the feasting should be done with as much gusto as our fasting ... maybe even more so! There's a reason that there are 50 days until Pentecost, and I plan to celebrate and jubilate to the full!

Christ is risen! Truly, He is risen!

Into the Triduum

Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter. These "high holy days" make up what Catholics have traditionally called the "Holy Triduum." What would seem as a few days to slow one's pace of life in order to enter into the deepest mysteries of our faith, the life of the seminarian (as well as priests) does quite the opposite -- it only gets busier for us in these upcoming days. The seminarians have a unique opportunity to participate in these liturgies by serving as acolytes or for the 4th year men, as deacons in the liturgy. These liturgies are ritually "thicker" than the Sunday mass, so this means that we will have had to attend a liturgy rehearsal in order to coordinate all the actions that take place. For those of us who will attend some or all of the Triduum liturgies at the cathedral, it will be a great blessing to gather along with our local shepherd, Archbishop Harry Flynn.

In these upcoming days, some of the most significant aspects of Catholicism are established: the institution of the Eucharist, the establishment of the ministerial priesthood, the Passion and Death of Jesus, and his Resurrection. "For this," Jesus says, "I came into the world" (cf Jn 18: 37).

As the liturgies commemorate for us God's loving plan of redemption, let us make the words of the Psalmist our own: "Open to me the gates of holiness, I will enter and give thanks!"

Planes, trains, and automobiles continued

Penance...that's a good way to look at a broken down car (see post below). Last week my car broke down as well. I was on my way home from teaching CCD and my car stalled on the interstate. Luckily, I have easy access to roadside assistance with my cell phone. They contacted a tow truck right away, but I still had to wait on the side of the freeway for 40 minutes. Fortunately the time was broken up a bit when a man pulled over ahead of me and walked from his car to mine carrying a Bible. I guess this was his way of telling me he came in peace. The first thing he said to me was "God bless you," and then he told me that he had actually noticed me from the other side of the freeway and turned around just to help me. My own good Samaritan. Alas, the tow truck was already on its way so we exchanged a few more "God bless yous" and he was on his way, driving off into the glow from the street lights. Nothing like a little quality time with I-94!

(Note: Seminarians' cars do not break down all the time. It is simply an interesting coincidence that both Mike and I had car issues in the past week.)

Lolek

Are you familiar with the name Lolek? It was a nickname of John Paul II's given to him during his younger years. It is also the name of a one-man performance that covers the early life of our late, beloved pontiff up to his ordination to the priesthood. This performance, along with a short period of Eucharistic adoration was hosted by the St. Paul Seminary this past weekend.

The performance was put on by Jeremy Stanbary, founder of Epiphany Studios, a non-profit Catholic-Christian based Theater Production Company and Art Studio that is equipped to take its performances to churches, schools, etc. It was held in the Baumgaertner Auditorium (named for a previous rector of the seminary) and played to a full house! It was exciting for me to see so many people from Christian organizations across the University of St. Thomas campus and beyond to commemorate the life of John Paul II one year after his death. St. John Vianney Seminary, Campus Ministry, Catholic Studies and St. Paul's Outreach were all represented, as well as others from the university and those with no St. Thomas affiliation. Jeremy's performance was excellent!

Following Lolek, the majority of those who had been at the performance joined us in the St. Mary's Chapel of the seminary for a short period of Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction, complete with beautiful, powerful and prayerful music organized by a small group of seminarians from both seminaries and a short reflection on Pope John Paul II given by our very own rector, Monsignor Aloysius Callaghan. It was truly inspiring to see so many people of varying ages on their knees before the Blessed Sacrament, deeply drawn into the music and singing their hearts out. This was especially the case for the last song of this period of adoration, "Lady of Knock," which is one of our rector's favorites. During this song, the chapel was filled with the voices of those gathered. As one of our seminarians noted, whether you are Irish or not, everyone is Irish when they hear that song!

I think I'm still recovering a bit from that evening, but what a powerful one it was. I am blessed to have had the opportunity to be a part of it. John Paul II, we love you! Praised be Jesus Christ now and forever!

The Priesthood in 19th Century America

For a book report in my American Church History class I chose to read and report on the new book called Parish Priest by Douglas Brinkley and Julie M. Fenster (New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers, 2006). It gives a biographical account of the founder of the Knights of Columbus, Fr. Michael McGivney, along with a good survey of 19th century American Church history. I thought a bit of information from the book would make a good post.

Two intriguing aspects of Fr. McGivney's life is that he was gifted from youth with exceptional intellectual abilities and he wanted to be a priest since his early teenage years. He wasn't interested in fame and glory or any worldly ambition, but rather to stand in persona Christi at the altari Dei, which he considered to be the most exalted thing a man could do. The faith, love, intelligence, sacrifice and courage of his childhood pastor left deep marks on the young McGivney that he carried with him his whole life (chapters two and three pp. 13-37).

This was the character of the priesthood in the 19th century, "The many high powered men who were drawn to the priesthood believed with a kind of determination in the ideal, protecting it with their deeds, not just words" (p. 33). Fr. McGivney himself was arguably a personification of this priestly character. The authors supply this short Native American story from the late 19th century told by the Montana Cheyenne Chief Old Wolf on the moral influence of a priest:

"In the land of the Cheyennes, there is a mountain higher than all the mountains around him. All the Cheyennes know that mountain; even our forefathers knew him. When children, we ran around wheresoever we wanted. We were never afraid to lose our way so long as we could see that mountatin, which would show us home again. When grown up, we followed the buffalo and the elk; we cared not where we pursued the running deer, so long as the mountain was in sight; for we knew he was ever a safe guide, and never failed in his duty. When men, we fought the Sioux, the Crows, the white men. We went after the enemy, though the way ran high up, and low down. Our hearts trembled not on account of the road; for as long as we could see the mountain, we felt sure of finding our home again. When far away, our hearts leaped for joy on seeing him, becasue he told us that our home came nearer.

During the winter, the snow covered all the earth with a mantle of white; we could no longer distinguish him from other mountains except by his height, which told us that he was the mountain. Sometimes dark clouds gathered above. They hid his head from our view, and out of them flew fiery darts, boring holes in his sides. The thunder shook him from head to foot; but the storm passed away and the mountain stood forever.
This mountain is the Black-robe (A Native American expression for a Roman Catholic Priest). His heart is firm as a rock. He changes not. He speaks to us the words of truth. We are always sure of our path, when we look to him for guidance. He is the mountain that leads us up to God" (pp. 31-32).

First time blog entry

Okay, we're told that we should add photos to this blog, but what about redirecting folks to my 2006 photo site. Photos from chapel cleaning and the 3rd floor party can be seen by clicking here.

- Deacon Paul Treacy