Deacon Dan Wright

An Unexpected Response

There are many days when I get home in the early evening that I'd like to call it a day.  However, I partly gave up that option with my ordination.  Sometimes there's still another hour or more of work at the parish after the day is done at school.  Occasionally, something will happen that gives me the fuel and inspiration to continue for the next 30 years.

Currently we are still conducting Confirmation interviews, and something that I've noticed time and again is that the young people I interview have an outstanding quality of honesty when it comes to the questions I ask.  Certainly, I have the freedom to ask what I'd like, but also I'm given some questions of the ice breaker type just to get the interview going. 

One question, which I have always felt was poorly written but over the years has lasted as long as the laminated card stock that it is printed on, is "On a scale of 1 to 10 how does the teen rate."  The problem is that there is no indication which is best, one or ten.  So I've had to improvise a little.  I say, "Rate yourself as a one if your mother is making you be confirmed, and give yourself a ten if you heard a voice from on high *and* you also want to become a priest or nun in addition to being confirmed."

I have never had anyone rate himself or herself higher than eight or lower than four; however tonight all of that changed.  I was pleasantly taken by surprise when the young lady sitting across from me gave me an enthusiastic and smiling response of "Definitely I'm a ten!"

I decided to investigate a little more, so I asked "Do you have any questions about Confirmation?"  She had questions ranging from "How do I keep the Holy Spirit fresh after Confirmation," to "What exactly does a missionary do?"  I couldn't let the opportunity pass to promote vocations.  Here was a young person having  genuine encounter with the Holy Spirit tugging on her heart.  "Pray everyday," I told her "and keep yourself open to God's will in your life.  Don't be afraid to give up some of the things that other people want to hang on to."

It does all of us a great deal of good to keep in mind that a vocation is something every Christian can enjoy whether we are married, single, clergy, religious, or lay people.  Living a life in solidarity with those who cry out for justice, seeking higher and higher levels of personal holiness, and being obedient to the call and will of God are the ways that keep the the experience of the Holy Spirit fresh in our lives.  Even more they are ways that lead us into a deeper walk with God.

I was surprised by the response that I got, and I pray for more responses like it in the future.  I take it as a sign that we, as a Church, are heading in the right direction... Keep the young lady I interviewed in your prayers!

A Stone from the Mountain

...the God of heaven will set up a kingdom
that shall never be destroyed or delivered up to another people...

I wanted to comment on today's reading before the day was over, but I found myself running close to midnight--still, I'm managing to sqeeze a post in before the date changes.  I am intrigue by Daniel, who gives us a clear vision of a coming kingdom.  In todays reading we are being invited to prepare ourselves spiritually for the season of Advent.

We are given a marvelous interpretation of the growth and establishment of the kingdom of God, and certainly the message is prophetic in foretelling the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ as a stone hewn without hands from the mountian, which in turn becomes a great mountain and fills the whole earth.

I find it difficult to express what exactly we experience in the expectation of what is to come.  It is a foreshadowing and a foretaste of something too great, too beautiful, to imagine justly.  The expectation hints at the fullness of what is to be.  It gives us a glimpse of the eternal.

What we are to receive from God is sure in its meaning--indeed it is the everlasting kingdom.  What is our role now?  What is a good Advent attitude?  We must allow God to subdue everything in our lives that does not yet conform to the perfect vision of the kingdom.  All that we cling to and grasp that is partial and conglomerate must come to the stone. We bring ourselves and our values--all that we have in this life, and we lay it before the king in sacrifice.  Once we can begin to let go, we can begin to see what will be.

Relative Wealth

When Jesus looked up he saw some wealthy people
putting their offerings into the treasury
and he noticed a poor widow putting in two small coins.
He said, “I tell you truly,
this poor widow put in more than all the rest;
for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth,
but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood.” Luke 21:1-4

At first I thought that it might be interesting to do a reflection on the Daniel readings that lead up to the first Sunday of Advent, and still I may attempt to get to that before the week is over.  However, I really couldn't let the story of the widow's mite escape me.  It's a passage that's intrigued me through the years, though in its simplicity it hides very little of its meaning from us: we are to give from our relative wealth.

For some people it may be difficult to identify with the widow.  For me it's a little easier because she reminds me very much of a relative, now deceased, to whom I was as close as a child is to a parent.  From this relative I first learned the story of the poor widow from today's gospel quoted above.  However, from her I learned even more the true meaning of the gospel story.  We are to give as we have been given.

I had a passing conversation today with someone I met for the first time who was new to the area and explained to me that although she is Catholic and wants to be involved in the Church, which she said would include volunteering her time, she is having a hard time locating a parish.  She explained that her husband doesn't want to attend a Catholic Church because he feels that in asking parishioners to tithe the Church is going too far.  His belief, she said, is that giving should always be anonymous and unsolicited.

I felt disappointed to find this attitude.  In my own past, as a young single adult during college, I struggled for many years to just pay the rent.  Still, I knew that God would bless me if I gave what I had.  So I gave what I had, which at the time wasn't money. In retrospect it's easy to see that God increased in me the kinds of things that I offered freely and unhindered.  There is a principle at work and it has to do with the intention and desires of our hearts.  If all we have to give is love then we must give it wholeheartedly.  Surely God will repay us with the same.

Now, to return to my relative who somehow managed to instill in me the lived-truth of the gospel passage.  What we have and what we give, she taught me, means the most when it is everything we have.  The relative to whom I refer was my great aunt who raised me as her own child.  Over the years I witnessed her give all that she had, and none of it ever went unnoticed.  She taught me that God always was able to see the faith in our hearts.  In her faith she hoped that I would learn to move moutains with mine--may God so inspire me.

Giving, and learning to give, takes practice and sometimes can take a long time to get right.  Few do it perfectly.  All that God asks of us--it seems to me--is to give from our relative wealth.  As we have been given, so we too give.  Two coins, and a lot of love, can go a long way.

Taking Time to Stop During Fall

There's something about the fall season, something a little hard to pinpoint exactly, that makes it my favorite season. 

There is something in the coolness of the air that initially always seems to sweep me back in time at least 25 years.  I will never completely understand it, but every year the onset of the fall season has the effect of transporting me through time.

Thus, for me and perhaps for many others, the season is a time to take a momentary pause: it's a good time to recollect.  The Thanksgiving holiday certainly gives us an opportunity to take a break before winter sets in, along with the busy commercial Christmas season, which for many has begun already.

Often I've heard that Advent is a good time to slow down.  Though honestly I've always run into a little trouble slowing down during December.  However, this year I've got it in my mind to do something besides letting myself get caught up in the rush--the remainder of fall and the beginning of Advent give the perfect opportunity to recollect on what is most important in life, and to make plans for what is ahead.

It's too fast, it seems, that life gets away from us.  Too fast that our families, our children, and our friends go on their way.  Sure, it's inevitable that time rushes on.  However, we can always slow down, even perhaps we may stop for awhile on the journey. 

When we want to hear what God has to say to us we have to be prepared to take time and listen.  Sometimes we have have to stop completely.  I believe that we should never underestimate the importance of pausing to see where we are in life.  It makes us appreciate where we have been, and it helps to better determine where it is that we want to go.

I'm including one of my photos.  I shot it Friday after Thanksgiving--it seems to encapsulate what I want to say.  When we take the time to recollect what is most important it's hard not to let the people in our lives figure prominently.  As a believer in answered prayer I think of the people in my life as having been the biggest source of God's love, and positive change, that I have ever known.

I'll be keeping these things in mind as I go back to work tomorrow morning, and as I prepare for Advent, and in some respects as I prepare for the rest of my life.  Nothing moves me spiritually like the season of Advent--even more than Lent, Advent has always had a profound effect on me.  During this time of year we are perfectly situated to look back on what was, to pause, and then to move ahead with life. 

Being Present

Vig-il - noun; ecclesiastical a devotional watching, or keeping awake, during the customary hours of sleep. 

In my ministry as a deacon I am rarely called upon to preside over a funeral liturgy, though in my seven years of service there has been one time that I did so, and a few times more where I have assisted a priest at a funeral. However, it is common that in the course of a year I will inevitably preside at a funeral vigil on several occasions.

Typically I will get a call to provide a vigil service for a stranger who happened to reside within the parish boundary. On other occasions I will preside where the deceased was a parishioner but was someone with whom I was not acquainted.

My ordinary, and admittedly sometimes somber, service of prayer and word usually concludes with an invitation for those present to spend some time with one another, and perhaps to share their memories from the podium. Meanwhile I offer my condolences to the immediate family and then exit quietly.

I recall years ago, while studying for pastoral ministry, I heard something about being present. Sometimes, I learned, the best thing we can offer is simply to be present: I interpreted it as meaning to be there when needed. However, this being present isn't as easy as it may seem, and it goes far beyond just being there physically. In ministry being present to others can be extraordinarily difficult, for it takes a meshing of hearts. Without the help of the Holy Spirit, being truly present to someone in time of great need might be next to impossible.

Recently I received a last minute request to take time from a busy weekend and provide a Sunday evening vigil for a recently deceased member of the parish. Once again, it was someone whom I had not known well personally. I had actually never met the family. Something important that they wanted was their own opportunity to speak on behalf of their father and friend when I concluded the rite. My original intention was to depart as soon as my part was finished. It seemed like it was going to be a typical vigil service.

However, ministry is something that sometimes requires us to wait for a while when we don't expect it. In a way that surpasses any reasons I can give, I decided not to leave after the final amen of the vigil rite. I sat and listened to the recorded music—there were three pieces, popular and sentimental—and then I waited while friends, grandchildren, and a daughter shared a little of their own hearts.

Something came to me at this vigil. I let the Spirit have its way. I slowed down and tried being vigilant, just as in my homily I had invited friends and family to be vigilant. I felt a blessing just waiting; just listening—not necessarily saying anything but being present instead.

When everyone had finished saying their farewells I was invited to say a final prayer. I closed my eyes and waited a moment… the words were not written on a paper in front of me, rather I let them come from my heart, and the tone was much less somber. I prayed words of gratitude—for the gift of life, of family, and of friendship. In my heart of hearts I prayed a secret prayer of thanksgiving to the Holy Spirit for teaching me a lesson on being vigilant, and most importantly, one on being present.

Night Prayer

As I looked at the words of the night prayer this evening, I began to remember how as a child, and then later in my adolescence, I placed great importance on saying a prayer of some kind before falling asleep. It wasn't so much for myself that I prayed, but for my loved ones and for the important things in life…

Looking back on it now it seems somewhat unusual, or even a little strange to me, that as a child I longed specifically for a relationship with God. I wonder how many of us as adults now can recall an early awakening of this sort. My suspicion is that it is a quite common experience. Some recent conversations have brought the question freshly to mind.

It is the time of year when I have the opportunity to do Confirmation interviews, and one of the questions on my pre-prepared format that our religious education department has supplied me with asks simply "Do you pray?" Typically the answer is affirmative and then I go on to ask "When do you pray?" It seems that the answer is almost always "I pray before I go to sleep."

I haven't really thought to ask what kinds of things the young people whom I interview pray for. After all, asking a teenager about prayer is treading on that which is often ultimately personal. However, I think—on a very deep level—that we all tend to pray for the same kinds of things. That is, we pray in regard to what bears the most importance in our lives.

After interviewing a few candidates for Confirmation this year I thought about how my prayer life changed as I matured. I thought about how my childlike need for a final word with God at the end of the day has been replaced by a need first thing in the morning for an assurance of blessing. My childhood nighttime prayer for my family has been replaced by a morning prayer for the safety for my wife and children, and for my work and for those whom I serve.

Still, the childhood and youthful prayers that stand out most clearly in my memories were those in which I sought simply to find a relationship with God. I felt mysteriously awed by my dreams, and I felt also that God could and would speak to me in the world of my sleep.

A good place to return often, it seems, is to where we start out. Sure, God wants us to pray throughout the day, not just morning and not just evening either. Certainly we can consecrate our time with simply the momentary directing of our hearts to the Almighty, but there's something special about that final evening moment when we take what is most important to God—when we turn things over to the Lord entirely. It's really no wonder that sleep is such a strong metaphor for death, for in it we let go and place our trust in God.

Interestingly, what is most important to me now—in terms of the content of prayer—isn't all that different from what I remember praying about as a little child. I am still seeking an encounter with God, and on some deep level of shared experience I think we all want and need the same kinds of things. The night represents the end, and in the end we all want and need the security that ultimately is in God's hands alone.

Undoubtedly, we all want the assurance that God will keep us safe, both this night and tomorrow, and that he will rescue us in the time of need, as the night finally draws near. Indeed we all want to sleep in the shade of the Most High—tonight and forever.

Reflection on the Evening Prayer

Lord, you have examined me, you know me:
you know when I sit down and when I rise.
From far away you know my thoughts:
you know every step I take,
when I walk, when I lie down:
you have seen all that I do.
Before a word even reaches my lips,
you know, Lord, all that I will say.

That the Lord knows us… that he knows our thoughts and our steps; each word we plan to say before we even speak it. How often it is in our lives that we forget these things. How often we live as if our lives were somehow hidden.

Often we take our sense of privacy and spiritualize it. God can only see, we say, that which we allow him to see… but such runs contrary to the words of faith.

Even in our hiding God has his ways of revealing to us who we are in his sight. In his own gentle way, and in his time, he beckons to us and with cords unseen he tugs on our hearts, and he invites us to confess that which we thought to be most secret.

Before you O Lord all things are in plain sight. There is nothing that escapes your gaze.

In faith we call upon the Lord most high, "See me; know me—there is nothing that I demand you not see. See me as I am for only in this way can you heal me."

As I prayed the Psalm as part of my evening prayer earlier tonight, the words seemed to seep into my heart in such a way that brought peace and rest to my soul. While I haven't said it, I have, at times, lived out the words "Let the shadows cover me and let there be no light around me."

It is the beauty and the greatness of God that we know when we find the spiritual resolve to say "let the night fall if it so wills—let darkness come if must be, for even there God will see me." His love vanquishes fear perfectly. Nothing in life is so daunting or such a hardship as to take away God's constant knowledge of us.

Sin, and I have no need to deny it, is when we say to ourselves "darkness has fallen and once again I am here alone and unseen, unknown…"

It is part of the rhythm of life and spirituality that we find ourselves at a distance. Perhaps we may even experience a dark night, a seeming absence or eclipse of light. Yet in it all—no matter how distant we feel we have been—God lets us know that we never were even so much as slightly away from his sight. "I saw you," he says to us, "and I still love you."

Christian spirituality demands that we live our lives in the knowledge that nothing is hidden from the sight of God. All things are touched by his presence so that even in death we find that One has been there ahead of us and the odor of his sweet presence is not at all that far away—not far away at all.

Allowing God to see us is the spirituality of meeting God on every plane. It is knowing that God knows us in our imperfect ways of living, and knowing that even these do not cause him to look aside.

Finally, it occurs to me that if God always beholds me, what then is there that prevents me from always beholding him?

Don't Complain!

Recently a friend and I had a conversation amid a busier than average day.  As I looked back on the week I realized that in many ways it had been less than perfect, and in some ways things didn't look like they were going to get better any time soon.  When my friend asked how things were going I replied, "I prefer not to complain."

"Thats good," she told me, "because complaint is nothing more than practice for the afterlife."  I had to think about it for a moment, after all there will be nothing to complain about in heaven.

In a kind of an odd way, the topic of complaint is an appropriate place to start out the month of November--a time when we remember saints and saintly people.  Personally, I don't take the extremes when it comes to points of view.  I'm a well established moderate with a pinch of radical that goes both directions.  I think a lot of saintly people have had their shares of complaints, but where they differed from the everyday complainer was that when they lodged their complaints they brought a solution with it.

I'm being practical more than anything, but I sensed a great a deal of wisdom in my friend's admonition not to complain.  Often I don't like the way things are, but may God help me to offer solutions.  After all, isn't that the way the world gets changed for the better?  Isn't solution finding the way we move mountains? God grant us the faith to find a solution every time we have a complaint.