Deacon Dan Wright

Meeting Ourselves: The Vocation of Goodness

As the hind longs for the running waters, so my soul longs for you, O God. Athirst is my soul for God, the living God. When shall I go and behold the face of God? Psalm 42:2-3

The psalmist sings his song of longing for God—a song that brings forth the image of thirsting for God, thirsting for the goodness that is the Lord.

Interestingly, earlier this evening I was watching a behavioral sciences video in which the narrator was speaking of the importance of building rapport in classroom situations where there are strong behavior issues. What was said rang true with me because in my work the management of behavior is often a defining characteristic of what I do daily. In the video the narrator said that to build rapport you must share the many good things—“share the goodness”—of your classroom, which you as a teacher can offer.

Really, what we all desire are the good things that life has to offer, and of course the wise know that all good things come from God. Moreover, aside from God what is there that truly satisfies the longing for goodness?

The image of the deer that longs for running water speaks to us also of the promise of living water. There have been plenty of times when I’ve felt like that deer—plenty of times that I have wanted to meet God on a level where my thirst can be quenched. There is an answer, and it doesn’t have to be a secret either. It has to do with where God meets us.

Have you ever heard that to be effective in ministry we have to meet people where they are? It’s true. To reach others with the message of the Good News we must be accepting of people where we find them and let God do whatever changing is necessary, if any. Likewise, to receive the goodness of God—the living water—we must present ourselves to God as we are.

Often the hitch that we encounter is in our wanting to be someone other than who we are. But wait—didn't God sent Jesus to die for us as we are? So why run away from who we are? Why hide behind false pretenses and fantasies? Know thyself.

It did me a lot of good, both spiritually and emotionally, to meet myself again, and I’ll do it as many times as needed. You don't need to say it in a mirror, but you do need to believe what you say.

I’m a 47 year old man, not a day younger or older than I am. I’m married to a beautiful woman who is herself God’s good gift to my life. I am the father of three beautiful children, and I have been blessed with the gift of being able to love them. I am special education schoolteacher, and in that my call in life is often to walk a slightly more difficult road; however, it is one that I accept with joy. I am a deacon. I am ordained to be a humble servant of others.

As I reach deeply within myself to find the goodness that has been shared with me in who I am, I find quenching waters that will carry me through this life to the next…and beyond. In knowing the goodness that God has placed within us we can share it with others, and thus we drink long from the stream that satisfies like no other, beyond imaginings, beyond mortal language, beyond knowledge.

Blog Update

I'll be back adding new posts this week, so check in the evenings around 10 o'clock.  Meanwhile, keep me in your prayers as I begin interviewing for a new job in the coming school year.  I anticipate a busy week, but I should have time to share with you as well.

First Communion

Forgive my absence from the blog for the past few days.  The last weekend was a busy one for my family.  There was a lot of getting ready.  Dominic, my youngest son, made his First Communion Sunday morning.

First Communions at my parish, like at every parish, are a big deal.  We have them at the regular Masses, though over the course of two weekends.  It takes a lot for 250 second graders and families to squeeze all the special ceremony into the Mass with less than two hours between Masses at a parish of 4000 families.  Nevertheless, we do it every year and it works out fine.  Actually, it's a great witness to many family members, some of whom are not Catholic, who may be visiting our parish for the first time.

Regular readers know that my youngest son has autism.  It was a job to get him ready and I could never say thank you enough to his three religious education teachers.  Still I was nervous about everything happening right, so half way though the liturgy when Dominic decided to tell me that he was "allergic" to the host I knew that I'd better pray hard.  Here was the deacon and family next to the front row doing some major whispering to Dominic about his "not" having bread allergies.  "It's the Body of Jesus," I told him "no one is allergic to Jesus."  Finally, in a humorous sort of way, I told him that if didn't eat it he would die and then I turned it over to God.  Really, I did some of my most desperate praying at that moment while my boy sat there saying "hosts taste yucky."  Father had joked with me before Mass that root beer intinction was not an option.

Then the time came for communion.  We stepped out into the aisle.  Dominic first--I wanted to whisper to Father, "break a small piece for him," but I didn't.  Dominic got one of the triangles off the big host, which evidently sparked an interest.  Now comes the funny part--there was not a thing I could do about either--Dominic broke his host and handed a piece to mom, "here you go mom, he said," and then he broke a piece for me and all three of us had our small bland-tasting piece of the precious Body of Christ.  I was never so relieved in all my life to see him eat it.  Never mind the chalice.  I figured I wasn't that lucky.  We just herded him right past it.  When we got back to our pew the first thing Dominic said was, "At what time will I receive communion next week?" 

I was reflecting on my way home from work this afternoon about God being present with us Sunday.  There was never a chance that Dominic wouldn't receive his First Communion.  However, only a day later could I clearly hear God at Mass saying, "Settle down dad.  I'm in charge here!" 

Life, Work, Vocation, and the Fullness of God

For the one whom God sent speaks the words of God.
He does not ration his gift of the Spirit.
The Father loves the Son and has given everything over to him.
Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life… Jn. 3:34-36a

I awoke today feeling good that Wednesday had arrived. As the end of the school year approaches the busyness and responsibilities tend to increase. It has always been my desire and the longing of my heart that work would have a spiritual quality so that it gives life and doesn't necessarily leave me longing for the weekend.

After having my share of doubts and coming from a good two weeks or better of exhaustion my spirits were lifted. Somehow and from somewhere my inspiration returned.

Perhaps my Rosary reflections this week along with the mental task of backtracking in my memories in order to share those stories here on my blog helped me to find inspiration to move forward with more than just my writing. Last night my wife went through our book collections and found several volumes that I had purchased here and there—all of the power of positive thought variety. I had to pause for a moment and thank God for a good wife.  Among the books she brought me were my own handwritten reflections of 30 years past.  "Read these," she said, "they'll do you some good."

Momentarily I recalled myself praying in the park 15 years ago. One of those many prayers was that the Lord would help me find my vocation in life. I longed for true love, and deep within I knew that somewhere there would be that helpmate that I longed for. Naturally this too was on my mind as I sat, beads in hand, and sought the will of God. "Help me find the vocation that is your will," I prayed. Now this is now my 14^th year of marriage, but even more it is the 14^th year of the greatest vocation I could ever have hoped for. This rings true each time I look into the eyes of my wife or that I admire one of my beautiful children…and how much more has God blessed me in my ministerial vocation!

I think that it all has to do with spirit, that is, with the Holy Spirit. By his Spirit God has given me the desire to long for his Son. Furthermore, in the most amazing ways he shares that desire and longing in all of our hearts. He gives to all of us whom he calls the insatiable desire to commune with his Son, and no wonder for in Christ is the fullness; in him is life eternal—the fullness of God bodily.

I look at everything from the vantage point of where I am now in life. That's natural I suppose, but there's a bigger, better reality. The reality of life in the Spirit takes us beyond where we are now. It fills us with eternal life. It gets us in touch with Jesus and it gives meaning to this world in which we live and work.

When I began tonight's post I was impressed with the strong Trinitarian tone of the excerpt from John's gospel that I chose to start off with. It's from tomorrow's gospel. Satisfaction with life always comes back to knowing God fully. We've been given a magnificent—even inexhaustible—number of ways to begin knowing God. Those that produce fruit are the ones that encompass relating to others and knowing the God we search for in each of our brothers and sisters.

Rosary on Tap

In the spring of 1989 I became acquainted with a fellow named Chris who had several defining and somewhat anomalous characteristics: Chris was an Episcopalian who really wanted to be a Catholic more than anything.  Chris also envisioned himself becoming a priest; however, he had an equally strong desire to marry his girlfriend and have her serve beside him in his ministry along with a brood of children.  Lastly, but still I always got the feeling that it was a high priority, Chris had an overwhelming love for the Rosary.

I don’t know for certain what finally became of Chris.  Our acquaintance was short lived—I lost touch with him after about a year—yet the friendship, at least in being a kindred soul lives on to this day.  However, the short time that I knew Chris had a lot to do with what would happen in my life in the days to come.  Chris and I knew one another from frequenting the same beer hall.  Our best conversations, perhaps I should say my best instruction from Chris, occurred in that setting.  It wasn’t exactly the locale for “high church” theology as prying ears would often point out to us.  Often others would join our table and add to the excitement of discussing the faith we held in common. We met over the course of many months for nightly conversations on religious topics.  Throw in a couple pitchers and it would become quite interesting.  Once a fellow asked Chris, “How can you guys sit in here, amid all the drinking, vulgarity, and cigarette smoke, and discuss that stuff night after night?”  Chris simply told him, “Because it’s what we love.”

Over the years the conversations I had in that unusual colloquium have mostly receded into the blurry region of half-memories, that is, except for one.  On one particular evening Chris brought a rosary and as the usual group gathered he said tonight I’ll teach you how to pray the Rosary—“the Roman Rosary.”  I sat and listened with great interest as Chris explained each prayer, each mystery.  It was the kind of life-experience that had depth, value, and a place in subjectivity where humanity and the divine mingle: it was an experience of heart, one not to be forgotten.

Two years later I returned for a weekend visit knowing that I would encounter a different world from the one I left behind.  The tyrant change is no respecter for the cherished past.  I inquired about Chris and I was told that he and his girlfriend had gotten married and moved to the east coast to teach English at a parochial school.  By this time in my life I had become Catholic—it was my first year as a Catholic, and as I recall the visit was shortly following my Easter entrance into the Church.  That weekend I had brought a rosary along.

I decided to visit the locale of those salient conversations of a couple years past, but I didn’t find anyone who had been a part of the midnight theology club.  Perhaps out of nostalgia I picked out the same table and sat waiting a short while for patrons to arrive—it was still fairly early in the evening.

In the summer of 1988 I had the privilege of becoming friends with a young Iranian—an ethnic Kurd—who had grown up in Brooklyn—Ahmad was his name.  Ahmad was a mathematician and had helped me get through some higher math that I needed to graduate.  When I returned that weekend to visit, Ahmad was the first person I knew who stopped by to say hello, though he had never been part of our theology discussions.  Most of that group had moved on, including myself.  After only a short catching up I told Ahmad that I had become a Catholic recently.  I knew Ahmad was Muslim but I didn’t know how serious he was about it.  When I told him that I was Catholic he asked if I had a rosary.  I took out my beads and handed them to him.  I asked him if he would like for me to explain the prayers, but he declined.  He said “No, I just want to hold them.”  Ahmad sat there and held my rosary in his hand for better than an hour—he just wanted to feel the bead in his hands.

As we sat there I thought of Chris; I thought of my first experience with the Rosary, and I thought of my prayers in the park that I wrote about in the last post.  I remembered that I too had at one time just wanted to hold the beads in my hand. What God had planned for me I didn’t know.  It’s funny that going on 20 years later God's plan is still being fulfilled.  God is still telling me to have faith and he's showing me how he uses the created order to strengthen our faith in him and to prepare our hearts for eternity.  I think through the Rosary, and even somehow through the beads alone, I have learned a great deal about communing with others; that is, about relating with both ordinary folks and great saints—even relating to the perfect example of prayer, Our Lady who prays for us always and shows us the way of prayer. 

My Rosary story isn’t finished yet.  It’s an ongoing story of connectedness in my life.  Even better, it’s the story of us all and our being connected mystically to one another.

Now, just one last thing before I finish for the night.  As I was wrapping up with my regular Tuesday evening religious education class tonight I found a pamphlet in my son's book entitled "How to Pray the Rosary."  It was identical to the one that came with my first rosary.  While I know that this find was a coincidence, it is nevertheless full of depth and meaning, a message of affirmation; a message full of grace.

Rosary Memories

It was the summer of 1990.  Much had transpired in between the time that I wrote about on last evening’s post and this time.  In many ways my faith-life had been turned upside down.  Things I once believed strongly—the evangelicalism of my early adulthood, even the value of belief itself—seemed simply to be no longer; the things I once valued no longer captivated my imagination, nor did they seem to call to me.  In fact, I was in a somewhat dangerous place in life. 

I had gone through a period of loss that seemed to return time and again like a tidal wave sweeping away the debris on the shore and washing the remains out to sea.  The loss in my life felt so great at times that it left me with a feeling of complete emptiness.  I had graduated with a degree in philosophy three years prior, and had tried to earn a living at a number of different jobs—all without real success.  It seemed that I always ended up back at the night restaurant.  After a failed relationship ended late during the previous year I uprooted myself, left everything behind, and moved back to east Texas where I had grown up.

I still recall the prior winter, when one afternoon alone I felt the sense of my failures come crushing down.  I remembered having been taught to turn to Jesus.  I remember praying, “Where have I failed?  Sustain me just a while longer…give me hope.”  Somehow in that cold afternoon warm light seemed to pour into the room.  A familiar presence, though I couldn’t say who or what, seemed to be with me.  Just for a moment all my questions and longings to escape loneliness seemed not really to matter at all.  In a way that eludes my words everything seemed to be answered in a single breath.

Just a few months later I began to make choices.  I left everything behind—whether it was a leap of faith or not was something that I didn’t consider.  The only anchor in my life was that I had been taking a great deal of comfort in the Catholic faith, though at the time I was still just observing from a distance though growing ever closer in the heart.

After having moved back to east Texas I recall having yet another epiphany of light—I woke up one morning feeling as though God had communicated the secrets of the universe the night before.  I didn’t waste time getting to the Catholic parish to tell them that I was interested in becoming a member of the Church.   As I began to attend regularly I purchased a wooden rosary from the parish gift case.  It seemed to attract me.  I thought about that rosary of a number of years past.  As I held it in my hands and felt each of the beads I felt a strong sense of peace.

On the way home from church the morning that I bought my rosary, I stopped to rent a movie for the afternoon.  Among my selections was a documentary film about Mother Teresa of Calcutta.  I thought that getting to know the “living saint” was a good way to get a little better acquainted with the faith that I had chosen to embrace.  One scene showed Blessed Teresa holding a rosary in her hands.  At least the rosary that I had purchased came with a “how to” booklet.  I prayed all the mysteries in one setting that first day.

Still alone in life for the most part, I took the opportunity on many afternoons to find a nice place to sit and pray in my favorite park.   It was always “Rosary prayer,” and it blessed my life abundantly in ways that I didn’t begin to imagine at that time.  I recall one Friday afternoon, while praying the sorrowful mysteries, I spotted a tree that reminded me of a cross.  I envisioned seeing Jesus on that cross giving everything for me—so that I could be happy.  I returned to that particular place several times over the next couple years to pray, always with rosary in hand.  My life was beginning to take on new meaning and I was making new friends as well.  I even had an evangelical friend with whom I worked ask me if she might go to the park with me some afternoon to “pray my Rosary prayers.”

It is an interesting phenomenon that in our experience of life we run into the repetition of certain qualities of life that appear to us unchanged over time.  It’s kind of like my tidal waves that come along ever so often and sweep things away.  In life at this moment I feel that a huge wave is lurking on the horizon—for me there’s the unknown: a change in jobs, certainly—a change in careers, perhaps even so.  Yet in it all I'm holding on to my lifeline.

Four years ago I had a dream.  I was looking for answers to life’s most perplexing questions—perhaps I was perplexed.  Yes, Deacon Dan thrown into the mix of all these souls just searching, not really knowing, often failing, still often perplexed…in the dream I came to a shrine of sorts where the souls of the departed were waiting.  There I met Mother Teresa, who at the time of the dream had not yet been beatified.  In the dream I knelt before this saint to be and in my silence she spoke to me “Do not be afraid to turn to our Lady.”  I can only turn in the way that I have learned to turn--one bead at a time.

Now, as my reflection for today, along with the evening, draws to an end, I reach in my pocket and take out my rosary—it’s the one my mother held in her hand the day she became Catholic—I take it out of it’s case and I place it around my neck.  There’s just something about having the crucifix hang over my heart.  I’m going to go into the back yard and sit on the swing and pray tonight.  You can pray with me too.  I don’t know what I will pray for, but the times in my life when I’ve turned to Our Lady have been times when I’ve seen Jesus most clearly.  The quality of my life experience of late has had a familiar feeling.  Perhaps I see a wave coming my way again, perhaps not.

Reflections on the Rosary: Mercy Unimaginable

In a special way the mercy of God was on my mind this weekend.  True, it being Divine Mercy Sunday influenced the direction of my thoughts.  It seems that we never run out of ways to experience the mercy of God in our lives.

Recently a reader has asked me to reflect on the Rosary.  It seems to me that Mercy Sunday is a good place to get that started.  The Rosary is one of the ways that I have especially experienced God’s mercy in my life.  While I anticipate a busy week at work, I thought it would be interesting to give you several short reflections on my experience of the power of the prayers of the rosary.  Now that I'm committed to blogging this week, I'm putting the burden on you to keep me in your prayers.

The Rosary has held a special place in my experience as a Catholic.  It was the Rosary in many ways that led me to the faith. Perhaps this is difficult to understand, especially perhaps for a non-Catholic observer.  For me, before I came to the faith, it had to do with simply holding the beads in my hand or even wearing them over my heart.

I have to admit that in the very beginning I understood very little about the Rosary.  The prayers were a mystery, and I had a hard time finding anyone who could explain it to me.

The start of it all was back in my undergraduate days at the University of North Texas, in Denton.  It was North Texas State University back then.  I was away from home for the first time and although I was naïve about many things, religion wasn’t one of them.  I had schooled myself over the years on the various faith expressions of the world.  Catholicism wasn’t where I saw myself heading at the time, but I had an open mind and was willing to learn more. At the time I had met a young woman—a girlfriend for a short while—who told me she was Catholic.  Though I learned later that she neither practiced the faith nor was she able to answer my questions about it.  However, she did have a nice-looking black rosary that she allowed me to borrow.  She told me that each bead had its own particular prayer, but she knew none of them.

In my ignorance I decided to wear it like a necklace, which I still sometimes see young people doing.  In the early 1980s it was something of a fashion statement to wear a rosary beads.  I recall at that time stopping at a sandwich shop where many professors would gather for lunch.  I was wearing my girlfriend’s rosary.  One of the professors having lunch sitting near where I was told me, “I have one of those too, but I carry mine in my pocket."  This was my first meeting of someone who over the next several years would be a mentor and friend to me, someone who would help make my journey to the Catholic faith an easier one for me—not necessarily in doctrinal terms but in associating the faith with someone who was willing to show me kindness and friendship, two important aspects of mercy in my personal estimation.

It was just holding the beads in my hand at first—having them close to me bodily, feeling the crucifix resting over my heart.  It all seemed so natural; something that I could not explain was beginning to happen on a deep level.  I never gave my girlfriend’s rosary back.  I remember losing it at my late evening restaurant job where I worked washing dishes and was paid in cash daily.  I offered to replace it but it wasn’t important to her.  However, for me the loss of that rosary was something that I thought about for a long time.  Because of my having that rosary for the time that I did—I am convinced—a series of events began to unfold in my life that led me to have a deeper longing for God.  For one thing, this late-evening job was an act of mercy on someone's part.  The boss was a man of faith, and though his prayers were private they were there...I just somehow know.  Also, my coworkers in the kitchen, although they spoke no English, showed great kindness.  Who knows what prayer has wrought?

It isn’t that I believe there is some magic about the beads themselves; however, as a sacramental they likely had been blessed.  It has been my experience that prayers have a reach much farther than we are often able to comprehend.   There is “just something about the beads” that is beyond the normal limits of reason.  When individual personal faith, true faith in the power of God to communicate to us in any means that the human mind can imagine, is coupled with an object that over time has come to have universal significance as an object of faith, the mystical qualities of God have a doorway to enter into lives.  What comes from allowing such qualities to grow is a beautiful reality that unfolds as our lives move through the many mansions that God has prepared for us. 

The Rosary is something that over the years has added a significance that I can only describe as a “sweet presence.”  It may be that at this time in my life God to make the Rosary a bigger part of my spirituality—I can’t say for sure.  However, it’s something that has been on my mind, and something that a reader pointed out an interest in getting my take on.

God has shown us mercy unimaginable, perhaps ineffable, but I feel compelled somehow to find the words and images to express it.  Join with me over the next few days as I explore my experiences, memories, and spiritual imaginings of the Rosary.

Easter Gratitude

That this season is one in which we offer thanks, one in which we express gratitude, is something that I have more than once considered recently.  Having cause to offer heartfelt gratitude for all that God has blessed us with is something that I have experienced in a personal way this Easter. 

In all the seasons that come and go in our lives may our eyes always be open to all the wonder and beauty there is in God's revealing himself to us.  Certainly God reveals himself to us in unlimited ways.  Life is such that it overflows with cause for rejoicing.  Each moment is a precious gift.

Years ago, I must admit, I never dreamed of the degree, or manner, that I would discover the presence of God in my life--isn't presence what the Resurrection speaks of most clearly?  So many times over the years, in ways that I cannot explain, I have found Christ present in the room with me.  Perhaps not as clearly visible as he was to those apostles who beheld him, yet just as real...just as real.

It is still his presence that I long for--still the union and oneness with my Lord.  Especially this is true in the times and situations that test my faith.  Not knowing what tomorrow will bring is the situation that we all have in common, yet somehow we respond to it positively and affirmatively with faith.

I must be honest--there are times when my faith is not strong.  I have my unwanted moments of doubt.  Thus I pray, "Strengthen my faith dear Lord.  Give me a heart to believe...a heart of your own making."  And I rejoice in the Lord's good gifts; I offer praise and thanksgiving in the ways that I know best.  In quiet and thoughtful ways, where sometimes I struggle to find the words, I celebrate the presence of his continual goodness toward me.

We share in a common direction as Christians: we pledge to live in a manner pleasing to God; we offer our hearts--though broken they may be--to the one who takes our humanity and gives us the gift of presence.  We rejoice and in our joy we receive healing, reconciliation, and salvation as the Lord pours his balm over our souls.

I offer you this heart O Lord.  I rejoice in being able to praise you.  To the only good and loving God, I say, "Thank you."

Reflection on the Seasons of Life

Something about Holy Week and the Easter Triduum has always left me feeling a little speechless.  The contemplation of God’s saving power moves us beyond our usual descriptions of what we feel and experience.  It’s in the nature of the mystery of salvation to put us in awe and to challenge the way we think about things. The events that transpired in our Lord’s passion were not the ones that were expected.  Even today the way that God works in our lives often transcends reason and expectation.

As we move toward Easter we have the opportunity to consider the passion of the Lord: to put our hearts close to his heart as the Church retells the story of salvation.  This week is also a good time to consider what challenges us most in terms of faith, and thus it is an occasion to contemplate our personal trials by considering the struggles and trials of Jesus and those around him in the events leading up to Easter Sunday.

Every Easter season that I can remember had its own special character—the beautiful childhood Easters long ago with family members, which included egg hunts followed, in Texas style, by a grand barbecue.  I can still smell the smoke in the spring air!  I also remember the Easter seasons of my young adulthood when I first considered the work of Christ in my life.  What came into my life from those seasons still amazes me.  For as long as I can recall this season has symbolized a time of renewal and fresh starts.  It seems, though not oddly when considered in light of renewal, that some of the most profound decisions of my life have followed the discipline of Lent and emerged during the season of Easter.  Thus it has also been a time for great changes.

I don’t know exactly what God is saying to me this year.  Like other seasons of the past it appears to be taking on a character all its own.  Perhaps as a part of getting older I am seeing the natural rhythm of life—the inhaling and exhaling, the giving and receiving, the giving up and letting go.  Still, I’m speechless about it all.  God has something in store—a word, a vision, a realization—what I can’t say.  Yet I wait in anticipation…in it all I thank God for every little thing, for every little nuance of life’s precious seasons.