How to Love God - A Lesson Learned from a Child

How to Love God – A Lesson Learned from a Child

“And calling to Him a child, Jesus put him in the midst of them, and said, “Truly I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

-  Mt. 18:2-3

And the prodigal son “…arose and came to his father. But while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced and kissed him.”

- Lk. 15:20

How does one love God? The Scriptures tell us to love Him “…with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our mind and with all our strength.” (Lk. 10:27) So the answer to the opening question is easy one might say.  Make the Lord your treasure, for “…where your treasure is, there will be your heart also.” (Mt. 6:21) Make the Lord what He was for St. Paul, that “one thing” which for us makes all other things pale in importance by comparison. Or even more graphically, make the Lord that “one thing” which makes all other things even as refuse, as something foul, or to use St. Paul’s word, as “dung”. Make Jesus that “one thing” for which I would suffer the loss of all else, for which I would endure cost, cross, crisis, and challenge in order to gain Him, embrace Him, commune with Him and “be found in Him.” (Phil. 3:8-9)

But bear with me. What would that be like? How will I know if for me He is that “one thing”? Let me tell you a story that decisively answered this question for me – a story which the Lord used to teach me what it is to love Him. It is a story that for me even to this day represents a moment of great awakening, a blinding light of illumination, a “satori” moment of wisdom anointing me and making it abundantly clear to me what it is to have a heart on fire for Jesus. That moment is even for me now  a powerful memory, a sacramental memory, a source of Grace – a memory that I pray will prefigure my own passing from this life, or prefigure what it is like for any Christ-centered Christian to pass from this life into the arms of God our Father and Mary our Mother.

The moment was many, many years ago. My youngest son Tim was in the first grade. He was in a soccer league on Saturday mornings, and not being big on soccer I would rarely if ever go to his games. Yes I would go if there was nothing else to do, but give me a good excuse not to go and watch soccer and I would grab at it. And for a fact, I always had that good reason, one that even a child would understand: Daddy had to go to work. Saturday morning was when I did tutorial sessions and make-up classes in critical reading at a nearby Catholic high school. So most of the time I had my legitimate basis for conflict with Tim’s game schedule.

But there was one Saturday morning that autumn when my class calendar was clear. A tutorial had cancelled and no make-up class was necessary. So off I went to see my son.

I arrived at the park where the soccer fields were. It was a beautiful October morning. The fall leaves of New England were sparkling in the sun with all the colors of the rainbow. The morning air was crisp, cool, very much like the clean mountain air I loved to feel, climbing in the Presidential range of New Hampshire.

The parking lot was on a high hill overlooking the playing fields below. Leaving my car behind, I paused at the park entrance to look out over the expanse of trees and fields before me, not only to locate my son, but also to savor the magnificence of this day, as well as the beauty of the scene all around me that was such a fit setting for a soccer game. It was good to be here. More than that, I was glad to be here, and perhaps coming to my senses, I was so looking forward to seeing my son, even if he was playing soccer.

As I moved down the hill and out into the open fields, I could see that Tim’s game was going on two fields further up, beyond the one I was crossing. His game was in progress, and his soccer field was filled with first graders running every which way, but always in reference to an erratically bouncing soccer ball.  

The awesome autumn morning in the park was alive with the happy cheers of parents, and with the excited and joyful shouts of children at play. All seemed as it should be, but not really. Though the field was still so far off, I could see in the distance that one little boy was not moving in reference to the game ball, but rather running toward me. To do so he was abandoning his position on the field and literally leaving the game in process.

What was actually happening did not strike me at first. What I was seeing did seem highly irregular, yet I was still too far removed from the field of play to properly size up the situation or discern its meaning. But not for long! When the little boy was still somewhere around only the width of one playing field away, it suddenly dawned on me that it was Tim who was running toward me. Though I had been over the width of two soccer fields away, Tim had seen his dad, and was now racing to his embrace. Even further, he had left the game in progress to do so – for a fact, had left all else behind to come to me.

In my startled awareness of the awesome moment now unfolding , I literally melted inside. An emotion of overwhelming happiness seized hold of me, and tears of joy filled my eyes. As my son ran closer and closer I could see that he was radiating with a smile that went from ear to ear – and all this for the sight of his father at his soccer game.

When he finally reached me, he leaped into my outstretched arms and I held him tightly in my embrace. His face and eyes so alive with that radiant smile stared into mine, and did so with the happiness of a son seeing a certain sign of his father’s love. 

So there we were, myself standing there holding my son, and caught up in a moment of ecstatic love – and all the while, lost to my awareness and my son’s, an active soccer game going on a field and half away. A child in the embrace of his father’s love – this is the “one thing” that mattered to my son and to me, all else forgotten and left behind.     

                So, many, many years ago, on a most beautiful October morning in New England, I learned how to love God from a little child. The child was my own child, my youngest son who knew only that he loved his dad and was not afraid to show it, my own child sprinting toward me with arms outstretched and face all alive with a most radiant smile; my child very much like the children of whom Jesus spoke, children with the innocence of the angels who love God with a most pure heart and without guile; children to whom the Kingdom of God belongs because seeking the Lord is first and foremost, that “one thing” for which they leave the field of this life and all else to purchase that one pearl worth more than any price they could ever pay. (Mt. 6:33; Mt. 13:44-45)

                Does my story exemplify the heart of Christianity? Well, “yes”, and at the same time, “no”. Yes, Tim’s role in the story is the role of the true disciple of Christ, the disciple whom Jesus loves, the disciple who loves like only God can love, with the Love that is the Glory and Grace of Paradise. It is the Love of one in holy  communion with Jesus, and one who in that communion becomes like the Son, a child in the embrace of His Father’s Love - a child who leaves all else for that embrace, that communion with the Lord, that “one thing” in comparison to which all else becomes as refuse? Yes, Tim’s role in the story of my awesome memory does give us a glimpse of the heart of Christianity, of Jesus’ Dream of the Kingdom, for that Dream calls us to that same “one thing”. (Mt. 6:33)

                But do not be fooled here. Yes, Tim’s role in the awesome story from my past is a glowing witness to the true love of God, but my role as the father in the story is not. In the many years distant from the moment of that memory, how keenly I have grown to realize that my role in the story is a failed witness to God’s love. For that memory of my awesome moment leaves out any substantial witness to the power and depth of the Father’s Love - the most critical component of the Dream of Jesus for each of us.

                And it will be at the moment of my passing from this life that I will see how true this is – how true it is that in the Face of the Father’s Love, there is so much more to the Lord’s Dream for us than the Tim story or any story can tell. Yes, at the moment of my passing from this life, I, like my son, will see Jesus, the Face of my Father’s Love. He will be waiting and watching for me. In fact, even if I were still at a great distance (Lk. 15:20) from Him, the Lord will be there waiting and watching for me to come to Him.

                I will see Jesus, the true witness to the fullness of the Father’s Love, crossing the fields and once more coming to me as He had always come to me during the many games of my life. He had always been there to watch me, to root me on, and with shouts and applause give me His support and encouragement. But now at the hour of my passing, I will leave the game of life and the fields of this world and run to Him. And in that hour, in my communion with Him, in my communion with Christ, the world and the flesh and all the barriers on earth to the Great Beyond will no longer stop me as He draws me to Himself (John 12:32).

                And as I run to Him, I will see something else, something not part of the moment in my awesome memory. I will see that the Lord – unlike me, the failed witness to the Father’s Love in the Tim story – will likewise be running to me, running toward me even from the moment of my turning to come to Him. Though I am yet at a distance I will see that with radiant Love He is running toward me to embrace me and kiss me. (Lk. 15:20) And as He draws near, I will see that He even runs to me with a bleeding Heart and a Body that has been broken out of love for me. I will see that He even runs to me with outstretched arms having hands that are pierced. I will see that He runs to me through cost, crisis, and challenge. I will see that He runs to embrace me even through the Blood of the Cross – the price He paid to have me with Him forever. (Jn. 14:3; 17:24)

                Through the Cross, the Lord had opened a door, and once the Lord opens a door, no man can shut it. Now no one or no thing will separate me from Him (Romans 8:35); no one or no thing will any longer hold me back from His total embrace, from total oneness with God.

                Because of that Blood and that Body pierced for me, no one or no thing in our world or the world beyond will keep me now from coming to His Love. (Romans 8:35; 38-39) Nothing will ever separate me from the prize He purchased for me at the price of His Passion: to be consumed with the Fire of His Spirit, to be drawn into a most Holy Communion with Divine Love - that Love like only God can love, that Heavenly Fire burning in the Heart of the Father, which the Son revealed to us on the Cross.  

  

Strike A Blow For Jesus

“STRIKE A BLOW FOR JESUS!”

Part 1 – The Darkness Before the Dawn of Easter

                “Strike a blow for Jesus!” Those were the words I would so often hear from Fr. O’Halloran at Holy Cross in the late sixties and really right up to his passing in February, 2008. How different Holy Cross was when I went there from 1965 to ’68. There were so many truly holy priests there, Jesuits even, who witnessed to nothing less than a bold proclamation of Jesus by their words and by their lives. Fr. O’Halloran, or “OH” as we called him then, Fr. LeBran, Fr. Brooks – all of them were courageous for Christ.

                What would they say now about a “Holy Cross” that has removed the Cross from its college insignia in so many of its college mailings and online posts? And more than that what would those holy priests say about the removal from that emblem of the words “In Hoc Signo Vinces”? What incredible words! “In Hoc Signo Vinces!”, or in English, “By This Sign you will conquer!” - incredible words that the Lord spoke to Constantine during his vision of the Cross. Oh sure, one can still see the true emblem on the college’s official website, but more often than not an enclosure now from the college will come in the mail with some silly insignia devoid of the Cross. To specifically describe this now politically correct and non-offensive logo, it is a little circle with tiny rays protruding from it, and that’s it! The logo looks like the emblem emblazoned on the Japanese Zeroes that attacked Pearl Harbor.

                Yet for me, “Lift high the Cross!” and restore to the college emblem the awesome words of the Lord to Constantine! How much today an ever-deepening dark world and an increasingly sinister society need to hear those words. Yet at Holy Cross, and in so many Catholic colleges and high schools today, that message of the Cross and the power of the full Gospel of Jesus is snuffed out, covered up, and even replaced by liberal blather – by secular and progressive bombast where the sum total of the Gospel message is simply compassion, tolerance, and diversity - and nothing more. Gone is the proclamation of Paul and the Apostles – a proclamation of conversion to God through the Risen Jesus alive and still with us, now present in power to our lives through the transforming Love that is His Holy Spirit. 

                Where even is there any bold proclamation of Jesus today from our Pope and Bishops? The Holy Father comes to the United States and there is no mention of Jesus and the power of His Gospel aside from what is read during the Mass in the Scriptures and Liturgy. Instead we get this grave concern about completely opening our borders and a totally nonsensical focus on “the bogus gospel of global warming”.

                In the meantime the “War on Christians” (Quoting cover of “Newsweek”, February 12, 2012) going on for years and years throughout the Middle East - and really throughout the Moslem world - gets no mention. Where if anywhere in media – or for that matter, in Church preaching, proclamations, and publications - can you find any continuing coverage of the theme in the lead article  that “Newsweek” edition, written now over four years ago: “The Rise of Christophobia – From One End of the Muslim World to the Other, Christians Are Being Murdered For Their Faith”. Is this is the “great tribulation”, the beginning of the “great tribulation” of biblical proportions spoken of by Jesus to come before the End of times? I believe so.

                Yet in the face of this tribulation, the Christian Holocaust – the persecution, torture, murder, and crucifixion of Christ in His people – the “Christian West”, her pastors, priests, bishops and pope, remain largely silent. “Nothing to see here… Move on!” It is sheer lunacy for the Church to give a sense of urgency and alarm to bogus science, to unfounded fears of global warming, while ignoring the horror of the current Christian holocaust. Why does the ludicrous image occur to me now of Nero fiddling while Rome burns? It is because to Our Lord and His Mother the true crisis of our times is not climate change but the tragedy of Jesus, in the person of thousands of people of Christian Faith, being slaughtered, crucified and killed by the enemies of Christ.    

                But perhaps the “times they are a changing” once again for the better. At least I feel it. How about you? And shouldn’t it be so? For where sin and darkness abound, do not Grace, Light, and the Power of Christ’s Love draw near and even abound all the more? (Romans 5:18) And for a fact the signs are there that this is very much what is happening in our contemporary world. I see and hear and feel so many signs of the wind and light of Christ’s Spirit once more moving “all over this land”. In fact, there is a palpable sense of the Lord and especially Mary, His Holy Mother, “on the move” in America as well as everywhere in the world beyond our shores.

                It is so evocative really of the story line in C.S. Lewis’ “Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe”. There, Aslan, the Great Lion, is an unmistakable Christ figure and type of our Lord. And even from the outset of the story, Aslan is “on the move” throughout the Land of Narnia. That growing sense of His Presence, intensifying by the moment, is for Narnia’s citizenry exciting beyond what words can express.

                Why? Narnia you see has been for ages mired in a deep freeze, a deep freeze where it is “always winter, and never Christmas” – if you will, a dramatic metaphorical parallel to the direction of America since the ban on prayer in public schools in 1963, with a deeper thrust and cut into the heart and soul of our country with the Roe v. Wade abortion decision in 1973.

                In the land of Narnia the deep freeze and the winter without end is due to the power of an evil Queen, the White Witch. She is mean and cruel, an evil Beast if you will, cold, ruthless, without heart, soul or humanity. In the thought of C.S. Lewis, the Witch has brought to Narnia what is to this author the essence of Hell, a place without Joy or Love or Christmas, a place that knows only the coldness of stone and the silence of death.

                But now her wicked spell is unraveling as Aslan, the Great Lion, is on the move. Like a Bridegroom coming to claim His Bride, Aslan is coming  to reclaim His land and His throne, and as He draws ever nearer the signs of spring “appear upon the earth.”  “Vines are in blossom”; flowers “give forth fragrance”, and the sound of birds singing echo throughout the land. (Song of Songs 2: 12 and 13)

                The parallel to our own day and time cannot escape my notice. The “deep freeze” of Narnia is so evocative of the coldness, the demonic darkness and decadence that has over the last fifty years spread like a disease across our country, metastasized like an ever-expanding cancer throughout the U.S. and even throughout the world beyond.

                Consider just the silent scream of over fifty million infant deaths in our country from the horror of abortion. Their silent scream is before the throne of God the thunderous roar of millions of human heartbeats, heartbeats that cried out to Heaven for vengeance before they were silenced in the culture of death entrenched all over America.

                And what of the heartless people, many devoid of all humanity, who have legalized such atrocities, and even performed them? Like the White Witch in Narnia, these people have had their way in this country for decades now. They have their way with U.S. courts, with Congress, and for eight years now even with our country’s executive branch. Like a virus they have entrenched themselves in our schools and universities, and even in our churches. They have infected the young all over our country with tainted thinking, with ideas that somehow infants are less than human and people less than sacred. Barring God and His word from the public forum, they have worked to eradicate any and all reference to the idea of humanity’s God-given dignity – to humanity as the children of God, with human souls made in the divine image.

                The result of their deadly infiltration and indoctrination? A sick society filled with depravity and debauchery, a diseased culture inhumane and Godless, a society without a soul, a society that less and less knows Joy, Peace, Love, and Christmas; a society that gives us “things”, every “thing” in fact, but leaves our heart empty and unfulfilled, cut off from the “Bread of Life” that is Jesus; a society that offers more and more only a foretaste of Hell – or to use the image once more of C.S. Lewis,  a society that offers only the coldness of stone and the silence of death. 

                So sin abounds in our midst today. But I can say with Faith to the point of unshakable conviction Grace abounds all the more. Grace, God’s Life, the Spirit of His Son, is more and more “on the move” all over the U.S. today. The Spirit of His Love, a Love like only God can Love, surrounds us, anoints us, and like an intensifying Light of dawn is working to dispel the demonic darkness that for too long has cursed our culture. You might say that Aslan is “on the move” throughout our country today, and as His Presence draws near the spell of the White Witch can do nothing but unravel, and her power finally can only diminish and fade.

                Yes, I believe that an intensifying Fire of God’s Love more and more present in power is casting out the demons among us. I believe that an awesome Light of God in the Spirit of his Son is dawning anew among us in decisive and dynamic ways. Throughout our society and even in our larger world, so many occurrences, so many happenings – some small and some large - lead me to believe that “yes!” the Spirit is alive and moving powerfully among us. And as with the citizenry of Narnia there is excitement for me as well in the face of my Lord and King drawing near. There is excitement beyond what I can express in words or tears. There is Joy that knows no bounds, the Joy of Resurrection when Jesus shows us that He is alive and still with us; the Joy of Pentecost - the Joy of His Presence once more filling out lives to the point of overflowing, once more anointing our lives to the point of “abundanza!” (Jn. 10:10) Yes, today we “…see Him again, and our hearts rejoice, and no man can take our Joy from us.” (Jn. 16:22)     

[Keep in touch with my websites and blog sites for Part 2 of this reflection: “The Signs Today of Jesus and Mary On The Move”. It should be finished in no more than a week or two. God bless you my friends, Doug M. +]            

  

The Christmas Train

December 10^th, ‘15

To all my friends,

                Throughout my forty years plus of teaching I always began every class with prayer to Jesus, followed by a story that would speak to the theme of that day’s lesson. Especially at Christmas time all my lessons plans in Theology class were oriented toward themes that related to Christ’s first coming on Christmas night. Truly “the world could not contain the books that would have to be written” (Jn. 21:25) to record the lessons streaming forth from the heavenly light that dawned on Christmas night.

                In all those beautiful years of teaching I for one was never at a loss to find yet another lesson that called out to me from the Christmas story - and not only from the Christmas story but as well from the “miracle stories” of Christmas that all of us experience during the Christmas season each year. “The Christmas Train” which follows is one such story, one such “miracle story”.

                “Mr. Michaud, are you going to tell us a story?” At the start of class my students never asked any other question of me more than that one. And though it happened long ago, I can still see the faces of an Emily, a Mike, a Molly, an Eric, a Kelly, a Peter, or Gen asking that question always with enthusiasm, and always with a twinkle in their eye. It was a question repeated   thousands of times throughout the years. And it was question never asked more of me than at Christmas time. Truly one of my most cherished memories of my students, whether at Guertin, Feehan, or CM, is how in the glow of candlelight they would all settle in at the start of class for the daily Christmas story, and never with more eager anticipation than for the story that follows, “The Christmas Train”.    

Enjoy! Merry Christmas!

Doug  +

THE CHRISTMAS TRAIN

It was 1954. I was seven years old. My family lived in the poorest section of our town, the Spruce Street section of Lawrence, Mass. My father hadn’t started his business yet. So there were times when he struggled to find work and would often be gone out of state (Connecticut at Pratt-Whitney aircraft) during the week to find employment and bring home an income. He always did. As a child then I always remember awesome food on the table, and I always felt the security and warmth of our Spruce street home.

What I didn’t know then, and only learned as an adult, was how my grandmother – my “Bacchie” – helped us during those days of hardship. She lived with us when I was small, and with her savings and social security she helped with the mortgage, the necessities of food and clothing, the utility bills, and even with money for the movies.

I’ll always remember her in her rocking chair, saying her daily rosaries and watching my brother Paul and I play our games – Monopoly mainly, and my brother Paul always won. I remember too that so many days ended with me being rocked to sleep in grandmother’s arms, all the while as she continued to pray her rosary ever in her hands.

One day as she watched and rocked and prayed, I was on the parlor rug, looking through the pictures in the newspaper. It was a month before Christmas and the paper had all kinds of toys pictured in the store adds. I remember like it was yesterday the first moment that I saw it: the picture of the Lionel train set. My excitement at the sight of it was palpable and Bacchie noticed right away.

The price of the train was $4.95 – can you believe it?! Yes, in 1954 it was $4.95 for a train set of six cars made out of real metal, not plastic. There was a figure eight track set, a mountain tunnel, a railroad crossing signal with barrier bar gates that dropped down and came up again after the train passed. On one of the railroad cars – a log car – there was a crane to lift the logs off the train. The logs were part of the train set too.

The steam engine was solid black metal with chrome silver plating. It blew smoke as it traveled the track, and pellets were provided to make the smoke. You only had to put them into the smoke stack, and the electric train heated the pellets and made them smoke.

The caboose was awesome too. It was flame red and had a rear door that opened to a back platform with a railing. There was a little railroad conductor figure that could attach to the platform and ride there at the rear of the train.

My heart was so set on the thought of having that train, and Santa was most assuredly going to get it for me that Christmas. With my mom and dad I was insistent that this was exactly what was going to happen. They weren’t so sure though. They told not to get my hopes too high. The price of that train was expensive (Remember five dollars then would be a thousand dollars today!), and Santa had to buy toys for other children as well. I remember that even days before Christmas I was praying for the miracle of having a train that was too expensive to get just for me.

But then Bacchie was watching and listening to all this pleading. She had seen my excitement, and she knew how much that train would mean to me. On Christmas morning the train was there, all laid out on the parlor floor right in front of the Christmas tree!!!

What a glorious Christmas morning that was. How ecstatically happy I was. My Christmas train! I played with it day after day, week after week. I never grew tired of playing with it. And all the while my Bacchie would watch me while she rocked in her chair and prayed the rosary.

What I never knew as a child was that Bacchie paid for the Christmas train. Times were hard for my parents, and the money for a Christmas train was not to be had. I remember hearing from my mom only as an adult how Bacchie had gone out and purchased that train for me. I remember how moved and inspired I was to learn that.

What a lesson in true Love it was for me – in unconditional Love. For Bacchie all that mattered was my happiness. She didn’t need to have me know that she paid for the Christmas train. It was enough for her to rock and pray and watch me play with my “miracle gift” on Christmas morning.

And so the beauty of this person who showed me from my earliest years a Love like only God can love… I felt that love in her arms, in her embrace – the love I still feel now in the arms of Mary our Blessed Mother.

It was in fact one of two of Bacchie’s dying wishes the following year to have my brother and I brought from school to her hospital bed. It was so she could embrace us one more time before passing on to Christ. For as long as I live I will never forget the Love that I felt in that final embrace. It was Divine Love. It was the Love of Jesus reaching out to me from within her.

Her other wish? It was the wish to be buried by her husband, a man that abandoned her and their farm after conceiving twelve children together. He had left her, but she had never left him. Again her unconditional Love for a man who broke her heart, mirrored the Love of Christ, mirrored the Love shown forth from the Cross, a Divine Love, a Love like only God can love. It was that Love in Bacchie that brought her home to the Lord and to the Heart of the Father. And it will be a Love like that burning in our hearts which will bring us home to God as well.

To all my Facebook friends and to all my LinkedIn colleagues, a most beautiful and blessed Christmas to you and your loved ones, and may your New Year be filled with happiness, filled with a Love like only God can love.

In the Love of Jesus and Mary,

                                                         Doug +