“El Día de los Muertos,” All Souls Day

My Sisters and Brothers:

A few years ago, and as an October ended and another November arrived, I had the opportunity spend a week of vacation in the beautiful sea-side city of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  From the town, and looking out upon the bay called the Bahía de Banderas, and further out to the Pacific Ocean, the view is very breathtaking!   I very much enjoyed my time there, mostly because I was able to spend a lot of time relaxing on the beach, but also because I took advantage of the opportunity to explore some of the local culture of the Mexican State of Jalisco in which the town is located.

Mexican people, like those of other nationalities and from other places of the world, are very proud of their culture, their traditions, and their Catholic faith.  Because of the time frame of my visit to Puerto Vallarta, I had the fortune of being there when the faithful were observing el Día de los Muertos (the Day of the Dead).

On one of my tours that week, I had the opportunity to visit a local cemetery and I saw how, with great reverence and faith, the people had spent many, many hours cleaning and then adorning the graves of their deceased loved ones with candles, flowers, balloons and even toys, food and candies.  Even though I was a stranger to that place, the show of affection for those who had died, so very obvious there, moved me to tears.  There was no doubt to me those who were buried in that cemetery were very much loved and missed greatly by their families and friends.

What we do today, as we observe the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, also known as All Souls Day, is rooted in the exact same traditions and sentiments of those faithful people in Jalisco, Mexico–like them, we wish to remember in prayer, and to show reverence and to honor the memories of our deceased loved ones.  We do this today because we have loved them so much, and we continue to do so.  Although we always pray with fervent devotion that our deceased family members and friends may be received into the loving arms of God, we do so in a special way on this day, el Día de los Muertos.

Let us have great hope for them, and hold on to the same confidence expressed in first reading of today’s Mass: we believe “the souls of the just are in the hands of God, and no torment shall touch them, and although it seems, in the view of the foolish, that they are dead, and their passing away thought an affliction and utter destruction, we know and believe that they are in peace” (see Wisdom 3:1-3).

It’s quite possible we may not have the opportunity to adorn the graves of our deceased loved ones, as is done by our sisters and brothers in Jalisco, Mexico, and in other places throughout the world, but we may still do so within our hearts and through our prayers.  And so, with devotion and great love for those who have been very dear to us in  this life, let us pray and have confidence that “one day, we shall joyfully greet them again, when the love of Christ, which conquers all things, destroys even death itself” (from the Order of Christian Funerals). 

Fidelium Animae Per Misericordiam Dei Requiescant In Pace.

May the Souls of the Faithful Departed, through the Mercy of God, Rest in Peace.

Praise God!  Friar Timothy

 

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"Who are the Foreigners Among Us?", Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time–Year A

My Sister and Brothers:

     In the very first sentence of today’s reading from Exodus, its author tells us that we “must not mistreat or oppress foreigners in any way.”  It also exhorts us “to remember that we ourselves were once foreigners in the land of Egypt” (see Exodus 22:21).  This entire sentiment is then linked to the message of today’s Gospel in which Jesus speaks clearly about love of God and neighbor.

     In the Gospel, Jesus states a nearly universally accepted commandment for people of all faiths that they must “love the Lord, their God, with all their hearts, with all their souls, and with all their minds.”  Jesus clearly states that this teaching about love for God “is the greatest and the first commandment.”   Then Jesus adds a decisive factor in measuring one’s love for God when he proclaims that the second commandment is “like the first.”  He says: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself . . . and the whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments” (see Matthew 22:37).  Simply put, if we fail to show love and respect for all of our fellow human beings, it is impossible to claim that we love God.

     We can clearly link the teachings above to another maxim observed nearly universally by people of every faith, and that we know as “the golden rule.”  It states: “do to others whatever you would have them do to you” (see Matthew 7:12).  Jesus tells us that this way of treating others also “sums up the teaching of the law and the prophets.”

     In response to the Scriptures, and as people of faith, the questions for us today are quite simple: (1) “who are the foreigners among us?” and (2) “how do we treat them?”  I believe that “foreigners” might simply be those “who are different than us.”  They might also be those among us who “don’t share our faith or our values.”  They might even be our own family members, friends or acquaintances who have greatly disappointed us, and/or with whom we have had difficulties.

     There are laws in this great country of ours that prohibit discrimination on the basis of  race, color, age, ethnicity, religion, political affiliation, national origin, pregnancy, sexual orientation, gender identity, marital status, disability, and the list goes on.  In light of last week’s Scripture readings (see Matthew 22:15-21 that challenged us to be good citizens while always remaining faithful to God), perhaps we might pause for a moment and examine our own consciences today.  How do we treat “the foreigners” among us, or those against whom we might wish to discriminate in our own time and place?  If we regularly excuse ourselves from our obligation to show such people the most basic forms of respect and kindness, how can we ever truly claim to love God?

     My sisters and brothers, if in all honesty we can admit that we have truly neglected to love God as well as our neighbor, then today is the day to change our hearts and to begin anew!   May we always be committed to, and never fail to put into action, the words we proclaim to believe!   And let’s never forget that, like the Chosen People of God, we ourselves too were once “foreigners.”   

Praise God!  Friar Timothy

 

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2014 Departure Message to MHT-SM Parishioners

 The following message (in both English and Spanish) appeared in Trinity's bulletin today:  

MESSAGE FROM FATHER TIMOTHY: 

Dear Parishioners:  

It is with a very heavy heart that I depart you, the people and the parish of Most Holy Trinity--St. Mary.  . I have been stationed at Trinity for seventeen years of my life: first for seven years during the 1990s and for the past ten years, from 2004 until now. This place, and all of its wonderful people, will always have a very special and sacred spot in my heart and soul. My departure from Trinity was not my choice, but rather that of the friars of the religious community to which I belong. This decision has not been easy for me to accept, but with prayer and hope in the goodness of God and his will, it is a reality for which I believe we must trust in Divine Providence. Please pray for me, as I always will for you, and let us thank God for all of the many wonderful and blessed years we have had together. I'm on my way to Syracuse, New York, and to the Franciscan Church of the Assumption; if ever in that area, please stop by to say hello! I will forever have a very special place in my heart, and great love, for the people of Trinity; "be assured my heart is here, and always will be!" With great affection, Friar Timothy

MENSAJE DE PADRE TIMOTEO:

Queridos feligreses: 

Es con un corazón muy pesado que yo los dejo a ustedes, el pueblo y la parroquia de la Santísima Trinidad - St. María.  He estado aquí en Trinidad durante diecisiete años de mi vida: primero, durante siete años en la década del 1990 y durante los últimos diez años, desde el 2004 hasta ahora.  Este lugar, y todas las personas tan maravillosas, siempre tendrán un lugar muy especial y sagrado en mi corazón y en mi alma. Mi salida de Trinidad no fue mi elección, sino más bien la de los frailes de la comunidad religiosa a la que pertenezco.  Esta decisión no ha sido fácil para mí aceptar, pero con la oración y la esperanza en la bondad de Dios y su voluntad, es una realidad por la que creo que debemos confiar en la Divina Providencia.  Por favor oren por mí, como siempre lo haré por ustedes, y demos gracias a Dios por todos los muchos años maravillosos y bendecidos que hemos tenido juntos.  Estoy en camino a Syracuse, Nueva York, a la Iglesia Franciscana de la Asunción; si alguna vez está por esa area, por favor pase a saludarme!  Siempre tendré un lugar muy especial en mi corazón, y un gran amor, por el pueblo de Trinidad; "esten seguros de que mi corazón está aquí, y siempre lo estará!" Con gran afecto, Fray Timoteo

The Eyes of Auschwitz

When I went to the Auschwitz Concentration Camp, I visited Block 11, the building where St. Maximilian Mary Kolbe, OFM Conv., was martyred by the Nazis. Kolbe was only one of hundreds of thousands of people put to death; millions of Jewish people, as well as many others, including Christians, hundreds of whom were priests and members of religious communities of men and women, were murdered by the Nazis.

When I visited the second floor of Block 11, I saw, on a wall in a corridor, a row of hundreds of framed photographs--mug shots of men who had lived and died at Auschwitz. I took the time to study as many of their faces as time permitted me. It profoundly touched my soul to have that chance to look into the eyes of those men, now frozen in time.

I can't forget those eyes. They now torment me from my place of comfort.

Each of those sets of two eyes, so very much represent the eyes of millions of others. Those eyes stare out from saddened faces, and they continue today to stare at all of us. We don't have to visit Auschwitz to know that they are there, still there. Those eyes cry out not to be forgotten. I wonder how many people today stop for even a moment, wherever they may be, and take the time to notice those eyes, and those who might hold similar eyes today, and the real men and women who have held them?

At Auschwitz, I saw clearly inside of those eyes, and into the horror they beheld.

Those eyes of Auschwitz continue to stare at us all, and they continue to penetrate the souls of those who are willing to look into them.

How can we continue, in our own day, to pay tribute to the men and women who were put to death by the Nazis? Indeed, how can we recognize and acknowledge those in our own time, who in different places throughout the world, are put to death through genocide, and other types of violence, great and small? Do we even understand how such violence has been, and is, perpetrated by the potentates against those who are powerless?

Those eyes of Auschwitz, those millions of eyes there and beyond, continue to stare at us. Who among us cares enough to make sure the deaths of those who held them will never be forgotten?

Who are those people in our own lives, and in our own time and place, who might be "different" than us? Might we too, like those who championed the cause of the Nazis, or those who were complicit with them, fail to see such people as victims of those who know only how to hate?

Can we look into the eyes of such victims and recognize their true humanity, and can we acknowledge and recognize their dignity as fellow human beings?

What follows is a kind of poem I wrote as I reflected on my visit to Auschwitz and the second floor of Block 11. The poem is not finished . . .

The Eyes of Auschwitz

Still . .

Eyes

staring

wide opened,

focused clearly

Those eyes . .

staring

Portals

revealing souls

heart broken,

eyes staring

On the walls,

second floor

block 11

Auschwitz

Those eyes . .

staring

Eyes

on frozen faces,

young men

staring

Proud

eyes

staring,

staring

Those eyes . .

staring

Lineages

disrespected,

pedigrees

unaffected

Still today,

haunting

young men

staring

Those eyes . .

staring

Staring

through

generations

unknown

Eyes

staring still,

without end

staring

Those eyes . .

staring

Sorrow

pain

horror

death

Imprisoned,

focused

sad eyes

staring

Those eyes . .

staring

Tearless

crying eyes,

staring

staring

Those eyes . . .

staring

still.

 

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The Warsaw Ghetto

This marker showing the place of the wall separating the Warsaw Ghetto from the rest of the city, is located on a sidewalk along the side wall of the Conventual Franciscan Church of St. Francis of Assisi, Warsaw, Poland.  It is said that the friars smuggled food and goods into the Ghetto from inside the church. 

My visits to both the Auschwitz Concentration Camp, and to the site of the Warsaw Ghetto, have had a profound effect on my thinking about those places and the horrors that occurred there.  I will no doubt be reflecting on my thoughts from those places for a very long time to come.

During my visit to Warszava (Warsaw), Poland, I was able to go to the place where once was located the "Warsaw Ghetto", a place where nearly a half a million Jewish people were fenced in and imprisoned in their own city from 1940 until 1943. The living conditions in the ghetto were absolutely deplorable, and many thousands of innocent people died there from starvation, disease and violence. It's almost impossible to imagine how this could have happened in a "civilized" world. When the Nazis decided to clear out the ghetto and transport its remaining inhabitants to concentration camps, and to the fate of ultimate extermination in the gas chambers, many resisted. As the German soldiers went door to door rounding up the people, some cried out and begged to be left alone; they refused to be "voluntarily" taken from their homes and away from their families and loved ones. Many of those who resisted were "shot dead on the spot."

Real people; people who loved and cared for others; people who had dreams of better lives; people who wanted the best for their children; real people who were simply "shot dead on the spot."

The history of that place, and the horrible reality of what happened there, should never be forgotten.

My visit there has had a profound effect on me.

Like those who were so inhumanely treated in the Warsaw Ghetto, what human beings among us today might be considered to be so worthless and without rights that others who simply have "power" would have the right to "shoot them dead on the spot?"

These were my thoughts as I now contemplate my visit to the site of the Warsaw ghetto.

Friar Timothy

 

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Learn more about the Franciscan Church of St. Francis in Warsaw at the following link:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Church_of_St_Francis_in_Warsaw

This is the Life of a Parish Priest

Today I celebrated a funeral mass for a man who was very loved by his family and friends. Later, as I waited in the cemetery for them to gather at the grave side, these were my thoughts:

This is the life of a parish priest:

he journeys through life with his fellow Christians, and he hopes alongside of them to humbly follow the call of Jesus;

he serves all of his parishioners, no matter what their perspective on life nor the manner in which they choose to live;

he welcomes his sisters and brothers into the church, and proclaims God’s love and forgiveness, as he baptizes them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit;

he celebrates God's love and grace as he presides at the altar and consecrates and shares the Holy Eucharist;

he studies the Scriptures and he preaches the Word of God to people who thirst and hunger for understandings of eternal realities;

he reconciles those who have been estranged from God and others, as he lovingly guides the hearts of fellow sinners, and gently whispers words of pardon;

he officiates and stands together with young (and sometimes older) couples as they come before God and the community and they joyfully profess their marriage vows to one another;

he anoints those who are ill, and their families too, as he prays for healing and freedom from sickness, suffering and pain;

he consoles those who have lost loved ones, and he prays and mourns with them as together they hope for eternal life.

He journeys . . . 
he hopes . . . 
he serves . . . 
he welcomes . . . 
he forgives . . . 
he shares . . . 
he celebrates . . . 
he studies . . . 
he preaches . . . 
he reconciles . . . 
he guides . . . 
he officiates . . . 
he anoints . . . 
he consoles . . . 
he mourns . . . 
he prays . . . 

This is the life of a parish priest!

On the journey . . .

 

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"Who Am I To Judge?"

I needed new glasses, but . . .

Recently and much to my chagrin, the frames of my prescription eyeglasses cracked just near the nose bridge on the right side causing the right lens to pop out and fall to the floor.  This was the second time in one year that my supposedly “unbreakable” frames cracked and rendered my eyeglasses to be useless. 

Because of this misfortune, I had to make a necessary trip to the optometrist in order to be refitted for another set of glasses; as I expected, I was told the new frames would not be ready for about a week.  This was not a great problem as I am very accustomed to using inexpensive “reading glasses” that I typically leave in strategic places around the house and in work areas.  I keep pairs of these glasses on my night-stand, on the table in the living room, in the kitchen, by my computer in the office, in the car and just about anywhere I might need them in a pinch. 

Our parish secretary and I share a similar need for reading glasses, and at times we find ourselves sharing the glasses we both have when our regular prescription glasses have been left somewhere else. 

Two days after my regular glasses broke, and long before I was able to get a replacement pair, I woke up in the morning and, running a bit late for Mass, hurried from my room and downstairs and then made my way to church.  Just as I passed the front office in the rectory, I realized that I had forgotten to bring along one of my sets of reading glasses.  No problem, I thought: I will simply borrow a pair from the secretary, and so I grabbed a pair that I found in her desk drawer and then made my way to the church for Mass.  Before making the sign of the cross in order to begin the Mass, I placed the borrowed glasses snugly on my face and proceeded to begin the sacred rituals. 

Lord, have mercy; Christ have mercy; Lord have mercy, we all recited together as we concluded the Penitential Rite.  I prayed the Collect, or “opening prayer” of the Mass and then proceeded to take my seat in the presider’s chair. 

As the lector began the First Reading, I casually removed the glasses from my face and studied them for a moment.  It was only then that I realized that in my haste to procure the glasses from the secretary’s desk, that I had grabbed a pair of fake diamond studded, leopard skin patterned frames that would possibly have only looked good on someone like Lucille Ball. 

I must have turned ten shades of red with embarrassment at that point, but what was I to do?

I needed the glasses in order to proclaim the Gospel.  As I concluded reading, the people sat as usual in order to prepare to listen to whatever “wisdom” I might share with them in the homily.  At that moment, and motivated by a great sense of embarrassment, I decided to “explain” my choice of eyeglasses that morning.  Fortunately the people at Mass formed a very sympathetic audience and they chuckled along with me as I described how I ended up with the fake diamond studded, leopard skin patterned eyeglass frames. 

Feeling their understanding, compassion and mercy, I had no problem finishing the Mass using those fabulous, one-of-a-kind, eyeglasses! 

On a more serious note, this experience has led me to a kind of reflection on the need to be less judgmental as I assess how other people look, what they wear and how they carry themselves.  Perhaps too, I might be a little slower to sit in judgement over those who don’t seem to share my values, my religious convictions, my politics and/or my way of living.  I can never really know what circumstances have brought someone to look the way they do, to act the way they act, or to live they way they live.  In the end, it seems to me that what really matters is not the fake diamond studded, leopard skin patterned frames someone might be wearing, but rather what’s in a person’s heart.  Only God can judge that. 

And in the words of Pope Francis: “Who am I to judge?”

 

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