Why didn't Roe V. Wade happen in May!?

I was waiting at a bus stop a couple of nights ago, here in DC. Underfoot, I’m crunching a mix of salt and black ice. I can see my breath. I’ve got on four coats; basically what I bring to DC for this event is: a rain coat, a winter coat, a light jacket and a toothbrush. That pretty much covers what you need for the time here. And I’m waiting at this bus stop, impatiently, wondering, “Why couldn’t Roe V. Wade happen in May!?”

January 2012, March for Life, Washington DC

[homily given January 2012, Washington DC, at the ‘Jesuit Schools for Life’ Mass at Gonzaga High School chapel, on the morning of the annual March for Life, as chaplain for Boston College student group]

  All those cherry blossoms would be glowing! We could try to organize a “pro-life night” at a baseball game here in town. You could wear your pro-life t-shirt… instead of having it buried under a parka, and a hoodie, and maybe a sleeping bag. But then, maybe January is the perfect time to be here.  We’re here for no other reason than to witness to life. Why would you come to Washington DC in January except for this event?

my niece, in her 2nd trimester. she is now in grade school

You might think of the black ice, the parkas as a kind of merit badge. We could have a merit badge for 9+ hours on a bus (cf. 2 Cor 11:23-28). A merit badge for sleeping on a gym floor for more than 2 nights. Also, when the guy next to you is snoring and you don’t get any sleep for those 2 nights. But not just a merit badge, with a boy scout style sash—more than that.

We are sharing in the mission of Christ. We walk with Christ. We’re called [Is 49:1] by Christ to be here, through our Jesuit schools, through the mission of the Church. We’re called to be here with Christ. With Him, to stand up for the unborn. To stand out in defense of pregnant women—especially those who are young, afraid, poor, who feel all alone. We are with them in the cold—in the freezing sleet we might see later today.

   This is the heart of our Jesuit mission, the mission of our schools. How can we serve the poor if we abort them before they are born into this world? How can we stand up for the rights of those on the margins of society, for immigrants, how can we serve them if they are not alive? If the weakest among them are not allowed to breathe the fresh air of our free land?

We’re here with joy. I love how the Jesuit school fight songs get retro-fitted for this event: “Hey blue, hey white, hey team, pro-life!” You see the Franciscans with their shaggy beards bouncing around outside, the Jesuit schools singing their fight songs, the Jesuits with their trimmed beards in the style of St Ignatius and St Francis Xavier.

This is a matter of life and death (Deut 30:15). This is the premier social justice, human rights issue of our time. And we are right in the heart of it today, here, now, thanks be to God. We are in the middle of things and we are here with great joy. Christ’s mission was one of life and death—the salvation of the human race (John 3:16-17), nothing less. Christ did not live a sort of dreary life, dragging his feet, quaking under the burden of his labors. Yes, he suffered, yes he carried his cross, but Christ’s mission is one of great joy.

  See him in the Gospel drawing these little children to himself (Matt 18:1-5): five-year-olds, two-year-olds,  six-month-olds. Holding them in his arms; talking to his friends, talking to us about the beauty and goodness of human life (John 10:10). That’s why he came! That’s why we are here to walk with him. To stand up for those who don’t have a voice. To show these young women they are not alone. We love these young women and their babies. It’s ridiculous to separate them. If you love one, you love the other; that’s why we’re here.

We’re blessed today to have with us some of the Sisters of Life. They are in the middle of things in a way I can only marvel at. They resurrect the dead. That’s what they do. Women considering abortion see a sister, or perhaps call one through their hotline and find a word of hope, a word of warmth and encouragement. Women who have been through an abortion can find the Sisters of Life, and can come back to life. Women who feel that they have destroyed everything that is important to them, that there is no hope for them anymore—they find out that’s not true. Our God is one who saves (John 3:17), one who forgives, one who raised the dead back to life (John 11:44). Then He turns them into apostles of life, so that other women don’t make the same choice they did.

Brothers and sisters, we are in the heart of things. Yes, it is cold, but we are warm with Christ. As we pack together, march together, singing our fight songs together for life-- we stay warm together because we are with the Lord today. We are here in joy; yes, it is a time of sorrow, yes a time of injustice, but we are here with hope, brothers and sisters. We are here because we love the Lord, he loves us, and we want to share that love with others-- drawing them into His hope and justice.

I am honored and proud to be a Jesuit on this day in particular. I’m proud to be with you. I’m proud to be with many of my Jesuit brothers who were able to make it here today. We’re blessed by the Sisters of Life, by some of the Dominican Sisters who were able to make it today-- in their mission of teaching and spreading the faith.

We’re here for Life (John 10:10), however long it takes (cf. Phil 2:17). This is my 8th March. How many more is it going to take? Eight more? Twenty more? Whatever it takes, we’re here with the Lord. You might bring your children to this March a few years from now. Young man, there in the back: you might be sitting up here [in presider’s chair] a few years from now. Young woman from Boston College: you might be with the Sisters a few years from now, keeping your ears warm with that veil, a few years from now.

We are here for Life, however long it takes. We are with the Lord. We are here in faith and in hope, and we come here to this altar to be fed with the Lord’s own Body and Blood (Matt 26:26), keeping us warm, that we may spread his love to those we meet. Thanks be to God, brothers and sisters. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam

A deadly crash on the Feast of the Assumption

The car flipped over 10 times. Maybe 15. I woke up to steel smashing against cement, over and over, over and over. Glass shattered and flew in my face and hair. The sun peeked out from the grey horizon—upside down, then right-side up. The car landed on its hood with a final, ugly crunch. I had my shoes off in the back seat…

full text here: https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2019/08/15/deadly-crash-feast-assumption

originally posted at America Magazine

Mud, trucks, and angels in Mayan villages

Shortly after ordination, I had a semester-long assignment at our Jesuit parish in S Belize, Central America

this is the car battery from the story. I am not making this up. note the shoelace [brown] and bike tire [black rubber] used to hold the battery in place

On Sunday I drove out to the villages of Barranco and Midway for Mass. You know those ads that show a guy driving his 4-wheel-drive Jeep through streams and mud? At the end of the 30-second commercial, he arrives at the lodge with a big grin and clean clothes.

The roads here are like that. Obstacles include rocks, pot-holes the size of a microwave, stray dogs, pigs, bicyclists, motorcycles, men riding horses, and ruts from the dump trucks that tried to repair the road before the last election. You weave back and forth looking for the smooth(er) parts of the road. Driving to Barranco resembles the Jeep commercial for the first 10 minutes or so. After 45 minutes your fillings feel loose — but you’re almost there. Later you have to drive back after Mass, at noon, in 99 percent humidity.

‘JP’ was a novice working in the parish for a few months. He and I decided to leave on Saturday afternoon to make the two-hour drive to a village where I would celebrate Mass on Sunday. Details were a bit murky. On Friday, I called the man who answers the one phone that the village has. He spoke little English, but said that we would spend the night in the church, or at his house, or at another house.

In addition to the Mass kit, we brought food, water, sleeping pads and blankets. I drove on a highway that turned to gravel, then dirt, then mud. In some places, I floored the accelerator to get through mud and 2-feet-deep water. In other places I slowed down because I didn’t know how deep it was. Slowing down worked until we got stuck. Fortunately a Salvadoran man in a bigger truck with a chain pulled us out.

I learned my lesson. Now I’m flooring it through all the muddy spots. The truck has no shocks; it’s like a monster truck rally. There is mud on the inside of the windshield. Both the truck and ourselves are taking a pounding. After one big bump, we hear a thud under the hood, and the truck grinds to a halt.

We opened the hood and discovered that the last big bump broke wires on the battery. We were somewhere between 2 to 10 miles from our destination. We messed with the battery without success. It was getting dark.

 JP and I decided to walk and bring all of the stuff with us, 40 to 60 pounds apiece. The Mass kit is a big briefcase that I tied to my backpack with an extra shoelace. We walked for an hour without seeing people, cars or houses. We heard howler monkeys and birds as 100 billion stars shone down on us. 

We took a break for water, exhausted. I suggested taking only the water, and leaving everything else at the side of the road, or just camping on the road for the night. John-Paul suggested we keep going.

Ten minutes later, we saw the village sign and then some thatch houses. We approached a house, and met someone who led us to the church. Over his shoulder in mumbled English he asked, “ . . . church, truck, you, Father? Benches.”

A few villagers were finishing a prayer vigil in the church. They were praying for us and hoped that we could have joined them for the vigil, but we were three hours late. They were glad we made it and left us three lit candles. Jean-Paul and I were so happy to be there. We offered dazed thank-yous.

I pushed three wooden benches together to form a flat-ish bed. We lay there for 30 minutes, exhausted, not talking, not moving. I had a huge softball-sized knot on my left shoulder. With food and rest we gradually came back to life.

The church was filled with grace. The candles lit up the altar, tabernacle and rafters. What century are we in? This scene could be from 1600, or even Ireland in the 500’s. Missionary priests go to a far-away place with only a foggy sense of geographic direction; they arrive late and find a warm welcome. Perhaps Pierre DeSmet, or Isaac Jogues, or St. Patrick had experiences similar to this. We did evening prayer to thank God.

The old air mattresses we brought do not hold air. We just hauled these heavy things 5 miles; now they are just vinyl sheets. We slept uncomfortably, waking up every hour or so to the sounds of monkeys, dogs, roosters and birds.

In the morning, the school principal took us to his house for breakfast – coffee, eggs, tortillas – then he drove us to Dolores village for 7 a.m. Mass. The choir in Dolores village has two marimbas, wooden xylophones straight out of the movie, The Mission.

The church is bright and well attended, with good singing and prayerful spirits. This Mass is the best of the Church here: fully Mayan and fully Catholic. Christ fulfills cultures; He takes the best of what we are and transforms us into the Body of Christ. He has done this through decades [centuries] of prayer and labor by past Jesuits, village leaders, and Mayan families. Again, I’m reminded of St. Patrick, who transformed Ireland into a Christian Irish people. 

Now to Corazon village. I was fading fast after only a few hours of sleep on a church bench. It was 11:30 a.m. and getting hot. The principal wanted us to show him our broken-down truck. When we found the truck, he opened the hood and said, “Oh, oh, wow, my. Hmm. Not good. But I think I can fix it.”

In his tool kit are pliers, a hammer and a fistful of extra wire. He uses my spare shoestring to tie the battery in place. After five minutes of jimmying and pounding, the truck starts!

The third Mass was rough. In the sanctuary are three speakers, each the size of a refrigerator. There’s a one-upmanship with the Pentecostal churches around here. They get speakers, we get bigger speakers. They turn up the volume, we turn it up more. Teenage boys played two guitars, two keyboards and an electronic drum set. I could feel the music vibrating my ribs. The two female cantors stood at the altar, using it as a big music stand. It was hard for me to get to the altar; I asked the cantors to move, but they could not hear me. By the end of Mass, JP and I were utterly spent, but the truck seemed fine. We drove slow, taking it easy.

We arrived home at 3 p.m. — almost exactly 24 hours after we left.

-Spring, 2012

-original publication, http://www.mdsj.org/Story?Feature=Rough-Roads-in-Punta-Gorda&TN=PROJECT-20150422021616

-USA Jesuits, Central & Southern Province