Resurrecting Chicago

MALIAN CATHOLICS AT SUNDAY MASS

 OMG, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything here.  Since the last story, I’ve been to Africa and Missouri.

I visited the Catholic Relief Service projects in Mali, Africa. Eight days of travelling throughout the country gave me a good idea of the world’s sixth poorest nation. Rice with a bit of red sauce is the staple of the country. Water is precious in a land of sand, wind, dust and heat.

In Mali, CRS is working with ongoing development projects while providing nutritious meals for children. By serving those meals at school, parents see a value in sending their children to school.  Like any parents, Malians are concerned that their children have enough to eat. Up to now, formal education has not been a value in a culture where there are few books and fewer jobs requiring schooling.

The Catholic Church in Mali is strong, though only about 3% of the population.  The Mass I attended was jammed with three or four hundred Catholics who celebrated reverently and joyfully. The group of eleven I was with were the only white people at that Mass. It makes me more aware of what it means to be Catholic.

The muslims that work for CRS are quick to explain that muslims and Catholics live and work side-by-side.  Each religious and cultural group tries to respect the customs and religious events of the other. Muslims attend Catholic funerals and weddings and vice versa.

This is a far cry from the radical muslim element and the defensive Christian posture that most of us in the US are used to.  Perhaps, we can learn from the people of Mali how to live together in harmony..

 For most people, that kind of a journey would be inconceivable. My brother-in-law,for example, who lives in Chicago, thinks any trip beyond fifty miles is dangerous. Why leave home for the unknown?

But, that’s the reason I want to go, to experience the unknown. I like adventure and going to Africa fits well with  my personality. The Lord seems to like to call me to the unknown. I’m not always comfortable with alien cultures but I’m asking Our Lord to give me courage to face what I do not completely understand.

I’m not going on a safari.  I’m going to Africa to experience the work of Catholic Relief Services in Mali. The international outreach American Catholic Church or “CRS” extends a helping hand in over a hundred countries. In Mali I expect to see clinics, schools, and agricultural projects staffed and managed by CRS workers, many of whom are locals.  Because Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world, CRS has several large food dispensaries there. It will be my first experience of that kind of destitution.

By the way, I am going to try to set foot in the province of Timbuktu. I remember that
name as a fabled desert city, isolated and remote.  “Timbuktu,” a place where you could simply disappear and be lost forever. These days, Timbuktu in east central Mali is said to be decaying and somewhat abandoned, a far cry from its glory days as an ancient city at the crossroads of several trade routes.  Truck and plane travel move more things faster than caravans of camels.

There are ten of us going, seven pre-theology students from Mundelein seminary outside of Chicago and three priests. The young men will bring energy and a sense of freshness to the experience. I hope some of that stuff rubs off on me. You’ve got to have “the right stuff” to
be a servant minister in the priesthood. And, now that I think about it,a version of today’s horoscope could be prayed over each man as he is ordained to the priesthood. “You are going on a long journey.”

Usually I approach this blog at the end of the day which for me is about 8:30 PM. I’m often too tired to think much, but responsible enough to want to get something down before I miss another two weeks.

Today was the sabbath and I celebrated two Masses. The people were wonderful and the deacons at St. Isidore’s are interesting and make me want to know more about their callings. One of them preached at my Masses today.

Deacon Don, whose real job is as a private investigator is a convert. His mother, Episcopalian,  refused to go to his baptismal ceremony in the Catholic Church. She did come to his ordination some years later.  Businessman, father and clergyman, his life is full.

When he told us today of his grandson, William who is handicapped and functions at the level of a child, it was wonderful to see his affection for this boy, now a twenty-two year
old man. He called him “grandson” and “my buddy.”

Sometimes, my celibacy hurts.  There are no children in my life and no grandchildren. And, no wife.  Also, no in-laws, pediatric appointments or arguments with a wife. I know where everything is because there is no one around to move things except me.  I also have to worry only about myself most of the time. Let your guard down and that kind of life can make one deveop into a crusty old bachelor.

My prayer life always helps to relieve any pity-party stuff going on in my soul about this
lack of family. Serving in the Church and meeting warm-hearted parishioners reminds me that I have a family.

Maybe I should pay more attention to how people address me after Church: “Hi, Father!”
“God bless you, Father.” Hey, Padre! Take care of yoruself, O.K.?

I know the Church is my family and it is enough for me.

No matter that the Blue Jay squawks,  I’m one of those who is grateful today that the American Eagle was chosen by our forefathers to represent our country’s honor rather than the stumpy, frumpy-looking turkey. I know, I know…. Wild turkeys look sleeker and more elegant than the caricature turkeys on our placemats and Thanksgiving cards.

I’m grateful for a lot of things today–and in no particular order:

I’m grateful for the orthopedic surgeon who loosened the bands in my back which were squeezing off the nerves to my legs. Now I can walk for a long time without pain. Not to mention the cardiologist who has me running on batteries.

I’m grateful to God that I made vows in the Congregation of the Resurrection and inherited
a family dedicated to rising from sin to a new life in Christ. I don’t know where I would be without the great grace of community life. The guys keep me, or try to keep me real.

I’m grateful for my priesthood and the Eucharist (Greek for “Thanksgiving”).  It’s my life.  It’s who I am.

I’m grateful that I have a close family, and a large one. We have our issues and problems
but when I remember my four sisters and my parents who have gone before us, my heart softens and I think how great it is that we have one day set aside in our country to
formally give thanks. In a few hours, I’ll sit down with that family for the traditional turkey dinner.

My oldest sister will prepare it and nearly everyone will bring something for the table to add to the feast. There will be turkey with sage stuffing, of course, and cranberry relish, mashed potatoes and gravy, linguini (the Italians are hosting today’s dinner), creamed green beans (a favorite) and all kinds of pies including, apple, pumpkin and banana cream.

When the table is ready and everything that needs to be hot will be hot, we’ll all amble in.
Some will sit, others will stand and I’ll likely lead the prayer. My thanks will be brief
because who wants cold turkey on Thanksgiving? But, I’m also going to take time to ask everyone to join me in the “Our Father” and the good ole “Bless us, O Lord and these Thy gifts….”

I hope you are welcome somewhere for Thanksgiving.  If not, for whatever reason,
I am including you in our Thanksgiving prayer and praying that God will fill you
with what you need to serve your deepest hungers.