On Father’s Day, my wife and kids always do a spectacular job of spoiling me, making me feel like a much more fantastic father than I really am.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a good father, but I’m not nearly the father that I want to be.  Being a good father has always been my highest priority, and I owe this internal desire to my own father, which is kind of strange since he was never around.

My parents were divorced when I was very young.  I recently heard a great speaker, Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers, describe divorce like this.  He says that marriage is a cross for both husband and wife, something to carry together throughout life.  When parents divorce, they give up and put down the cross, and the children have to pick it up and carry it.  I can definitely identify with that.

I grew up living with just my mother, who did the best that she could for me.  I rarely saw my father, and we didn’t communicate at all for many years, until about a year before he died.  I can never thank God enough for bringing us back together to reconcile before he passed away.  Though I spent very little time with my father after age eight, I learned many things from him.

Though my father was not much of a husband to my mother, he was a decent father to me.  He took me places and let me steer his old Ford truck down the winding road to our home.  He coached my baseball team and always told me he was proud of me and that he loved me.  He never got annoyed when I followed him around, amazed at the way this giant human could do things like barbecue steak and operate a lawn mower.  He always let me be involved, and made me feel important.

My father was about as bad as they come at keeping contact with the people close to him.  After I grew up, he never returned the letters I wrote.  But before and after he died, I met all of the people that had grown close to him in my absence, and they expressed to me how selfless my dad was — how much he had sacrificed for them.  He gave complete strangers shelter under his roof, he gave money to people who would never repay it, and he informally fostered kids and grandchildren who were of no blood relation to him.  When I first learned of all this, I was a little jealous.  The fact that my father seemed to care more for these other people than he did for me was really painful.  What I came to realize was that my dad lived in the moment.  He helped those people that God put before him, and he would have certainly helped me if I had shown up on his doorstep.

For years I tried my best to wish my father into being something that he wasn’t, rather than accepting and loving who he was.  I realize now that my father helped people who needed much more than I ever did.  I had a loving, supportive mother, and every opportunity in the world.  Life has been very good to me.  Without my father, several other less fortunate people may not have made it to adulthood.

Just as my father was never what I wanted him to be, God never works in the ways that I expect him to.  God’s plan always seems to be better than anything I could come up with.  This situation is no different.  I had to suffer a little, but my suffering allowed my father to alleviate the much larger suffering of many more people.

You can learn something from everyone, and I’m grateful for the lessons that I learned from my father.  I miss you, Dad, and I hope my prayers are reaching you.

Before Mass this morning, I noticed the beautiful Easter bouquet in the apse of my church.  It struck me how perfect the nature of a flower is.  The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that “each creature possesses its own particular goodness and perfection,” and “each of the various creatures, willed in its own being, reflects in its own way a ray of God’s infinite wisdom and goodness.” (339)

While a flower isn’t exactly a creature, it’s definitely an exquisite creation, and I think a good example for one in pursuit of a holy Christian life.

A flower seeks to establish itself in fertile soil, and it extends its petals and reaches upward toward the light. If a flower is uprooted and replanted, it will unfailingly continue to move toward the light, allowing nothing to stop it from attaining its purpose. That purpose is nothing more than the purpose of all creation: to glorify God.

A flower may be disturbed by a strong gust of wind, but it will always seek to reestablish itself so long as it still has life within it. A flower offers itself freely to any passing honeybee, with never a complaint.

We would all do well to seek Christ, our light, so unfailingly, and to offer ourselves so freely to our neighbors.

I recently returned from my first ever retreat, sponsored by a group called Real Catholic Men.  The retreat consisted of 40 men, looking to grow and become energized in their faith.  The highlights of this retreat were the presentations by the dynamic evangelizing force, Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers.  We are blessed to have this New Jersey native close to home for events like this.  Deacon Harold is internationally known, having made several appearances on Catholic Radio and EWTN.

We talked about the confession, adoration, sin, the Eucharist, but mostly we discussed what it meant to be a real Catholic man.  It was a truly powerful experience to stand in line for confession, go to Mass, pray the Stations of the Cross, and build true friendships with 40 other men.  I’ll go back next year, and I’m anxiously awaiting the third annual Real Catholic Men Conference in Vancouver, WA this June!

Last week before morning Mass, I asked God for a sign.  I guess I needed some reassurance.  I needed my faith strengthened a little bit.  So I basically begged Him to show himself to me.  This is not the first time that I have asked for a sign.  I have actually asked on several occasions during my faith journey.  Each time, God has accommodated me — not in the way that I was expecting — but in a definitive way nonetheless.

So this was not the first time that I have asked for a sign, but I think it will be my last.  You see, the sign came very quickly this time, during the Gospel reading from Luke, chapter 11.  Here is what Jesus had to say to me on this day.

While still more people gathered in the crowd, Jesus said to them,
“This generation is an evil generation;
it seeks a sign, but no sign will be given it,
except the sign of Jonah.

Regardless of what one interprets the sign of Jonah to be, I think my answer was pretty clear. Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel. Quick asking for signs, for you have already received so many. I could almost hear Bill Engvall telling me, “Here’s your sign.”

We can learn much from a tree that loses its leaves, only to grow new ones in the spring. These trees contain many sturdy roots, and large powerful branches. This entire system of roots, trunk, and branches provides almost everything necessary for the infantile spring growth. As the leaves grow and mature, they rely on light to perform necessary work for the rest of the tree. They do this day in and day out, rain or shine.

These leaves will eventually begin to change color, showing signs of aging. Throughout this aging process, the leaves will transition through an infinite number of colors. During this period of their lives, they seem to do only one thing – one very important thing – glorify the very tree that has given them life.

We would all do well to live our lives so completely in service of our creator, relying entirely on His light, in unity with all those around us, living only to serve and glorify Him.

Though this tree is a beautiful symbol and we can relate to it in many ways by looking at it deeply, there are obviously far more differences between the life of a tree and the life of man. The leaves on a tree, while quite beautiful, are not particularly unique. Each looks very much the same and each is called to perform essentially the same task, for approximately the same length of time. Once the task of a leaf is complete, its life is also complete. It has no chance of rising to new life.

All life is precious, but not equal. Though we will pass from this life one by one, like the autumn leaves, we must be thankful that we can look forward to life beyond this one.

We develop some very close bonds with the animals in our lives. Our pets can help us combat lonliness, force us to remain active, and provide us with examples of unconditional love. They can also serve to help us deal with dying. All of this is fine, but problems arise when we value the life of an animal the same as a that of a human.

As Catholics, we must value and work to protect all human life, from natural conception to natural death. Anything that threatens human life, especially atrocities such as abortion and euthanasia, must be eradicated. But animals are not humans. Pets – no matter how much we love them – are not made in the image and likeness of God. The Lord has given us dominion over the animals of the earth, and we must treat them with mercy – the same mercy that Christ shows us. For this reason, when an animal is suffering, we can show it mercy by removing its pain through euthanasia when no other alternatives exist.

Other humans – family members – are not within our dominion. We all belong to God, and He will call each of us to Him when He is ready. We should be very grateful for the times that we get to share with our pets, and we should welcome the emotional bonds that are formed between animal and man. But we should never forget that we humans are much more than just sophisticated animals. We have souls – souls which must not be compromised by a lack of respect for human life.

During the Mass, the priest will pray (often inaudibly) the following words over the wine and water to be consecrated, “By the mystery of this water and wine, may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled Himself to share in our humanity.”

This is one of the many beautiful parts of the liturgy that we often gloss right over without a second thought. Surely we can do more than simply gloss over words like, “may we come to share in the divinity of Christ.” What is this divinity of Christ? And what does he mean, we get to share in it?

It’s grace! The same grace that we received in Baptism, we receive through the Eucharist. This grace is God’s divinity – His divine life – within us. When we receive the body and blood of Christ, we receive more of this grace – more divinity. Who could ask for more?

What can we do with this divinity – this grace? We can do God’s will – we can imitate Jesus more perfectly. Grace isn’t going to help us achieve worldly glory, but it will help us to unite our own wills with the will of God. Through grace, we can humble ourselves as Christ humbled Himself. We can learn to recognize our own weakness and the infinite strength found in Christ.

What about life without grace – do we really need it? Read the Old Testament – the history of a people who lacked God’s grace. Their own human nature, like ours, was never enough for them to live consistently righteous lives.

On a personal note, the grace of God has helped me overcome addictive and sinful behaviors that I struggled with all my life. Though my own humanity was too weak to break free from these chains, the grace of God has been powerful enough to overcome any obstacle.

God is all powerful, and yet He “humbled Himself to share in our humanity.” He showed us that true strength is found in humility. How great is God, who humbled Himself only to pour out His blood for all of us, so that He could offer His divinity to us through this same blood.

A candle can serve a number of purposes. It can provide primitive light, a pleasant scent, or warm ambiance. But from a spiritual perspective, the candle can be a beautiful symbol of the way that we Christians are called to live our lives. One can look at the symbolism of a candle in many ways. For instance, some of us may feel like we are candles burning from both ends! But what about the votive candles that are often found in our parishes? What do they symbolize?

When we offer a prayer or petition to God before a lit candle, it stands as a reminder that our prayers continue even after we leave the church. The glorious symbolism of a candle calls us to remember the light of Christ. The light from a candle is steady, and while the flame might waver slightly in a strong breeze, it immediately returns to the task at hand. The candle completely offers itself in a sacrificial way, from the inside out. It lives to serve just one purpose, to consistently shed light for others until its time comes to be extinguished.

As my conversion continues and I grow in the spiritual life, I seek to find these hidden reminders in the beauty of God’s creation. I pray that one day, the light of Christ will shine through me in peaceful and consistent manner, just like the flame from a candle.