Saturday, June 19, 2010

Saint Pio, pray for us

Life the past six weeks has been chock full - beginning with the early surprise appearance of our dear, little Isaac Jogues Samuel, followed by graduations, anniversaries, birthdays and a funeral. I found myself spiritually and emotionally drained. I was in dire need of some soul food. The announcement in our parish bulletin about a healing Mass caught my eye. The more I read about it, the more I was determined to attend. It was taking place, after all, on Papa's 94th birthday - June 16th - but it was my recently deceased step-father's connection to Padre Pio that compelled me more.

I didn’t realize that June 16 was also the 8th anniversary of the canonization of Saint Pio until the visiting priest mentioned it during the Mass last Wednesday night. The visitor, Fr. Pio Mandator, F.M.H.J. is a Franciscan priest living as a missionary hermit in the diocese of Scranton, PA. His parents came from the same town as Saint Pio – Pietrelcina in southern Italy. They knew Padre Pio well. Our pastor invited Fr. Pio to celebrate Mass at our parish and to deliver a homily focusing on Padre Pio as healer. After Mass the congregation was invited to receive individual and family blessings with one of Saint Pio’s gloves.

While he was ill and slowly journeying toward his eternal home, my mother prayed to Saint Pio for her life-long protestant husband’s conversion to Catholicism. And it happened. As I've mentioned in previous posts, my step-father entered into the fullness of Truth and Faith during Holy Week of this year. The event lifted all of us, providing joy where there had only been sorrow and uncertainty. It was an event that gloriously and beautifully propelled my step-dad through pain, suffering and death into the loving arms of His savior. My brother had given Ernest a medal of Padre Pio that had been touched to his tomb. During his illness, on good days and on bad, he asked for that medal and his new-found devotion to this beloved saint provided him comfort and hope throughout his prolonged ordeal.

And so, I was happy to be at that Mass and to pray once again for Saint Pio's intercession on behalf of my step-father's soul. I listened in awe to the stories Fr. Mandator recounted about this willing instrument of God's grace - his ability to read souls, his God-given gift of healing of not only physical ailments, but most importantly of the plague of doubt and unbelief. Always bringing souls to Christ, our Divine Physician.

The Mass was stunningly beautiful. Outwardly, it didn't seem much different from the countless Masses I've attended my entire life and in reality it wasn't. But my experience of it was different and I'm at a loss as to how to describe it accurately. All I can say is that I knew we were not only celebrating Mass in union with all of Heaven - we were indeed in Heaven! All of us - my friends who were suffering physically and emotionally, those who have kept their needs deep in their own hearts for only God to know, and others, strangers to me, but not to God - worshiped there among the angels, the saints, and those who have gone before us - the entire body of Christ. And the words Fr. Mandator had spoken moments earlier during his homily became vividly clear, and all that I had been telling my mom over the past year was affirmed during the Eucharistic prayer. We would all face illness, tragedy and even death, but Christ has conquered death through His own sacrifice on the Cross. Life is eternal and we were made to be in perfect union with our Father.

After Mass,  those present were invited to approach Fr. Mandato to be blessed with one of the saint's gloves. Not a magic wand, Father cautioned, but a relic; a glove Padre Pio wore to cover the wounds of the stigmata. During the blessing, Fr. Mandato explained, he would be asking Padre Pio to intercede on our behalf. Being a hermit, and in the tradition of the early desert monks, Fr. Mandato also provided each individual and family a few words (hopefully divinely inspired) that we could take with us to meditate upon and perhaps live by. Those with infirmities or with young children were given permission to 'cut in line'. I sat and watched throngs of people approach Fr. Pio, some in tears, some radiating joy. My own eyes filled with tears (as they had done many times throughout the evening) when I saw my dear friends, Kathy and Lyle, with all their progeny in tow, walk up to receive their blessing. Kathy has written a lovely piece about this on her blog, Faith on the High Wire. It's a beautiful testimony to why Padre Pio is important to their lives and what it meant for Kathy to be present at this Mass of healing and renewal.

As I waited my turn to be blessed, I listened to the organist play "Here, I am Lord" - one of the hymns we sang at Papa's funeral and I knew that the good Padre Pio had heard my prayers and was lifting them up with his own. I left that night blessed and rejuvenated and walking on air.

Saint Pio, pray for us.

(c) Darby C. Fitzpatrick 2010

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Letters to Isaac (no. 2)

Dearest Isaac,

Baptism is God's most beautiful and magnificent gift. . . .We call it gift, grace, anointing, enlightenment, garment of immortality, bath of rebirth, seal, and most precious gift. It is called gift because it is conferred on those who bring nothing of their own; grace since it is given even to the guilty; Baptism because sin is buried in the water; anointing for it is priestly and royal as are those who are anointed; enlightenment because it radiates light; clothing since it veils our shame; bath because it washes; and seal as it is our guard and the sign of God's Lordship. (CCC 1216)

A few days ago, your parents, full of joy and anticipation, brought you to the baptistry of St. Catherine of Siena Church on a sultry June evening. There among friends and family you were baptized into the life of the Church. Original sin was washed clean away and you became a son of Christ, a true and beautiful member of His body. Welcome, dearest Isaac Jogues Samuel! Welcome to this new life in Christ that your parents have chosen for you.

Your great uncle, Fr. Jim was so happy to have the privilege of baptizing you. He traveled all the way from his parish in North Carolina to officiate the rite. It was magnificent and moving and so joyful! Many of us there are grateful for the joy; for the opportunity to rejoice in the Lord!

Especially for one member gathered there. Your great Gramma Bea, who only days before had bid farewell to your great grandfather, truly embraced this moment of grace and love. This precious moment - a balm to soothe her aching heart. And I knew that by receiving this sublime gift of salvation, you are now connected in an extraordinary way to this remarkable man; your Papa Ern, whom you will come to know through the sharing of stories about his presence in our lives. I'm sure he will pray for you, little one, and love you from afar.

Along with your godparents, Auntie Erin and "Uncle" Noah, your parents have promised to educate you and nurture your faith. As the Catechism states,
For the grace of Baptism to unfold, the parents' help is important. So too is the role of the godfather and godmother, who must be firm believers, able and ready to help the newly baptized—child or adult—on the road of Christian life. Their task is a truly ecclesial function (officium). The whole ecclesial community bears some responsibility for the development and safeguarding of the grace given at Baptism. (CCC 1255)
I, too, my dear grandson, will do my part to safeguard that grace. Our Church is a treasure trove of faith and truth to which we bear witness in all moments of our daily lives. Welcome to it, my sweet! Live it well and bask in His love.

Saint Isaac Jogues, pray for us!

I love you, baby!

Your,
Nana D

Fr. Jim Collins and his great nephew, Isaac Jogues Samuel








Tuesday, June 1, 2010

In Honor and Remembrance

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.  ~ George Eliot

Something I share with my mom that perhaps most mothers and daughters do not, is that we were both married in the same year. My wedding happened in the spring of 1985; my mother's in December. 

She was his secretary and they had both lost their spouses. His wife had died of cancer in February; her husband of heart disease the following February. Their broken hearts moved them from a professional relationship to a personal one. A friendship was born out of mutual sorrow; their shoulders bore each other's grief. Soon the friendship turned into courtship and then to a commitment to spend the rest of their lives together. Newlyweds in the autumn of their lives. The wedding was a beautiful celebration of a new beginning; a rising above heartache and finding joy once more.

Our lives have all been blessed by his presence, but she has truly benefited more. He has been there for her when she's needed him the most. Not one for living a solitary life, she is so grateful to God for providing this opportunity to experience marital love and companionship for nearly twenty-five years. I am grateful, too. 

And so, after all these many years, when changing diapers and waiting up for self-absorbed teenagers has long past, when perhaps she thought she had nothing left to teach us, I am still learning from her. Through it all - the trips back and forth to the hospital, the sleepless nights, the celebrations of small signs of improvement - she was there - loving Ernest with every ounce of her being, in sickness and in health. Living the promises she made to him the day they were wed. And always displaying an undying hope, always lifting him up and away from despair, letting him know that no matter what, their love for one another was everlasting and nothing – not even grave illness or the threat of death could destroy it. She made every effort to greet him every day, with a smile and a kiss. She dressed well, styled her hair and applied her make-up. She didn’t want him to worry about her … to see her concern or detect any signs of fatigue. He told her over and over again how wonderful she was and how much he adored her. Theirs was truly a love story and to witness such love was truly an honor and a privilege and a lesson to me of what marriage is all about and what it means to lay down one’s life for a friend, even in the autumn of our lives.

To be sure, her grief weighs heavy and by itself is difficult to bear, but love carries her along. Love lifts her on His wings, giving her strength and perseverance and the knowing that she is not alone. And we are with her, too, her children, his children, never ceasing to lover her; never ceasing to pray.

If I speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.
And if I have the gift of prophecy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge; if I have all faith so as to move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing.
If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, (love) is not pompous, it is not inflated,
it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails. (1 Cor 13: 1-8)


And now, just a few more words about Papa …

I have realized only this week that I have known Papa Ern longer than I knew my own father. Although, my father passed away 4 months after he and my mother celebrated their 37th wedding anniversary, I am the number 6 child of 7, and was only 23 ½ when my Dad died in February of 1984.

As I’ve already mentioned, Ernest has been a loving and important member of our family for nearly 25 years. We are all better people for having known him and we are so grateful that he agreed to not only care for our Mom, but to become a surrogate father to seven grown children and their spouses and an endearing grandfather to our children, who would know him affectionately as Papa Ern. He was and is and always will be their Papa.

I asked Kevin and Erin what enters their minds when they think of Papa. They answered, “Beer, hotdogs and the Atlanta Braves.” And, of course, there’s Carolina basketball! He was passionate about sports. Countless times while on the phone with my Mom, I could hear him cheering and yelling in the background. She didn’t have to tell me that he was watching a game – the evidence was loud and clear!

We remember his devotion to his beloved cats and how kind he was to all animals particularly our own pet dogs and cats. He was often amused by their antics and he recognized the beauty in how wonderfully they were made. He appreciated their companionship and was always forgiving of their misdeeds. Even the little birds gathering at the backyard feeder delighted him.

I remember when my sister, Joan and I visited him in the rehab center in late April, he mentioned how he hoped he could spend a little time outside to enjoy a little sunshine. It was very windy that day and he quipped, “I reckon they’d have to tie me to a tree, so I wouldn’t blow away as I’ve lost so much weight.” But he looked great to me that day – that weekend. He was animated and chatty. Telling my sister and me how much he loved us and appreciated our visit. We had the opportunity to let him know, too, how much we loved him. I am grateful for that visit, for that opportunity to bid him farewell.

Papa loved the outdoors, the ocean breeze, the majesty of the Carolina mountains, and his beautiful, well manicured and cared-for gardens. How happy he must now be in the garden of Paradise! I can just hear him calling to my Mom, “Bebe, you should see these gardens – they are magnificent! The flowers are so beautiful.” Perhaps someday when we join him in eternity, we’ll find him there, putzing around among the peonies and camellias, a Budweiser in hand listening to a Braves game.

We will miss you, Papa Ern, but in the deepest recesses of our souls we know that we do not wish you remain with us, but recognize the insatiable longing to be where you are now, our eternal home.

As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God. (Psalm 42)

Our joy, Papa, is in knowing that we will have eternity.

(c) Darby C. Fitzpatrick 2010