This is the Colin Kaepernick controversy as perceived by two little girls.

First girl, Micki.  Micki grew up in a white middle class blue collar family with both parents and siblings.  Micki’s dad was an electrician in the steel mill.  He is also a World War II veteran.  Micki is extremely proud of her dad, his valor, and the meaning of freedom and the American flag.  Colin Kaepernick’s taking a knee makes Micki feel sad and even angry.  She feels it is a snub to her father and all veterans who fought for the flag.  Micki is entitled to those feelings and they are legitimate.

Second girl, Kendra.  Kendra grew up in a black middle class family with both parents and siblings.  Kendra’s dad was a scrapper in the steel mill because, back in his day, black men were not allowed to hold the skilled jobs.  Kendra’s brother fought in Vietnam and she also appreciates veterans and the sacrifice for freedom.  But Kendra, her parents, and her siblings have felt the mighty wounds of racism.  From not being allowed certain jobs, to being called the N-word, to being followed in stores, and to even fearing being misidentified by law enforcement as a criminal, are just a few of the realities they face.  Colin Kaepernick taking a knee makes Kendra feel happy, even elated, that a public figure is making a stand against racism that still exists.  Kendra is entitled to those feelings and they are legitimate.

Now can you see that the way you feel about the “taking of the knee” is deeply rooted in your past experiences?  Now can you see that there are two sides to this issue?  Now can you see that they are both legitimate?  Can you see that both the little girl inside of Micki and the little girl inside of Kendra feels stirred and protective of her family?

We are so much alike, yet even today we are blinded by color.  Can we all just please calm down and put ourselves in each other’s shoes.  Can we please stop denying that racism still exists.  Can we please acknowledge that everyone can do better and stop pointing fingers at each other.  Can we strive to do better because all American children deserve better.

God bless us all, and may the Holy Spirit fill our hearts so that we may see and listen to each other.  Amen.

One of the things I miss about my childhood is Holy Week.  I attended a rather strict Catholic grade school.  We went to Mass everyday during the school year.  So, you can imagine, Lent required strict observances.  Looking back, these traditions and rituals  were very interesting and they created continuity.  I celebrated Easter the EXACT same way my parents did when they were kids.  And best of all, I did feel holy and close to God during the Easter season.

My family’s church, Saint Mary’s Nativity, was built by the Joliet Croatians.  My grandma was a student in the first class of the church’s school.  It was common for your name to end in “ICH” or “IC”.  It was common to come from a large family.  It was common for your dad to work at the steel mill, the gas or electric companies, or other blue collar jobs.  We Croatians were loving, faith-filled, do-anything-for-you, friendly families.  It was a great community.  We had our own special food, music, dancing, drinks, and prayers.  It was neat to have so much in common.

I remember being taught by the priests and sisters that Easter was the most holy holiday, and that we should anticipate it more than any other holiday.  I secretly felt bad because I liked Christmas much better.  Christmas was happy and upbeat.  Easter was solemn and sacrificing.  Christmas was singing Little Drummer Boy, while Easter was singing Were You There When They Crucified Our Lord?  That is just too much sadness for a first grader.  We also did the Stations of the Cross every Friday during Lent.  My knees would kill me from kneeling for an hour.  I always felt I would have been Veronica, who wiped the face of Jesus, if I lived back then.  Easter really made me think deeply.

On Thursday of Holy Week our class would have to go back to church for an hour in the afternoon and pray the Rosary and go to Confession.  On Good Friday, we did not have school.  My mom would have us turn off the TV and radio and be silent from noon until three o’clock – the time Jesus spent on the Cross.  That evening would then go back to Church for another Stations and to kiss the Cross.  I remember how fascinating it was to watch grown men and women get down on their hands and knees to kiss the Cross on the alter steps.  I saw how real their feelings of devotion were.  It made a huge impression.

Easter had some joyful events, too. Croatian families would traditionally make their own special Easter sausage and a wonderful sweet walnut roll called potica.  We also colored eggs and put out our Easter baskets.  On Easter Saturday, my mom would wrap up the sausages, the potica, the colored eggs, and the ham and put it in her special basket with a lovely cloth on top.  Back again to Church to have our basket blessed.  I would check out the other baskets and, of course, ours was the best.  Easter Sunday meal, after Mass, we would eat the food that was blessed in the basket.  From Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, I was in the church everyday contemplating Jesus’ death and resurrection.

I find myself missing those simpler times.  My old church is now Mexican families from the local neighborhood and devoted long-standing parishioners.  The school kids only attend Mass weekly.  The Lenten traditions that do remain seem to be more of a “if you want to” kind of a deal.  Sad, but my kids cannot say that they celebrated Easter the EXACT same way that I did.

The pearl in all this is to try to keep some traditions.  At Easter and Christmas, or any holiday that your faith observes, traditions are comforting.  Traditions bind the past and the future.  When they stop, there seems to be a void.  And the memories they make are priceless.  I treasure my Holy Week memories, and I wish I was in the kitchen right now watching my mom make potica.  She knew how to keep traditions.

God Bless you and your family this Easter.

 

Saint Mary’s Nativity

 

Window photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

Out of Dark Comes Light

God, make me brave for life:
oh, braver than this.
Let me straighten after pain,
as a tree straightens after the rain,
Shining and lovely again.

God, make me brave for life;
much braver than this.
As the blown grass lifts,
let me rise
From sorrow with quiet eyes,
Knowing Thy way is wise.

God, make me brave, life brings
Such blinding things.

Help me to keep my sight;
Help me to see aright
That out of dark comes light.

Author Unknown

 

In wake of all the recent tragedies, this prayer has brought me some comfort.  I love prayers that are poems.  This prayer acknowledges the pain and sorrow that comes when life gets dark.  It asks God for braveness – which is courage in the face of fear.  Yes, I am afraid.  And deep down I know that light follows the dark, but sometimes I need the Lord to carry me through.

May all who have been touched by tragedy find the Light of the Lord again.  Amen.

 

Photo by Nick Scheerbart on Unsplash

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

I believe The Peace Prayer of Saint Francis is one of the most humble prayers ever written.  I love saying the prayer and I love hearing the prayer in song.  For as long as I can remember, I have known this prayer.  When I was young, I would recite it.  But as I learned to say prayers with understanding and conviction, I realized this prayer’s perfection.

The very first line – Lord make me and instrument of your peace – is an awesome request.  It says, Lord, use me –  I am choosing to do your work.   The prayer does not ask for something for myself – only help to give of myself.  Quite different from other prayers.

The second part of the prayer is also a request.  It basically says – Lord, help me put others first.   Even though I may need to be consoled, understood, and loved – help me not to seek it for myself.  Help me give it to others.  The prayer seeks strength to be a giver!

The next part of the prayer explains a universal truth.  When we give, we receive.  Our peace and bounty comes only when we give!  To get God’s peace, we must give it away.  To receive forgiveness, we must forgive.  Our happiness depends on how much we give!

Finally, the prayer ends with the ultimate truth.  When we die, we live!  The body dies, the soul lives on.  There is great reward when we give our last breath!

This prayer is asking for the strength to be like Jesus.  Jesus was a peacemaker.  Jesus gave to others.  Jesus died and was born again.  Saint Francis lived this prayer.  I want to live this prayer.

What a pearl.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recently, many of my friends have experienced the loss of a close loved one.  Parents, spouses, and even very young souls.  I find myself with no words of comfort to give.  The grief and the anger are intense.  I know, I lost my mom and brother.

“Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always take strength, not weakness.  It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets.  It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and anger flow into tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and reach out for help and comfort when we need it.'”                                   – Fred Rogers                

For all who are grieving, express it.  If you are overwhelmed and need help, ask for it.  God is with you.

I read the following poem, by Henry Scott Holland, at my father-in-law’s funeral.  I find so much comfort in it.  It presents death as I believe it is – a transition but not an ending.

Death Is Nothing At All

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together with our Creator.

 

Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash