Monthly Newspaper • DIOCESE OF BRIDGEPORT

All my life I’ve been surrounded by Josephs. Maybe it’s an Italian thing because some of them were Giuseppes.

My father was Joseph, the carpenter. My mother was Josephine, but not the plumber. And I was Joe. Well, not quite. So that we didn’t all answer at once when someone called, “Joe!” I was dubbed JoJo.

That’s not bad when you’re a toddler, but when you’re a teenager, it can be a bit embarrassing. At your college commencement, do you really want the Dean to announce, “JoJo!” when you get your diploma?

As it was, I received my sacraments at St. Joseph Church in Shelton and religious instructions from the Sisters of St. Joseph and, predictably, I went to St. Joseph High School.

I confess that I resented being an “ordinary Joe” and wished my parents had named me something more flamboyant like Kent or Reginald, but I guess they figured “Kent Pisani” didn’t quite fit our ethnic profile.

So I thought of myself as an Average Joe, Joe Schmo and Joe Sixpack…until I developed a devotion to my patron, St. Joseph, and realized it’s an honor to be named after the husband of the Mother of God and foster father of the Son of God, whose feast we celebrate on March 19.

It’s a great year for us Joes and Josephines because Pope Francis has proclaimed “A Year of St. Joseph” in observance of the 150th anniversary of his being named Patron of the Universal Church by Blessed Pius IX.

The pope also issued an Apostolic Letter titled “Patris Corde,” (“With a Father’s Heart”) to “increase our love for this great saint, to encourage us to implore his intercession and to imitate his virtues and his zeal.”

St. Joseph was an ordinary person who did extraordinary things because he accepted God’s will. And he continues to do extraordinary things from heaven. He is a model for all Catholics, especially fathers, in a time when families are fractured and homes are broken.

St. Thomas Aquinas said, “Some saints are privileged to extend to us their patronage with particular efficacy in certain needs, but not in others; but our holy patron St. Joseph has the power to assist us in all cases, in every necessity, in every undertaking.”

Our family always prays to him in times of crisis, and over the years, many prayers have been answered through his intercession. We have a shrine in his honor with statues that we have acquired from all over the world.

One of my favorites I found in an antique shop in Montreal. It’s a hand-carved wooden statue I got when we made a pilgrimage to St. Joseph’s Oratory of Mount Royal during the Jubilee Year in 2000.

The Oratory, which before COVID-19 attracted 2 million visitors annually, is the world’s largest shrine to St. Joseph and was built through the efforts of St. Andre Bessette, who was the doorman at Notre Dame College, where thousands of people visited him because of his gift of healing through the intercession of St. Joseph.

Early in his life, he worked in eastern Connecticut in factories and farms before returning to Canada to enter the Congregation of Holy Cross in 1870.

I also have a library of what is known as Josephology—the study of St. Joseph—with several dozen books about this great saint. One of them, published in 1887, is titled, “St. Joseph: The Advocate of Hopeless Cases” and contains dozens of stories about the saint’s miraculous intercession.

As Pope Francis says, “Each of us can discover in Joseph— the man who goes unnoticed—a daily, discreet and hidden presence, an intercessor, a support and a guide in times of trouble. St. Joseph reminds us that those who appear hidden or in the shadows can play an incomparable role in the history of salvation.”

A humble carpenter, St. Joseph is known by many titles: “Protector of Holy Church,” “Hope of the Sick,” “Patron of the Dying,” “Solace of the Afflicted,” “Guardian of Virgins,” “Pillar of Families,” “Glory of Home Life” and “Terror of Demons.”

He has always been known to respond when people pray to him. As St. Augustine said: “What could Jesus Christ refuse St. Joseph, who never refused him anything during his mortal life on Earth?”

St. Joseph, pray for us!

During this Lenten season, I often think of the disciples and the difficult decisions they had to make in their lives.

They knew that leaving their homes to follow Jesus was the right thing to do. This was not the safe or expected decision. Presumably, they had jobs and families and other responsibilities. But they knew that they simply could not remain where they were after encountering Christ and experiencing what they had.

I am sure that people advised them against this decision, and I am sure they had to repeatedly explain themselves to others. But they had a conviction that even though their decision was risky, the payback would be worth it. And, in fact, the payback was more than they ever could have imagined.

When we make a decision in our lives that others may not understand, we tend to be met with a barrage of unsolicited advice. Though often well-meaning, if we’re not specifically seeking out advice, this can cause unnecessary pressure to explain ourselves and our decisions—particularly if someone is young and trying to find her or his way in life.

People will always have their thoughts about what others do or don’t do. The thing is, the big decisions you make in your life, especially if they are directly related to your own happiness or well-being, are ultimately between you and God.

If you have taken this decision to prayer and thought out all aspects in a meaningful and intentional way, there is no need to defend your decisions to others.

I am a people-pleaser by nature. A typical middle-child and mediator, I am always tunedin to how what I do and say makes other people feel. This can be a great asset, but also a great drawback. I have had to unlearn these tendencies over the years, because I have learned that I cannot always be responsible for the happiness and comfort of others.

Like the disciples, we can’t live our lives based on what others are going to think. God knows the deepest desires of our hearts, and he desires for us to know happiness. He leads us to the things that he has meant for us, even if the path may seem long and winding.

If we hold onto this trust that God will guide us in our lives and in our decision-making, we simply cannot be lead astray. Because even if things go wrong, this is a lesson that we were meant to learn.

It is a tough lesson to learn in life, but we are not helping anyone by remaining in situations that no longer serve us or others. If we are unhappy in a situation, or that situation is no longer allowing us to grow in our faith, then it is time to move on. Because you simply cannot serve others if you are not being served in any way.

It takes a deep self-awareness and a strong relationship with God to realize when a situation calls for change. And only you and God can know this.

As the faithfulness of the disciples teaches us, the way of the Cross leads to Easter and new life. When you have a strong conviction and you are certain God is leading you in the right direction, listen to that conviction, and be ready to take a leap of faith.

He will not lead you astray. You don’t owe anyone else an explanation. And once they see how happy you are when you live out loud, that will be all the explanation needed.

As I grow older, I tend more and more to see so much that can make me sad and a bit discouraged. It can stir me with a deep sense of compassion. For instance, how many people come to stand, at some time or another, on Mount Nebo. Mt Nebo was the mount Moses stood on when God showed him the promised land and told him he would not enter it. Again and again God says to people, “I have caused you to see with your eyes, but you shall not go there.” A couple makes plans for the future and their dreams of retirement, and then right on the threshold of it all, one is taken. Men and women struggle all their years in devotion to some cause, and just on the eve of triumph, they are gone. Again and again, we are allowed to see with our eyes but not allowed to go over. I wonder how many people have climbed their particular Mt. Nebo, saw something and learned it was not going to be for them?

And there is our likeness to Napoleon. After his great victories, Napoleon was shipped to a remote South Atlantic island named St. Helena. There’s a St. Helena waiting for many (most) of us be it a hospital, nursing home or just a room somewhere.

Growing up, probably most of us were wronged in one way or another. No life escapes some wounding early on. Everyone, to a large or small extent, has felt rejection. No one is safe from trouble in the world. It seems to be true that there is no uninterrupted joy. There’s what a poet called “the world’s rain of tears.”

On the other hand, the Psalms constantly urge us to look back and remember the things God has done for us. When I reflect on my own life, I do glimpse the hand of God. When I look back over my own life, I can see many “coincidences” or “lucky breaks” which now I can see as the result of divine intervention. When I reflect on my own life, I can often say, when certain events are well-examined, that God acted there; in that particular time His hand rested upon me. There were the fingerprints of a providential hand.

One result of longevity is that one can look back and see how things fitted together to form a pattern. One of the consequences of growing older is that one develops a sense of how one thing leads to another. I have experienced God’s grace and power in my life. Sometimes it takes time to understand things that happened. Meaning unfolds slowly. God’s presence is sometimes seen only in a “rear-view mirror.” There were moments when I knew that God cared for me personally. “You have kept an account of my wanderings; you have kept a record of my tears. Are they not written in your book?” (Psa. 56:9). I’m one of billions in the world yet I’m convinced God has paid special attention to me. The past makes me hopeful for the future.

I’m convinced that God will bring into my life what or whom I need. We are all objects of God’s mercy, some in one way, others in another.

Isaiah tells us that we are carved on the palm of God’s hand and will never be forgotten by God. Isa. 49:5-16: “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should have no compassion on the child of her womb? Even if a mother should forget her child, I can never forget you. Behold, I have written your name on the palms of my hands; you are continually before me.” Isaiah also has God say: “I am aware whether you stand or sit. I know whether you come or go” (37:28). Isaiah also has God say “you are precious in my sight. I love you. Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (43:4).

The Scriptures tells us that fear, not doubt, is the opposite of faith. Fear indicates a lack of faith. Mt.8:26: “And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, you of little faith?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a dead calm.”

Deut.31:6: “Be strong and bold; have no fear or dread, because it is the Lord your God who goes with you; he will not fail you or forsake you.”

St. Therese simply said, “everything is grace.” Many spiritual writers also claim that nothing happens by chance or accident. Even the psychologist Carl Jung said that “nothing happens by chance.” There are no coincidences; all is Providence. I’m convinced of that.

In Graham Greene’s novel Brighton Rock, there’s a fascinating statement, “You can’t conceive the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God.”

The ways in which God acts are generally inconspicuous. They usually don’t come as a bolt from the blue. God’s ways generally are not transparent. This is illustrated by the Biblical Book of Ruth, one of the great short stories that has come down from antiquity. The story of Ruth and Naomi often moves people to tears. God is never mentioned in the story, yet God’s involvement in human events is hidden but continuous. God is the invisible force working behind the scenes.

God is continually operating in human coincidences and schemes. God is directing the play. God’s hidden hand is at work creating opportunities for people, making meetings possible. Providence asserts itself in and through familiar happenings. Every prayer in the book finds an answer.

So, I pray the Lord to stay with me and keep me in His sight. Hold me tight, O God. I like something Hosea (6:13) said: “He will come like rain to us, like the spring rain that waters the earth.” And finally, I pray:
Give us joy to balance our afflictions
For the years when we knew misfortune…
Give success to the work of our hands.
Give success to the work of our hands. (Psa.90:17)

My wife Sandy gave me the bad news— Ash Wednesday is early this year. “What are you giving up for Lent?” she asked. I shuddered because that meant I had to start my annual soul-searching, trying to think of something to give up. I hate that phrase “giving up” because quite honestly I don’t want to give up anything. I’m too weak-willed. Besides, isn’t that an old-fashioned, medieval concept unsuited for our ‘enlightened’ age?

You see, we’re from a generation that thought Lent was all about giving up something, and over the years, I’ve had my experiences—most of them unsuccessful—with giving things up, starting with candy and ice cream, then smoking and drinking, and later television and swearing, along with a few other things I better not divulge.

For much of our marriage, my wife has been pleading with me to give up spending or leaving my clothes on chairs and doorknobs. (Here’s an embarrassing confession: I’ve never been able to completely give up candy.)

I was often unsuccessful because I came from a generation—those notorious Baby Boomers—who never understood the concept of self-denial or delayed gratification because from the time we were toddlers, we were more accustomed to immediate gratification. Let me put it another way: I would not have done well in a Carthusian monastery as one of St. Bruno’s recruits.

So when Sandy asked, “What are you giving up?” I promptly responded, “Giving up? I’m just getting through a year of penance called COVID-19, which was probably the most prolonged self-denial I’ve endured in my life.”

It taught me to look at the world differently. I learned to like tuna sandwiches. I helped charitable organizations. I shared. I cared. I gave up. Worst of all, I often couldn’t go to Mass, Sunday or daily and that was particularly painful.

The year of COVID-19 taught us about sacrifice. About charity. About spiritual priorities. About turning to God. But many of those lessons, like the ones we learned after 9/11, were quickly forgotten. We’re like the Chosen People. We’re wayward and God has to keep calling us back from the enticements and false promises of the world. That’s why we need Lent.

Lent is a time for penance, fasting, almsgiving, prayer and hope. Did I say hope? More than 1600 years ago, Saint Augustine offered an observation that speaks to us today: “The season before Easter signifies the troubles in which we live here and now, while the time after Easter signifies the happiness that will be ours in the future.”

I look at it this way: Before Easter we walk with Christ on the road to Calvary. After Easter, we walk with Christ on the road to Emmaus.

This year, it’s especially important to walk with Christ through Lent to the “happiness that will be ours in the future.” Is there sadness is your life? Is there disappointment? Is there grief? Is there fear? Is there illness? Is there anxiety about our country? Then, imagine someone beside you on the journey who tells you everything is going to be all right. That someone is Jesus.

So what’s my Lenten resolution? I’m making a list and I’m checking it twice. It’s a list of people I dislike, even if I don’t know them personally. Needless to say, that list has gotten long over the past 12 months of national acrimony.

Last year was especially painful, made worse by divisive politics that tore apart families and friends and still does. If that isn’t the work of Satan, I don’t know what is.

I’m keeping that list on my nightstand, where my wife won’t see it because it includes people from her side of the family. And I’m going to pray the rosary for them every night with an ulterior motive that they might finally see the light and think the way I do. However, my true motive is spiritual. I’ll really be praying that despite our differences, we can move closer to Christ together…even if it’s along different paths.

This Lent is a time for all of us to pray for people we don’t like because I suspect their numbers have increased over the past year. So let’s get started.

I’m also going to give up something. It just might be candy.

There is a little-known song titled “Sad Heart.” As far as I know, the only performer who recorded this song is Harry Belafonte. A lyric from the song states: “Misfortunes come, but life is sweet. I can’t have a sad heart.”

No one who thinks hard finds life easy. Much of life hurts. Life includes hardships, illness, grief. There’s loneliness and worry, tears and fears, disappointments and misunderstandings.

It may surprise you to hear that the great Catholic theologian, Karl Rahner, told us that the life of a Christian is characterized by a pessimistic realism. Christianity does not oblige us to see reality in an optimistic light. On the contrary, it obliges one to see this existence as dark and bitter and hard.” (Foundations of Christian Faith, 1978, p.403). John Updike, in a NY Times interview, declared that “the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualitive unhappiness.”

However, one who thinks hard also knows that life has good things in it too. It’s got love and kindness in it, people doing brave and honest things. It’s got the sound of rain on the roof, the magical light of late afternoon. It’s got dawn and dusk in it. There’s pouring coffee in the morning and breakfast. There’s friendship.

Life has certain inevitabilities: the disappointments, embarrassments, reprimands. There are the small humiliations and little defeats. Life also has many deeds of charity. Good will and love are constantly in evidence, so much decency radiates.

Life brings the griefs and deaths, and maybe above all the separations and losses. There’s so much unredeemable loss. Life becomes a series of losses survived. There can be so much loneliness in living. However, amid the treadmill of worries and vexations, sweetness endures. Reality, with all its sufferings can still be sweet. There are the daily quiet joys: eating a good meal, or just eating a cookie, there’s the taste of fresh bread, taking naps, there are the jokes, the feel of the sun, a summer breeze, the first snowfall, the laughter of children.

There can be the awful melancholy of life. It is a sad earth where flowers fade. Still, earthly life is beautiful despite its limitations and sufferings. Beauty is everywhere, just as suffering is everywhere.

The longer I live, routine things take on a renewed beauty. I often sense the hidden treasures that occur in daily life. Life is made up of little things, and small things can become treasures. One can learn to love the little everyday things. There are the words of a poem by Faith Baldwin: “I have come back to quiet ways; to things of silent wonder; to dusk, to primrose dawns and the still simplicity of gentle days.” Despite its misfortunes, I’ve grown to love it here, and I won’t be able to leave without tears.

Pope John Paul II wrote that “the gift of life, for all the effort and pain it involves, is too beautiful and precious for us ever to grow tired of it (Letter to the Elderly, Oct.26, 1999). Reality, with all its evil and suffering, can still be sweet. There are epiphanies of beauty: an elderly woman playing shuffleboard in the sun, the face of a man walking his child in the park, a person listening to a Bach concert, or a man just having a beer at a Saturday baseball game.

There’s that marvelous scene in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town where Emily, who has died, is allowed to return to earth to watch herself as a twelve-year old going through an ordinary day.

Emily is overcome by her observation that humans go through life without savoring their time on earth. There is so much “ignorance and blindness.” The scene becomes unbearable to Emily, seeing how people do not make much effort to cherish life while they still have it. She says to the Stage Manager, “They don’t understand, do they?” Then she asks: “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it, every, every minute?” The Stage Manager replies: “No, saints and poets maybe, they do, some.” Emily concludes: “Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”

Psalm 34:12: “Who among you delights in life?”

To someone for whom the experience of suffering negated God’s existence, Rahner countered, “Have you ever tried to make your experience of happiness, of meaning, of joy, or shelteredness be an argument for the existence of God?” We tend to take for granted the blessings of living.

We need to try to keep ourselves in wonder at the daily miracles of life. Life is terminal. We want to make the most of it. Try to instill in a child a love for living, give him/her the feeling it is good to be alive, it is good to be on this earth; it is good to be here.

Some of my relatives and friends have put nasty warnings on social media that go something like this: “If you voted for——(fill in the blank), you’re not worthy to be my friend or relative, so I’m disowning you. Don’t ever talk to me again!”

Just in time for Christmas.

Even crazier, I’ve seen columnists and newscasters issue virtually the same ultimatum: “You’re not worthy to be my mother, father, sister or brother because of what you did blah, blah, blah. I can never forgive you! Repent before it’s too late!” Politics always brings out the worst in us, but now it seems to have ignited a sort of mass hysteria that eerily reminds me of Dostoevsky’s novel “The Possessed.” Everyone’s screaming, “You’re dead to me!”

For a while, I considered doing the same thing because I could have saved a lot of money by not sending out Christmas cards, but then I gave in to the better angels of our nature and sent out cards with a pro-life message.

I’m convinced many families canceled Thanksgiving get-togethers not because of COVID but because of political differences. Christmas could surely suffer the same fate even though it should be a time for peace on Earth, good will toward Democrats and Republicans… and Independents.

The self-righteous across the land are doing a lot of finger pointing, and it reminds me of the story about the woman caught in adultery, where all the holier-than-thou people were ready to stone her to death until Jesus uttered his timeless challenge, “Let he (or she) without sin cast the first stone.” What’s terrifying is they probably thought they were acting in the cause of social justice.

A debilitating spiritual virus is spreading across the land, which has the side-effect of turning people into Pharisees, many of whom think they’re without sin and are ready and willing to cast the first stone. I don’t ever recall a time so troubled when people condemned anyone and everyone who didn’t think the way they do—not even during the Vietnam era.

Jesus didn’t have much patience for people who went around passing judgement on everyone else. Why? Because judgement is reserved for God alone—not political activists, not televangelists, not college professors and certainly not commentators and columnists.

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged,” he said.

He also said that before we start looking for the splinter in our brother’s eye, we should go to the ophthalmologist and have him check out the beam in our own eye.

I still remember my father dressing me down when I was passing judgment on my sister for some indiscretion or other. “Take your own inventory,” he growled. It was a piece of wisdom he got in Alcoholics Anonymous.

We’re Christians first, not Democrats or Republicans. Politics is the problem…not the solution. At least that’s my opinion, and I’m freely expressing it until the thought police come to take me away or Facebook or Twitter censor me.

We should always pray for the grace to put Christ the King before any civic authority.

Turmoil erupts when Catholics put politics before what our religion teaches. Political agendas are no substitute for faith.

Over the years, I’ve told my kids that when they go face to face with Christ and have to explain what they did, it won’t strengthen their case to say, “But the New York Times said it was OK!” or “A lot of people are doing it!”

If you want a Christmas with peace on Earth and in your family, then put Christ first and concentrate on your own flaws, not everyone else’s.

One last thought. Look for the good in people, not the bad. In his first inaugural address, newly elected President Abraham Lincoln offered this consolation to the defeated Democrats, many of whom supported slavery: “We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”

It’s time to call out to those angels for help

While teaching his disciples the importance of a humble heart, Jesus said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3).

I have noticed a lot of things about myself during the coronavirus pandemic, but one of them has been my tendency to revert back to things that promise comfort and simplicity during uncertain times.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I couldn’t watch anything but funny, lighthearted cartoons. Give me slapstick humor and animation, I didn’t need to think about anything more dramatic than that.

As time has passed, I’ve been able to cycle back in a steady amount of regular tv and movies (although you won’t find me watching Contagion or Pandemic anytime soon), but I definitely find myself holding onto things that brought me comfort as a child—whether that be the Amy Grant Christmas album we used to listen to while putting up the tree, or a walk to a familiar nearby orchard with my mom.

Instead of reaching for books of extreme literary prowess and complicated prose, I find myself reaching for the fun mystery or the lighthearted yet uncomplicated love story. They may not be the most influential works of literature ever produced, but after a steady stream of frightening news, it’s nice to pick up something or do something that makes you remember what it was like to be a wide-eyed kid, with complete trust that everything was going to be alright.

For this same reason, some people (including myself) enjoy a good Hallmark Channel Christmas movie. We know the plot is simple, we know the characters are cheesy, and we absolutely know what will happen in the end—but, I think, that may just be the draw of it. There is something comforting in knowing what is going to happen, in the familiarity of it all, especially at a time when we can’t say that about very much.

Can we approach the Christmas season in a similar way? Let’s lean into all the joy of it, just like we did as children. May our eyes grow wide at the imperfect perfectness of our freshly cut Christmas tree, and our hearts lift as each light comes to life.

When Jesus welcomed the children to Him in Matthew 19:13-15, he admired their complete trust. Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14).

Can we have the same trust, even during these uncertain times? And what does that childlike faith look like for us? Perhaps it’s that cartoon, or that movie, or that song that brings you back to a happy memory. There aren’t parties to plan this year, and not as many eyes will be gazing upon our lights display, so what will we use that time to focus on instead?

There is so much that is difficult and scary and complicated in the world today. We all know the Christmas story…and we know what is going to happen, in fact that is the very basis of our faith. That should bring us comfort and joy this season!

Jesus Himself said “no prophet is accepted in his own town” (Luke 4:24). I have begun to realize this more and more. As I use my voice to speak out against the injustices I see, it is often the people that “knew you when,” that have the biggest problem with it. Perhaps it is our inherent nature to be resistant to change…to seek reliability in our family members, thinking that they are reflections of us instead of whole persons within themselves. Enter: the importance of the “chosen family.”

Jesus’ disciples were his “chosen family.” They traveled together, ministered together, shared conversations both difficult and deep, and became each other’s closest comrades. They had to leave their families behind in pursuit of their purpose, and I’m sure they faced a lot of backlash for this decision. There is power in these close bonds, formed through a shared journey, forged in adversity.

There is great strength in female friendship (don’t worry, there is absolutely a male equivalent as well, i.e. the “wolf pack,” but I can only speak from my own experience). We need these close friends who will offer us support, cheer us on, and not only validate us but amplify our voices. When I need reassurance, I know that I can turn to my “girl squad,” always and without fail. Some of these women I’ve known since I was in grammar school. We have seen each other through many life changes, through good times and bad, and our support for each other has remained unwavering.

In her book Becoming, Michelle Obama writes about the importance of holding these friendships close and cultivating these relationships. “My friends made me whole,” she writes, “as they always have and always will. They gave me a lift anytime I felt down or frustrated…. They grounded me when I felt the pressures of being judged…and they helped me ride out the big unsettling waves that sometimes hit without notice.”

There are many strong female friendships in the Bible, as well. Mary turns to Elizabeth when she finds out she is pregnant with Jesus, and they share their joy and take care of each other. Ruth refuses to leave her mother-in-law Ruth alone after her husband passes, vowing, “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay” (Ruth 1:16). The women were the ones who stayed at the foot of the cross as Jesus was crucified. They held each other up and remained strong.

My friends and I have “friendsgiving” every year—a tradition where we all bring dishes and celebrate a Thanksgiving meal together sometime before we all celebrate with our biological and extended families. It is this time of year that my heart goes out to those who are estranged from their family members, or perhaps they have lost loved ones who were their closest allies. This time of year can often be a harsh reminder of the division they feel within their families, and can cause a lot of anxiety in and around upcoming gatherings.

My prayer for those people is that they can find support elsewhere—perhaps their “chosen family.” This year has been hard enough, may we practice love and acceptance this season. As Jesus sat and broke bread with his disciples; as he welcomed the outcast, the zealot, the wayward soul. Let us open our hands and our hearts, and set our tables.

A Catholic existentialist philosopher named Gabriel Marcel is not generally well-known.

Yet, many of his ideas are captivating. Gabriel Marcel was born in Paris on December 7, 1889.

His mother died when he was four years old. One of the things Marcel wrote about was how, although his mother had died, he always felt her presence and influence in his life. Fifty-four years later, after a 38-year happy marriage, his wife died. Marcel again wrote of how he continued to sense his wife’s presence along with that of his mother. They were gone, yet still with him.

During the First World War, Marcel served with the Red Cross, and it was in connection with his work there that he experienced some of the most life-changing encounters of his life. His job with the Red Cross was to act as liaison for the families of soldiers who were missing in action. He had to try to find out what might have happened to soldiers classified as “missing.” He was constantly besieged by distraught relatives – wives, parents, etc. He spent endless days trying to obtain some jot of information about a missing soldier so that he might be able to offer some glimmer of hope to an apprehensive family. Too often, Marcel was dispatched to announce to the next of kin the death of a dearly loved one. The “missing” soldiers became real human beings to Marcel, and he sensed how terrible were impersonal generalities. He saw how the soldier’s questing loved ones were undergoing one of the most traumatic experiences allotted to human beings.

Marcel’s approach to philosophy is sometimes called “Phenomenology.” This is an approach which begins with a concrete individual experience and tries to describe the experience in greater depth.

Marcel writes about various significant events in human life. For example, Marcel reflects on truth, and speaks eloquently of how truth is holy, and makes demands upon us. Marcel spoke of how we are obliged to testify in a court of law if we hold a particle of light that would otherwise remain hidden. We must manifest the truth which is known to us and allow it to affect the situation at hand.

Fidelity occupies a central place in Marcel’s thought. Marcel underlines Nietzsche’s saying that “a human being is the only being who can make promises.” For Marcel, fidelity is the foremost expression of love for another. Fidelity is maintaining presence no matter what. A faithful friend is someone who does not fail us. We feel that he is with me. Fidelity is distinguished from constancy or obligation, which can be devoid of love.

Marcel points out that marriage is the place that most involves Fidelity. When one makes the marriage vows, s/he assumes an obligation, gives to the other a claim over oneself; one binds oneself to some future actions.

Fidelity implies presence, continual responsiveness. It involves patience and humility. Fidelity enables the married couple to face life’s deepest crises with courage. Fidelity in marriage is not coercive. There are the marriages where one spouse is faithful to the other only out of a feeling of duty; fidelity is reduced to constancy, a grudging perseverance in a static, stale relationship. The other person perceives this.

Many people today devalue life commitments and fidelity, claiming that the future was unknowable. Marcel thought they were incorrectly thinking of the future as though it were like the weather, something that happened to a person over which the person had no control. Marcel believed that to some extent, not completely, but to some extent we create our future by the choices we make.

He claimed that a certain level of maturity was necessary for a person to be able to make a life commitment, but he also claimed that such a level of maturity could only be achieved by making a life commitment. One can suffer from guilt knowing that one is breaking the promises s/he solemnly made. Fidelity involves a choice. I can refuse to remain faithful to the other, Marcel writes of how lovers are loyal not only to one another as separate individuals but to their love, to their union, which is something more than either of them viewed as distinct individuals. Marriage constitutes a new reality – US. There is a fidelity to fidelity, a loyalty to loyalty.

Marcel goes so far as to say that, in many ways, the essence of this world is perhaps betrayal. There are all the divorces, the annulments, the domestic violence. The novels and short stories of John Updike are modern commentaries on fidelity. Updike is preoccupied with the failure of fidelity, the refusal to stay. Updike’s characters hurt each and seem to lack to ability or means to do otherwise.

Fidelity involves a relationship, a presence, that even death cannot destroy; it is supra-temporal. This is the experience of many who have undergone the test of death.

Marcel writes that fidelity is a major factor that gives our lives meaning. Overall, Fidelity should tell us what to do in doubtful cases. The deciding factor is loyalty to our covenants; fidelity, or loyalty, should decide our consciences.

Finally, one can note that Marcel studied the piano, and eventually attained proficiency as a concert pianist. He stated that after a Bach concert one could have the assurance that it is an honor to be a human being. He attributed to music, especially to Bach’s music, his understanding of religious experience and his own religious development. Marcel was also a playwright of some significance.

If we examine our personal histories, we will find a story of relationships. In a real sense, we are the sum of our relationships. The human person was created, designed, to be in relationship with others. We cannot be truly ourselves by ourselves. I read somewhere that a thing that does not exist in relation to anything else cannot itself be said to exist. To really grow as a human being, we need other people. We only become who we are through the relationships that shape our lives. There is Martin Buber’s famous conclusion that “all real living is meeting.”

Lately I’ve been trying to think of all those whom I’ve met in my life in one way or another; those who went with me along the path of life. Not too many came in a way that I planned or contrived. Most relationships sort of found me. There’s a mystery to it. People come into our lives and go out of our lives, sometimes only for a few minutes. For example, I remember, from many years ago, an early Saturday morning on the DeKalb Avenue subway station. I was standing on the platform. She was wearing a black coat. She had jeans on and was drinking coffee. One strand of her hair blew across her cheek, touching the corners of her mouth. There was some eye contact, glances. We got on the same car. We both got off at Grand Central, and then I lost her. In retrospect I wish I had approached her.

There are all the people to whom I must by now be the merest memory.

When I think back over my own life, I recall the relationships that were formal and distant. My main emotion with some people was unease. There were relationships in which we took an immediate dislike to each other. Saint Seraphim of Sarov addressed each person who came to him as “my joy.” My response to too many people was, “You again?” There were the relationships that did not stand the test of time.

Writers and philosophers of our time speak of existential isolation. They take the view that no relationship can surmount loneliness; no one has access to the real depths of another.

Albert Schweitzer said we are each a secret to the other. Freud stated that every encounter, beautiful as it may seem, only dulls the incurable wound of loneliness. Flannery O’Connor wrote “I love a lot of people, understand none of them.” (Spiritual Writings, p.161). And W.H. Auden wrote:

“I’m beginning to lose patience
With my personal relations:
They are not deep,
And they are not cheap.” (Shorts)

I don’t think life is exclusively like this. A number of people became very dear to me. As Carson McCullers stated, they became “the we of me” (The Member of the Wedding, p. 137). I can’t imagine the world without them. They’ve got to be there just as naturally as trees or birds or clouds. Without them I would be incomplete; I would no longer be me. A dear friend like this moving out of your life is almost as much of a loss as a death.

I think all people’s lives involve such we-relationships. They are among the best things God handed us.

I can’t help thinking that I didn’t have a real biography until my wife entered my life. After a while, I often tire of being with other people. I could be with her for hours and hours and not be tired for an instant of her.

I die as often from thee I go,
Though it be but an hour ago. (John Donne, The Legacy)

Many happily married people feel this way.

The elderly often develop relationships in which the two of them complement each other wonderfully. There are the long years of affectionate understanding between them. Hurts and annoyances that might otherwise end a relationship no longer have the last word. They’ve grown very close, close to death and close to each other. They sort of fuse together in these last years.

All of us, as we age, tend to be able to discern more and more when to act, how to act, what to say, and often more importantly, what not to say. We learn not to strike the wrong note.

John of the Cross tells us we are like a stone that must be chiseled and fashioned before being set in the building. Our relationships are instruments which God uses to chisel us. They are part of God’s plan. By means of these chiseling interactions we become more the self God wants us to be. We should think of some of our relationships as artisans, present there in order to improve us.

Overall, I believe there are people God has given us. I wonder if there are any accidental meetings, or is grace and providence at work in all of them? Some people do come to us at crucial times. There are certain people who come to us like a gift from heaven. Most of our hurts come through relationships, so does our healing.

We develop an ever-deepening gratitude and wonder for all those who have loved us.

I have two particularly poignant memories. One is how I felt my throat tighten when I watched an elderly woman reach for her husband’s hand as they strolled down the sidewalk. The other is a memory of how my wife would make room for me beside her on a couch and spread a quilt across our laps and rest her head on my shoulder.

Avery wise man, or maybe it was a wise woman, or it could possibly have been Yoda, once taught me an important lesson: The only person you can change is yourself. And only then with extreme difficulty. Changing for the better is hard, but changing for the worse is pretty easy. Just look at the world around you.

If you’re not working at spiritual improvement and trying to become holier (such a stodgy, politically incorrect word!) by trudging up that steep, narrow path, you’ll find yourself with the multitudes on the wide and heavily trafficked highway that leads to darkness. There’s no standing still in the spiritual life.

Not too many of us say, “My goal in life is to be holier.” That doesn’t sound as enticing as “My goal in life is to be richer… or more popular…or wittier… or prettier.” But eventually God has a way of bringing us closer to him through a tragedy, an illness or a loss, and we discover very quickly that holiness is what life is all about.

Countless people are looking to improve, and they believe they have the key through self-help and self-transformation. It makes me wonder: If self-improvement is such a popular pastime in modern society, then why is society so messed up?

If you walk into a bookstore, while there are still some left, and go to the “Personal Transformation” section, you’ll see hundreds of titles like “7 Habits of Highly Effective People,” “Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience,” “Awaken the Giant Within,” “Think and Grow Rich,” “Design Your Life: Build a Life That Works for You.” “Best Self: Be You, Only Better.” Sounds appealing, doesn’t it?

However, when it comes to spiritual growth, there’s a fundamental truth: You can’t truly change yourself by yourself. It requires that mystical gift called “grace,” the power of God that changes everything for the better. It sanctifies us, it strengthens us, it revives us, it inspires us to virtue. And if you want it, all you have to do is ask.

Father Lawrence Carew, in his book “Six Simple Steps Into Healing Prayer,” cites the example of St. Therese of Lisieux, one of the most beloved of saints, a Carmelite nun who died at 24. Like all of us, she was burdened with human imperfection.

“While she firmly desired to become increasingly Christ-like, Therese quickly came to realize that high ideals wedded to willpower just couldn’t bring it about,” he wrote. “But by regularly surrendering things, like her imperfections and inabilities to love or forgive, into the Lord’s mercy towards her and love for her, these weaknesses would be transformed into currents of grace carrying her into a better place.”

The formula for success is simple: I can’t. God can. So get out of the way and let him do what he has to do. And if you ask, and keep on asking, he’ll make the necessary changes in his own time, just as he did for the Little Flower.

Your appeal doesn’t have to be grandiose or dramatic. A simple request will do, like “God, please help me with these character defects.” Then, almost magically, the people, places and things in your life will direct you toward spiritual growth. The real purpose of our lives is to become holier. Not richer, not prettier, not wittier.

One last point. You’ll never change if you don’t examine your day at the end of every day. What did you do well? What did you fail to do? Where was God in all this? This regular practice of examining your day wasn’t created by Eckhart Tolle or the Dalai Lama. It came from St. Ignatius Loyola and is called The Examen.

Put yourself in God’s presence and look at your day through his eyes and in gratitude. Review what happened and acknowledge your shortcomings. Look forward with hope to the day to come.

It takes work to move forward in virtue, but you don’t need a library of self-help books. All that’s necessary is a willingness to grow holier and asking Jesus, your “life coach,” for help. He’ll move you forward even when you don’t even realize it.

Coming home from a long night, I was very much looking forward to a good night’s sleep. I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and all I wanted was my bed. Imagine my dismay when I opened my bedroom door to find a huge spider staring at me from across the room.

Let me give you some background. Along with airplanes and heights, spiders are my biggest irrational fear. The kind of fear that sends chills up my whole body. So, after an already difficult night, I called my mom in tears unsure of what to do.

I give her credit for being able to understand what I was saying between breathless sobs of, “I hate it. I just want it to go away.” “You want what to go away? The spider?” she said. As I look back now, it’s funny. But, let me tell you, it was not funny in the moment. And this was before I noticed the hundreds of baby spiders sprawled out on the ceiling…

I may have blacked out in a moment of sheer terror because I don’t remember my reaction to that. But I do remember my mom assuring me she was on her way. To my mom, currently reading this: you came over at 1 am to help me kill hundreds of baby spiders…yes, you can be featured in my column now.

Moms just have a way of being able to make everything better. I don’t exactly know when this transition to womanhood happens, when suddenly you know how to cook the best lasagna ever made and can handle killing spiders in the middle of the night, but moms just know.

I’ve never really had a close relationship with Mary. There was always something about her that seemed unattainable to me as a woman. I think my thought process was I know I will never be that perfect, so it just kind of makes me feel bad about myself when I think about her perfection.

But, still, when I can’t fall asleep or when I’m nervous, there’s something about repeating the Hail Mary over and over that settles me. It’s that peace and comfort that comes from a mother, I think. Like calling your mom in the middle of the night.

I’d like to imagine that Jesus used to call on Mary when he needed help or was afraid. Maybe he needed help killing spiders in the middle of the night, I don’t know, stranger things have happened in Nazareth. I wish we had more of those in-between years, to see those tender moments between mother and son. It helps to think about Mary as a young mother, trying to do everything she could to care for her family. Maybe she’s not so unattainable after all? I’m working on it.

If she’s anything like the moms I know, who would do anything for their kids and their families, even kill hundreds of spiders in the middle of the night, then she’s alright by me.

For most of my life, when I knelt in front of the crucifix to pray, my prayer went something like this: “Lord, help me.” Actually, it went something like this: “LORD, HELP ME!!! PLEASE!!!”

I always remember to say “please,” which seems only appropriate when you’re begging the Lord of the Universe for emergency assistance. And like most people, I’ve needed all kinds of emergency assistance for a variety of personal crises: children straying from the faith, family members suffering the ravages of cancer, friends afflicted with addiction, relationships torn apart, and worst of all, people despairing because their lives were in shambles, and they couldn’t see that the only possible solution was the only one they weren’t considering—Jesus.

Others were dealing with the death of a spouse, or tragically, the death of a child, the loss of a job, emotional abuse—a seemingly infinite number of reasons to look at Jesus on the cross and plead, “Lord, help us!”

Then, something happened. It’s not that the list of reasons to petition Jesus had gotten shorter. In fact, it had gotten longer. Look at the world, and you’ll recognize immediately there are countless reasons to pray harder than ever before.

However, the day came when I knelt before the Eucharist with my laundry list of petitions, and for a moment it seemed that Jesus was saying, “Help me.” What could the Son of God need from me?

My prayer eventually became “Lord, how may I help?” What a curious concept that the God who made Heaven and Earth should need the help of fallen, imperfect creatures. And yet if you look around you, you’ll realize the harvest is great and the laborers are few.

Be assured that Jesus needs our help, and it doesn’t require a PhD or special training or a flashy title, only a commitment to do his will in every moment and to turn your life over to him every morning.

The game plan is pretty simple. If you give him your day, he’ll do great things. He’ll also tell you moment by moment how you can help even if you don’t think you have the ability.

Your deficiencies won’t matter because his grace is all you’ll need. It will strengthen you when you’re afraid, and it will supplement your meager abilities. What he told St. Paul applies to all of us: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

When a friend comes to you because her husband died or her child has been diagnosed with cancer or she’s depressed about her family situation, ask Jesus what you should say before you open your mouth, and the Holy Spirit will guide you. Ask Jesus what to do in every situation, and he’ll lead you.

Sometimes, silent compassion is the answer. Less preaching and more listening is always a good rule to follow. Wonderful things occur when we offer to help Jesus. He can work miracles through us without our even knowing.

We live at a critical time when countless souls are being lost— souls that Jesus wants saved. We live at a time when there’s a lot of talk about justice and love but much more anger and hatred. It’s one thing to talk the talk, and another to walk the walk.

Never doubt that you can make a difference. It doesn’t have to be a new program, a major speech or a political rally. When small imperceptible acts are spiritually charged by Jesus, they have a vastly greater effect than highly publicized initiatives with a cast of thousands. Sometimes all we’re called to do is plant the seed and Jesus does the rest. We may never see the results of our actions until the next life.

A smile, a display of compassion, silent listening, laughter, prayer. These seem to be the smallest gestures but they’re the greatest gestures to Christ, who deserves all the glory. Never underestimate what you can do with Jesus beside you. And never doubt for a moment that he is calling you to serve day to day and moment to moment in situations that may seem commonplace and ordinary. Heed the call.

“Lord, how may I help you?” Say it every morning, and he will answer you.