Monthly Newspaper • DIOCESE OF BRIDGEPORT

As a white woman I do not have the adequate words to explain how the Black community is feeling right now. So I wish to share some words of both mine and others, to hopefully bring to light different viewpoints and perspectives and create a place for healing and understanding. May we hear one another. May we listen. May we let the words change our hearts and guide our actions.

If I could but carry your cross…

How am I supposed to put words to the pain that you feel?
I don’t know what it’s like, But I wish I could take some of the burden away from you.
Can I help you carry the cross?
Like Simon helped Jesus?
I will do everything I can.
I’ll read, I’ll watch, I’ll listen.
I’ll let your words change my heart and actions.
And tell others to do so as well.
I’ll sign petitions, I’ll vote, I’ll learn.
I will have hard conversations.
I will be open to discomfort,
And know that it will never be enough To take your pain away.
But I will continue to walk with you.
Continue to be your Simon.
In hopes that some day It won’t have to be this way.

Two voices have stayed with me, the first being Debbie Sims, a mom and parishioner of Blessed Sacrament Parish in Bridgeport:

“How do we move on…we can’t. George Floyd’s murder broke all our hearts. It is a call to action, a call to protect the Black Community, the official catalyst for change for our country. What do we do? As an African American Mom, here is what I had to do: I had to sit down with my Black son, nephews and community sons once again and go over the rules of what to do when stopped by the police. I begged them to pray because being obedient is not enough. Even though their physical life is in the hands of the officers, the Lord has the final say. George’s murder is just one incidence that the world saw, injustices like that happen every day in our communities. I’m scared to death of sending my son outside because I’m fearful of the unknown of what lies ahead for him. Last week we hosted a conversation with moms, all hurting because George was everyone’s son, we are all outraged, disgusted, but hopeful. Psalm 139 is all about the characteristics of God. It brings me lots of comfort… we are never alone! As a people we will endure systematic racism, hatred, economic disinvestment, food, health and housing inequities, but it is not okay. ‘America…land of the free’ home of George Floyd, Tamir Rice, Breonna Taylor and all people, because Christ our Lord said so!”

The second is our very own Bishop Frank J. Caggiano, Bishop of Bridgeport. In his most recent Let Me Be Frank podcast, the bishop and Steve Lee of Veritas Radio discussed the troubling events going on around us these days and what we can do to work for a better society.

“We have structures in society that judge people by the color of their skin or the language they speak that do not allow them the same opportunities as others. The first step in any societal change is the conversion of my own heart. Before I worry about anyone else’s heart, or society, what about me? What about when I look in the mirror? Do I consider everyone equal? Do I have racist tendencies or bigotry tendencies or discriminatory tendencies in the way I speak, the way I act, the people I deal with, how I spend my money? Am I willing to look myself in the mirror and say ‘what do I believe?’ in the end and how do I live? Do I actually live what I claim to believe when it comes to justice and equality and fairness? Because if I don’t then I am contributing to the problem, I am in fact part of the problem. Because racial equality and equal opportunity is not just something society wants because it’s a human good—it is a divine mandate. It’s what the Savior taught us. And if we are going to claim Him as out Lord and Savior and have the same title He had, being a Christian following Christ the Lord, then don’t you think that it’s our own faith that should motivate us to change? And if it does not change us then our faith is not what we’re claiming it to be.” (To listen to the full Let Me Be Frank podcast visit our diocesan social media channels).

The coronavirus pandemic gave me a glimpse into the void, and it was frightening. Not the void in prevention. The void in the lives of family members and friends who have no faith to turn to.

What did I see? Many people, instead of looking to God for comfort and strength, were turning to politicians, celebrities and commentators. One turned to the universe. Now, I’m not taking anyone’s spiritual inventory. I admit the universe has its place—and we have our place in it—but I wouldn’t turn to it for solace when I could have the real deal, aka Jesus.

If there is any lesson this should have taught us, it can best be described in the words of a priest who told me, “God is in charge.” COVID-19 showed us how helpless we really are when we’re stripped of the illusion of self-sufficiency.

Of course, there are many who think they’re in charge rather than God. In a much-publicized press conference, New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo said, “The number [of cases] is down because we brought the number down. God did not do that. Faith did not do that. Destiny did not do that. A lot of pain and suffering did that.”

I certainly don’t mean to minimize the efforts of many individuals, but let’s give God his due too. For myself, I’d rather put my faith in God than the New York Department of Health. The proud and the arrogant have faith only in themselves. The humble put their faith in God.

The good news is that several polls showed many Americans turned to their faith more during the coronavirus pandemic. One fourth of all Americans said their faith grew stronger, according to a poll by the Pew Research Center. Sadly, 7 percent of those surveyed said, “I am not a religious person and this hasn’t changed.” As my mother used to say, “Some things never change…or if they do, they change for the worse.”

A poll by Fordham University showed that “62 percent of Catholics had been helped at least somewhat by their faith” compared with 95 percent of Evangelicals and three-fourths of mainline Protestants. Maybe Catholics should work a little harder on that. In addition, the poll concluded that people who attend church regularly got the greatest help from their faith.

Faith doesn’t necessarily solve a crisis, although that could very well happen. But faith helps you get through the crisis because you realize, to paraphrase St. Paul, out of everything comes good because of God.

At one point during our self-quarantine, my wife Sandy said, “We’re so blessed to have our faith,” and for once we agreed wholeheartedly without any reservations.

All my life, I’ve heard people say, “Faith is a gift,” and as simple as that sounds, I never completely understood what it meant.

Where would any of us be without faith in Christ right now? If you don’t have it, ask for it. If you see someone who doesn’t have it—and there are many— ask God for them. If your faith is weak and you want it stronger, sit in front of the Blessed Sacrament and you’ll be given the graces you need. Simply say, “Jesus, I trust in you.” And say it often.

Yes, faith is a gift so cherish it…and ask for more. Ask for a stronger faith. Say thank you every day for this gift—that rare pearl of inestimable value— because only with faith will you be able to endure challenges, crises and suffering and still be joyful, hopeful and peaceful.

There’s nothing more precious than our faith. Out of that faith flows everything. Through that faith, we inherit eternal life.

Faith helps us trust in Jesus even though the rest of the world thinks that trust is misplaced and foolish. It’s a fact of faith that God is with us on our best days and most assuredly on our worst days. Having faith in Christ doesn’t insulate you from suffering, but at the end of the day, it’s the only security you need. It ensures you that even when you are confronting trials and tragedies, you will have the peace and joy that only Jesus can give.

Yes, faith is a gift…and all you have to do is ask for it.

“Life is a chance of learning how to love” (A.E. Brooke). When he was very ill, St. Francis of Assisi asked that a message be sent to a certain Countess in Rome, asking her to come and bring some of her honey-cakes which he so liked. She came.

There is a lovely simplicity about this story. I see it as an example of what Gerard Manley Hopkins called “delicious kindness.” The distance from Rome to Assisi is 109 miles, or 174 km., a long trip in the days before cars, trains and planes. The Countess comes with her honey-cakes and affection.

That tale is contrasted with something Claire Booth Luce told when she was 75 years old and was asked: “Do you have any regrets?” She answered, “Yes, I should have been a better person, kinder, more tolerant. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I remember a girlhood friend of mine who had a brain tumor and called me three times to come and see her. I was always too busy, and when she died I was profoundly ashamed. I remember that after 56 years.”

As I get older, faces come back to me from the past. There are tears I would like to dry and ask forgiveness for the favor that I didn’t do that I ought to have done. There were the opportunities for charity that I put off.

It is the small everyday kindnesses which count for so much; kindness expressed in small things, in the quite ordinary, banal daily life. As someone put it, it’s our “little nameless unremembered acts of kindness” that are so important.

There are two explicit dictums given by Christ. The first is that ours is not to judge or condemn, but to love and be merciful. The second is that whenever our neighbor has need of us, he or she takes on a mysterious likeness to Christ.

Let me string out a series of quotations that relate to the demands of charity.

Ephesians 4:32: “be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another.”

2Timothy 2:24-25: “Act kindly to everyone…forbearing, correcting an opponent with gentleness.”

“You must become gentle; never any harsh words, never a harsh tone; never take on a harsh look, always be gentle.” (Therese of Lisieux)

“Charity is certainly greater than any rule. Moreover, all rules must lead to charity.”
(St. Vincent de Paul)

“Charity consists in bearing with those who are unbearable.”
(St. Alphonsus Liguori)

“Try never to say an unkind word. It can do so much damage.”
(Father Walter Burghardt, S.J.)

Related to that last quote, one can note that the word “benediction” means to “speak well.”

When we speak well of someone we bless them. How important an encouraging word is. We are all starved for affirmation. One of the deepest of human needs is the desire for acceptance and approval by others. What a kindness it is to make people feel they are important. We can do this by giving a person the spotlight when we can. Find something right about things she or he says or does. Support someone’s dreams and plans. Say words like “right”; “sure”; “of course”; “you’re right”; “good idea”; “I’m with you.”; “you bet.”. (Cf. Patricia R. Madison, Improv Wisdom, p.31)

It takes so little to compliment. Mark Twain said “I can live for two months on a good compliment.” There is the Spanish proverb: “one compliment can warm three winter months.”

St. Benedict put it this way: “One complimentary word is more valuable than the most precious gift.”

“Be kind” wrote Philo of Alexandria, “for everyone is fighting a great battle.” There are those private worlds of suffering around us, there is the suffering that inevitably touches all human life. We can come to the point when having seen so much unhappiness and misery in the world that we can’t bring ourselves to cause any more sorrow, even a minor sorrow.

It was Sigmund Freud who said “If we cannot remove all suffering, we can remove some, and mitigate some.” A wise woman said to me, “in times of suffering, don’t say ‘call me if there’s anything I can do’; make concrete offers.”

Listening attentively is an important part of Christian charity. “If you do not close your ear to others you open God’s ear to yourself” (St. Peter Chrysologus).

Christian charity is not an easy matter. Here are some of the demands of Christian charity.

We do not get even; we take no opportunities for small revenges; we do not reciprocate; we let go of resentments; we forget insults; we bear wrongs patiently without causing more suffering and evil; we bear no grudges; we don’t indulge in the luxury of “feeling hurt”; we make excuses for people; we are not envious, we rejoice in the good fortune of others without envy; etc.

Sometimes charity shows itself if one just doesn’t make things any worse, and sometimes it shows itself by learning when to let other people alone.

The Catholic writer, Hillaire Belloc, wrote someplace that we must be unfailingly courteous.

Courtesy is something less than courageous holiness yet it seemed to him that the grace of God is in courtesy. Much the same could be said of good manners, it shows respect.

To end: two more quotes. Pope John XXIII, when asked what his most important function was, said “I learned that my most important function was to be a steady source of kindness.”

And finally, John of the Cross wrote: “In the evening of life you will be judged on love.

The only question asked will be ‘have you loved well?’ Learn then to love and forget yourself.”

Steve Lee had no idea what he was doing.

It was a Monday morning in July. He’d just arrived at work and was sitting in his car in the parking lot. A moment earlier he’d punched some numbers into his cellphone. Now it was ringing.

A voice came on the other end. It was a deep voice. Resonant. Steve recognized it as the one that had been coming out of the speakers a moment before: “If you think the Lord might be calling you to bring Catholic radio to your community, give me a call.” For reasons Steve still doesn’t really understand, he did.

“Hello, this is Jack Williams,” said the voice, which belonged to the head of EWTN Catholic Radio. Steve hesitated. Silence. “Hello?” said the voice again.

“Hi, Jack. My name is Steve. I don’t really know why I’m calling you.”

The two men talked for a while and figured it out. Steve, a 47-year-old Ridgefield resident, heard himself tell Jack that he felt called to start a Catholic radio station in Connecticut. Jack talked him through the steps for making that happen. When Steve hung up, he was confused. What was going on? Where had this come from?

That night he started a novena. “I asked the Lord for two things,” he said. “Number one, please let me know if I should be getting involved with this. Should I be trying to start a Catholic radio station? And number two, Lord, if you truly want me to do this, please bring some people into my life who can help.”

Steve went back to his regular routine. Before getting into bed he’d pray, asking God for the same two things. A few nights in, he figured he should tell his wife, Roula, what he was praying for. “When did you lose your mind?” she asked. Steve didn’t have a good answer, but he assured her that he’d tried to shake the radio-station idea. It was refusing to be shaken. Roula said she was on board, with one condition: “If you’re serious about this, you need to speak to a priest.”

Steve called a friend, Father Paul Check, who said he thought the idea was a good one. Prayer number one answered. Father Check then put him in touch with his brother, Christopher, who runs Catholic Answers, a national apologetics outfit with a big footprint in digital media, radio, and publishing. Prayer number two answered.

With God throwing up green light after green light, Steve hit the books. He started researching the business of running a nonprofit radio station. Next thing he knew he was attending a Catholic radio conference in Georgia.

“It was like I was drinking from the firehouse. I wanted to be as prepared as possible. And then I wake up and I’m like, ‘What am I doing? I’ve got a job. I’ve got a mortgage. I don’t have any experience.’”

It was decision time. Roula, who only months before had strongly implied to Steve that he’d maybe gone loco, now encouraged him to lean on his faith: “Just keep going and see what happens.”

Steve took the plunge. He left his job and founded Veritas Catholic Network. He started raising money. Every time it seemed like there wouldn’t be enough, something or someone came through. Every time he needed a benefactor to walk into his life, the Lord made it happen.

“I’m nobody,” Steve insists. “And yet God has done some pretty awesome stuff for this to come about. It’s definitely the Holy Spirit at work.”

The truth is: Steve’s not nobody. He’s a New Canaan native and Boston College grad who earned an MBA at UConn and spent a dozen years working for big money on Wall Street. He and Roula have three sons. That alone makes him somebody in my book.

In December 2018, more than a year after his parking lot moment, Steve plunked down a not insignificant sum to buy a local radio station,WNLK-AM 1370, and a “translator” that will one day put the station on FM 103.9. The Federal Communications Commission approved his broadcast application.

On August 21, 2019, Steve flipped the switch and Veritas went live. The station mostly features EWTN content for now. Its flagship production is “Let Me Be Frank,” Steve’s one-hour weekly conversation with Bishop Caggiano airing Wednesdays at noon. You can also download it as a podcast.

Here comes the commercial: Bishop Frank, as you know, is a great teacher and wonderful talker. He’s funny, inspiring, thought-provoking, and—surprise, surprise— knows his subject matter. He and Steve are a companionable pair. I never miss an episode.

Veritas is hoping to launch a second original program soon. It will be aimed at teenagers. The ultimate goal is to get a morning drive-time show going. That’s good. Faithful Catholics in Fairfield County deserve a healthier option than the trash talk, dirty jokes, and smutpop that typically rule the airwaves.

Steve Lee’s humility may be why the Lord selected him for the job of bringing Catholic radio to the Bridgeport Diocese. God always has his antennae up for “nobodies.”

Years ago, I learned an important lesson about life at my summer job, where I worked the night shift on a factory assembly line that manufactured 50-gallon steel drums.

My first week on the job, a fellow union member pulled me aside and told me a secret about our coworker.

“Psst,” he confided during the coffee break, “Watch out. He’s good friends with the big boss.”

That sounded ominous, and I certainly didn’t have to ask him what the implications were. The other guy got the easiest jobs in the plant because he knew somebody upstairs. He got the good hours because the person doing the scheduling wanted to make the boss happy. Plus, they looked the other way when he arrived at work late.

Being friends with people in high places certainly has its advantages, as I have discovered throughout my career. In fact, when I was a boss, I even exercised my bossly — or should it be “bossy”—executive privileges to help my friends or their kids who were looking for an internship or a chance to see the world of journalism up close. (I hasten to add, they were all qualified candidates and that the people who managed them made the final decision.)

However, I never had the power of, say, Michael Bloomberg or Donald Trump, who with a snap of the fingers could get jobs as campaign workers for their daughters’ entire yoga class. Yes, it’s good to have friends in high places.

I thought of that phenomenon again recently, when I was at a funeral Mass, and the priest gave a homily about the Gospel story of Lazarus. In John’s account, Martha rushes to Jesus to tell him that her brother has died. Jesus goes to the tomb and raises his friend from the dead. Father explained that Jesus will do the same for us someday and then added, “Jesus takes care of his friends.”

The phrase struck me. It’s good to be friends with the REAL Big Boss, and it’s good to have friends in high places…and you can’t get any higher than Jesus, seated on his celestial throne at the right hand of the Father. Jesus takes care of his friends, and what are we, if not Jesus’ friends? To quote him, “You are my friends if you do what I command you.”

You see, so often we think of our relationship with Jesus in purely corporate terms. We’ll get the raise if we perform up to expectations and do well on our evaluations. We’ll get the promotion if the boss likes us, so we spend a lot of time trying to make him like us, appreciate us, reward us…but that kind of behavior is symptomatic of a meritocracy… not a relationship with Jesus, who isn’t a typical CEO.

He loves us even when we don’t live up to expectations, when we drop the ball, when we are predictably less than perfect. Even then, he still takes care of his friends.

Sooner or later, all of us face challenges and tragedies that are part of the human condition, and it’s easy to fall into the deception that Jesus has forgotten us or is punishing us. Entire generations grew up under the misconception that when something goes wrong in life, God is punishing them. Others get angry with God because they think a commitment to Christ means life will be immune from suffering. It’s easy to become angry and resentful when we look at God that way.

He takes care of us, but that care doesn’t shield us from suffering. He is there in our suffering, and our best resource. It is often during those times that we can find the best evidence that Jesus takes care of his friends. If we turn to him for help, he’ll walk beside us in our grief, in our pain and in our despair.

Only after our lives have ended will we fully understand the countless occasions when our friend Jesus stood beside us…and cared for us. It’s one of the benefits of being friends with the Big Boss.

Many people are apparently untroubled by difficult questions regarding the meaning, value and direction of their lives. Most of us seem to go about our daily routines untroubled by the basic questions of life. But sometimes those questions break through, and here are some answers I’ve heard.

“Does anything matter, except making love and sleeping and eating and being flattered.”

George Jean Nathan, a modern hedonist, has expressed his philosophy of life as follows: “The best that man can strive for and pray for is momentary happiness during life, repeated as frequently as the cards allow. To me pleasure and my own personal happiness—only infrequently collaboration with others—are all I deem worth a hoot.”

Today, many people talk about realizing their “full potential.”

Here are some ideas about the meaning of life from some prominent literary people.

Tolstoy: “The more intelligent we are, the less do we understand the meaning of life and the more do we see a kind of bad joke in our suffering and death.”

John Paul Sartre: “All existing things are born for no reason, and die by accident…It is meaningless that we are born, it is meaningless that we die.

In Sigmund Freud’s perception, life is a struggle that simply ends in the complete defeat by death.

There is Camus’ image of Sisyphus condemned forever in the pointless pushing of that rock. Camus said that life is absurd, but human authenticity consists in living as if it were not.

The alleged meaninglessness of life is dramatically captured by Beckett’s characters waiting, waiting endlessly for the never appearing of Godot.

To be fair, I can recognize the geniuses of some non-religious versions of fulness and flourishing.

For myself, as Joan Baez sings: “every day that passes I’m sure about a little less.” But I do accept the Christian conviction that we are not accidental bubblies upon the great cosmic deep, destined to burst and be forgotten.

There are three principal ideas of human perfection. In antiquity the Barbarians made perfection consist principally in fortitude. The majority of Greek philosophers thought that perfection consisted in wisdom. Christianity teaches that perfection is especially found in charity; in transcending ourselves and living a life of self-giving.

Catholicism affirms that there is more to life than meets the eye. The longer I live, the more I have an awareness of something beyond and beneath the everyday; something especially hinted at in the daily flickers of loving moments. Indeed, I think there is an unseen reality behind everything.

St. Paul, preaching to the Greeks in Athens, said that God created us “so that we might seek God, and find Him: (Acts 17:27)

I think we live in a time where more and more people are asking “is this all there is?” No matter how happy our lives, a certain restlessness never goes away, the nagging restlessness that there must be something more than our day-to-day existence. A man I knew was assigned the job of working to establish a new marketing strategy for a new line of adult diapers. This marked the beginning of his search to find a greater meaning in his life.

There is the abiding discontent, a longing for the “more,” a kind of dissatisfaction, a kind of loneliness. For the theologian, Karl Rahner, to be human is to be an immense longing. Chesterton said “even at home, I am homesick.” Even the atheist, Sigmund Freud, when 66 years old, spoke of a “strange longing,” and began thinking there might be perhaps “life of quite another kind.” Again, there was the sense that there is something missing.

Throughout his life and writings, John Updike expressed intimations of an absence at the core of things. He clearly suggests it is a sign of the longing of the human heart for God. Updike wrote that people “yearn for some religion or spiritual assonance that they are more than a fleck of dust condemned to know they are a fleck of dust.”

The Catholic mystics answer the question about the meaning of life in terms of some kind of union with God. Life is somehow connected with sanctity.

Thus, our faith tells us that the meaning of life is larger than self-aggrandizement. What exactly is it we’re supposed to be doing here? It has to do with the radiant word “Mercy”—“be merciful as your heavenly Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36).

A couple of final thoughts: I think there is danger in embracing the world’s value system, for she is a mother who often eats her young. And finally, I see the Cross everywhere.

My dad and I speak by phone every week. He’s been under the weather so we talk more these days than we have in the past. I get a lot out of our conversations. We chat about sports, my job, the kids. He tells me about the book he’s reading.

We try to avoid politics. If it comes up we find a way to laugh at our differences of opinion. What else can you do?

Last week I was telling him about various household dramas. The usual stuff. Billy has been acting up in pre-K. Sally has been testing limits at home. Paddy’s doing well at banjo but he needs to find a sport to play. Magdalena’s sensory issues are driving us batty. Clara recently changed high schools.

My dad listened quietly and said: “Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems.”

“Say what now?”

“My mother used to say that all the time,” he said. “Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems. It was one of her famous sayings. She had a million of them.”

My father is 85. We lived in the same house for almost two decades. He raised me to manhood. Until last week I never once heard him say “little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems.” Nor was I aware that my grandmother had famous sayings.

“I’d be happy to hear some of these famous sayings,” I said.

“I can’t think of them right now,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll come to me. You can ask Aunt Claire. She knows them all.” Aunt Claire is 90.

A lot of family information gets closeted away with the passage of time. Not intentionally, of course. It just happens. People are busy. Time flies. Who’s remembering to think of famous sayings?

When you’re a kid you don’t much care to hear stories about the ancient people in the old framed photographs in the upstairs hall. When you’re older you forget to ask. Then, before you know it, it’s too late, and you spend the rest of your life walking around wishing you’d thought to say, “Mom, what was your grandfather like?”

A family is a contiguous thing, it runs together, generation to generation, a daisy chain of people, living and dead, the not yet born. We look the same. We share traits. We laugh the same. Maybe we like the same flavor of ice cream.

Yet most of us have never met. I never knew my paternal grandmother, she of the famous sayings. I never met her husband, my grandfather, either. They both died before my parents were even married. Photos are few, and they don’t reveal much.

Still, when my father tells me something like “little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems,” I think maybe I have met them. Maybe I’ve known them all my life.

She’s him. He’s me. They are all of us—Billy, Sally, Paddy, Mags, and Clara, who even shares a name with her great-grandmother.

What a pity that the generations usually only press flesh with those just older and those just younger. I bet if my grandparents were still here I would recognize everything about them.

Wouldn’t you love to spend ten minutes with those old-timers from the upstairs hall, to compare notes, to see how they moved through a room or hear how they spoke? What would you give to get to see how your children’s children turned out as adults? I suppose that’s what Heaven is.

“Yes,” says my wife, one eye on Billy the Kid, current scourge of the St. Barnabas pre-K3s. “And that’s why we all want to get there together.”