For the last two weeks I have been studying Spanish in Antigua, Guatemala. This eight week immersion program is a part of my priestly formation. The program is intended not only to teach us the Spanish language but also to allow us to learn the cultures of various countries so that we may one day better serve the people of Central Texas. I can tell you that I have had many educational experiences in the first two weeks both inside and outside of the classroom. I have been quite surprised by some of these experiences and I hope to periodically share them with you throughout the summer.
Let me begin my first reflection by saying that I am not a ‘world traveler’. Apart from two prior mission trips to Guatemala, a cruise to Mexico, and a trip to World Youth Day in Australia, I have not traveled that much outside of the United States. As a result, my exposure to the different cultures the world has to offer has been minimal. I can remember that when I arrived in Guatemala for the first time three years ago I was in such culture shock that I was not able to talk much for the first 24 hours. When it came time to leave for Guatemala two weeks ago, I felt well prepared and was sure that I would not be overcome by the change in the cultural setting. So far, the adjustment has not been that difficult. The ease of the transition probably has something to do with the fact that Antigua is packed with foreigners from all parts of the world. However, despite the ease of the transition this time, there have been some surprises.
I am currently living in a house that is operated by a lady by the name of Soñia who has two children (a son 25 yoa and a daughter 21 yoa). The house has five bedrooms that are rented out to students and travelers. Since I have been here for two weeks I have had housemates from Austin, TX (can’t escape the t-sips here either), Holland, Canada, Japan, the Philippines, and Atlanta, GA. Suffice to say there have been some interesting conversations around the dinner table. When I first arrived at the house I had some difficulty communicating with the host family and the other students. My Spanish clearly was not good enough to allow me to do more than communicate a few basic sentences and ask the essential questions (¿Dónde está el baño? for example). However, as time has gone on we have learned to communicate with one another. I think that we have all gone to great lengths to help one another communicate. At one point the conversation went from Japanese to French to English to Spanish and back again. However, based on the fact that we were all patient and working together we were all able to feel a little more at home and were able to share our lives and laughs with one another. Eventually, we began to feel like one family instead of many individuals.
The first few days of walking around the city were slightly intimidating. Antigua is a bustling town of 30,000 people but is packed with tourists and is full of activity on every street corner. Crossing the street at times can be much like playing a game of Frogger (old Atari videogame where you had to dodge cars as a frog crossed the street). Although the streets are laid out in a grid system, many of the buildings look alike and the streets are not well marked. Therefore, if you forget that the giant volcano is to the South of the city, you could easily get turned around. However, most of the people I encountered were very helpful. Many of the locals at least attempt to speak English in order to communicate with the hundreds of foreigners that flood the city each week. The signs on all the stores are in both English in Spanish. There are tourist police officers all around town in order to ensure our safety. Tourism is obviously a big industry in this town and so I was not too surprised that many of the locals would cater to their guests and try to provide them with a little taste of home. One does not have to walk far before they find a restaurant that literally provides a taste of home. In short, the town welcomes its visitors and does what it can to help them adapt to life in Antigua for the time that they are here. I don’t mean to imply that there aren’t those who are less than welcoming. In fact, some of our teachers have told us that they have been threatened for helping the foreigners since they do not receive much help when they come to our country. However, people of this opinion seem to be the minority.
Despite catering to the many different cultures that flock to Antigua for its language schools and colonial heritage, the city has not lost its own cultural identity as one of the oldest towns in Guatemala. The buildings are beautifully painted and many of the churches that have been destroyed several times over by earthquakes have been restored. Throughout all of these restorations the city has managed to maintain its colonial feel and its Spanish and Mayan heritage. There is no watering down of the culture here by the people’s attempts to welcome their guests. In short, Antigua has found a way to welcome many of its ‘extranjeros’ (foreigners) in a way that not only caters to their needs but also maintains the rich heritage of the Guatemala people.
Why am I bringing all of this up? Well, to be honest, I have been thinking a lot about how seriously I take the gospel’s mandate to welcome the stranger and attempt to build unity with peoples of every race and tongue. I have also been reading a lot about how immigrants are being treated back home. Just recently I read an article about a Texas Senator who spoke harshly to a man who was speaking in his native language (Spanish) before a Senate committee. The Senator felt that since the man lived in Texas for more than twenty years he should speak in English. The Senator felt that it was an insult to the people of Texas for this man to speak in the language in which he was most comfortable. In another story, one that is more tragic, the news coverage of the death of a police officer in Texas seemed to be more concerned with the offender’s illegal status than with the loss of a hero. This is not going to be a political commentary on the immigration. That is not my place nor do I wish to enter into the debate. I simply bring up these stories as examples of what I have perceived to be a noticeable prejudice against immigrants and other cultures ‘taking over’ our great state of Texas. I have heard it said many times (and have said it myself), ‘if you are going to live here, speak English). I have often thought that if someone chooses to live in Texas then they should adapt their ways to ours.
These may not be your views but I will admit that at one time they were mine. I will admit that I did not see the need to write signs in stores and street signs in multiple languages. I did not see the need to have government documents written in multiple languages. I did not see the need to have special restaurants, areas of town, or special clothing shops that catered to people of other cultures. After all, ‘those people’ chose to come to ‘my’ country, right?
All I want to say is that after experiencing being a foreigner in a foreign land myself, I have a greater appreciation for the efforts that are made to welcome me and make me feel a bit more at home. No matter how long I am here, I don’t think you would ever see me wearing the traditional Mayan dress or speaking a Mayan language. If I chose to move here permanently I would do my best to learn the language and live according to local custom, However, I would never want to be forced to give up my American culture (whatever that is). I would still like the opportunity to pray in my native language and to celebrate the customs of my home country. I would do my best to adapt myself to my new surroundings while holding on to my cultural identity. I would not simply become a Guatemalteco and do as they do.
But I also realize that the idea of welcoming the stranger applies beyond the realm of immigration and international travel. What about the strange student who walks the halls of our school? What about the difficult or somewhat eccentric co-worker that is often avoided or over-looked? What about the people who live next door to us? What about that family member who we haven’t talked to in years because of some previous injury or insult? What about that new seminarian or faculty member at the seminary? What about the person sitting next to us in Church or the family that is new to our parish? What about the priest(s) or minister(s) who is (are) new to our Church? What about people of other faiths that we encounter in our daily lives? How far am I willing to go out of my way to welcome these people? Am I able to welcome them in a way that allows them to maintain some of their own identity without forcing them to conform to my ways in order to be accepted? How seriously do I take Jesus’ words ‘that they may all be one?’ How hard do I work to build community and welcome the stranger around me? Admittedly, I have not done a great job of it. After the experiences of this summer, I can tell you that I will renew my efforts. Will you join me?
Pax tecum,
Tom
PS. The experience of this summer is presented merely as a springboard to further reflection regarding how well I welcome a stranger in my own ‘land’. I am not attempting to make any political statements regarding immigration reform. ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and render unto God what is God’s.’ I am simply reflecting on how I am living the teachings of the gospel in my own life and focusing on ways in which I can improve my efforts. Please don’t misread this post and think that I am attacking any political system or group of people. If I am pointing the finger at anyone, I only mean to point it at myself.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
In the Arms of My Father...
Greetings All,
All my bags are packed...I'm ready to go...I'm leavin' on a jet plane. That's right folks I am busting out of seminary for a week (they left the gate open...jk). Five of my brother seminarians and I are headed to Guatemala with the medical mission team from St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. Please pray for us while we are gone as we will be praying for all of you. We will return on Saturday, March 19th. My annual review at the seminary is three days after my return. Please pray for that as well. Until then, I wanted to share with you this reflection I wrote during a day of prayer last month. I debated whether or not to share it. You can't say you don't know me very well after you have read this. I don't hold much back. I hope it helps you in your own journey to the Father.
Pax tecum,
Tom
“In the Arms of My Father”
By Tom Reitmeyer
A few days ago, at about eight o’clock in the morning, I called my best friend as he was leaving work (he works the night shift). Since we live almost one hundred miles apart it is difficult for us to spend as much time with one another as we used to. We attempt to overcome the distance with these short telephone conversations. While our varied schedules keep the calls from being as often, or as long, as I may like for them to be, I certainly treasure the few minutes a week we do get to talk to one another.
A few minutes into this most recent conversation, I could tell by the sound of a garage door being opened that my friend had arrived home. Several seconds later, I heard him chuckle and say to me, “Hah! My son (seven months old) is just sitting on the floor and looking up at me with a huge grin on his face.” My friend didn’t need to say anything more to tell me what he was feeling. I know him well enough that, by the sound of his voice, I had a pretty good idea of how that smile from his son made him feel. A moment later, I heard the voice of his daughter (three years old) yell with great joy, “Daddy! You’re home!” While not being able to see what was going on, from past experience I had a pretty good idea that she ran across the room and leaped into his arms. For those children, one of the best parts of their morning is seeing their father come home and hold them in his arms. The younger one is only able to reach his arms up toward his father and ask to be picked up, while the older one is able to sprint across the room and leap into her father’s arms. I knew that our time on the phone needed to end. I told him I loved him and said that I didn’t want to keep him from his family. The children wanted/needed their father and I knew that he needed them as well.
One of my great joys in life, and a real blessing from God, has been to watch my friend become both a loving husband to his wife and a loving father to his children. I get a great amount of joy from just sitting in the same room and watching him play with his kids. I love the way that he wrestles with them. I love the way they make each other laugh. It’s one of the greatest sounds in this world. I love the way that he consoles them when they are sad or not feeling well. I love watching how much it pains him to discipline them when he needs to. I always thought that parents just threw out that cliché line, “this will hurt me more than it hurts you,” but now as an adult, I see that there is a certain amount of truth in that statement. As I watch my friend with his children, I get an ever increasing sense of what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely.
I don’t need to look very far to find the person who taught my friend to love this way. After only a few times of seeing my friend with his own father, I began to understand. What is truly awesome for me to see is that the love and admiration is not only from son to father, but also father to son. There has been a few times where I have seen them say goodbye to one another after a visit. I am always impressed that there is no hesitation from either one to give the other a hug and say, “I love you.” Despite the distance that is created as one or the other travels back to his home, I know that my friend keeps his father with him always. After years of being a child who was once held by his father to his chest, my friend not only holds his own children close to him, but continues to hold his father as well. What a lesson for me!
As a seminarian who is studying to be a Catholic Priest, I am often called to spend time praying and reflecting on what it means to be a ‘Father’ to God’s children. Part of my formation (in life not just in seminary) is to learn what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely. Although I have a wonderful example in watching my friend and his family, I must also look to my own relationships to discern the ways in which I have been taught a father’s love. To be honest, that is at times a painful journey and one which I do not always want to undertake. However, over the past few years, God the Father has taken my hand and led me along this path and I want to share some of those thoughts with you in the hopes that you may consider your own relationship with not only your own human father, but also your Father in Heaven.
This year will mark nineteen years since the death of my father in 1992. It is odd to think that I have spent more of my life without my father physically present than I have spent with him. I have spent a great portion of my life lamenting the fact that my father died when I was young. I felt cheated out of many of the experiences that my friends got to have with their father. Sure, there were father-figures (brothers, coaches, priests, teachers, etc) in my life that stepped in and tried to fill the void, but the shoe never quite fit. As a result, I had a difficult time understanding how my Heavenly Father, who according to Scripture would never abandon me, had left me without a father in this world not only to love me as his son, but also to show me how to love as a father. I felt abandoned. I was angry, even more so after the death of my oldest brother in 2006. You see, my oldest brother was not only one of the many “father-figures” and friends in my life, but, as a Catholic Priest, he was also my spiritual father. Where was the love of my Father? Why was He abandoning me? How am I to become a father if there is no one there to teach me?
These were many of the questions that I have struggled with for the past five years or so. I have prayed with them many times and rarely have I come up with any answers. After years of wondering why God wasn’t answering me, I eventually realized that the only way for me to hear His response was to be silent, free myself of all the distractions, worries, and fears in order to listen. I had to provide a time of silence so that, as Blessed Cardinal Newman would say, cor ad cor loquitor (heart speaks to heart). It was in this time of silence during a retreat in Omaha, NE, that I received my answer.
It was during the third day of an eight day silent retreat that I was asked to pray with a passage from the Book of Hosea (Hos 11:1-4):
When Israel was a child I loved him,
out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
The farther they went from me,
Sacrificing to the Baals
And burning incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
Who took them in my arms;
I drew them with human cords,
With bands of love;
I fostered them like one
Who raises an infant to his cheeks;
Yet, though I stooped to feed my child,
They did not know that I was their healer.
It was this last verse that really stopped me in my tracks and for that reason I have put it in boldface print. When, Father, were the times that you drew me in with bands of love? When, Father, were the times that you held me to your cheeks like an infant? When, Father, were the times that my father here on earth did those things? In what way was I loved by him and by you?
I began to reflect back on my life and was surprised as memories that I had previously forgotten or was unable to recall began to flood my mind. I began to consider the times in my life when I remembered being held in my father’s arms. I remembered a time when we lived in Virginia when I was about three years old. I was hiding in the bushes with my brother as my father arrived home in a taxi cab. I remembered running and leaping into his arms to greet him as he came home. I remembered being held by my father upside down by my ankles (as was the tradition) when I received my Bobcat badge in Cub Scouts. I remembered some of the times when I wanted my father to hold me but he couldn’t, especially after his illness and subsequent death. But most especially, I remembered a time when my father and I sat on a dam in the middle of a river at a place called Five Mile Dam. I was probably five or six-years-old at the time and I was sitting on my father’s lap as he held me in his arms. In that moment of prayer in Omaha in the year 2010, I could see the smile on my father’s face as he proudly held his son. I could feel the coolness of the water and could smell it as well. I could feel the joy of being a child in his father’s arms. It was a reminder to me that not only did my biological father love me but I was also a beloved son of God the Father who desperately wants me to allow Him to hold me in His arms.
The next day of the retreat I was invited to consider the six years my father suffered from a massive stroke that he had approximately two or three years after this experience in the river. I could feel his sadness, anger, disappointment, frustration, and sense of abandonment. A great sense of compassion welled up inside of me and tears streamed down my face as Jesus allowed me to experience what my father felt. It was a compassion that replaced previous feelings of anger and resentment. I had never considered my father’s experience of his illness. My father passed away when I was thirteen and as you can imagine left me with a significant wound in my heart. God was in the process of healing this. Jesus then placed me back in the scene in the river. This time I was the five-year-old boy who knew everything that his father would experience in the remaining eight years of his life. Instead of my father holding me, I placed my head on his shoulder, embraced him, and attempted to console him. I felt a great sense of love and compassion for my father. I was also grateful as I realized that God felt the same way towards me as His son. God knows all of the joys and sorrows that I will experience and He seeks to be with me in the middle of all of them.
Lest I be fooled by this moment and think that it was wishful thinking on my part, I remembered that a photographer for a local newspaper (Onion Creek Free Press) had captured the moment on film and published the picture the next week. I had a copy of the photo for many years but have since lost track of it. What a gift it would be to have it back! The photo was only a silhouette of the two of us. It was a photo of a proud father who was holding his son. It was a photo of a son who made his father smile with a smile of his own. It was a photo of the type of love described in the Book of Hosea. It could have been anyone, but it wasn’t. It was me in my father’s arms. What a gift from my Father to recall that moment and to have it made present to me again! There is much more to that prayer experience, but I think that I have shared enough for now to make my point.
So what is the point that I am trying to share with you? I have learned from both my friend and my own father what it means for a father to love his children. I have also learned that the love a father has for his children is unconditional and everlasting. I have learned that a child is one of the greatest sources of joy for his/her parents. However, it is not enough for me merely to learn how to love as a father loves his children. No, that simply won’t be enough to make me a good priest, a good Christian, or a good man. I must also learn to allow myself to be loved as the beloved son of my Father in Heaven. Like Jesus Christ, the only Son of God the Father, I must learn that in the hour of my greatest need, the moment when I think the cross is too much to bear, the hour when I feel abandoned, I must do like he did during his agony in the garden: fall to my knees in prayer, raise my hands to the sky, and cry out “Abba (daddy)!” Like Israel, I must come to realize that I am a child who is loved by his Father. In every moment of my life, whether I have been aware of it or not, I have been held like an infant to my Father’s cheeks. As my Father has continued to call me to Him from my place in Egypt (a place of slavery), I have, at times, increased the distance between us. And while there have been many difficult moments in my life (death of family members, tragic situations in police-work, feelings of rejection or loneliness, etc) where I have felt abandoned, where I have felt like a crying infant waiting to be picked up and consoled by his Father, my Father in Heaven, like my earthly father, has always taken me in His arms and held me to his cheek with bands of love. The bands were in the form of: the love of a friend who teaches me to be a father, the love of the many people in my life who never allow me to feel abandoned despite the increasing distance, the love of those who have waited patiently for me to come back from Egypt, the love of those who I will one day serve as their spiritual father, and most especially the moments of prayer where I am once again able to be held in my Father’s arms. For me, prayer is sometimes as simple as placing myself in the arms of my Father and remaining there in order to receive His love.
My prayer is that in reading this reflection, you will reflect on your own experience of both your earthly father and your Heavenly Father. Know that despite whatever distance there may be between you and your Heavenly Father or whatever event(s) in your life (divorce, cancer, loss of a spouse, loss of a child, loss of any kind, depression, etc) may cause you to feel abandoned by Him, He is always there to hold you in His arms. Like my friend, and many other people in your life, you must be able to realize that there are times where we are called to love as the Father loves us, but there are also times where we need to allow ourselves to be the children who desperately want to be in His arms. All you have to do is make that time where you can quietly sit with Him, smile up at Him, put out your arms as a request to be picked up, and allow Him to hold you. If you will permit the anthropomorphic language, put a smile on His face, give Him great joy, and let Him hear you say with excitement, “Daddy! I’m home!”
All my bags are packed...I'm ready to go...I'm leavin' on a jet plane. That's right folks I am busting out of seminary for a week (they left the gate open...jk). Five of my brother seminarians and I are headed to Guatemala with the medical mission team from St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. Please pray for us while we are gone as we will be praying for all of you. We will return on Saturday, March 19th. My annual review at the seminary is three days after my return. Please pray for that as well. Until then, I wanted to share with you this reflection I wrote during a day of prayer last month. I debated whether or not to share it. You can't say you don't know me very well after you have read this. I don't hold much back. I hope it helps you in your own journey to the Father.
Pax tecum,
Tom
“In the Arms of My Father”
By Tom Reitmeyer
A few days ago, at about eight o’clock in the morning, I called my best friend as he was leaving work (he works the night shift). Since we live almost one hundred miles apart it is difficult for us to spend as much time with one another as we used to. We attempt to overcome the distance with these short telephone conversations. While our varied schedules keep the calls from being as often, or as long, as I may like for them to be, I certainly treasure the few minutes a week we do get to talk to one another.
A few minutes into this most recent conversation, I could tell by the sound of a garage door being opened that my friend had arrived home. Several seconds later, I heard him chuckle and say to me, “Hah! My son (seven months old) is just sitting on the floor and looking up at me with a huge grin on his face.” My friend didn’t need to say anything more to tell me what he was feeling. I know him well enough that, by the sound of his voice, I had a pretty good idea of how that smile from his son made him feel. A moment later, I heard the voice of his daughter (three years old) yell with great joy, “Daddy! You’re home!” While not being able to see what was going on, from past experience I had a pretty good idea that she ran across the room and leaped into his arms. For those children, one of the best parts of their morning is seeing their father come home and hold them in his arms. The younger one is only able to reach his arms up toward his father and ask to be picked up, while the older one is able to sprint across the room and leap into her father’s arms. I knew that our time on the phone needed to end. I told him I loved him and said that I didn’t want to keep him from his family. The children wanted/needed their father and I knew that he needed them as well.
One of my great joys in life, and a real blessing from God, has been to watch my friend become both a loving husband to his wife and a loving father to his children. I get a great amount of joy from just sitting in the same room and watching him play with his kids. I love the way that he wrestles with them. I love the way they make each other laugh. It’s one of the greatest sounds in this world. I love the way that he consoles them when they are sad or not feeling well. I love watching how much it pains him to discipline them when he needs to. I always thought that parents just threw out that cliché line, “this will hurt me more than it hurts you,” but now as an adult, I see that there is a certain amount of truth in that statement. As I watch my friend with his children, I get an ever increasing sense of what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely.
I don’t need to look very far to find the person who taught my friend to love this way. After only a few times of seeing my friend with his own father, I began to understand. What is truly awesome for me to see is that the love and admiration is not only from son to father, but also father to son. There has been a few times where I have seen them say goodbye to one another after a visit. I am always impressed that there is no hesitation from either one to give the other a hug and say, “I love you.” Despite the distance that is created as one or the other travels back to his home, I know that my friend keeps his father with him always. After years of being a child who was once held by his father to his chest, my friend not only holds his own children close to him, but continues to hold his father as well. What a lesson for me!
As a seminarian who is studying to be a Catholic Priest, I am often called to spend time praying and reflecting on what it means to be a ‘Father’ to God’s children. Part of my formation (in life not just in seminary) is to learn what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely. Although I have a wonderful example in watching my friend and his family, I must also look to my own relationships to discern the ways in which I have been taught a father’s love. To be honest, that is at times a painful journey and one which I do not always want to undertake. However, over the past few years, God the Father has taken my hand and led me along this path and I want to share some of those thoughts with you in the hopes that you may consider your own relationship with not only your own human father, but also your Father in Heaven.
This year will mark nineteen years since the death of my father in 1992. It is odd to think that I have spent more of my life without my father physically present than I have spent with him. I have spent a great portion of my life lamenting the fact that my father died when I was young. I felt cheated out of many of the experiences that my friends got to have with their father. Sure, there were father-figures (brothers, coaches, priests, teachers, etc) in my life that stepped in and tried to fill the void, but the shoe never quite fit. As a result, I had a difficult time understanding how my Heavenly Father, who according to Scripture would never abandon me, had left me without a father in this world not only to love me as his son, but also to show me how to love as a father. I felt abandoned. I was angry, even more so after the death of my oldest brother in 2006. You see, my oldest brother was not only one of the many “father-figures” and friends in my life, but, as a Catholic Priest, he was also my spiritual father. Where was the love of my Father? Why was He abandoning me? How am I to become a father if there is no one there to teach me?
These were many of the questions that I have struggled with for the past five years or so. I have prayed with them many times and rarely have I come up with any answers. After years of wondering why God wasn’t answering me, I eventually realized that the only way for me to hear His response was to be silent, free myself of all the distractions, worries, and fears in order to listen. I had to provide a time of silence so that, as Blessed Cardinal Newman would say, cor ad cor loquitor (heart speaks to heart). It was in this time of silence during a retreat in Omaha, NE, that I received my answer.
It was during the third day of an eight day silent retreat that I was asked to pray with a passage from the Book of Hosea (Hos 11:1-4):
When Israel was a child I loved him,
out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
The farther they went from me,
Sacrificing to the Baals
And burning incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
Who took them in my arms;
I drew them with human cords,
With bands of love;
I fostered them like one
Who raises an infant to his cheeks;
Yet, though I stooped to feed my child,
They did not know that I was their healer.
It was this last verse that really stopped me in my tracks and for that reason I have put it in boldface print. When, Father, were the times that you drew me in with bands of love? When, Father, were the times that you held me to your cheeks like an infant? When, Father, were the times that my father here on earth did those things? In what way was I loved by him and by you?
I began to reflect back on my life and was surprised as memories that I had previously forgotten or was unable to recall began to flood my mind. I began to consider the times in my life when I remembered being held in my father’s arms. I remembered a time when we lived in Virginia when I was about three years old. I was hiding in the bushes with my brother as my father arrived home in a taxi cab. I remembered running and leaping into his arms to greet him as he came home. I remembered being held by my father upside down by my ankles (as was the tradition) when I received my Bobcat badge in Cub Scouts. I remembered some of the times when I wanted my father to hold me but he couldn’t, especially after his illness and subsequent death. But most especially, I remembered a time when my father and I sat on a dam in the middle of a river at a place called Five Mile Dam. I was probably five or six-years-old at the time and I was sitting on my father’s lap as he held me in his arms. In that moment of prayer in Omaha in the year 2010, I could see the smile on my father’s face as he proudly held his son. I could feel the coolness of the water and could smell it as well. I could feel the joy of being a child in his father’s arms. It was a reminder to me that not only did my biological father love me but I was also a beloved son of God the Father who desperately wants me to allow Him to hold me in His arms.
The next day of the retreat I was invited to consider the six years my father suffered from a massive stroke that he had approximately two or three years after this experience in the river. I could feel his sadness, anger, disappointment, frustration, and sense of abandonment. A great sense of compassion welled up inside of me and tears streamed down my face as Jesus allowed me to experience what my father felt. It was a compassion that replaced previous feelings of anger and resentment. I had never considered my father’s experience of his illness. My father passed away when I was thirteen and as you can imagine left me with a significant wound in my heart. God was in the process of healing this. Jesus then placed me back in the scene in the river. This time I was the five-year-old boy who knew everything that his father would experience in the remaining eight years of his life. Instead of my father holding me, I placed my head on his shoulder, embraced him, and attempted to console him. I felt a great sense of love and compassion for my father. I was also grateful as I realized that God felt the same way towards me as His son. God knows all of the joys and sorrows that I will experience and He seeks to be with me in the middle of all of them.
Lest I be fooled by this moment and think that it was wishful thinking on my part, I remembered that a photographer for a local newspaper (Onion Creek Free Press) had captured the moment on film and published the picture the next week. I had a copy of the photo for many years but have since lost track of it. What a gift it would be to have it back! The photo was only a silhouette of the two of us. It was a photo of a proud father who was holding his son. It was a photo of a son who made his father smile with a smile of his own. It was a photo of the type of love described in the Book of Hosea. It could have been anyone, but it wasn’t. It was me in my father’s arms. What a gift from my Father to recall that moment and to have it made present to me again! There is much more to that prayer experience, but I think that I have shared enough for now to make my point.
So what is the point that I am trying to share with you? I have learned from both my friend and my own father what it means for a father to love his children. I have also learned that the love a father has for his children is unconditional and everlasting. I have learned that a child is one of the greatest sources of joy for his/her parents. However, it is not enough for me merely to learn how to love as a father loves his children. No, that simply won’t be enough to make me a good priest, a good Christian, or a good man. I must also learn to allow myself to be loved as the beloved son of my Father in Heaven. Like Jesus Christ, the only Son of God the Father, I must learn that in the hour of my greatest need, the moment when I think the cross is too much to bear, the hour when I feel abandoned, I must do like he did during his agony in the garden: fall to my knees in prayer, raise my hands to the sky, and cry out “Abba (daddy)!” Like Israel, I must come to realize that I am a child who is loved by his Father. In every moment of my life, whether I have been aware of it or not, I have been held like an infant to my Father’s cheeks. As my Father has continued to call me to Him from my place in Egypt (a place of slavery), I have, at times, increased the distance between us. And while there have been many difficult moments in my life (death of family members, tragic situations in police-work, feelings of rejection or loneliness, etc) where I have felt abandoned, where I have felt like a crying infant waiting to be picked up and consoled by his Father, my Father in Heaven, like my earthly father, has always taken me in His arms and held me to his cheek with bands of love. The bands were in the form of: the love of a friend who teaches me to be a father, the love of the many people in my life who never allow me to feel abandoned despite the increasing distance, the love of those who have waited patiently for me to come back from Egypt, the love of those who I will one day serve as their spiritual father, and most especially the moments of prayer where I am once again able to be held in my Father’s arms. For me, prayer is sometimes as simple as placing myself in the arms of my Father and remaining there in order to receive His love.
My prayer is that in reading this reflection, you will reflect on your own experience of both your earthly father and your Heavenly Father. Know that despite whatever distance there may be between you and your Heavenly Father or whatever event(s) in your life (divorce, cancer, loss of a spouse, loss of a child, loss of any kind, depression, etc) may cause you to feel abandoned by Him, He is always there to hold you in His arms. Like my friend, and many other people in your life, you must be able to realize that there are times where we are called to love as the Father loves us, but there are also times where we need to allow ourselves to be the children who desperately want to be in His arms. All you have to do is make that time where you can quietly sit with Him, smile up at Him, put out your arms as a request to be picked up, and allow Him to hold you. If you will permit the anthropomorphic language, put a smile on His face, give Him great joy, and let Him hear you say with excitement, “Daddy! I’m home!”
Monday, March 7, 2011
Should we pay or should we not pay?
The following is a brief reflection that I will give at the end of one of my classes today. It is based on the gospel reading for Tuesday, March 8th, 2011. Mk 12:13-17
Pax tecum,
Tom
Should we pay or should we not pay?
This year, for the first time in sixteen years, I will not file a tax return. After two and a half years of being a seminarian, I no longer have any reportable income that requires me to pay Federal Income Tax. And yet, there is the distinct feeling that this year I will pay a higher tax than I have previously.
As seminarians we are asked to devote ourselves to a demanding academic schedule combined with various meetings, appointments, ministries, and other events. We are asked to submit ourselves to the authority of the faculty and ask permission for things that we would not previously have given a second thought. We are asked to embrace a life of gospel simplicity, celibacy, and obedience. We are asked to endure Friday afternoon group formation practices and to learn to speak with a cork in our mouth (don’t worry, it’s coming). Yes, as seminarians, there are ‘taxes’ to be paid.
And often times the payment of these taxes seems to stand in direct opposition to what it is we would rather do or even what we think we should be doing. I would rather immerse myself in a life of contemplative prayer. I would rather be back in the parish engaged in active ministry. I would rather feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned. I would rather try to figure out a way to allow myself to relax and recreate in a healthy way. Yes, there are many good things that I would rather do than pay my taxes.
So should I pay or should I not pay? This is the very question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and Herodians who were sent to trap him in a no-win situation. In their minds no matter what answer Jesus gave them, he would lead himself into great peril. Either he would lose the support of the people or he would be reported to Caesar for acts of sedition.
This is the same false dichotomy that is presented by the Pharisees of my own heart and I dare say I am not alone in this. We are led to believe that paying the taxes of seminary formation and being faithful to a life of prayer and service are somehow mutually exclusive. We become imbalanced as we seek to fulfill the demands of one and neglect the other. At times, we find ourselves asking for extensions in order to avoid a timely payment of the taxes; or we become so concerned with completing every single task on time and to the best of our ability, that we completely ignore our times of prayer and communion with God.
But Jesus shows us another way. He does not simply choose one option over the other but instead institutes the long standing Catholic Tradition of the ‘both/and.’ Jesus tells us that it is possible to repay Caesar what belongs to him and also to God what belongs to him. Having heard this, I am, like the Pharisees utterly amazed at his answer. Not only for his elusive escape from the trap that had been laid before him but also at the notion that such a ‘both/and’ response is actually possible.
For as I stand here today I recognize that, while I may have the capacity, I do not yet have the ability to discern the proper balance between the demands of seminary formation and a complete rendering of myself to God. Frankly, I am challenged by the very idea that such a balance exists.
Thankfully, I do not have to find such a balance on my own. For just as God has given us certified public accountants to help us avoid the dreaded audit of the Internal Revenue Service, he has given us formation advisors, professors, spiritual directors, and I think most importantly, he has given us one another, so that together we may help each other prepare ourselves for the final rendering of accounts. And remember, as with any other accounting, in order for the numbers to match up in the end, it is often necessary to forgive a debt or two.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Should we pay or should we not pay?
This year, for the first time in sixteen years, I will not file a tax return. After two and a half years of being a seminarian, I no longer have any reportable income that requires me to pay Federal Income Tax. And yet, there is the distinct feeling that this year I will pay a higher tax than I have previously.
As seminarians we are asked to devote ourselves to a demanding academic schedule combined with various meetings, appointments, ministries, and other events. We are asked to submit ourselves to the authority of the faculty and ask permission for things that we would not previously have given a second thought. We are asked to embrace a life of gospel simplicity, celibacy, and obedience. We are asked to endure Friday afternoon group formation practices and to learn to speak with a cork in our mouth (don’t worry, it’s coming). Yes, as seminarians, there are ‘taxes’ to be paid.
And often times the payment of these taxes seems to stand in direct opposition to what it is we would rather do or even what we think we should be doing. I would rather immerse myself in a life of contemplative prayer. I would rather be back in the parish engaged in active ministry. I would rather feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned. I would rather try to figure out a way to allow myself to relax and recreate in a healthy way. Yes, there are many good things that I would rather do than pay my taxes.
So should I pay or should I not pay? This is the very question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and Herodians who were sent to trap him in a no-win situation. In their minds no matter what answer Jesus gave them, he would lead himself into great peril. Either he would lose the support of the people or he would be reported to Caesar for acts of sedition.
This is the same false dichotomy that is presented by the Pharisees of my own heart and I dare say I am not alone in this. We are led to believe that paying the taxes of seminary formation and being faithful to a life of prayer and service are somehow mutually exclusive. We become imbalanced as we seek to fulfill the demands of one and neglect the other. At times, we find ourselves asking for extensions in order to avoid a timely payment of the taxes; or we become so concerned with completing every single task on time and to the best of our ability, that we completely ignore our times of prayer and communion with God.
But Jesus shows us another way. He does not simply choose one option over the other but instead institutes the long standing Catholic Tradition of the ‘both/and.’ Jesus tells us that it is possible to repay Caesar what belongs to him and also to God what belongs to him. Having heard this, I am, like the Pharisees utterly amazed at his answer. Not only for his elusive escape from the trap that had been laid before him but also at the notion that such a ‘both/and’ response is actually possible.
For as I stand here today I recognize that, while I may have the capacity, I do not yet have the ability to discern the proper balance between the demands of seminary formation and a complete rendering of myself to God. Frankly, I am challenged by the very idea that such a balance exists.
Thankfully, I do not have to find such a balance on my own. For just as God has given us certified public accountants to help us avoid the dreaded audit of the Internal Revenue Service, he has given us formation advisors, professors, spiritual directors, and I think most importantly, he has given us one another, so that together we may help each other prepare ourselves for the final rendering of accounts. And remember, as with any other accounting, in order for the numbers to match up in the end, it is often necessary to forgive a debt or two.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Becoming Perfect...
I find myself once again apologizing and trying to explain why it has been so long since my last post. I have learned that there are times in seminary when it is best for me to keep quiet. It may be a time when a lot is going on spiritually and I need to take time to sort it all out. It may be a time when little is going on spiritually and therefore do not have much to share. Other times, it is simply a matter of finding the time to craft these reflections. I have a lot to say as of late and there is much I would like to share with you. I had a particular order in which I wanted to share several of my reflections, but I think the lectionary and the readings for this weekend have somewhat forced my hand. So, for now, I hope you will enjoy this reflection I wrote on what it means to be 'perfect.' I wrote the reflection as a result of prayer during my silent retreat in January. I was asked to give the reflection to the Second Year Theology class here at the seminary. They seemed to receive it well and I hope that you will find something useful in it as well. Here we go...
"Becoming Perfect" by Tom Reitmeyer
Throughout my formation in seminary, and to be honest, for most of my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. Like most people I have my ideas of what it means to be perfect. I have not only struggled with living up to my own standards of what it means to be perfect but also realize that, at times, I have grown quite used to pointing out the imperfections of others as well. I seem to have this sense of what it means to be perfect deeply ingrained in my mind and have come to realize it as being a real obstacle to my further growth. I have spent a lot of time recently thinking and praying about what it means to be perfect and who it is that God is calling me to be, not only in the future, but right now, today. This reflection, then, is a summation of those prayer experiences and an attempt to share with you an insight that has given me a new sense of freedom and peace.
Over the break I gave a lot of thought to my first semester here at St. Mary’s. I did a sort of examination of consciousness for the entire semester. Through prayer and conversations with some trusted friends, both lay and clergy, I became aware of areas for growth that I had not previously recognized or understood. I remember one day in particular when the readings at Mass seemed to be speaking directly to me. The reading from was from 1 John 4: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love…” (1 John 4:16-19).
After hearing these words I realized that they were both comforting and troubling to me. They were comforting in the sense that I knew that the fears I had regarding my formation, my life, my love of self, my vocation, etc. were not from God. There is no fear in love. At the same time I was troubled by the fact that the Scriptures used the word perfect or some other variation of the word no less than three times in three short verses. If the goal is truly to be perfect in love, how do I get there? After all, being very aware of my many shortcomings, my challenges, and my fears, perfect seems so far away….almost too far.
This is where I was spiritually as I entered into our silent retreat. I asked the Lord for the particular grace to show me how I was to become perfect in love. I asked him to increase my faith so as not to be controlled by my fears. I asked him to set me free.
On the Monday of our retreat, the second week of Ordinary time, the church prayed one of my favorite readings from Scripture (Heb 5:1-9). In these nine verses we are told of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, the high priest who was chosen by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. One verse in particular stood out to me. Verse 8 reads, “Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8) There was that word ‘perfect’ again. What does it mean to say ‘when Jesus was made perfect…’? Doesn’t that imply that there was a time when Jesus was not yet perfect? It sounds almost heretical even to pose the question. And yet, the grammatical structure of the sentence implies a time when he was not perfect. I have always assumed that the word perfect as we use it today means ‘without blemish’ or ‘without sin, fault, error, or lacking of any kind.’ By this definition Jesus was undeniably perfect. What was it the scripture was trying to tell me?
I went back to my room and immediately sat down with the dictionary. I looked up the word perfect and saw that it was defined as “being without fault or defect; exact or precise.” That did not seem to be much help. I knew that the English word comes from the Latin ‘perfectus’ or the participle ‘perficio’ from the verb ‘perficere’, meaning roughly ‘having been made through to completion.’ While this began to make more sense than the English definition I still could not see what was not yet complete in Jesus.
I then took a look at my copy of the New Testament in Greek. I turned to Matthew 5:48 where it says, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ I was surprised to see that the word used in Greek for the word perfect was ‘teleioi’ (τελειοι) which is an adjectival form of the noun ‘telos’(τελος). I knew from my philosophy studies that ‘telos’ refers to our final end or our ultimate destiny. It refers to that for which we were created. So, in this verse, Jesus himself was telling the disciples to be the persons whom God created them to be. My definition of perfect was quickly starting to change.
I then turned to a Greek dictionary to find a definition for telos. It was defined as ‘an end attained, consummation, or closing act.’ At this point I felt like I was pulling on a golden thread that had been woven through the Scriptures and was leading me to my prize. Focusing on the word ‘consummation’ I turned to John’s Gospel where it offers the last words of Jesus on the cross. In Latin, the words used are, “Consummatum est,” which is translated into English as ‘It is finished.” With great anticipation, as I felt I was on to some new discovery, I turned to the Greek where it says, “Ϊησουσ ειπεν, τετελεσται” or “Jesus said, it has been finished.” The word used for perfect is the perfect passive indicative of the Greek verb ‘τελεω’ meaning ‘to finish or complete.’
Jesus, having received his identity from His relationship to the Father through His baptism, brought his mission to completion. Having become perfect in love, he offered himself as a gift and a sacrifice for the sins of others. He had become fully perfect in being the one sent by God to reconcile all of us to him. “And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8)
What does all this mean for me? It means that I no longer have to live my life measuring myself to some unobtainable external objective standard of what it means to be perfect. It means that I can be free of the idea that, being a perfect seminarian means perfect attendance, never being late, straight A’s, following every rule to a ‘T’. It means that I do not have to be perfect by someone else’s standards of what it means to be a man, a son, a friend, a Catholic, etc. It means that because I am a beloved Son of the Father who has been baptized into this faith, I must become perfectly me. I must become the man who God calls me to be. The man He knew before He formed me in the womb. This is not a crutch or a means to not deal with my faults or imperfections. That work still needs to be done. On the contrary, it is a challenge to become perfect in love. It is a realization that my identity is not one that I choose for myself; but is instead one that needs to be actively received from God. And from this identity comes the mission to love God and neighbor as He Himself has loved me. My mission is to become perfect in love; and there is no fear in love.
Finally, I will end with this quote from a great spiritual writer: "Perfect joy is the fruit of Christianity when it is lived as Christ taught: joy in the midst of our pain, joy that flowers precisely from pain, from the sacrifice of self, of our own views, of our own will, our ego, to leave space for God, for his plans, for his light-filled and wise design for the world and for each one of us."
Pax tecum,
Tom
"Becoming Perfect" by Tom Reitmeyer
Throughout my formation in seminary, and to be honest, for most of my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. Like most people I have my ideas of what it means to be perfect. I have not only struggled with living up to my own standards of what it means to be perfect but also realize that, at times, I have grown quite used to pointing out the imperfections of others as well. I seem to have this sense of what it means to be perfect deeply ingrained in my mind and have come to realize it as being a real obstacle to my further growth. I have spent a lot of time recently thinking and praying about what it means to be perfect and who it is that God is calling me to be, not only in the future, but right now, today. This reflection, then, is a summation of those prayer experiences and an attempt to share with you an insight that has given me a new sense of freedom and peace.
Over the break I gave a lot of thought to my first semester here at St. Mary’s. I did a sort of examination of consciousness for the entire semester. Through prayer and conversations with some trusted friends, both lay and clergy, I became aware of areas for growth that I had not previously recognized or understood. I remember one day in particular when the readings at Mass seemed to be speaking directly to me. The reading from was from 1 John 4: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love…” (1 John 4:16-19).
After hearing these words I realized that they were both comforting and troubling to me. They were comforting in the sense that I knew that the fears I had regarding my formation, my life, my love of self, my vocation, etc. were not from God. There is no fear in love. At the same time I was troubled by the fact that the Scriptures used the word perfect or some other variation of the word no less than three times in three short verses. If the goal is truly to be perfect in love, how do I get there? After all, being very aware of my many shortcomings, my challenges, and my fears, perfect seems so far away….almost too far.
This is where I was spiritually as I entered into our silent retreat. I asked the Lord for the particular grace to show me how I was to become perfect in love. I asked him to increase my faith so as not to be controlled by my fears. I asked him to set me free.
On the Monday of our retreat, the second week of Ordinary time, the church prayed one of my favorite readings from Scripture (Heb 5:1-9). In these nine verses we are told of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, the high priest who was chosen by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. One verse in particular stood out to me. Verse 8 reads, “Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8) There was that word ‘perfect’ again. What does it mean to say ‘when Jesus was made perfect…’? Doesn’t that imply that there was a time when Jesus was not yet perfect? It sounds almost heretical even to pose the question. And yet, the grammatical structure of the sentence implies a time when he was not perfect. I have always assumed that the word perfect as we use it today means ‘without blemish’ or ‘without sin, fault, error, or lacking of any kind.’ By this definition Jesus was undeniably perfect. What was it the scripture was trying to tell me?
I went back to my room and immediately sat down with the dictionary. I looked up the word perfect and saw that it was defined as “being without fault or defect; exact or precise.” That did not seem to be much help. I knew that the English word comes from the Latin ‘perfectus’ or the participle ‘perficio’ from the verb ‘perficere’, meaning roughly ‘having been made through to completion.’ While this began to make more sense than the English definition I still could not see what was not yet complete in Jesus.
I then took a look at my copy of the New Testament in Greek. I turned to Matthew 5:48 where it says, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ I was surprised to see that the word used in Greek for the word perfect was ‘teleioi’ (τελειοι) which is an adjectival form of the noun ‘telos’(τελος). I knew from my philosophy studies that ‘telos’ refers to our final end or our ultimate destiny. It refers to that for which we were created. So, in this verse, Jesus himself was telling the disciples to be the persons whom God created them to be. My definition of perfect was quickly starting to change.
I then turned to a Greek dictionary to find a definition for telos. It was defined as ‘an end attained, consummation, or closing act.’ At this point I felt like I was pulling on a golden thread that had been woven through the Scriptures and was leading me to my prize. Focusing on the word ‘consummation’ I turned to John’s Gospel where it offers the last words of Jesus on the cross. In Latin, the words used are, “Consummatum est,” which is translated into English as ‘It is finished.” With great anticipation, as I felt I was on to some new discovery, I turned to the Greek where it says, “Ϊησουσ ειπεν, τετελεσται” or “Jesus said, it has been finished.” The word used for perfect is the perfect passive indicative of the Greek verb ‘τελεω’ meaning ‘to finish or complete.’
Jesus, having received his identity from His relationship to the Father through His baptism, brought his mission to completion. Having become perfect in love, he offered himself as a gift and a sacrifice for the sins of others. He had become fully perfect in being the one sent by God to reconcile all of us to him. “And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8)
What does all this mean for me? It means that I no longer have to live my life measuring myself to some unobtainable external objective standard of what it means to be perfect. It means that I can be free of the idea that, being a perfect seminarian means perfect attendance, never being late, straight A’s, following every rule to a ‘T’. It means that I do not have to be perfect by someone else’s standards of what it means to be a man, a son, a friend, a Catholic, etc. It means that because I am a beloved Son of the Father who has been baptized into this faith, I must become perfectly me. I must become the man who God calls me to be. The man He knew before He formed me in the womb. This is not a crutch or a means to not deal with my faults or imperfections. That work still needs to be done. On the contrary, it is a challenge to become perfect in love. It is a realization that my identity is not one that I choose for myself; but is instead one that needs to be actively received from God. And from this identity comes the mission to love God and neighbor as He Himself has loved me. My mission is to become perfect in love; and there is no fear in love.
Finally, I will end with this quote from a great spiritual writer: "Perfect joy is the fruit of Christianity when it is lived as Christ taught: joy in the midst of our pain, joy that flowers precisely from pain, from the sacrifice of self, of our own views, of our own will, our ego, to leave space for God, for his plans, for his light-filled and wise design for the world and for each one of us."
Pax tecum,
Tom
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