The irony of Palm Sunday isn’t lost on me.  As a child, it took me a while to realize it, but over time it went from being humorous, to disturbing, to now, as I grow older, simply a representative of human nature versus the divine. 

The story of Palm Sunday and indeed the entire Passion is confounding when viewing from a timeline of events. 

On Sunday, Jesus is welcomed into the city of Jerusalem like a humble conqueror by the masses.  On a young colt, he processes into the city as the throngs wave palm branches and lay down their cloaks and palm branches onto the road.  They know the great deeds he has done – including raising a man from the dead.

On Thursday, his closest friends and confidants gather with him for the traditional Passover meal.  We can guess it is like any other meal among family and friends, with a mixture of tradition (singing of songs, hymns, and prayers) as well as the atmosphere of friendship.  There is probably a good deal of laughing, visiting, joke telling, and good natured ribbing that goes along with any gathering of friends.

Thursday night, Jesus goes off to pray and is met by a mob of men bent on taking him into custody.  Yet another miracle takes place (the healing of the high priests servants ear) and in the end, Jesus is led away to jail where he is tortured and tried.  His friends all leave him – and in Peter’s case, denies him three times.

Friday morning – the same crowd that welcomed him to the city are calling for his death.  Talk about going from hero to zero.  Jesus is condemned to death.

Friday afternoon – in a spectacle that only the Romans could do, Jesus is lead through the streets and up to a hill with two other criminals, being followed by a crowd of people (probably many of the same that had welcomed him on Sunday) and is nailed to a cross and dies.

How fickle the crowds.  How fickle the friends.  The same people that where hailing him on Sunday watch him die with curiosity and apathy on Friday.   His friends that pledged their lives to him less than 24 hours earlier are, for the most part, gone.

Such is human nature.

It is easy to convict the people present for their ways – for turning their backs on him whom they hailed.  But in truth, we have to ask ourselves, would we do any different if we were in their shoes and knew what they knew?

We are lucky because we know the end of the story – and we know what that saving grace can do.  The human nature meets the divine in the very heart of men and women today as it did then.  How else can you explain how Peter, the man that betrayed Jesus not once, but three times, the simple fisherman, would go on to become the first leader of the fledgling church.  How else can you explain how those followers that fled, or whose, followed along with the crowds on Friday would spread the Gospel to all ends of the earth – and many of them die in the process.

It was not their human nature that did this, it was something greater than rational thought and reasoning that our simple minds can comprehend, it is that touch of the divine – that great mystery of how a great all seeing, all loving God can give His Son for humanity, and indeed, reach down into each welcoming heart, and call them back home again.

In the gospel story of Jesus turning water into wine, the chief waiter is amazed that the groom and his family would keep the best wine for last!  The usual custom was to have the best wined served first.  When people were sufficiently liquored up, they would switch to the lesser wine.

It makes practical sense.  It cuts down on the costs and let’s everyone drink to their fill.  The waiter is surprised that the groom would break from the normal.  It never said that he was displeased.

I actually think that the head waiter was pleased.  His job was to make sure that the guests were comfortable and well served.  Imagine the number of weddings where people were displeased because the quality of the wine went down through the night.  For someone accustomed to trying to make people happy, here finally was someone that not only tried to keep the quality there, but it actually improved through the night!

It was not what people expected and it was very much out of the ordinary.

But it wasn’t the groom’s doing.  In fact, it was a major mistake on the part of the groom that caused the crisis in the first place.  He didn’t have enough wine.  So it was completely in the hands of Jesus to get him out of the jam he was in.  And Jesus delivers with a remarkable gift – turning water into wine.  And not just any wine, but gallons and gallons of the best wine.

So often it is that way in our lives too.  We do all we can, but some of the details slip by us, and yet somehow, someway, things work out.  Through our gifts and talents, we build a life, and we build the world.

The groom in the story is a very unexpected accomplice to the Lord – at his wedding they serve the best wine last.  While the custom might be to work into the cheaper stuff, here they are, serving the best last.

In our life stories, we too must strive to serve and give the best, not just when it is convenient or when things are going well.  We are called – from cradle to grave – to give the absolute best of what we have, to give the best of our gifts – to God, and helping to create a better place and a better world for our fellow man. 

Jesus would not see his friend embarrassed though he was out of wine, so he will not see us destroyed if we put forth of our best for Him – using the very gifts that He gave us.

Well, I owe some apologies.  It has been a couple of weeks since I’ve posted…and longer than that since I posted consistently.  I’ve been a bit slack in my duties.

I’ll admit 2012 was a big year – with a lot of big things taking place.  Some very good things happened this last year…and some things that were exceptionally painful.  You might have to forgive my absence as we rolled through the holiday season.  This holiday season, as we reflected on the very physical presence of God on earth, and as we watched the calendar slip from one year to the next, it was an apt time to sit back and do a little reflecting myself.

I also owe some pretty big thanks to some folks.  There are some regular readers out there that have been very supportive.  Thanks to Mark and Rita, Corey, Don, Le and Barb, Pat and Katti, Al and Rose, and everyone else that are regular readers and have sent some note of encouragement – some word that has helped me along.

There are a lot things from 2012 that haven’t yet been chronicled – reams of Australian stories and anecdotes that need to see the light of the day (and the computer screen) – from outback travels (try the feral platter at the roadhouse outside of Wilapena Pound) and some big events already in 2013 that need to shared (like the NDSU win in Frisco, TX to make them the NCAA FCS Champions!).

Happy New Year to all – and wishing you a very happy 2013!

Dad died on October 29, 2012 at 2:38pm.

I’ve lost my father, but more than that, I’ve lost a dear friend.  I’ve lost a hero.  But I’ll admit, I’m having trouble grieving.  I’m having trouble mourning.  For I know that it is not the end, it is just a beginning.  We are nothing more than pilgrims in this life, and though this life ends, St. Paul said, that in the end, “these remain: faith, hope and love.”

What a perfect way, to look at what Dad left us, what he meant to us, what he stood for.

Dad had a deep and abiding faith.  He attended Mass every Sunday – and often times daily.  If you go to the back of the church, you can still see the thumb print made in the pew where he spent decades resting his hand.  He made sure that we started each meal with a prayer.  A rosary was by his chair.  When Mom was diagnosed with cancer, part of her treatment was a daily family recitation of the rosary – insisted upon by Dad.

But his faith was not of word alone.  It was a living, active faith.  He fed the hungry through meals on wheels until his health gave out.  Then he delivered to friends and neighbors that were outside of the delivery zone…but that he knew needed the food.  He visited the sick and shut ins as part of working with Lutheran Social Services, but also on his own – helping with friends and neighbors.  Taking others to doctor’s appointments.

Between he and Mom, they spent 12 years on the school board of our little Catholic School – a school that they sent every one of us kids too, without counting the cost.

I still remember during the farm crisis of the 1980’s, when our loader tractor burned – that same week, Mom and Dad won a whopping $500 in a drawing for a fundraiser for the school.  It was money much needed on the farm, and in the home.  And Mom and Dad, with little discussion or fanfare, quickly gave it back.

Shortly before his passing, my father was lamenting the fact that he was being a burden on the family and neighbors.  When I started recounting the numerous things he had done and people he had helped, he cut me off short and said merely, “It is a sin to be proud of those things.”

Dad was also a man filled with hope.  Part of being a farmer is hoping on things to come.  You hope for the rain to nourish the crop.  You hope on the sunshine to shine down and help them grow.  You hope on good planting conditions – and good weather for harvest.  You hope that the rain stays away for haying.

But regardless of the weather, you still thank God for sending what he did – or in the midst of disaster, that it wasn’t any worse.

Humor is born of tragedy, but fostered and nourished by hope.  And of that, Dad had plenty of.  If it was around the coffee table at the Red Apple (where they needed a Bohemian to keep the Norwegians in line) or with friends and family – his quick wit was both well timed and appreciated.  Shortly before he passed, as he was drifting in and out of consciousness and a nurse was trying to figure out how he was feeling.  I asked him, “Dad – How do you feel?”

He looked right at me, raised his hand, and with a weak smile, put his thumb and two of his fingers together.  The nurse was confused, but I had to laugh at his standard response, though with actions only and not spoken to how do you feel – “with my fingers!”

Dad was a man that had a hard time showing emotion…but there was little doubt of the love that poured out.  To his community and his church and the world beyond, he gave generously of his time, talents and treasures.  28 years on the township board.  23 years on the township association.  Almost 30 years as election judge.  Numerous boards and committees. 

For each of his children, he expressed love and admiration for their gifts – Tom for his writing and his faith, Jack for his work ethic and ability to fix things, Jaime for his ability to make anything run (including the old stuck gas engine from the woods) and endurance, Margaret for, well, for many things – but mainly for being the youngest and the only girl!

St. Paul tells us, that of those three, faith, hope, and love – the greatest of them is love

I will never forget the evening that Dad walked into the barn as I was milking cows.  Mom, who had just had brain surgery after her diagnosis with cancer, was to get her prognosis that day.  With an anxious look, I waited for Dad’s report.

“Your mother isn’t going to make it.  The doctor told me that we need to put her into a nursing home.” Dad said matter of factly.

“What did you say?” I asked shocked and saddened.

“I told him to go to hell and I asked for a new doctor.  I vowed for better or worse, and this is just the worse part.”

For the next almost two years, Dad would take care of Mom at home.  This man that couldn’t wash clothes or cook a meal changed his life, reordered his priorities, and died to self out of love – and there is no greater love than this.

While I will miss Dad, it is with the lessons that he taught me – the deep and abiding faith and the boundless hope that I picture Mom and Dad, together again, wrapped in the unending – the undying – love of our Lord.

I scoffed when someone first told me that coming home would be much more difficult than moving overseas.  I thought about the loneliness and the struggles being in Australia.  The daunting task of starting all over again in a new country with different customs, different sports, different holidays, and being so bloody long way away from home.

I must admit, I rolled my eyes a bit at the person that told me that.

But truth be told, it has been a struggle being home.  While it has been five months, life does not unfold as we would like – nor is it as we left it.

My life seems to have a three year gap in it, where I was living and experiencing something very different and very real, while all of my friends and family, were at the very same time living and experiencing something very different.

And for all of us, the experiences changed us.  I am a different person now than when I landed in Sydney almost three years ago.  My core, my values, my character is very much the same, but my perspective, my risk tolerance, my attitude on life, my resiliency, my independence.  My understanding of myself and my purpose is much more defined.

Meanwhile, back at home, life and people were changing too – my nieces and nephews were growing up.  Friends were getting married and having kids.  And while all of those things happened very slowly…over a span of time, those changes become very real.

So coming back, people try to put me into the same box, or the same place I was when I left.  It is a box that no longer fits.  While at the same time, when a disagreement arises, people are very quick to point out that I’m missing those shared experiences – well, you wouldn’t understand, you didn’t live through last winter, or well, you missed the games last year, so you won’t understand.

At the same time, life around me, and for my family has changed profoundly in the few months I’ve been back.  Dad, who is the center of our family, suddenly found himself battling an old family foe called cancer.  Suddenly, the shifting sands of time and people shift even more so.

It is daunting.

But even though at times it seems very lonely, St. Paul tells us that we must not despair, but indeed hold fast to the faith for we are blessed to have a Lord and Savior who, “is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin.”

We are blessed to have for our example – and our God (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit), one that, through His humanity, knew being an exile.  Knew loneliness.  Knew fear.  Knew the loss of a parent.  Knew hunger.  Knew ridicule.  Knew death.  Knew change.  Knew shifting alliances and friendships.

God, the Son, in his humanity, is like the trusted friend that says, “hey, I’ve been there before.  It’s ok.  I’m with you.”

St. Paul tells us some time tested advice.  We need to approach it like we would with a good friend, or a benevolent and just Creator, “confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.”

It has been a crazy four months.  I’m not making excuses, but it has been a very chaotic life since moving back from Australia, back home, to the United States.  In truth, it hasn’t gone quite according to plan.  That isn’t to say that I haven’t gotten much accomplished, on the contrary, it has been very productive.  I’ve planted a firm foundation back in Minnesota, I’ve bought a house, two cars, and a little bit of furniture.  I’ve caught up with countless friends and relatives.  In many ways, it is as if I haven’t even left.

But there has also been a fair amount of disappointments.  Things that haven’t gone to plan, things that I’ve failed at.  Things that I wish I would have done differently.  Some tragedies that I wish wouldn’t have happened.

But such is life.

In short, I’ve got a lot of things to do.  Mountains of boxes that need to be sorted through.  Piles of paperwork that is just waiting for a sorting.  Friends that I’ve failed to keep up with.  While I’ve been going to church, I probably haven’t been praying as much as I should.

Part of resuming my normal life back in Minnesota was the very humbling task of being advisor to my beloved fraternity.  Though I wasn’t a member at the U of M, the links and the quality of the men are certainly in line with what I knew back home, and compared to me, head and shoulders above.  To be quite honest, I get more out of the experience than I fear they do. 

Today was no exception.  I’m not sure why I chose to speak on the thing that I did, but I challenged them with the question – when is the best time to plant a tree?  I had learned the lesson from a good mentor at my work, and today I challenged the young men with it as well.  The answer: Ten years ago and today.

We can’t help what we didn’t do in the past, but we change how we live today.  We can change our habits and make new habits today, if we so resolve.

What a hypocrite I am.

I’ve been struggling with the direction my life should take.  I’ve been overwhelmed at times with the task at hand.  Sometimes, I’ve let my priorities slip – I haven’t done a good enough job of asking, what tree am I planting today?

It struck me after the meeting, when one of the young men came up and asked if I was the author of this blog, and proceeded to recite the opening stanzas from a post that particularly moved him.  He was complimenting my writing and my message, but in truth there was another message too…

I tell you, I felt about 10 inches tall…

It has been weeks since I’ve posted on this site.  Sure, there are excuses, but in the end, like chores, the job must be done, and as humbling as it sounds, people count on me.

I wasn’t living what I was saying. 

The public can debate the idea that God speaks to man.  Those who claim to hear his voice are ridiculed and derided as simpletons, or worse.  But let me tell you, I heard the message loud and clear.  Don’t let the business get in the way of the work that is to be done.

It is time to plant some trees.

You have to have some sympathy for the prophet Amos.  Here he is, approaching the priests and the officials and speaking words of warning, and they are sending him away.  Thinking him like every other prophet, talking about the woes of society.  Today, they would be the pundits and the talking heads, the people on both sides of the political aisle that speak of horrors on everyside…and make a good living doing it.

But Amos wasn’t like every other person that was talking about the woes that were to come.  Amos was no ‘professional.’  “I was no prophet, nor have I belonged to a company of prophets; I was a shepherd and a dresser of sycamores. The Lord took me from following the flock, and said to me, Go, prophesy to my people Israel.”

Imagine Amos, a shepherd probably by birth and training, making claims and knocking on the gates of the high and important people in society.

It sounds quite ridiculous on the surface.  A man with no formal education, no connections, trying to spread the word and do a task that God allocated to him.

Makes you laugh doesn’t it.

So what of the farm kid with no proper education, raised in poverty and a self educated lawyer…named Abraham Lincoln.

So what of the small town Illinois kid that landed some B-grade movie roles…and went toe to toe with the best of the Soviet Union…named Ronald Reagan.

So what of the little girl whose father died when she was a child, a Christian in a Muslim country…that would move to India…named Mother Teresa.

So what of the actor turned seminary student in the middle of World War II, from an obscure part of Nazi occupied Poland…who would later take the name of John Paul II.

So what of the shop keepers daughter that got her chemistry degree from oxford…and would one day before the first female Prime Minister of England, and nicknamed the ‘Iron Lady’…named Margaret Thatcher.

So what of the poor Iowa farm kid that was playing college football in California when he was spotted by a movie scout…and became an American icon…named John Wayne.

So what of the child that didn’t learn how to speak until the age of six and his parents were told that he was ‘uneducatable.’….who was named Albert Einstein.

The list could go on for page after page.  And while there are people of great reknown that followed the stars in their courses to do great and wonderful things…there is a disproportionate number of people that changed the world that had nothing but a vision, a prayer, and belief in a better world.

David the shepherd.  Peter the fisherman.  Matthew the tax collector.  Paul the Christian hunter.

Paul tells us that we have no more need of men like Amos, or Elijah, or John the Baptist.  By the spirit, we are all made prophets and able to see, hear, and discern the will of the Father.

Two of the men on my list have great words of wisdom, that I’ve found it useful to remember.  First is Abraham Lincoln’s call to action: “Whatever you are, be a good one.”  And John Wayne’s, “Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.”

In our eyes, we imagine all of the men and women who have made a difference in this world walked forward boldly and with great strength and courage.  The truth is very different.  Mother Teresa talked of the black night of the soul.  Paul wrote of this doubt as he prepared for his execution.  Abraham Lincoln dealt with depression.  All were people of great courage…all are known to have doubted their abilities.  Doubted themselves.  All feared.

But all saddled up anyway.  And it has made all the difference.

John the Baptist was called to do wondrous things.  He was the last of the prophet, he was the herald of the King of kings.  Born of aging parents, Elizabeth and Zachariah, who were well past the child bearing age, the child was a wonder to begin with, but it would be his following his calling, going out into the desert, preaching the baptism of repentance, that would set him apart,  He was the voice crying out in the desert.

Yet he had his doubts too, he showed his humanity in sending messengers to Jesus, asking if indeed he was the one.

And Jesus sent back the right message – that He was there, healing the sick, raising the dead, and setting captives free.

We celebrate the birth of John the Baptist as well, because we, like him, have been called.  Each of us, regardless of our rank, wealth, or position, have been called to be something more, something special.  Before we were born, the Lord knew each of us by name.  From our mother’s womb, he gave us each a name.  He made of us a sharp-edged sword and concealed us in the shadow of His arm.  Each of us, He made a polished arrow, in His quiver, He hide us.  We are His servant.

What we do with the gifts, what we do with the call, well, that is our choice.  We might not be called to be the greatest prophet…but we are called to be more than we are.  And though we might seem lowly in human eyes, we wouldn’t be the first to be called from humbleness – Peter, James, and John were fishermen.  Mary of Magdelan was a prostitute.  Countless men and women of God accomplished wonders, with little power or abilities recognized here on earth.

But each had the power of God at their disposal.  Each was a sharp edged sword.

While that sounds all well and good, what about our brothers and sisters that have never seen the light of day.  What about those felled in the womb, either by sickness, disease, or by choice.

While our society today doesn’t believe in such things as visions and dreams, they have been an important part of our faith history.  Maybe they don’t occur anymore.  But a friend told me a vision he had sitting in the St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Melbourne one day when during Mass, using his own words:

“There above the sanctuary, I saw a haziness and points of light.  The lights slowly came into focus and became the faces of family members that had died, I recognized them each, even some, like a grandmother, that I had never met.  Each were clothed in white and seemed to radiate happiness.  Their faces were lite up in eternal joy.”

“I noticed around my grandparents, my aunts, uncles and my mother, other forms of light that seemed to be running and playing, until they stopped around my family and were scooped up into their arms.  They were children.  Six of them in total.  All of them seemed to be between the ages of five and eight.  Each of them looked remarkably similar.  I felt like I knew each of them.  They smiled at me too and the joy that they exuded was clear, and the other family members in the vision seemed to feed on it.  As the children came to a halt in the arms and the laps of my family members, they looked at me intently, with an innocents and love that can’t even be described.”

“In my mind, I remember asking, ‘who are these children?’”

“A voice came out of nowhere and said, ‘these are your brothers and sisters that were taken to heaven before they were born.’  As quickly as it started, it faded away, but the joy was real.”

Was it a dream?  A passing fancy?  A day dream during a boring sermon?  I’m not sure, but surely, these children were serving a purpose, they too were called by name and though they had no choice in the matter, were none-the-less, some hidden arrow in the quiver of God.

On this the feast of the birth of John the Baptist, may we all have the courage, the strength, and the faith to live the calling we were given, and be His sword in a word that needs His love more than ever.

Well, after the longest hiatus since this blog began, I’m back.
But I’ve got some pretty good excuses.

First of all, my computer crashed.  Sort of.  Every time it would get warm, it would die on me.  It is hard to write 700 words a day when your stream of thought gets flushed in a nanosecond.  And you better hoped that I saved…  So the old netbook needed some work.  The two week turnaround turned into a four week turn around. A new hard drive later, and I got to reload all of the programs that I had on it.

But first I had to pack up and move around the world.  That’s right folks, I’m back in the USA.  Back home.

And that is when my new hard drive crashed.

A far, far, way from my repair and warranty provider.

So I bought a new computer, and it was probably time too.  And this is a top of a line model that should be good to go for years of typing.  Worse comes to worse, my old desk top is still in a box somewhere too.

Oh yeah, did I mentioned that I moved?

You would think that would make things easier, but in reality, it has been a pretty stressful experience.  Weeks of going away party’s
and celebrations, followed by 24 hours of flights, and trying to pick up the pieces and sort through the life that I left behind almost three years ago.  A life in boxes and crates, scattered in four different homes (cabin, brother, brother, dads).  Add onto that the car shopping, the house hunting, insurance, taxes, bills, and trying to get life wrapped up back in Australia – and working through six months of accumulated mail (and a back log of issues from both the US and Australia), and well…

Whew.

Add on top a new job and a passel of friends that wanted to say hello – oh yeah, and a couple of graduations, a
niece’s play, and a handful of other events that have taken place over the last two weeks.

But the point is, I’m back.

And there are some stories to tell.  I haven’t told the tales of the boxing taxi drivers, the trip to Singapore, the going away parties, or the trip to the Australian outback.  There has been no talk of the trip to the Lakes Entrance, beach camping, or rice
harvesting.  There is a play review to write and interesting people by the handful with tales to tell.

So if you were a regular checking back, well, I hope you are regular again (pun intended), and if you are new to the site, come on back.

I’ll be posting.

 You can’t.  It won’t work.  It hasn’t been done before.  It is impossible.  Don’t talk foolishness.  Are you crazy.  What are you thinking. 

Our nature, our humanity, taught us to be cautious.  Like sheep, we follow the herd.  We have high ideals of independence and freedom, then we all get jobs, buy our houses in the suburb, and live the conventional life.

Anyone or anything that seems out of the ordinary, we doubt.

So we must forgive Thomas, he, like us – like all of us – are natural doubters.  We are hone by experience and years of conditioning.

And Thomas didn’t see.

Imagine, your dear friend had thousands of people cheering for him as he entered the great city of Jerusalem, throwing their cloaks and palm branches on the ground.  In the back of your head, you see yourself as next to the future king – and the Messiah.  A couple of days later, you sit down to a traditional holiday feast, you laugh, you drink some wine, you go for a walk in the gardens.

Everything seems fine.

Then, a mob of soldiers descends, takes you friend in front of a kangaroo court, turns him over to the hated government who sentences him to death – and you see him executed.

Let’s face it, you don’t expect to hear about him waltzing around town three days later.  Who wouldn’t doubt!

In the end, we like Thomas are doubters.  We won’t believe unless we see.  Pray and ask for guidance, but turn away when it isn’t what we expect – or worse, is going to force us go outside of the normal expectations.  It is seemingly easier to tread the normal.  The perception is, that the ‘normal’ way, is best.

We, like Thomas, let our common sense in the way.  We refrain from suspending our sensibilities.  I can’t change the world.  I can’t stand up to my friends.  I can’t change.

The lesson we must learn for Thomas is first, don’t always go with conventional wisdom.  Don’t always follow the heard.  Listen, and pray and discern.

Second, what might seem improbably, or even impossible for ourselves and humanity, is not impossible for God.

And that my friend, makes all the difference.