Biking

That's my squeaky, pleasant source of transportation up there, the brick-red Cruiser my brother Michael lent me for summer. When rain isn't falling, I tend to ride it anywhere I need to go -- three miles to the Dover workout center, two blocks to the church, around the corner to Dubs Burgers and Shakes for their famous batch of fresh-fried morning doughnuts. Everything's close enough that a bike gets me where I need to go. (And for the observant mother who might be reading, yes, I wear a helmet.) I haven't even filled my car with gas since I got here over two weeks ago, and I was down to almost a quarter tank then.

Lately my days have begun with a bike ride to the workout center where I try to keep my figure somewhat trim despite a deluge of meals out and at parishioner homes. I am treated like a king, and I could become a plump one if I'm not diligent about exercise. Once the work day begins, a few activities have been regular occupiers of time.

Fr. Dennis asked me to take part in the parish's chapter of the Legion of Mary. Primarily, this group visits assisted living centers and the homebound to distribute communion and Catholic literature, offer blessings with holy water, and make connections with those who don't have many visitors. Most people we visit are elderly. Many have difficulty speaking, hearing, processing, moving, or all of these functions. They can be smelly, sleepy, irritable, or happily responsive. The act of providing the Lord's Body is humbling indeed. These people have led full lives. One woman I met was 94, and another down the hall was 100 even. They wonder many days why they are still alive with all their loved ones gone and little they can do physically. When they learned that I am studying to be a priest, these women changed expression. They smiled and glowed and asked me questions, shook my hand and pulled me close enough to embrace me with their bony, frail bodies in a hug that spoke to the depth of the human experience. Faith transcends our differences in age and experience to create an intense connection. The beatitudes came to mind when meeting these women: Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, the pure of heart, and blessed by their presence are those fortunate enough to know them.

In the office, I have a couple pet projects. First, I am recruiting teens to go to the Steubenville Youth Conference in Spokane at the end of July. This is a transformative gathering of Catholic teens that I attended as a teen and as a youth minister. We're taking a group of about ten, and there is great energy around the event. It's a privilege to be able to attend again.

I'm also painting and sketching some decorations for Vacation Bible School. The theme is Faith, Hope, and Love through the stories of five saints from different countries: St. Nicholas from Turkey, St. Martin de Porres from Peru, St. Juan Diego from Mexico, St. Brigid from Ireland, and St. Kateri Tekakwitha from the United States. I painted flags for each country and am working on symbols for each saint. I find the work soothing, although the blue marker was very worn down by the time I finished coloring around all fifty stars on the American flag.

Yesterday, Fr. Dennis left early on a flight to Dallas to attend the National Right to Life Convention. He is the organization's treasurer and has some emcee duties for the event. As a result, he has been trying out jokes since I got here to the point I realized he was combing for material. My favorite is a joke he tells like a true story. A wealthy lawyer in town met a family of refugees from the Czech Republic at church. The lawyer wanted to treat the family to a special time at his getaway cabin, so the lawyer's family and the Czech family headed there for a weeklong vacation. They hiked, jet skied, swam, roasted marshmallows, and had a grand time enjoying the family toys. As the week wound to a close, the lawyer told the Czech father that there was one more thing they had to do: Pick huckleberries. It's a tradition around here. So they set off to find a patch of wild huckleberries, and sure enough, they found a good one. As they were plopping the wild berries into their buckets, a pair of grizzly bears happened upon the unsuspecting berry pickers, one gigantic male grizzly and one smaller female. As any Northwesterner knows, in the event of a bear encounter, you just have to run faster than the other guy to ward off an attack. Both men took off, and the lawyer was a touch faster. As he sprinted, the lawyer glanced in horror over his shoulder as his friend was eaten by the big male. The lawyer went quickly to the Forest Ranger to report the incident, and he persuaded the ranger to return to the scene to see if the bears could be found. Back at the huckleberry patch, the ranger and the lawyer spotted the grizzlies gorging on the berries for dessert. The lawyer blurted out, "There, that's him. The big male, he's the one that ate my friend. Shoot him!" The ranger glanced at the man, and at the bear, and at the man, and at the bear. Then he cocked his gun and pulled the trigger. BANG! The ranger shot the smaller female bear as the larger male ran to escape. The lawyer was furious. "What did you do that for?! I told you it was the big male! You shot the little female!" The ranger eyed him keenly and said, "I know you did. But really, would you believe a lawyer who told you the Czech was in the male?"

The last thing I've been working to accomplish is beginning to plan my ten-year high school reunion. I spent a good deal of my weekend building a blog into a website capable of organizing our class, and I'm quite pleased with the results. There is a long way to go in the process, but to begin is exciting. You can visit the site if you please.

Though an iPhone doesn't capture its magnificence, we had a super moon on Saturday evening that I thought worth sharing. (If you can't see the moon, click the picture to get a magnified version.) I heard the moon was 13 percent closer to earth than is typical, and the sky was clear. Beauty surrounds me here. God is good.

Sandpoint

On a balmy afternoon in a car lacking air conditioning and bursting with my belongings, a nine-hour drive from Boise behind me, I pulled into Sandpoint, Idaho for my summer assignment on Friday. Fr. Dennis Day excitedly showed me the four-bedroom rectory just a couple blocks from St. Joseph Church. He gave me a tour of the still pristine new church facility, recently built on the edge of city limits to house the 500 or so families who call the parish their spiritual home. We went on a tour of the town and surrounding area on Saturday morning, including a quick trip to Schweitzer Mountain where the local layers of mountains, lakes, and creation can be most breathtakingly indulged. My snapshot does little justice to the scenery.

For my first evening Fr. Dennis planned an ambitious schedule. I unloaded my bags, cleaned my face, and changed my clothes before we met friends of Father's for dinner at a steakhouse. Jim and Susan related their friendship and adventures with Fr. Dennis and asked a few questions about me too. Afterward we walked down the street to the Panida Theatre, which reminded me slightly of the Egyptian in Boise. There they were showing a movie called G-Dog, the story of a white Jesuit priest named Fr. Gregory Boyle who went into the gang capital of the world, Boyle Heights neighborhood in Los Angeles, and launched the country's most successful gang-intervention and rehab program by adhering to a simple idea: "Nothing stops a bullet like a job." We left astounded at the way Fr. Boyle transcended race and background to give people a chance at sustainable, meaningful futures after they were incarcerated. See the movie if you are able. It's available on iTunes or Amazon, and Fr. Boyle's book Tattoos on the Heart is a companion to the film.

The first night in Sandpoint also included a barn dance. Does it get any better than that for small-town Idaho? This one was across the lake in the Lewis family barn to celebrate their daughter's high school graduation the next day, and I would have sworn half the population was there to dance the electric slide and roast marshmallows over the bonfire. It was a dose of simplicity and joy.

Before the weekend Masses at St. Joseph, Fr. Dennis and I drove 25 miles to Clark Fork for their 5 o'clock liturgy on Saturday evening. He told me it was the smallest church in Idaho, only a few hundred square feet with capacity for 80 shoulder-to-shoulder and spilling into the entryway. The carpet looked like astroturf, and the parishioners conversed and cackled before Mass like a tiny town should. They invited me to their last-Sunday-of-the-month potluck and expressed gratitude for my being here this summer and decision to pursue the priesthood. We visited for a short time and hopped back on the road to make it for 6:45 Mass at St. Joseph.

At St. Joseph, I shook an endless stream of parishioner hands on Saturday and Sunday. Fr. Dennis had me introduce myself briefly after communion, and I invited as many people as possible to introduce themselves. I won't be able to remember most of the names, but one interaction stands apart. A slight, gray-haired grandma got my attention by putting her hand on my back as I talked to another couple. She waited patiently until I could give her my full attention and said something I couldn't quite make out. I had to lean quite close to her frail body slightly hunched over a walker. She repeated herself: "Going to Mass is the most important thing in the world to me," she said. "I can't imagine why other people don't get that." Faithful people abound here.

Now I'm sitting in the office having spent a couple days meeting the staff, counting the Sunday offerings with Kathy, the parish administrator, having shared a few fine meals with Fr. Dennis, including fish tacos for lunch today overlooking neighboring Dover Bay, having made plans with the Legion of Mary to visit the sick and distribute communion tomorrow, having talked to the parish youth minister about bringing a delegation of teens to the Steubenville Northwest Conference at the end of July, having slept soundly in the cool, sunny reaches of Northern Idaho, having settled comfortably into a place that will treat me royally and form me vitally during the coming weeks. It's good to be here.