Steubenville

We don't know. We can't know. Even though our innate curiosity impels us to want to know, we lack the capacity to really know.

But we get inklings. Hints. Foretastes. Previews. Samples of the sacred.

Our group of 15 youth and two adults from Sandpoint last weekend tried to put words to the experience of encountering the living God. We had witnessed a procession of Eucharistic Adoration with Fr. Mike Schmitz carrying the King of the Universe among 1200 teens. The lights were off; two spotlights followed the sparkling monstrance around the crowd. Ben Walther and the musicians prayed reflective music. Some wept. Some laughed. Others shouted. Or closed their eyes in newfound peace. Each unrepeatable soul was captivated. We tasted, if for a fleeting moment, Heaven.

But in reality, we didn't know. We couldn't know.

What happened in the Spokane Convention Center on Saturday night went beyond our limited capacity because God was truly present, present physically in the Eucharist, present spiritually in the people, present in each joyful tear, every uninhibited laugh, in hundreds of seeking young minds, among us, around us, pursuing us. And when we talk about the Lord's true presence, the power of healing love overwhelms and peace reigns. Not peace as the world gives, but peace as Jesus gives.

Even more amazing, the next morning we received that peace within our very bodies and selves in the holy sacrifice of the Mass. The most ordinary of elements -- bread and wine -- transformed into the sacred, the risen Lord. Angels acclaimed. Saints rejoiced. We extended our scarred hands. A tasteless wafer on our tongue. The simplest form of God humbled. The Body of Christ. Strength for the journey. Hope to sustain. The mystery of our faith.

A foretaste. A hint. But we didn't know what we received. Not fully. We couldn't know. Though it's rare to admit, we don't need to know, and we shouldn't know. To know the fullness of God is to erase the mystery, and without that, we have nowhere to go when it comes to love. Love means some element of the unknown to be explored and pondered.

God called us to enter the mystery at Steubenville Northwest this weekend. Though each teen had a varied experience and reaction, every person knew they had encountered something profound. How could we not be impacted? We saw a massive gathering of dancing, singing, cheering youth embracing their Catholic faith and loving the Lord. We heard Catholic speakers that had us clutching our sides laughing and then looking within ourselves seeking the meaning for being human. We slept little and prayed a lot.

On Sunday morning, our emcee Ennie Hickman used a parable to conclude our time together. A football team huddles to draw up a play, assign roles, and ultimately to prepare for what is to come -- the next play. It would be ridiculous for a team to huddle, break, and instead of lining up to run the play, jog to the sideline waiting for the next huddle. The huddle isn't the point. It's only meant to prepare us for what is to come. This conference serves a similar function. We can't go to the sideline waiting for the next Steubenville, the next huddle. We must live vibrantly, fully, faithfully in our world. We have to run the play! We have to make a decision to love the Lord every day through our faith communities and our Church.

When we do that we keep the foretastes coming. We keep our eyes on Heaven with our feet planted on earth. We may not ever know all God is doing. We can't. But we don't need to know to love. To trust. To be faithful.

So we exit the huddle, ready for the world, renewed in our faith, prepared for the play. God goes beside us. 1-2-3, BREAK!

P.S. Who are the two yahoos in the teal shirts that snuck into our picture? I didn't even notice them! And for a bonus, here is Ben Walther singing one of the anthems from the weekend.

Families

"As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live."

Blessed Pope John Paul II

In the Ponderosa-Pine-lined outskirts of Cascade, Idaho, something like 70 families camped, played, ate, prayed, and shared in Family Camp this weekend. The gathering highlighted the ordinary -- kids riding bikes and soaking each other with squirt guns to relieve the afternoon sun, morning Mass complete with crying toddlers and rambunctious youngsters, parents applying sunscreen and bug repellant repeatedly, teens allowing their guard be lowered long enough to play Mafia and Ninja games, roasting marshmallows over the shared campfire to sandwich between graham cracker halves and Hershey's, curling into sleeping bags at the end of full and tiring days spent in community. And in the ordinary, something beautiful emerged.

Strong, faithful families form the backbone and building block of our Church. When families like these,  in their diversity of experience and philosophy, gather in a Catholic setting it is our church at its best. There is a strong chance the young people that respond to the current need for vocations to the religious life and to lasting marriages will come from families that attend camps like this. Seeing priests, sisters, seminarians, and committed Catholic parents from various backgrounds instills in young minds the possibility of these vocational callings for their own lives. I had the privilege of spending time with families talking over sausage and French toast, laughing around a simmering fire in the evening, hearing about the challenges and beauty of raising rugrats in our worldly society.

On Friday night, most people at the camp brought their folding chairs to the campfire pit for a family rosary. Each decade was led by different age group -- men, women, teens, pre-teens, and children. The environment could have been less distracting, the children could have paid better attention, the adults did not all engage entirely, but the simple communion of shared prayer was nonetheless transformative. Our vocations director later gave blessings for youth contemplating the religious life and to those that felt called to marriage. These are the seeds of revitalization in our Church.

Families: We need a renewal of your steadfast role in our world more than ever. Thank you to all who strive to bring the Lord and the Church into daily prominence alongside your children and spouses. You are heroes, often unappreciated but unquestioningly vital. Continue the good work and know you are loved.

Adrenaline

I wouldn't say I'm much of a daredevil, but the last two evenings my adrenaline pumped more than is typical. On Thursday, I took off in a four-seater airplane from the narrow runway of the Sandpoint Airport with pilot Nick of Tamarack Aerospace Group based here. He flies often, and had no qualms about offering me a tour of the landscape. I had never been in an aircraft other than commercial ones, so the sensation was intense. I didn't anticipate that he would give me control of the plane and let me fly the aircraft for the majority of the ride. Ten minutes after getting into the air, I was steering us down Lake Pend Oreille to Clark Fork and the Idaho-Montana state line, circling around the lush mountains and down Highway 95 to Sagle and Lake Cocololla, and high above the streets of Sandpoint. I didn't snap any photos because I was nervous enough steering the ship. Plus, out the side window, the passenger can see a good deal but the iPhone camera cannot. You will have to content yourself with a photo of the vessel that carried me on the voyage.

Just as the cockpit eased toward being uncomfortably warm and my stomach started to churn, Nick reassumed control, and we touched down after about 45 minutes of being airborne. I was reminded as we touched the sky how God used mountains to express moments of clarity in our salvation story: Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, and Jesus all ratified covenants with God from the height of a mountain (Eden, Ararat, Moriah, Sinai, Zion, and Calvary). In Bible Basics for Catholics, John Bergsma talks about some of the reasons for this. He says we see things more clearly from a mountaintop or a great height. That perspective allows us the vantage to know what is happening, interpret it, and make wise decisions. In some ways, this summer is a plane ride for me -- ample time to reflect, work in parish ministry, a regimen of prayer and sacraments, the feedback of the people of God. Hopefully I can allow God to pilot the plane when needed too. It helps to have a partner in the cockpit that knows what they're doing because God knows as I steered us at 5,000 feet I had little clue how to do anything other than turn left and right or prop the plane's nose up or down.

After the plane ride, I wasn't expecting any subsequent adrenaline rushes, but the Lewis family decided as we boated around the lake last night that we should go around the peninsula to Green Bay, which is infamous for a cliff about 45 feet high that's ideal for plunging into the chilly water. Of course, after driving all the way to Green Bay and climbing up the rocky edge, I couldn't say no to the stunt. Here's a video of my jump, with an ending that wasn't quite upright. I'd call it a "butt flop." My rear end was a little sore for a few minutes afterward. No symbolic meaning for me here -- just a good time with friends and a just slightly stinging memory.

Schweitzer

There is not much I can write that these photos do not say by themselves, but they capture some of the majesty around Sandpoint. The first set is from the top of Schweitzer Mountain. To open the summer season, a big festival on Schweitzer is marked with vendors, games, food, and free ski lifts to the top. The second set of photos is from Independence Day with great friends on Lake Pend Oreille. 

The long bridge over the water and into Sandpoint is right center just past the initial set of mountains.

The surprisingly large village at Schweitzer is at the bottom of the ski lift in these photos.

This one is shot at an out-of-the-way lake about 20 miles north of Sandpoint. Ed and Paula drove us there to show off one of their favorite fishing spots and getaways.

The Lewis family had about 100 people gathered on their lakeside lawn for Independence Day and a homespun fireworks show that outdid the city-sponsored event.

Thanks to my two brothers and all our military veterans that have afforded us the freedom to live in the United States and worship freely. We are grateful for your service.

Steve

One of the most beloved ideas Mother Teresa championed was encouraging people to do small things with great love. At a funeral for an abiding friend on Monday, this thought echoed through the eulogies and celebration of his life. Steve Dellino impacted Boy Scouts, altar servers, coworkers, siblings, his own children, the parish to which he belonged, Knights of Columbus, neighbors, community members, and countless others by performing simple, unremarkable deeds with sincerity and commitment. This is the legacy of a life well lived.

I am fortunate to know Steve and the Dellino family, and I was fortunate to get time off from my summer assignment to attend his rosary and funeral Mass on Sunday and Monday. My favorite memories of Steve are snippets of him in action. He headed a Knights of Columbus project to ready a parishioner's home for sale, and I helped by demolishing and rebuilding a rotted backyard deck. For a couple hours the volunteer Boy Scouts and I pried the boards loose in a slow procession. Steve noticed our labors and came over with an axe. In two minutes of whirlwind motion, he equaled the total of our progress, and he rather enjoyed the process, grinning as we gawked at his immense talent for demolition.

At the Mass, his family brought forward for the presentation of the gifts a 20-quart pot that could have doubled as a makeshift swimming pool for toddlers and a wooden stirrer that looked more like a kayak paddle. These were Steve's tools for making his unmistakable marinara sauce. He made it in enormous batches for events like the parish Italian Dinner, and for his own funeral, he had prepared and frozen enough to feed the hundreds of participants celebrating his life.

The most intimate time I spent with Steve, though, was surely our 6 a.m. Cursillo small group on Tuesdays. We attended a Cursillo retreat together, and as part of the experience, attendees are encouraged to meet weekly with those from their parish that shared in the retreat. Steve and I were part of a group of five. Each Tuesday, we spent an hour talking about our week, examining the spiritual book we were reading at the time, and sharing the one moment from our week that we felt closest to the Lord. Steve shared simple moments -- speaking to an old friend, praying with family, receiving the Eucharist, realizing anew God's majesty at the peak of a mountain hike, or a meaningful conversation with a loved one during his chemo treatment. The sharing of these moments reinforced Steve's appreciation for relationships, especially with his beloved children and wife, and his devotion to service in the community through church, Boy Scouts, wrestling boosters, and activism. His life revolved around love and service. As his family said, Dellinos work hard and play hard. Steve illuminated this simple life strategy, and therefore made it gratifying for so many to celebrate his contributions and legacy.

To know Steve is to experience God's depth of love in the simplicity of a singular human life. Though he is mourned, missed, and loved, the Dellinos and their loved ones repeatedly expressed relief that Steve's physical pain had ended, his earthly journey was complete, and his life's work produced a remarkable family and people more faithful as a result of encountering him. What more can one hope to accomplish in this life?

Fr. Dennis told me that funerals are meant to make those who remain in this life better people. All who came to mourn and rejoice on Monday departed with the inspiration and example needed to become a better version of themselves. It was one more small act of love from Steve.

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.