Waves

I spent many vacations on the Oregon Coast growing up. Cannon Beach and Lincoln City were the favored Miller destinations. While the Oregon water is chilly for swimming, the soothing waves, green cliffsides, and sandy coastlines make for a rejuvenating place to spend a long weekend or spring break.

The ocean has been on my mind this week as I sort through the seminal issues of our world and the Catholic Church's response. Recently a synod to discuss the family brought together the Catholic bishops, and a multitude of responses arose from media outlets and millions of interested individuals from inside and outside the Church. Some looked closely at the language of the bishops' statement regarding same-sex partners. Some looked at how the bishops described mixed families, second marriages, annulments, and divorce. Some looked at the statements issued and dismissed them as old-fashioned or unprogressive. Some looked at the subtle shift in tone and interpreted it as a seismic shift.

I looked at the statements, heard some conversation from friends, and recalled what I knew of Catholic teaching on the family. I thought of the ocean.

Follow me for a moment. The ocean is massive. When I go to the Oregon Coast, I see but a couple miles of a vast expanse, most of which is too deep for me to ever encounter. Yet if I dip my feet in the surf or venture into the cresting waves just off shore, I am experiencing the ocean in some small part. No matter how deep and far away it extends, there is no denying my experience of the ocean at my feet. For that matter, my experience of the ocean in Southern California this summer is just as valid, and quite different, than my experience along the chillier shores of Oregon. Getting tossed about on a body board feels exhilarating. Letting the cool salty surf spill over my toes is healing. Ultimately, though these experiences, while legitimate and relevant to me, are small splashes in an endless sea. The ocean contains so much more than the limited view I see and know.

The Roman Catholic Church is an ocean of history, theology, revelation, and tradition--2000 years, untold billions of unrepeatable human lives, missteps that have shaken but never crumbled a foundation of Tradition and Scripture. The Church is towering, magnificent cathedrals and humble, run-down soup kitchens. The Church is a pope illuminating the news with acts of humility and a movement toward dialogue, and it is a pope emeritus writing eloquent prose to clarify Christ to a wounded world. The Church is starving Ugandans, Chinese martyrs, charismatics in Brazil, and customs-driven indigenous Mexicans. The Church is vast in so many ways, and it is an ocean to our specialized concerns in the United States at this moment in history.

I don't intend to trivialize the conversation surrounding the family. The synod affirmed the importance of the family in all cultures and contexts even in the introduction to Instrumentum Laboris: "The family is an inexhaustible resource and font of life in the Church’s pastoral activity." I see often in the lives of teens that homosexuality is a pivotal issue. Wherever we stand on the issue, it is in our newspapers, schools, families, and society.

Yet the legal implications surrounding homosexual partnerships is largely an issue contained in the Western world of the United States and Europe. There are far different headlines in Africa, in South America, in Asia, and the places where the majority of worldwide Catholics reside. In Nigeria and many other African countries where Catholic populations are booming, the challenge regarding the family is not with homosexuality but with polygamy. As Westerners, it would be easy to scoff and dismiss this topic. Such a reaction would be offensive to many Africans. Furthermore, I would venture that Africans might scoff at the pettiness of homosexual unions being protected under law when so many in impoverished countries receive no protection of any kind from their governments.

Is either side right? Or is it possible both issues are just as legitimate to the people in the firestorms of polygamy and gay marriage as the waves were to me despite the immensity of the overall ocean?

We overestimate our existence sometimes. One thing I loved about being Catholic is taking part in something so infinitely greater than myself. I am a 29-year-old American white male with a limited worldview. Each person has similar constraints in understanding, no matter how experienced. Together we are strong. With a 2000-year history of people trying to understand and follow God, we are even stronger. With the guarantee of Jesus that the gates of hell will never prevail, we are iron-clad.

The Church moves slowly in making statements. Its teachings are not swayed by the modern movements but are shaped by the wisdom of millennia past. So many brilliant minds, from Augustine to Aquinas to John Paul II, have formed the Church's thinking, and Christ himself told Peter that, "Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." There is great wisdom and freedom in studying and living the teachings of the Church.

The synod on the family was significant. The bishops worked to find ways to reach the traditional and increasingly untraditional families of today throughout the world. They looked at the waves sweeping over the feet of their given countries and dioceses, but they also had to ponder the expansive depths of the whole world in their approach. As we digest their findings and statements, I hope we can see and respond in ways that stretch beyond the surf visible to us because there is so much more to our Church and our world.

Turtles

In days when my world was small and my best friend lived five doors down Maze Place, I used to watch and play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. On Friday nights I would get out my collection of action figures. I used furniture and a couple of plastic storage shelves on wheels as buildings to create cities where Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo could bravely rescue April O'Neil or other characters in need. My friend Ben gave each member of his collection a Ziplock bag with their name so that he never lost a nunchuck, skateboard, pizza, mask, or accessory. I owned a good 20-30 action figures, watched the 8:00 and 8:30am episodes without fail on Saturdays, and may have even pretended to like pizza more because the Turtles were enamored by it.

I loved Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as a kid.

I still love them. My brother bought me a TMNT T-shirt a couple years ago that draws complements whenever I wear it. I even spent an afternoon last year picking through the entire list of action figures from my era of Turtles. And yes, I owned quite a few of them.

Somehow the Turtles have seen a recent revival and been reincarnated with fresh cartoons and a couple of full-length feature films. When the newest version came to theaters, I figured it was time to revisit some childhood joy, and I offered to take my nephew Zeke to see it once it reached the dollar theater since he had become a Turtles fan himself. (My crafty mom made a turtle shell to complete Zeke's TMNT costume for Halloween last year.)

I picked Zeke up for the matinee on Saturday morning. We splurged for a food ticket and got a giant pack of Nerds candy (which he later spilled in the back seat of my car, so I'll be finding Nerds for years). The show was pretty true to the Turtles I knew from childhood. Leonardo was the leader. Raphael was the hot-headed rebel with a soft spot. Donatello was the brainy technology genius. Michelangelo had a weakness for pizza, parties, and girls. The Shredder had a mysterious, menacing presence. Splinter exuded wisdom. April O'Neil was fearless, intrepid, and loyal. I enjoyed the show, but I enjoyed watching Zeke's joy even more. I saw my five-year-old self in his big eyes and little body.

This year of being at home is worth savoring for moments like these. Zeke will soon be a teenager himself and far beyond these moments. I only have so long being the cool uncle that sugars him up and returns him to his parents. It's worth the Nerds rolling around my car, a few bucks, and a Saturday afternoon to make a new memory from an old one.

Scatterings

I didn't die. I haven't been in a remote African village. I haven't been held hostage for the last two months. And I don't offer any cooked up excuses for not posting since August 8. That's over two months ago! What have I been doing?

Getting busy again. Finding a rhythm. Building relationships. Planning teen gatherings. Creating blogs. Driving to Caldwell and back.

I fleetingly thought many times in August, September, and then October that I should set a goal of posting once a week. Ha. It's not implausible, just not practical with the way I have organized my life lately. Evenings are sacred, although zoning out to an episode of The West Wing (my recently-finished favorite) or The Blacklist (my new craze) isn't sanctified spending of time either.

My thoughts are scattered as I reflect on the past few weeks. Friends returned to seminary life. I did not. That struck me for many days as I watched their Facebook posts and ached slightly for the community I left behind, the fraternity I knew, the structure I found pleasantly challenging, and the life direction I chose. My decision to take a year off was a good one. Regret is not helpful or applicable here. Yet with every change come twinges of grief. The paths of my seminary brothers and classmates diverge at different points. Mine diverged from most this year. In the larger picture, I must remind myself that one year of parish involvement in my home diocese with solid spiritual direction is quite helpful. I am enjoying myself, feeling useful, growing in relationship with the Lord and the Church, and continuing to ask the life-altering question, "God, what do you want me to do?"

Spiritual direction can prove a helpful aid when sorting through the layers of experience, desire, and need that shape the vocational call. I asked my former parish priest (and the previous Vocations Director), Fr. Jairo Restrepo, to be my spiritual director, and he has ably asked me questions that are reflective and substantial. The primary question Fr. Jairo is helping me to answer is this: Can I be satisfied with a lifetime of priestly ministry in the Diocese of Boise? Is this how Jesus is specifically calling me in this life?

I continue to explore and reflect. As I do, hopefully I will be more motivated to share the experience with you on this blog. May we not shrink from our purpose!

More on this photo in an upcoming post. Oh the suspense!

Touch

She probably doesn't remember, but a few days ago after a long day at work and thinking about many things before me, I was feeling anxious when my mom walked by me and gently rubbed my shoulder, the place where she knows I carry my tension. It was a natural motion, a loving one, a soothing touch only a mother could offer. And it was ideal for me in that moment. My mom has a sense for those sort of tender touches or encouraging words. What she did for me in that moment probably would not have worked for many people and seemed inconsequential, yet I am still thinking about it a couple weeks later. Why?

It's something about motherhood, and while I can't quite give definition to what I felt, I know it was unique to the relationship I have with my mother. It was 28 years of shared life, communication without words, support without knowing, and meaning without trying. In my reading lately the subjects of masculinity and femininity have emerged consistently. Theologians try to uncover the mysterious and seemingly lost art of what makes us the genders unique and complementary. These are not gender roles--men and women can cook, clean, minister, work, teach, and do a variety of other actions while choosing manhood and womanhood.

I recently heard someone describe masculinity as the potential to be a father and femininity as the potential to be a mother. Not everyone would agree with these definitions, and I'm still pondering them. Something about these ideas communicates truth. Many individuals will not father or mother children or ever marry, yet each woman and every man possesses the ability to sacrificially love others and God. Jesus never fathered a child, never married a woman, never did many of the things we associate with fatherhood. Rather, he lived his potential by caring for others, by teaching them, by praying for them, by feeding them, by helping them find meaning, by asking the right questions, by abiding in friendship, by emptying himself at the appointed time for his beloved. He practiced absolute masculinity. The lives of each person, male or female, should be modeled after Jesus, but he also distinctly models for males the fullness of masculinity, different than femininity yet not greater. The life of Jesus offers us a lifetime of reflection and challenges toward growth as men. Where, then, should women look for a model of femininity?

Mary.

Whether one is Catholic, whether one has a devotion to the Mother of God, whether one knows Mary at all, one thing I hope can be declared without dispute: She is a beautiful model for women. The woman is receptive in some way from the female body to the feminine personality. The woman receives life through the sexual embrace; the woman nurtures that life physically and emotionally as a mother and wife; the woman longs to receive authentic love. Reception is vital to femininity, and Mary receives God and receives life. Her "yes" changed the course of history. God never impedes on our freedom of choice, so Mary's fiat was freely given. She embraced the life of the Lord within her, becoming the first tabernacle. Upon the birth of Jesus, she cared for him, changed his clothes, fed him, taught him, watched him grow, gave him her love as his mother. She coaxed the first miracle from him at Cana, was beside him during his ministry, and watched her Son's Passion as one of the few devoted witnesses.

In Luke 11, a woman from the crowd proclaimed, "Blessed the womb that bore you and the breasts that fed you!" Jesus replied, "More blessed still are those who hear the word of God and keep it!" At first this may seem a slight toward Mary, but this instead points to the deeper reason she is to be emulated--not because carrying the Son of God somehow rubbed off on her magically but because she was receptive to God's call to bear fruit. She lived femininity wonderfully.

Now back to my mom's touch. In the simplest of actions, she graced me with her femininity. Just a few seconds, but so full of grace. She sensed my tension, was receptive to my mood, and responded as only she could. It wasn't a fiat that changed the world, but it was a motion that altered the moment. Sometimes that's all we can offer: To be present, to respond. Whether it's a touch or a load of laundry or an encouraging card or a forgiving word, we are called to show mercy, to show obedience, to show grace, to show love.

I am exploring authentic masculinity and won't ever know what it means to be feminine, but I caught a glimpse of their complementarity through my mother. May I, may we never cease striving for self-improvement, for authentic expression of our deepest identity, for living as the beloved, and for embracing the Lord's plan for our lives.

Fruits

When I arrived at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church in 2008, the first public event I attended was the parish picnic in September. I had met very few people at that point, and two of the first teens I encountered were Paul and Greg Dellino. Paul served on the Leadership Team for two years prior and would continue to do so in his senior year. He took me to the soccer field on the search for more teens and more introductions, and we found Greg. At first, Greg only gave me a passing glance when Paul told him my name, but then Paul added, "Greg, this is the new youth minister. His name is Daniel."

"Ohhhhhhhh!" Greg said, embracing me with a big hug. It was the first of many we would share over the next six years, and our friendship led me back to Seattle this week for Greg's wedding to a young woman named Stephanie he met at a church retreat in 2009. My time as youth minister and beyond is enhanced by the opportunity I have had to walk with Greg and Stephanie as a mentor, friend, and this weekend, as a groomsman and witness as they celebrated the sacrament of matrimony.

Stephanie likes to credit me with introducing them, but I can't take credit. In reality, Stephanie and her cousin Tori (one of her bridesmaids last night) had to attend a retreat to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation, and they somewhat hesitantly agreed to go. Greg signed up as well. A friendship ensued, a relationship followed, and years later, a marriage began.

A few times at the reception, Greg and Stephanie's youth was mentioned (they are both 21). Young, yes, but surrounded by two incredibly supportive and wise families and steeped in a Catholic faith that introduced them originally and puts the Lord at the center of their relationship. Greg and Stephanie have many experiences to come. They will be living outside of their parents' homes for the first time. This year, Stephanie will work during the week and stay with her parents two hours from where Greg is going to school to finish his undergraduate degree. They will pay bills, negotiate time, discover how to share a bathroom, communicate in a new way, and enter into independence together. The prospects are thrilling and scary, but they go forth together.

I must admit that Greg and Stephanie's youth makes me nervous, but in reflecting on the times in my life that experiences made me nervous, I realize the decisions that required inner fortitude forced me to face the unknown, to grow, and to rely on the Lord. I hope, I pray, I believe that Greg and Stephanie's marriage will have the same effect.

Last summer Greg's father Steve died after a years-long struggle with a rare form of cancer. We celebrated his life last July, and this year, his two sons started families of their own in marriage. Steve left this world an incredible gift of life with his wife Jean, and the weddings of Paul to Erin in June and Greg to Stephanie in August signal how precious, fruitful, and lasting was a marriage lived well between Steve and Jean.

As a youth minister, seeing two former teens marry in the Church, give vows that express their love and commitment, and ask me to be part of their celebration is humbling and achingly beautiful. I will keep the Dellinos in prayer as their life's work begins of loving freely, totally, faithfully, and fruitfully each day they spend together.

OLV

Job hunting can be tricky. Since May I have been sending resumes and cover letters to many parishes in Washington and Idaho seeking the ideal place to spend a year of discernment and ministry. Where is there a need, a calling, and a situation that fits for me and for God's people? What work would be beneficial for an interim period? How is the best way to spend a year off from seminary yet continue in the path of personal growth, commitment to the Church, and reflection on my primary vocation? This morning I made a choice.

I am going to be the Youth Minister at Our Lady of the Valley in Caldwell, Idaho. Last week I interviewed with Fr. Francisco Flores and Dc. Kerry Harris. They shared about the parish, the teens, the expectations, the facilities, and the vision for OLV. I shared about my experience, discernment, dreams, and direction. Fr. Flores generously offered me the job, and after spending the past few days contemplating, I accepted. What does this mean?

I expect that life will be busier very soon. Since the academic year concluded in May, I have relaxed continuously--vacations, time with loved ones, finishing personal projects, job hunting, volunteering, cooking, eating, running, and wondering what to do with my life and my year. My sabbath time coincided gloriously with summer. Now it's time to work.

Our Lady of the Valley lacked a full-time youth minister for many months before now, but gracious volunteers kept the program afloat and gave teens a way to connect to the Lord and the community. Hopefully my time at OLV can offer stability and direction to the parish. I can only give a year, but I hope to meet people, establish relationships, share in communion, and lead others closer to Christ through the Church. My intention is to be a builder and bridger, someone that focuses on relationships but also sustainability so that another person might step into this position and have the tools to flourish. Empowerment, fidelity to the Church, inculturation, and sacramental grace will be foundational.

Fr. Flores gave me a tour of the church building and of the youth center which is attached to the old St. Mary's Church in Caldwell, and as we walked through the facilities, he expressed support for my ongoing prayer about ordained ministry and a possible return to seminary. We acknowledged the partnership may be brief but hopefully helpful to both parties.

Thank you for continuing the adventure with me and supporting me in your own way. Continued prayers are needed as ever. In my daydreams I can see open gym times in the youth center, a large delegation of teens to the Idaho Catholic Youth Convention, times of Adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, and the encounter with Christ that changes the lives of young people irrevocably. Working with youth is a gift. I hope to do it worthily and with authenticity this year.

SoCal

Packed a suitcase. Departed with Mom. Southwest to LAX. Camry up the Grapevine. Arrived in Porterville. Stayed with Uncle Randy and Aunt Patti. Water skied on a single. Devoured FroYo. Played cards. Feasted at El Tapatio Mexican Restaurant. Welcomed fellow seminarian Emilio. Shopped at the Dollar Store. Attended Mass. Cooked Asian. Conserved water. Told stories. Swam in the lake. Said goodbye. Drove to Orange.

Celebrated Michael's Rite of Candidacy. Saw friends from Mount Angel. Continued to Oceanside. Slept overnight with cousin Anne. Played with her girls MJ and Dylan. Watched MJ's dance class. Enjoyed appetizers. Laughed over memories. Explained my year off. Waved au revoir.

Attended the priestly ordinations for three San Diegans. Offered congratulations. Partied at a Vietnamese reception. Returned to Orange with seminarian brothers. Slept soundly.

Met Michael's family and friends. Spent a sunny day at Disneyland. Rode Pirates of the Caribbean. Dropped down the Tower of Terror. Soared over California. Dined on hand-dipped corn dogs. Returned late. Experienced liturgy with the Norbertines. Watched How I Met Your Mother. Dirtied hands and face with spicy shrimp. Body boarded at Newport Beach. Shared dreams and discernment over tri-tip dinner for seminarians. Toured Christ Cathedral. Rode almost every attraction at Six Flags Magic Mountain. Fell 415 feet on the Lex Luthor Drop of Doom. Finished a BJ's Pizookie Platter. Experienced Korean Barbecue. Paddle boarded to a cove. Told first kiss stories. Savored Boba Tea and Brick Toast. Took the court for a seminarian-parishioner game of hoops. Slurped homemade Pho. Watched more How I Met Your Mother. Had three desserts on the last day.

Braved I-5 through L.A. in the afternoon. Said farewell but not goodbye. Flew to Oakland. Landed in Boise. Missed the SoCal beach and sunshine. Returned to reality. Gave thanks for friendship, rest, and recreation. God fills my life abundantly.