For Rose

Today I am staying home and remembering a friend who died Wednesday night at the hands of her sixteen year old grandson. She was 57, just a few years older than me. I‘ve known Rose almost since we arrived here in Oklahoma in 1998 when my husband was still on active duty in the Air Force and we were members of the Tinker Catholic Parish of St. Francis of Assisi.

Rose got me started in the hospital ministry, visiting and bringing Holy Communion to the sick and dying. I was in a lot pain myself at the time—my psoriatic arthritis was years away from diagnosis and treatment—and Rose helped me find the inner confidence to minister to those more ill than myself.

Rose always ran circles around me in terms of what she could do. She was brash and sometimes loud. Although she rubbed some people the wrong way, she had a heart of gold and would help anyone in need. After my husband retired and we switched to an off-base parish, I saw Rose less but got to know her best friend, who later became my oldest daughter’s Religious Education teacher and Confirmation Sponsor. I kept up with Rose though her. We often got together as a group and went out to dinner after Saturday evening Mass.

The last time I really visited with Rose was at my daughter’s Graduation party. Rose never missed an opportunity to celebrate ‘family’. She believed in God, love and family. She believed in the young grandson¹ who brutally took her and her husband’s² lives two nights ago. This isn’t easy for me to get my mind much less my heart around today.

I think it’s going to take awhile ... to say the least. I have been crying off and on ever since I heard the news.

I have heard and in fact already know all the truisms about such tragedies.

“She’s in a better place.” Yes, I believe she is.

“She isn’t hurting anymore.” Yes, thank God!

“It doesn’t help to dwell on how she died.” No, it never helps to dwell on violence.

“Prayer is a great healer.” It truly is and I have been and am praying.

“You will see her again someday.” Yes, the best thing about our faith is that certainty of eternity with our God.

I'm not looking for answers or quick fixes or even anything to ease the pain. I don’t need to have everything fixed today. I don't need any answers, because anything easy I can think to say just sounds trite. Maybe I just need to remember my friend—as she was—with humble gratitude for the gift of her life and all she gave me; remember her and grieve.

Here’s to Rose ... and Dave

May you live forever with Him Whom you served.

With much love,




¹The grandson is in custody where hopefully he will stay. He needs our prayers more than anyone; however, he also needs to be physically restrained so that he cannot do anyone any more harm.

² I don’t mean to ignore Dave, Rose’s husband, in this post. It’s just that I didn’t know him as well as I did her. But I do know he was a very quiet, gentle man who loved her.

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God

Recently I listened to Jonathan Edward’s famous sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. I had heard of it yet never read it. My initial reaction was surprise. This was the sermon which provoked the 'Great Awakening'? I had to walk away and find something else to do. I prayed a lot the next day and fortunately it was my day off so I had the time to do it.

Also fortunately, the readings yesterday at Mass were about an incident where Jesus becomes angry. Perfect. This allowed me to prayerfully write this book review for goodreads:

'Reflecting on Edward’s sermon, there’s nothing technically wrong with it and yet still it doesn’t ring true. It doesn’t sound like the same God I have come to know through the Jesus I’ve met in the Gospels. Where is the Abba, Father we are supposed to address our prayers to?

Yes, Jesus does become angry in the Gospels. In the Gospel of Mark in particular, Jesus is portrayed as rather impatient, brusque even. He curses the fig tree—symbolic of barren Israel and a parable on the fate of Jerusalem—and it withers. He trashes the moneychangers in the Temple and then he teaches. He teaches. Like all good parents, he gets his children’s attention with a little anger and then proceeds to explain its meaning, why he lost his temper.

And why did he become angry? What are the wayward children doing which has led to this? What does Jesus tell them? That God delights in holding his children in Divine suspension until it is His pleasure to send them to the fiery abyss? No. ‘That the reason why they are not fallen already and do not fall now is only that God's appointed time is not come?’ No. Hear what happens in the Gospel immediately after the incident at the Temple with the moneychangers:

‘Peter remembered and said to him, "Rabbi, look! The fig tree that you cursed has withered." Jesus said to them in reply, "Have faith in God. Amen, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, 'Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen; it shall be done for him. Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours. When you stand to pray, forgive anyone against whom you have a grievance, so that your heavenly Father may in turn forgive you your transgressions." (Mark 11:24-26)

Peter sounds like a little boy excitedly reporting news to his favorite teacher, which in fact was exactly what was happening. Jesus told them to believe in God, to pray and to forgive each other so that God would be able to forgive them in kind. Does this sound like an angry God? Not to me. And if you go back and read that whole chapter slowly and in context, I promise a fuller picture emerges—as always happens when you sit down with the Jesus of the Gospels. He is desperate to talk to us. Angry? No. Passionate? Yes! There is love and deep compassion in his every word.

Yes, there will be justice along with mercy; that is in fact true mercy. Those who deliberately, with full knowledge, choose to turn their backs on God will get their heart’s desire.

I wanted to be moved by this famous sermon. Well, I suppose I was, just not in the way I’d hoped. God is a God of Love and Love is the most powerful force in the universe, more powerful than anger by far. Perhaps where Love is weak, we humans build up other things to fill the gap. I don’t know.

The thing I am most sad about, however, is that Edwards didn’t persuade me. We have no shortage of sin and I know it must cause Our Lord a great deal of anguish because he loves us all so very much. Sadly, Edwards is 100% right about the eternal suffering of those who are bent on refusing and denying God. They will surely get what they have asked for.

An excellent rendering of this classic sermon may be heard on Sermon Audio. However, I suspect the reader, David Bruce Sonner, presents a much more matter-of-fact version of this hellfire and brimstone text than that which was first given by Edwards on that July day in 1741.'

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

Last night my daughter, Michelle, a senior, was in her high school pageant.

I guess I must be one of a handful of people in the world who don’t get into pageants. I mean I’m happy that everyone else enjoys them and I try to put on my best public face so that no one thinks I’m too weird, but aside from the fact that I know they mean so much to my children, I’d probably rather visit my dentist—at least I’d come away with clean teeth. Sadly I usually leave most of our local high school functions feeling at best faintly tainted and at worst like I need to make a general confession; the ‘entertainment’ is almost always tasteless, raucous, and suggestive.

And yet, I know I cannot completely shelter my daughters from what is ‘out there’ – to attempt to do so would only put us in this tug o’ war relationship, with me fighting to keep them away from what looks and sounds like ‘fun’. So I shudder and prepare to endure another pageant.

As I sat there last night watching each young couple walk out on stage and listened to the description of his/her accomplishments, favorite teachers, quotes, memories, aspirations, heroes, and goals, I began to marvel at how many of them named a mother, father, sister or grandparent as a hero.

Thinking back to my older daughter’s pageant the previous year, I remembered a different sort of text. It seemed all the student introductions were much more goal-oriented then and much less personal; whereas this year, the focus was on values, people, and why individuals mattered. The entire tone of the ceremony had shifted.

Then I thought back to my own high school days. Who was my hero? What were my goals? Did I even think about becoming anyone’s hero back in those days? Or was I too busy thinking about what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go and what I wanted out of life? It was all about me then. Many days I still am ‘all about me’. Most days?

I thought how wonderful it was that all around me were Heroes—not famous heroes, maybe, but heroes, nevertheless. Here sat moms and dads, brothers and sisters, grandmas and grandpas who meant something to these young people.

Okay, so these same young people listened to loud music and they dressed funny and yes they still have a lot to learn, but so did I when I was their age and heck I still have a lot to learn ... and for that matter, I still dress funny ... well to some people. Silent tears ran down my cheek.

When you think about it, is there anything better you can aspire to be when you grow up, than your own child’s hero . . . especially when your offspring is no longer a tot?

My daughter walked out on stage. She was beautiful. I could hardly believe it was her. I can still see the little three year old who told me she was going to live with me when she grew up and make my sandwiches. Where was that sweet little chubby face?

I can’t remember the exact words but when they read her name they said her heroes were her parents.

My husband was standing in the back filming the performance; I was sitting next to strangers. No one was embarrassed by my crying.

My parents and my parents-in-law are my heroes too.

Thank you God and please bless our family.

I guess I have to say I have changed my mind about pageants.