April 17, 2025
Welcome, God and All...
If Lent seems a little later and/or longer than usual this year, it's not in your head. In 2025, Easter (the date of which is determined by the lunar cycle once past the Vernal Equinox) is about as late in the calendar as it gets, April 20. It's not an unusual occurrence in itself, but in a few of those years it seemed Lent didn't quite end with Easter Sunday.
In 1994, Easter came on the late side. I probably didn't notice it, because Lent seemed to unofficially continue that year, at least in my head. My colleagues and I were in the final phases of preparation for ordination to the diaconate when a new bishop was appointed for my diocese (the previous one having retired, reaching the age limit) and whether we would be ordained, or the last five years lost as a colossal waste of time, was his and his alone to decide.
Twenty years later, Easter came on April 21st and was immediately eclipsed by being unemployed only three weeks before, and my wife confined to bed. It was the last day she would hold a conversation with anyone. That night she suffered a stroke; ten days later, she crossed the bridge into eternity, where I continue to pray that she is in the arms of the Good Shepherd of all souls.
Easter is the great religious festival for Christianity, but like so many other religious observances it has become secularized, and in some cases treated as just another Sunday in the calendar. Families may gather, but the splendor of dressing in your best and often newest clothes along with the colorful bonnets adorning the ladies' heads are long gone. The candy children were urged to give up for Lent as a penance or offering is still devoured ravenously as on Halloween but has been replaced in some households by a basket of toys - and for the adult children, the basket may hold wines and/or cheeses.
Television networks would invariably broadcast epic movies. For the children, The Wizard of Oz, because of the vivid use of color in one of the first motion pictures to utilize color cinematography. For the adults, The Ten Commandments, Cecil B. DeMille's biblical masterpiece about Moses and the Israelites, the first 'celebration' of the Jewish Passover and their daring escape from Egyptian slavery through the miraculous parting of the Red Sea. Not anymore, unless you have the film in your personal library or subscribe to one of those premium "plus" services which happens to offer the film - if one can remember to look it up. (I did note that this classic was aired this past Saturday night, the beginning of Passover.) Now, in 2025, the observance of Christ's triumph over sin and death will compete with WrestleMania. All weekend long, from Thursday night through Sunday. Coincidence...not. Not that there isn't relative content out there. There has indeed been a resurgence of media well worth watching, spearheaded by The Chosen, now in its fifth season. It's premium stuff. You have to pay dearly to see it or wait months until it becomes more affordable. Even then, you have to have internet access in order to see it. A long way and a long time from the days Jesus' disciples were told that they received the Good News without cost, and were to spread the Gospel without cost.
Yes, we have drifted a bit - maybe a big bit - from things that remind us that there IS a God in heaven who is looking out for us and only asks that we acknowledge the same and help by looking out for others in return.
And not all the drifting happens at the hand of average Joes and Janes, nor is it the fault of would-be princes and kings - or even presidents who just can't wait to be king. A significant part of the drift is coming from a place one would least expect it.
The Church. More specifically, what I've been referring to as "The Church, Incorporated."
In recent posts to this blog, I expressed only a fragment of the sadness I'm seeing in myself and others. There was at first some faint glimmer of hope that somehow our prayers and petitions would reverse the decision to effectively scatter what remains of a faithful congregation whose faith is being put to the test, if it hasn't already been shattered.
One might think that, especially once that decision was announced, that somebody would address those faithful - and especially the paid staff and volunteers who interface with others in the course of their jobs or ministries - on the path that we are now forced onto. At the very least, to put what we're going through in the context of the weekly readings from Sacred Scripture. It's not happening. Those on the real inside have already taken other jobs elsewhere. If they're priests, they know their job itself is secure - even if they didn't know their next assignment, which they now have. No, the people in the pews - those who are still in them - are getting the same messages they would hear in any other year; those standard Lenten messages about repentance, fasting, almsgiving, conversion, and prayer, and the reminder that with Christ's Resurrection, all of our sins have already been vanquished. And yes, indeed they have been vanquished in Christ; what is conveniently forgotten is that Jesus never promised any of his followers an easy pass with no challenges. In fact, he indicated quite the opposite. Of his fourteen apostles, Judas took his own life. Matthias, his replacement, Paul the persecutor turned advocate, along with Peter and the rest were all martyred. All except John. He survived at least two attempts on his life and died in exile. One could claim he was martyred by the loneliness of being the last survivor of the original band of brothers. Challenges, indeed.
Speaking of challenges, since the beginning of 2025 i have gone from seeing two medical professionals and added three more. My primary care professional, upon seeing results from blood lab work to manage my diabetes, referred me to a nephrologist (kidney specialist) who has diagnosed me with stage 3a kidney disease. He notes that the PSA levels in my blood and urine samples are high, so he sends me to a urologist who runs another set of tests and tells me that I have cancer of the prostate, which is untreatable and incurable. He then wants to make sure that the cancer hasn't jumped the fence to other parts of my 70-year-old body, so he orders a PET scan, which I completed a few days ago. Two days later, I get a phone call from the urologist's office, and the medical support worker kindly tells me the results aren't good. The only thing I remember in the conversation after that was that I was being referred to an oncologist (cancer specialist) whom I have yet to see. Two days later, the scan results were posted to my online chart. It was vague, saying that anomalies were seen and that cancer in those areas weren't confirmed but couldn't be ruled out. That's what the oncologist will have to determine. An appointment has been set right after the Easter celebrations, celebrations that may be much more muted for me this year than those of 1994 and 2014. I must rise above all this if I even consider myself a faithful disciple.
I summoned up enough personal courage to ask to receive the Church's sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick (see my previous post), and it has offered me some hope. In the middle of everyone else seemingly checking out of reality, I know of people and at least one priest who cares and has acknowledged his personal thanks for my service to the Church. Note that this does NOT include two pastors who both seem to be caught up in the 'business' of The Church, Incorporated.
As part of 'da rules' which Catholics are supposed to observe, I need to get myself in to receive the sacrament of Reconciliation (aka Confession). And I so want to make sure I am right before God. But I know these rites can take time, and it seems that every time I know I want to do this, so do enough other people that there is a long line. Not hundreds, that would seem nearly miraculous - but even twenty is enough for me to respect those who are there and try to pick a time when I don't have to compete with others or the clock, especially with my son in tow. This time I don't know how to approach what my heart tells me I need to confess. I don't feel this belongs in the hands of a priest I don't frequently see; he might not understand where I'm coming from. I don't know if I feel comfortable with the two pastors I mention above; the one has basically removed himself from the reality of the situation of the merging of his parish, and the other knows The Church, Incorporated too well. I'm afraid I could turn repentance into an indictment since some of the remarks he made upon being transferred to my old home parish last summer indicate that he didn't want to be relocated. But for me, time is running out - and the clock is ticking, for how long is still God's knowledge and not mine - and it just needs to be done, end of story.
I consider myself blessed because there is this slight ray of hope plunging into the darkness around me, and I don't want to miss Holy Week services this year (as we were forced to in 2020 due to the COVID pandemic) because it seems almost certain that it will be the last I will celebrate in my current capacity. This time I may struggle to keep my composure while proclaiming the Resurrection of the Lord with the dignity and emotion this act deserves and demands. It has to count on so many levels, some of which are my own.
If you've read this far, dear friend, know that I thank you for your thoughts and prayers. It's all I ask for. At the moment, it's what I need most. Whatever God wants of me, may I be ready to give that to Him and that I might not walk this path completely alone. And with any blessing, I hope to be able to share that portion of the Good News with you.
Until we meet again, may God be with you...
+the Phoenix
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