Sometimes you can not win. Just five minutes trying to insert a picture to this blog and nada. So it may have to wait.
Just wanted to wish everyone a happy remembrance of the season. Personally I will have a quiet Christmas Eve and Day. The big event is Buddy's wedding on the 28th so there will be a quick trip to Nebraska.Then home to ponder decisions and more decisions.
So to all you you best wishes.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
three magi
My Three Magi
Yesterday, as I prepared to lector at mass, my eyes kept looking at the three nearly life sized magi in the crèche scene. Each king brought a gift that held a special significance for the Christ Child. I began to recall the gift bearers in my life, my parents, special teachers, friends and even my ex-husband had given me gifts that had helped shaped me as person. Yet there were others who had given me, not an outright gift but a road to know the gift Christ had given me my faith. My three magi were three priests who had influenced my life and brought to a deeper faith.
The first of my magi was a priest from the East just as the original magi journeyed from the East. Father Kazmerck was a Pennsylvania born priest serving in a Nebraska parish. In fact, he and my mother had grown up in neighboring parishes and perhaps this is why Mom placed me in school at St. T’s. Rather than another public school when she disapproved of the plan to advance two grade levels. At any rate St’s became my grade school and Father Kaz entered my life. I can not honestly recall ever seeing the man in a cassock or black suit. His usual attire was a Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks, but one never forgot he was priest despite the usual attire. His laughter and his optimistic view of life’s ups and downs were products of a deep faith. Parishioners in the working class church were never afraid to approach the man and now I wonder if his clothing made it easier.
Kaz was unconventional in other ways. He allowed me to be in the catechism class though Mom was no longer catholic. He accepted the fact that my Saturdays would be spent at Lutheran religious classes. To him Faith was the first step, and it did not seem to matter to him what rite I would later follow. Not once was I allowed to feel different from any student in the school. I was one of his flocks. That was his gift to me was acceptance of me as a child of God and worthy of his love. His faith in me to find faith in myself was his gift to my life. To this day I do not judge a person by labels but how they treat others.
My second of my magi was from east also—Eastern Europe. He had come from the behind the Iron Curtain. His belief was not welcome in his homeland; in fact, it was dangerous. Tall and thin he was the opposite of Father Kaz. His cassock was full length and so starched that one could imagine cutting yourself on its edges. The berretta was never off his head except in the classroom or the chapel. Where Kaz seemed lax about dogma and canonical law, Father Ritz was a stickler on form. My classmates I am sure altered their Friday confessions based on who was on the other side of the screen. Father Ritz made sure you prayed your sins away while Kaz covered a multitude of sins with a Hail Mary or two.
Still he gave me an insight to the quality of faith. Here was a man who had seen persecution because he was a priest and a man who lived his faith. He wanted my conversion when the rest of my class was confirmed at age twelve. He never said it out loud but his attitude toward me indicated that hope. His strictness scared me and I often pushed his buttons during the religious instruction he led. It was this belief and the sight of seeing him pray alone in the basement chapel that taught me the value of having a faith that shaped your decisions in life. His faith so deep, and so personal made me see the value of having faith.
The third of my magi came later in life. Floundering after a divorce and finding little or no comfort in my church, the local priest invited me to mass. He was serving with me on a drug prevention council and somehow he sensed my lack of faith. Not wanting to say no, I went the next Sunday. Suddenly I was spiritually home. Maybe it was all the childhood training at St. T’s but I believe it was an answer to a call. At any rate, I began RCIA training encouraged but not pushed by this caring priest. I have never looked back from that moment at that mass. His simple invitation was a gift. H e gave me the gift of a spiritual home where my faith could bloom and fill my spirit.
The magi brought gifts of significance to the Christ Child and my magi brought me gifts also. The gifts were not costly but they were rich in blessings.
Yesterday, as I prepared to lector at mass, my eyes kept looking at the three nearly life sized magi in the crèche scene. Each king brought a gift that held a special significance for the Christ Child. I began to recall the gift bearers in my life, my parents, special teachers, friends and even my ex-husband had given me gifts that had helped shaped me as person. Yet there were others who had given me, not an outright gift but a road to know the gift Christ had given me my faith. My three magi were three priests who had influenced my life and brought to a deeper faith.
The first of my magi was a priest from the East just as the original magi journeyed from the East. Father Kazmerck was a Pennsylvania born priest serving in a Nebraska parish. In fact, he and my mother had grown up in neighboring parishes and perhaps this is why Mom placed me in school at St. T’s. Rather than another public school when she disapproved of the plan to advance two grade levels. At any rate St’s became my grade school and Father Kaz entered my life. I can not honestly recall ever seeing the man in a cassock or black suit. His usual attire was a Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks, but one never forgot he was priest despite the usual attire. His laughter and his optimistic view of life’s ups and downs were products of a deep faith. Parishioners in the working class church were never afraid to approach the man and now I wonder if his clothing made it easier.
Kaz was unconventional in other ways. He allowed me to be in the catechism class though Mom was no longer catholic. He accepted the fact that my Saturdays would be spent at Lutheran religious classes. To him Faith was the first step, and it did not seem to matter to him what rite I would later follow. Not once was I allowed to feel different from any student in the school. I was one of his flocks. That was his gift to me was acceptance of me as a child of God and worthy of his love. His faith in me to find faith in myself was his gift to my life. To this day I do not judge a person by labels but how they treat others.
My second of my magi was from east also—Eastern Europe. He had come from the behind the Iron Curtain. His belief was not welcome in his homeland; in fact, it was dangerous. Tall and thin he was the opposite of Father Kaz. His cassock was full length and so starched that one could imagine cutting yourself on its edges. The berretta was never off his head except in the classroom or the chapel. Where Kaz seemed lax about dogma and canonical law, Father Ritz was a stickler on form. My classmates I am sure altered their Friday confessions based on who was on the other side of the screen. Father Ritz made sure you prayed your sins away while Kaz covered a multitude of sins with a Hail Mary or two.
Still he gave me an insight to the quality of faith. Here was a man who had seen persecution because he was a priest and a man who lived his faith. He wanted my conversion when the rest of my class was confirmed at age twelve. He never said it out loud but his attitude toward me indicated that hope. His strictness scared me and I often pushed his buttons during the religious instruction he led. It was this belief and the sight of seeing him pray alone in the basement chapel that taught me the value of having a faith that shaped your decisions in life. His faith so deep, and so personal made me see the value of having faith.
The third of my magi came later in life. Floundering after a divorce and finding little or no comfort in my church, the local priest invited me to mass. He was serving with me on a drug prevention council and somehow he sensed my lack of faith. Not wanting to say no, I went the next Sunday. Suddenly I was spiritually home. Maybe it was all the childhood training at St. T’s but I believe it was an answer to a call. At any rate, I began RCIA training encouraged but not pushed by this caring priest. I have never looked back from that moment at that mass. His simple invitation was a gift. H e gave me the gift of a spiritual home where my faith could bloom and fill my spirit.
The magi brought gifts of significance to the Christ Child and my magi brought me gifts also. The gifts were not costly but they were rich in blessings.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)