Monthly Archives: April 2015

Keep On Moving On!

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Job Search Continues

“I wait patiently for God to save me;

I depend on him alone.

He alone protects and saves me;

he is my defender and I shall never be defeated.

Trust in God at all times,

my people.

Tell him all your troubles, for he is our refuge.”

(Psalm 62: 1-2, 8)

I have posted several times about my layoff, and the aftermath.  I have written about the struggles with unemployment assistance, the uncertainty of the job search situation, and the depression that can come with the experience.  I do not want to give the impression that everything in my life is doom and gloom.  I am not alone in dealing with this new chapter in my life; there is my wife, who has supported me, and when needed, has given me a much needed kick in the ass.  There have been family members, from both sides, who have provided help and support in so many ways.  There are some members of my parishes, and parish staff, who always inquire on how I am doing, and encourage me onward!  My brother deacons continue to be very supportive; some have been an informal networking group for me.

I continue to discover, through the Career Place, and through the Web, new ways to job search; how to get my name and resume out there.  At the Career Place, whether in a workshop, or a seminar, you come to realize that you are not the only one going through this.  The thing I have to do now is to get my butt in gear.  To not just sit and rot, but to get going, to greet each day as an opportunity; not just in job searching, but in those activities that also feed my mind, body, and soul.  My job searching will continue to take priority, but also my need to just get out, walk around, get some decent exercise, and enjoy God’s Creation, especially as Spring is really beginning to dawn.  This blogging, this writing, is an outlet for my creative and reflective juices.  Also taking up the drawing pencil and paintbrush is also another approach I need to look at, and make some time for.

Finally, I need to take care of my soul, to make time for prayer.  And not just liturgical prayer, as important as it is, but also for deep personal prayer.  I need to entire that type of prayer, which opens me to experience God’s Presence in my life, to experience God’s love and care for me, as I am traveling this new road in my life.  In God, I will find my refuge during the tough times; in God, I will recognize the joy and love that is out there in the world.  So I am just going “keep on shuffling!”

Still Unemployed; Still Searching

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Job SearchWell, I have been unemployed for about 3 ½ months now.  I am coming very close to the end of my severance pay.  I have been doing all the things I am supposed to do to qualify for Unemployment Assistance.  I have been sending out my resumes, hoping to hook one interview.  And the clock keeps ticking!

The last time I was laid off from a job was a little over twenty years ago!  Back then, the company I worked for provided outplacement sessions, with a counselor.  The state maintained its own unemployment assistance offices, where you had to go to each week.  While there, you applied for the next week’s benefit; presented a log of your job search activities, and was able to resolve any issues with a real human person in front of you.  While you there, you could check the hard copy listing of job openings, and schedule time on some of the center’s computers.

Now, everything is either done online, or over the telephone.  The company hired an outplacement specialist, who worked with me by phone and e-mail.  The state no longer has its own branch office, but has contracted with non-profit Career Placement agencies, to provide training on how to search for jobs online, using social media, and opportunities to improve one’s computer skills.  You now have to set up an online account with Unemployment Assistance, to make benefit requests, and keep track of your benefits.  If you need to speak with a human person, it is over the telephone, and depending on your Social Security Number, you are limited to a particular day to call.  Instead of searching the newspapers, you job search on-line; sites like: Monster, Indeed, and Simply Hired, become familiar names to you.  Companies now ask that you submit your resumes and cover letters via the Web.  There is no address to send a letter to; there is no name or telephone number to call for a follow-up.  You just get a form e-mail, confirming the receipt of your electronic job application.

I spend my mornings checking the online job search sites, and I get e-mails from them with job listings.  I have sent numerous electronic applications, and attended some job fairs.  And I have not gotten a single bite.  Come the end of May, the financial situation is going to get very tough.  My wife and I are examining possible options, her parents and our siblings have been helping out, and are brainstorming ways to help us through this.  Still, I am finding it harder and harder to sit myself in front of the computer.  And I will admit that depression, and yes, fear is reaching out for my soul.

In moments like this, I turn to prayer, whether in solitude, during the celebration of the Eucharist, or in front of the Blessed Sacrament.  And I have turned again to the Psalms:

In you, Lord, I take refuge;

Let me never be put to shame.

In your justice deliver me;

Incline your ear to me;

Make haste to rescue me!

Be my rock of refuge,

A stronghold to save me.

(Psalm 31: 1-3)

Where I Hanged My Hat Growing Up.

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(The following is another writing course assignment I had to complete)

156 Lynnfield St. now.When I was twelve years old, I lived in Peabody, MA, (pronounced Peabedy, if you were from these parts.)  I was the oldest of five (we became six when I was in high School!).  The house we lived in was built in 1890.  It was a two story house, four bedrooms, a living room, family room and combination kitchen and dining room.  We had a large yard, with an old, stand alone garage.  We had an apple tree way in the back, which never produced any edible fruit, the same with the wild grapes that grew around the edges of the yard.  We did have same blackberry bushes, which gave us some delicious berries.  Beyond our yard, there was a farm field, which lay fallow.  And further back, were woods, where one could hike through, and play various games.

There were some unique features of this house I grew up in!  We did not have a garbage disposal; we would bring our food scraps, and dump them in slop bucket, set in the ground.  Somebody would regularly come and empty the buckets.  The contents would be taken to a nearby pig farm, to feed the pigs.  In the summer heat, would see thousands of maggots crawling around the bucket pit.  The other unique feature of the house was “the bridge!”  In the middle of the house was the stairway that lead into the second floor.  There was a small room that separated the two front bedrooms, and a small bridge, over the stair well, which connected the rear of the second floor with the front.  It gave access to the bathroom without having to go through all the bedrooms.  Whenever we had neighborhood kids over, they thought having a bridge in the house was weird and cool!

There were very good times growing up there, and some sad times.  There were times of celebration, of sorrow, conflict, and coming together.  It was my home, and I will always miss it.

An Oasis in the Middle of a Concrete Canyon!

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(The following post is one of my writing assignments for Blogging Univ.  Please enjoy!)

PO Sq ParkI was in Boston to attend a board meeting of the Massachusetts Bible Society.  I was way too early, so I
went to a green oasis in the middle of the Financial District.  It is known to most of the workers as the park in Post Office Square, its official title is the Norman B. Leventhal Park.  It was not always a park.  In the past, it was a rundown parking garage, four stories above the street level, with levels of parking below.  A group of public and private leaders gathered the funds needed to tear down the garage, renovate the parking levels below, and create a botanical wonder amidst a concrete jungle.

I went to the local café, paid way too much for an 8 oz. cup of coffee.  I sat on the iron bars bench that weaves it way around one side of the park.  The calendar may say it is spring, but the air temperature did not feel it.  As I sat sipping my coffee, I watched people walking through; some dressed in business causal, others in business suits.  I observed who were wearing dress shoes, and who were wearing sneakers.  People sat at iron wrought tables, either having lunch, or a power lunch, with papers and files underneath their plates.  Some couples sat on wooden benches, cuddling and smooching.  As people passed by, I heard financial words, legal terms, and just office gossip.  Where they were not gathering was on the grassy center of the park.  It was roped off, to allow the new grass to grow and take hold.  The trees were beginning to bud; some were wrapped in a muslin liked material, which to this person looked very odd.  My eyes looked up further, at the tall buildings that surround this park.  Buildings made of marble, concrete, and glass; each containing either business offices, or hotel rooms, or government agencies.

It is in the afternoon, yet the downtown traffic is very light.  The sounds of a city at work were not too intrusive on the quiet of the park.  I really do miss it here!  I got up from my seat, threw my empty cup into the trash, and headed back downtown.  I was going back into the bustle, and the noise, to grab a subway trolley to my next destination.

Letter Found on a Road; Hope is Renewed

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TAU crossIn the early 13th century, a tradesman is walking down a road in the Umbrian valley of Italy.  He is bent over under the weight of the tools of his trade on his back.  It is not just the weight on his back that bends him over; it is the weight on his soul.  He is a God fearing man, he is a regular church attendee, he prays daily.  Yet, he is afraid that he will never encounter Christ, he will never entire the Kingdom of God.  He hears priests preaching that only those who enter the priesthood, those who are monks and nuns, sequestered in their monasteries and convents; will see the face of God.  And people like him, no matter how hard they strive to live a holy life; will only see Christ after eons in purgatory, being cleansed of their sins.

On the road, he suddenly notices a rolled up piece of parchment.  He picks it up, unrolls it, and sees a letter, written in rough Italian, signed with a Tau cross, “T.”  He begins to read:

“All who love the Lord with their whole heart, with their whole soul and mind, with all their strength (Mt 22:39), and love their neighbors as themselves (Mt 22: 39) and hate their bodies with their vices and sins, and receive the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, and produce worthy fruits of penance:

Oh, how happy and blessed are these men and women when they do these things and persevere in doing them because ‘the spirit of the Lord will rest upon them’ (Is 11:2)…” *

The tradesman heart suddenly is unburdened; he sees the world anew with hope filled eyes.  He hears church bells ringing; he sets off again down the road, towards the city of Assisi.

*These are words written by St. Francis of Assisi, to a group of pious lay men and women.  The document has been entitled “Exhortation of Saint Francis to the Brothers and Sisters of Penance.”

Right in the Gut!

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Laid off

Many of us will experience some sort of personal loss at some point in our lives.  It may take a while for that sense of loss to hit us; other times it will hit us in the gut almost immediately.  The loss I have experienced this year, the one that seems to be hitting me in the gut right now, is the loss of a job.  On January 7th, 2015, I was brought into a small conference room, outside of my work floor, and was told, that because of the loss of some major clients, after 19 years of employment, I was being let go.  I did not react too well to the news, at first.  And truth be told, my boss was not too happy over the situation either; he was known to try to retain the workforce by all means possible.  Still the realities of the business situation had forced their hands.  We went over the severance package, which was generous; and outplacement services that would be put at my disposal.  Now, because of the security requirements our clients have demanded of the company, I was not allowed back to my desk.  So I was escorted to the elevators, given a handshake, and that was that.

Now, let me say again, the company staff has been very supportive; my personal items were boxed and shipped back to me.  And they have been very helpful in clearing up some difficulties with my unemployment insurance.  But still, after 19 years, I found myself without any place to go in the morning.  I have been doing the usual things one does, when one is freshly unemployed.  I registered with the Commonwealth’s Unemployment Assistance office.  I registered with a career placement agency.  I worked with the outplacement specialist, who helped me retool my resume, and gave me a set of form letters, each covering a specific stage of the job search.  And I have been looking.

However, up till now, I have not been in touch with my feelings about this situation.  That is, till now, when we got this writing prompt about loss, and all of a sudden it hit me, right in the gut.  (Thanks a lot Blogging U.!)  So now, the depression, the fear, and all the anxiety; yep, right there, right in front of me!  Or I should say, right inside of me.  More about this in my future blog posts.

Some Very Random Thoughts on a Musical Theme

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(This day’s post may seem a little odd.  I am taking an online course on writing for a blog.  Today’s assignment was to free write, just keeping typing what comes into our heads about three songs that are important to us.  So please enjoy these ramblings.)

My three favorite songs, the important one’s, the ones that mean something for my life.  The first song is from my childhood; “Snoopy and the Red Baron!”  It was a silly little song, sung by a pop rock group, whose name I cannot remember.  It is important, because I had just received my first phonograph record player, nd the song was on my first 45 record.  What pains me even as I am writing this, is that there will be readers of this post, who will be asking: “45?” “phonograph?” “What is a record player?”  It is amazing how much the technology of music has changes over the past 50 years!  The second song is a Church song, a hymn passed on the prayer “Peace Prayer of St. Francis.”  IT is a hymn that encapsulates all of the Franciscan ideals, service, seeking peace, emptying oneself for others, reacting in opposite way from what the how the world would react to a wrong.  What is ironic about this hymn and prayer, is that Franciscan scholars agree that Francis of Assisi never wrote these words, that it was written in the 20th Century.  The final song is a hymn also, the “Salve Regina.”  It is an ancient Marian hymn, a hymn asking for Mary’s intercession on our behalf.  It is a hymn that is sung in most monasteries after Night Prayer, the last prayer in the evening, usually in a darkened chapel, before the monks or nuns go back to their bedrooms.  Many religious orders will chant this hymn as a deceased member of their community is being taken to their final resting place.  When I was in formation to become a Deacon, the head of the program set as a goal for my class to be able to chant this hymn by the end of year.  It was and is a means of bringing all of us together, something that we could identify with as being part of the fraternity of Deacons.

Those are the three songs that come to mind right now; there have been others when I hear them, that will bring me close to tears, but I cannot remember the titles.  So these three will have to do!

I Want to Fly to Assisi

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Where would I go if could be immediately transported somewhere?  I and other bloggers were challenged to write a post, answering this question.

I would like to be soaring over the green Umbrian countryside of Italy, like a brown sparrow, heading towards the small Italian city of Assisi.  It is an ancient city; most of the buildings were built during the Middle Ages, still being occupied.  I am heading towards a large Catholic Basilica, the Basilica of San Francesco d’Assisi, the last resting place of Saint Francis of Assisi.

Saint Francis was born Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone, the son of a wealthy cloth merchant.  His father, who made his money selling fine cloth to French merchants, nicknamed his son Francesco as a tribute to the French.  Francis was the city playboy; it was not a party if Francis was not invited.  He was a social climber, who longed to belong to the nobility, to become a knight.  He was a soldier, a prisoner of war, a veteran who was broken in body and soul.  And because of his brokenness, Jesus Christ entered into Francis’ heart; and Francis experienced a conversion, a conversion to the Gospel life.  He began to give his money to any poor person who asked for alms.  He went among the lepers, caring for them, washing their sores, and binding them with bandages.  In the solitude of caves, he began to develop a deep spiritual, prayer life.  He reflected on the gospels, he entered into an intimate relationship with God.  Francis strived to live the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

He gave away everything he owned, dressed like a beggar, in a grey, brownish robe.  He went about serving the poor, preaching in the streets, and marketplaces; proclaiming to all who would listen to him; that God loved them all.  Men, who heard his words, saw his lifestyle, were drawn to Francis, and soon he had twelve followers.  Twelve became a hundred; the hundred became thousands, all promising to live the Gospel of Jesus Christ, according to the example of Saint Francis.  They became the Order of Lesser Brothers, Order Friars Minor.  Women, like Clare of Assisi, were also drawn to this Troubadour of Christ.  With Clare, he formed a contemplative community of women, the Poor Ladies of Assisi, now known as the Poor Clares.  There were other men and women, farmers and tradesmen, wives and seamstresses, who also wanted to live the Gospel, and sought Francis’ guidance.  They became the Brothers and Sisters of Penance, the Third Order of St. Francis; today known as the Secular Franciscan Order.

I became attracted to St. Francis during my third and last year at the archdiocesan seminary.  I had decided to take years’ leave from the seminary; I spent the year with a Christian ecumenical organization which provided worship services in the National Parks.  I was sent to Yellowstone NP, lead services during the weekend, worked in the kitchen the rest of the time.  And in the midst of all that natural beauty, I read about Francis and the Franciscan life.  After two years, I entered formation to become a Friar.  I was to realize that God had another path for me, so I left the Friars, but the Franciscan spirit was already embedded in my heart.  I would later join the Secular Franciscan Order; I have been a professed member for over 25 years.  And I am always wishing I had the means to make a pilgrimage to Assisi, to visit that Basilica.

Francis died on the evening of October 3, 1226, at the age of 44 years old.  He was canonized a saint in 1228.  The friars were already beginning the construction of the Basilica.  The best architects, artisans and artists, the pioneers of the Italian Renaissance, were brought onto the project.  The Basilica was constructed in two levels, the upper church with vaulted ceilings, and large stain glass windows.  The lower church is more enclosed, but both levels are covered with beautiful frescoes, painted by Italian master artists.  The Basilica is considered an international treasure.  However, when the Basilica was finished; the Friars buried Francis in secret; for fear that rival cities would try to steal the remains.  They did such a good job hiding the burial site, that Francis’ body was lost until 1819.  When the burial site was rediscovered, a new crypt was constructed under the lower church.  The crypt has a small chapel, with an altar.  Above the altar is a stone coffin, containing the bones of St. Francis.  It is bound with iron straps, and an iron grill over the entrance.  The walls of the crypt are bare stone, simple, unadorned.  It is there I wish I could sit, contemplating, in the dim light, the last resting place of a man who continues to inspire Christians and non-Christians.  And in the stillness of that place, maybe I can hear a whisper, wishing me and all who come there: “Pace e Bene!”  “Peace and Good!”

Basilica of Saint Francis lower Church Tomb of St Francis Upper Church

Reflections on the Easter Vigil – 2015

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Easter Candle 2015

It is Saturday evening when I entered the Church of St. Mary, Star of the Sea.  I am there for the Easter Vigil Mass.  The church was built in the late 1800’s; it has high vaulted ceilings, large stain glass windows, dark wood pews.  Even with the all the church lights on, it is very dim inside.  I am assisting as a deacon at the Mass; I have been the responsibility of chanting the great Easter hymn, “the Exsultet,” which takes about 9 minutes to chant.  And I really do not want to muck it up!  From the sacristy, I stand in the sanctuary of the church, and pray: “My Risen Lord, be with me this night!  All good I am able to do to because of your grace; may your Spirit be within me!”  At that moment, I experience something, I cannot describe; I am rooted in that place, and for a few seconds I am not aware of what is happening around me.  The feeling passes and I go back into the sacristy.

The church has some fine vestments, for the evening Mass, I put on a gold and white dalmatic, the deacon’s vestment.  It feels stiff to me; I usually wear only an alb and stole.  The priests and the other deacon, Michael, also vest.  We then head to the back of the church, as the lights begin to go out.  By the time we are ready, the entire church is in darkness.  Father Mark lights a fire in a brazier, by the light of that fire, he blesses the Easter Candle; from the fire he draws a flame to light the Candle.  The fire is extinguished, the only light that pierces the darkness in the church, is the flame of the Easter Candle.  Deacon Michael lifts the Candle, and he and I walked down the main aisle.  Deacon Michael stops, lifts high the Candle; and I intone: “Lumen Christi!”  The choir and the congregation respond: “Deo Gratias!”  Then from that one Candle, the light is shared with dozens of other candles, points of light begins to spread throughout the darken church.  Twice we stop, twice I chant “Lumen Christi,” twice the light is shared, until the entire church is full of points of light.  The Easter Candle in placed in its stand, its flame flickering throughout the sanctuary.

I climb into the pulpit, open my binder, take a deep breath, and sing out: “Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven,….Rejoice, let Mother Church also rejoice, arrayed with the lightning of his glory, let this holy building shake with joy, filled with the mighty voices of the peoples.”

“Christ is Risen!”  He is Risen Indeed!”

Good Friday in Beverly – 2015

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TGood Friday Crosshis is the first chance I have had to write some reflections on part of what I have been doing during this Holy Week, 2015.  Yesterday, Good Friday, I assisted at the service that was held at St. Margaret of Scotland parish in Beverly, MA.  The small church was built in the late 1800’s, and has a very unique design.  The interior has a dark wood ceiling, which sort of adds to the solemnity of the liturgy we were about to celebrate.

The Good Friday service commemorates the Passion and Death of Jesus Christ, it is the most solemn liturgy held during Holy Week.  Wearing red colored vestments, the Pastor and I silently processed into the church.  Entering the sanctuary, Father, I and the cantor kneeled in the sanctuary, and the service began with readings from Scripture.  I, the cantor, and our music director chanted the Passion of Jesus Christ according to the Gospel of John.  After the prayers of the faithful, I went to the rear of the church, picked up a plain wooden cross, and began to process down the main aisle, back to the sanctuary.  I stopped three times; each time intoning: “Behold the wood of the Cross, on which hung the Savior of the world!” to which the congregation responded: “Come let us worship.”  After Father and I had each venerated the Cross, members from the congregation came forwarded to also venerate it.  Some kissed the wood, others knelt and touched it, and others just bowed before it.  When everyone had come forward, Father and I set the Cross on a side altar, with two candles on either side.  A communion service followed, then Father and I processed out and we did in, in silence.

After greeting members of the Catholic community as they left the church, I went back in; back to the side altar with the Cross.  As I stood, looking at that bare wooden Cross, it came to me, how an instrument of public execution, has become a symbol of triumph, Christ’s triumph of death.  I think though we forget what suffering Jesus went through, for us, for our salvation.  We need to recall what was written by the prophet Isaiah:

“Because of his affliction he shall see the light in fullness of days; through his suffering, my servant shall justify many and their guilt he shall bear.  Therefore I will give him his portion among the great, and he shall divide the spoils with the mighty, because he surrendered himself to death and was counted among the wicked; and he shall take away the sins of many, and win pardon for their offenses.”  (Isaiah 52)

Tonight, we commemorate, we celebrate Jesus Christ victory over sin and death; we celebrate the peace and joy that is still being experienced by so many of us.