Monthly Newspaper • DIOCESE OF BRIDGEPORT

I often wish I was one of those people who could walk into Home Depot and know exactly where everything is and make a beeline right for that aisle. But, alas, I will say that I have yet to reach that level of adulthood. I usually walk around like a lost puppy until I find a representative who looks nice enough to help me.

On my most recent trip, I decided not to waste any time and went right to the person at the front of the store and told her exactly what I needed. She told me where to go and even called a representative to show me how to use the kiosk.

An introvert by nature, I tend to run my errands with my head down, on a mission to get in and get out with what I need with as little human interaction as possible. However, the woman helping me at the kiosk was so kind, I didn’t mind chatting with her while we waited for my keys to be copied. She helped me through every step of the process. She easily could’ve showed me how to use the machine and went on her way, but she was present with me the whole time. We got to chatting about the reason I was copying keys in the first place (my tendency to lock myself out of my apartment) and she shared a funny story of her own. She said “I felt like I could share that with you,” and it really made my day.

We are so used to just going about our days on autopilot, moving from one task to the next, that we often don’t stop to really be present in the moment. I’m sure this woman has a very stressful job, but she was so pleasant and that made a huge difference to me.

We all just experienced the collective trauma of the COVID19 pandemic. I don’t really think people are fully ready to be back in the world sometimes—at least I know I’m not. We see it in the way people are driving and rushing around. There is just an underlying sense of tension, and it often feels as if we are hanging by a thread. I thought maybe we would learn but it seems that “the show must go on,” whether we are all ready for it or not.

I understand why people are so frustrated, but I think that’s why this particular encounter stood out to me so much. It reminded me so much of what the Gospel boils down to.

Jesus was always present with those He was with, no matter who they were. He extended love at every turn. Even amongst crowds of people reaching out to Him, He always seemed to find the one person who needed His mercy the most.

As we approach the holiday season, although I am absolutely overjoyed to get to celebrate with family and friends again, I want to resist the urge to act like I didn’t learn anything these past couple of years. I want to be intentional about creating more moments like this one at Home Depot.

One of my favorite Bible verses is Micah 6:8. “You have been told, O mortal, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

It doesn’t seem like such a tall order when you read it that way. And yet, it is still exceptional when it actually happens.

I’m sure there will be times this holiday season when it will be business as usual and I find myself running through my daily activities. It is just one of the inevitabilities of life. But I want to really intentionally try to love others, even if I don’t necessarily “like” what I’m doing.

Maybe I’m an idealist but I think, as a society, it’s something we can work towards.

This year I am thankful for all the people who make life a little more pleasant each and every day. And Tracey at the Stratford Home Depot, thanks for your help!

“During his stay in Jerusalem for the Passover, many believed in him when they saw the signs that he gave, but Jesus would not trust himself to them because he knew them all. He needed no one to give him testimony about human nature. He was well aware of what people had in them.” (Jn.2:23)

In his famous book Confessions, St. Augustine wrote about how children between the ages of 1 and 2, when put together in a play pen, will bite each other, pull each other’s hair, and rob each other’s toys, without regard for the other child’s unhappiness. In this same writing, Augustine tells how he once stole some pears, not because he was hungry, but because it was exciting to do; it demonstrated “the greedy love of doing wrong for its own sake.”

Augustine used these observations to support his idea that human nature is wounded and inclined to evil. Among early Christians, this conviction of a wounded human nature grew incrementally during the first four centuries. There was a sense that something had gone wrong with human beings. The fifth century Councils of Carthage (419) and Orange (441) adopted the term “Original Sin.” The term was linked to the account in Genesis 3 that told of a primeval event that took place at the beginning of the history of humans. A sin was committed by our first parents, and the whole of history is marked by the original fault. There is an intrinsically wounded human nature. (Cf, Catechism of the Catholic Church 390).

Pelagius, a contemporary of Augustine, disagreed with Augustine about a wounded human nature, and taught that moral evil is the result of bad example and poor teaching. Children are born innocent and if raised properly, they retain that innocence.

However, many Christian thinkers wondered why is human life so marred by so much hatred, brutality, and tragedy? Why is the created order, brought into being through divine decision and love, warped by evil? Eventually, the Council of Trent in 1563 accepted the theology of Original Sin. Trent went so far as to affirm Original Sin a central truth of Catholic faith. The Council of Trent stated that Adam’s sin “is communicated to all by propagation not by imitation.” In its Decree on Original Sin, Trent held that the Scriptural foundation for the Doctrine of Original Sin was Rom.5:12: “Sin came into the world through one man, and death came through sin,” and Jn.3:19: “Men love the darkness rather than the light.” Martin Luther and other Reformers also affirmed Original Sin as a central truth of Christian faith.

In Christian tradition, the sin of Adam and Eve is described as “the Fall.” The Catholic teaching is that it caused a defect in human nature. In Luther’s judgment, Original Sin had corrupted human nature, and humans could do good only with the help of grace.

Put simply, what exactly is the teaching called Original Sin? It states that what is inherited by every human being is not only nature as created, but nature as distorted by sin.

The Enlightenment of the 17th and 18th centuries rated human reason as the exclusive source of knowledge and regarded the idea of Original Sin as absolutely absurd. The remedy to the problem of evil is more reason. Even contemporary Catholics are uneasy with the doctrine of Original Sin. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that “the transmission of Original Sin is a mystery that we cannot fully understand.” (360).

The idea of Original Sin speaks to my experience of human life. There is a good deal of goodness and beauty to enjoy in this world. But there are all the miseries of the human situation.

All is not well. Evil seems universal and ineradicable. The first creation story says that God made the world, and it was good. Then why is it so difficult? Why does it hurt so much, Why do we die? It is not the way it was meant to be. The “Fall” is real. The world seems overcrowded with lust and crime and unhappy love.

The eminent theologian, Karl Rahner, pointed out that “the wound of sin permeates the whole of life, society and relationships, becoming part of the human reality in which the individual is immersed. Sin is within and without.” As often as Karl Rahner looked into the history of humanity, or even into individual human careers, he was filled with sorrow and even pessimism.

Therese of Lisieux surprisingly said: “Those around me are really good, but there is something, I don’t know what, that repels me.” When Flannery O’ Connor was asked about her view of human beings, she answered with one word, “fallen.” I like something else O’Connor said when she was in NYC: “Although you see several people you wish you did know, you see thousands you’re glad you don’t know.” Freud: “I have found little that is ‘good’ about human beings on the whole. In my experience most of them are trash.” Teresa of Avila: “There is no trusting these sons of Adam.” Dostoyevsky: “We are all cripples, every one of us, more or less.” I know a number of men who have said that there are times when “they must get away from people.” Pope Francis: “If you put your trust only in people, you will lose” (address to young men in Turin). If we look for any ultimate security in human commitments or human institutions, we need to be prepared for disappointment.

Human nature is also capable of courage, compassion, and integrity. The dark elements are counterbalanced by astonishing acts of compassion, forbearance, and creativity. Still, as many thinkers point out, there is the derailment of Original Sin. Humans tend to be very disappointing—notice the divorce rate.

G.K. Chesterton once noted that the doctrine of Original Sin is one of the few Catholic beliefs that can be confirmed by each day’s headlines. Chesterton wrote: “The Church’s doctrine of Original Sin is the only part of Catholic theology which can be really proved. There is something fundamentally rotten in humanity.” The Protestant theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, called Original Sin “empirically verifiable.” Open any newspaper, switch on your television and the symptoms of Original Sin are manifest.

We should not underestimate the wound of Original Sin. The doctrine of Original Sin should not make us cynical about what we can do; but it should make us modest. Finally, there is a quote from the Catechism of the Catholic Church: “Ignorance of the fact that humans have a wounded nature inclined to evil gives rise to errors in the areas of education, politics, social action, and morals” (407). I have never heard a sermon on Original Sin.

According to Roman Catholic theology, only the Blessed Virgin Mary was born without Original Sin and remained undamaged (The Immaculate Conception). The only time Original Sin is mentioned in the liturgy is in the Easter Night Vigil, where it is called “O felix culpa,” the happy fault, the fortunate sin, because it brought us the Savior Christ.

Had I a mighty gun I think I’d shoot the human race. (Emily Dickinson)

Coming off of the pandemic years, there are certainly things that we used to take for granted that now seem almost miraculous.

I look back and remember my roommate and I celebrating Thanksgiving together, because we were both exposed to COVID19 and didn’t want to infect our families. I remember having a small, outdoor burial as we said goodbye to my grandfather. These were difficult times for many. But we made the very best of every moment, showing the resilience of humanity, as long as we worked together to keep each other safe. We’ve shown that despite it all, we can do it.

And life goes on. My cousin recently had a little baby girl, who is a wonderful addition to the family! My sister is engaged, so we are now consumed with dress appointments and flower arrangements and making plans for that much anticipated day. Some of my best friends are also getting married, celebrating new jobs, and making exciting moves.

You don’t really realize it when it’s all happening but it’s amazing to look back and think that there was a time when we weren’t sure if we would be able to have these celebrations again. But people will continue to celebrate love and life and all the things that make it all worthwhile.

There will be burials but there will also be births.

I recently read a book that’s theme focused on the reflection of life and death. A quote that stood out to me read, “It’s not always about the things you’ve done or the mistakes you’ve made. It’s about the people, and what we’re willing to do for one another. The sacrifices we make.”

As the main character reflected on the life he lived, he realized that he was so focused on success that he didn’t treat people in his life very well. Luckily, in this fantasy novel, he had the chance to make it all right again.

It really is about the people, isn’t it?

That’s always a caveat that comes up for me when I think about the possibility of moving somewhere new and exciting. It sounds nice at the time, and it’s fun to imagine travelling to exotic lands, but I feel like I would get there and want to send my family pictures so that they could experience it along with me.

I would want to share it all with the people I love.

For what is life if not to be shared?

The people we love tether us in a world which is so often full of conflict and challenges. Now more than ever.

The pandemic brought to light a lot of selfishness in people, almost shockingly so. But it also brought to light a lot of love and sacrifice, as we realized that the decisions we made greatly affected others and even the world as a whole. How doing something that made us a little uncomfortable in the moment or for a short amount of time could ensure that life could go on.

That we would be able to once again celebrate weddings and births and all the celebrations of life. We are all connected in our desire for these moments, it is the sacramental thread that runs through us all.

As we welcome a new season, I am wishing you all the joys that life brings, and the realization that through all that we experience as humans, it goes on and we can find many reasons for gratitude— particularly in the voices and presence of those we love.

Thanks to the Emperor Constantine (324-375), Christianity became the legally acknowledged religion in the Roman Empire. This came at a price for the Church. Vast numbers of people became Christians, not because they understood and accepted the Christian faith, but because it was socially advantageous to do so. The wealth, power and privilege granted to the Church was accompanied by widespread corruption.

At the same time, Roman society was characterized by decadence and futility. Many individuals came to regard the Church and Roman society as shipwrecks which had to be abandoned for the sake of one’s spiritual life. This is what led to the beginning of Monasticism. Men and women withdrew into the deserts of Arabia, Egypt and Syria. The first of these was a man named Antony, who is considered to be the first monk (monk means “alone). At the age of twenty, Antony withdrew to the desert of Egypt, where he spent eighty-five years living in solitude. He died in 356 at the age of 105. Sections of the Egyptian desert became so populated with monks they were called “cities of monks.” Antony kept moving deeper into the desert to maintain his solitude.

One might ask: What was Christian about the way Antony and those who followed him lived? After all, Jesus didn’t live in the desert. Jesus moved around a lot. He talked and ate with people, etc. Those who usually say these things are married, have children, have a 401K, and a marriage and a car. Jesus didn’t have any of those things. We need to be open to the fact that there is a variety of ways in which people have sought to imitate Jesus, focusing on different aspects of Jesus’ ministry.

Jesus did say to at least one man: “If you wish to be perfect go sell all your possessions, give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then follow me” (Mt.19:21). Jesus also said: “Whoever loves father and mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me” (Mt.10:27). Jesus even refers to someone being a eunuch for the sake of the kingdom of heaven (Mt.19:12). Thus, at least in specific situations Jesus called people to give up things that in themselves are good. Jesus didn’t say these things to everybody, but he did say them to particular persons. We can also recall that St. Paul urged people not to marry, to stay single, so that they can be focused on the things of the Lord (1Cor.7:27-33).

These Scriptural statements blended into what is called the Monastic life. Monasticism has lived on as a numerically small but distinguished feature of the Church’s life in our own day. It is frequently said that the Monastic Orders are what the Church depends for its spiritual power. The Second Vatican Council spoke about the certain preeminence of the Monastic Orders and encouraged their growth.

Most people reach God through the medium of a married love and bringing up children and an active life fully mixed up with the things of time and the world. Many Catholics place a strong emphasis on humanitarian activities such as social justice and social work, outreach and philanthropy, respect for nature— all good things in themselves. But as Pope Francis says: “We have an inner life that cannot be neglected.” We can learn from Monasticism something valuable about inner spirituality. At the heart of Monasticism are solitude and a certain separation from the world.

Solitude, being alone, is at the heart of Monastic life, and it is an important component at the heart of the Christian life. Solitude is the context for prayer. The challenge for most people is how to bring about this solitude? How do we make solitude happen? People answer that question in different ways.

Monastic spirituality involves a certain separation from the world. There are great forces of truth, goodness and beauty in the world. However, the world also involves a set of servitudes. The Cure of Ars used to say: “How pitiable are the poor people out in the world.” There is a whole network of needs and demands which worldly life imposes on people.

Again, here are some Scriptural verses: 1John 2:16: “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father, but from the world.” In Romans 12:2 Paul states that the Christian must not be conformed to this world.” And there is the famous Mt.6:24: “No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.” According to the Catholic theologian, Karl Rahner, the contemplative Orders tell us about the importance of a certain counter-cultural perspective in our lives, living with a certain contradiction to the spirit of the age.

The wisdom of Monasticism also includes a devotion to reading, as well as detachment and renunciation in some form, a certain dying to self.

When I received my Ph.D., to give thanks and relax, I traveled to Kentucky to spend a week at the Trappist Abbey of Gethsemane—the Monastic Monastery Thomas Merton made famous. Twenty years later, when I received the designation “Professor Emeritus,” I made the trip again. The number of monks at the monastery had remained solid. I treasured the week that involved Gregorian Chant, chanting psalms several times a day, silent meals, solitary walks, hours of reading, times of manual labor (I mowed lawns), the Salve Regina at the end of the day. There was the overall silence. I have spent time at other Monastic Monasteries beside Gethsemane, where there was much the same.

Many people do not respond to elements involved in Monastic seeking a deeper experience of God. The elements go against the ideas of most fellow human beings. Still, the Monastic life fascinates a number of people in the secular world. It appeals to the young.

When I gaze out across the pews at daily Mass, I see a collection of people with gray hair, thinning hair, no hair. Grandparents, widows, widowers, retirees, geezers. Some use canes or walkers, others struggle to knee and stand. There are a few middle-agers and an occasional young person.

They have one thing in common. The Eucharist sustains them, so they keep coming back. They realize another thing. The Person who resides in that tabernacle is their hope in a troubled world—not technology, science, sports, politics, celebrities or world leaders.

Most Catholics might look at the empty church and panic—as I do occasionally—and say, “We have to bring young people back before it’s too late!”

I also look out and wonder: How is it that the most important event in salvation history is taking place right before my eyes, and there’s only a few privileged individuals to witness it? It’s more important than a presidential election, the Nobel Prize ceremonies, the lunar landing, the discovery of America, the World Series, the Super Bowl. And yet there’s only a handful to celebrate this event—the Sacrifice of the Mass.

Young people can learn from these faithfully devout seniors.

There’s Anne, estimated age 93, whose joints bother her, so she doesn’t stand for the entire Gospel, although she doesn’t seem to have a problem kneeling. She’s there every morning and then goes to the Senior Center for a program that she leads.

She’s of the most joyful and exuberant people you’ll ever meet, although whenever I crack a joke, I don’t think she can hear me. Or maybe my jokes aren’t all that good. She smiles anyway and that makes my day.

Then, there’s Lucia, estimated age 94, who walks to church every day. She never misses an opportunity to tell me about her childhood in northern Italy near the Dolomites, and her long and wonderful marriage to her late husband. Together they traveled throughout Europe, Asia and Latin America. This brief time in the morning is the most important part of her day.

Many of these seniors kneel in prayer a long time before Mass begins, and they stay to pray the rosary. They’re always there for Eucharistic adoration.

I’m convinced people like them are holding the world together with their prayers. People like them will be the ones that Jesus honors with the heavenly MVP awards someday. They’ll be at the front of the line to be recognized for what they did to spread the Gospel through small, seemingly inconsequential acts of kindness, devotion, service and sacrifice.

They’re the ones who went out into the vineyard and labored, often anonymously, to harvest souls that might have otherwise been lost. I’m also convinced the countless rosaries, novenas, candles and Communions of these prayer warriors will do more to bring God’s Kingdom on Earth than all the political movements, causes and committees we read about every day.

So it would be wise for young people—the so-called Nones—to learn a lesson from their elders. Sit in front of the tabernacle and look for the answers. Make the Eucharist the center of your existence because it is only through the Eucharist that you’ll be able to do great things. But always remember: You won’t be doing them. It will be Christ doing them through you, so don’t be eager to take the credit. Yes, you can learn a lot from your elders.

A man I know who was ordained to the permanent diaconate last year told me the greatest power of example in his life, the person who inspired his vocation, was his grandfather in Puerto Rico. Every afternoon, promptly at 3 pm, the old man would retreat to his room to pray during the Hour of Divine Mercy.

Can you imagine the number of souls that fellow saved by his faithful perseverance in prayer? I’d bet Jesus gave him an MVP award too. It’s amazing the profound inspiration one person can have who lets the Holy Spirit work through him or her.

Look out at the pews during daily Mass, and you will see the people holding this troubled and decadent world together. Are you worried about the world? Then it’s time to join them. (Joe Pisani can be reached at joefpisani@yahoo.com.)

Over the years, I’ve learned that my mood and overall outlook on life are very much affected by my surroundings. So as I begin to get settled into my new apartment, I am looking forward to making it feel more like home. I am noticing that the careful placement of a plant or hanging artwork created by a friend can make a substantial difference in making a space your own.

Since my own living space means so much to me, at this time especially, I am thinking of the many Afghan refugees currently experiencing displacement. When I think of the difficulty I experienced finding an affordable place to live, I can’t even imagine the challenges these people face.

Jesus often spoke about welcoming the stranger. Matthew 25: 35-36 is well-known: “’For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’”

As Jesus and his disciples traveled throughout Judea, they had to rely on the hospitality of others along the way. Many people took them in, even when it was unsafe to do so.

Housing is such a basic human need and yet so many people go without it. Waiting lists for affordable housing are sometimes years long. Refugees worldwide are fleeing their homes in search of safety, and still, some say there is “no room at the inn.”

Whenever of think of these families, I picture the Holy Family. Would they have been turned away if people had known?

Luckily, there is some light in all this darkness. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB), Catholic Charities, and other faith-based groups have intensified their efforts working with the U.S. government to assist Afghan refugees who require housing and aid as they begin new lives in the U.S.

In our diocese, Catholic Charities of Fairfield County has responded to the request of Goodwin University and the University of Bridgeport (UB) to join in the effort to assist recent Afghan refugees coming to Connecticut. At the request of Bishop Frank J. Caggiano, Mike Donoghue, diocesan director of Catholic Charities, has reached out to Goodwin/UB president Mark Scheinberg to offer his support.

Bishop Caggiano said the University of Bridgeport’s initiative to offer assistance to Afghan refugees is necessary given what is unfolding in their country. “It is a commitment to stand with those who are homeless, refugees and poor. It is a pro-life issue for which I wish to express my gratitude for President Scheinberg’s leadership, vision and support. I am also proud and grateful that Catholic Charities will be joining in this important work.”

Pope Francis has encouraged faithful around the world to gather in prayer and fasting. “I believe that in this global world, every man and woman can do something,” he said. “If small groups can sow terror, small groups can sow peace. And they can do it through prayer, which, together with fasting, which is also detachment from daily life, is a ‘revolt’ against war, as well as an invocation to the Lord, the Lord of history, so that He may open up paths of peace and arouse, through His spirit, the goodwill of men, of the powerful, of institutions.”

Thinking about these refugees makes me realize how lucky we are to have a roof over our heads. This isn’t to say there aren’t difficulties in our own lives, but it puts everything in perspective when we think about those without basic needs. We can call our local Catholic Charities and offer assistance or follow Pope Francis’ call for prayer and fasting. As the pope said, “small groups can sow peace.”

“When I found your words, I devoured them; they became my joy and the happiness of my heart” (Jeremiah 15:16)

Catholics as a whole have a general ignorance of the Bible. They have little more than a nodding acquaintance with most of the Bible. It is the Achilles heel of Catholicism; it is the Achilles heel of evangelization.

For Catholics, the Scriptures were a heritage and treasure that was left in the shadows after the struggles that divided the Church during the Reformation. Reading the Scriptures was officially discouraged in the post Tridentine era (Tridentine = the Council of Trent), mainly owing to the emphasis given to Scripture by the Reformers – Sola Scriptura. In 1692, a religious author named Pasquier Quesnel published a book in which he asserted that “the reading of Sacred Scripture is for everyone.” That comment was condemned as an error by Pope Clement XI (Constitution Unigenitus Deo Filius). The Church was worried about Bible Texts being used by “heretics.” Most Catholics simply stopped reading the Bible. On the other hand. Martin Luther told his followers to “think of the Scriptures as the richest of mines which can never be sufficiently explored.”

From the point of view of Protestants, one of the great achievements of the 16th century Reformation was that it put the Bible back into the hands of God’s people. The Bible came to be considered a Protestant book. Among Catholics, the Catechism came to be substituted for the Bible. Catholics were actually discouraged from reading the Bible.

Vatican II called for a return to the Scriptures. It called for Scripture to play a central role in Catholic spirituality, indeed. to be the primary source of Catholic spirituality. It stated that Bible study leads to a deeper and more mature spirituality. The Council spoke of the Scriptures as “the food of the soul,” and called upon Catholic peoples to become “gluttons” for Scripture.”

(Dei Verbum Constitution on Divine Revelation).

I love so much of the language in the Bible, its literary power. The American author, Thomas Wolfe, author of novels such as You Can’t Go Home Again, and Of Time and the River, wrote this about the Book of Ecclesiastes: “For all that I have ever seen or learned that book (Ecclesiastes) seems to me the noblest, the wisest, and most powerful expression of man’s life upon this earth, also earth’s highest flowering of poetry, eloquence, and truth. I am not given to dogmatic judgments in the matter of literary creation, but if I had to make one, I could only say that Ecclesiastes is the greatest single piece of writing I have ever known. The wisdom in it the most lasting and profound.”

It can be pointed out that the Bible writers use few adjectives and fewer adverbs. They may have attended a course in creative writing.

One can come up with a provocative list of questions from the Bible:

Mt.16:26: “What does a man profit if he gains the whole world and suffers the loss of his soul?
Gen.4:9: “Am I my brother’s keeper?
Jn.3:4: “How can a man be born again when he is old?
Jn.18:38: “What is truth”
Eccl.1:3: “What does a man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?
Lk.10:29: “Who is my neighbor?
Lk.10:25: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?

A college student wrote this: “My college roommate, Nadine, was a Pentecostal. She studied her Bible for an hour faithfully every night after classes and before tackling her other assignments. I marveled at her fidelity to a Book I, a Catholic with 12 years of parochial school behind me, has never opened.”

The Word of God is often self-explanatory. However, parts of Scripture require interpretation. There’s often some necessary spadework. Biblical scholarship helps with a mature and profound encounter with the Bible. Pope Benedict XVI stated that he wanted us to do more than read the Scriptures. He wanted us to study them, to wrestle with them. We may commit ourselves to sustained study of a particular book, indeed, spend months with a particular book. There’s the proverb “he who desires to eat the kernel must break the shell.” These days we can study with the resources of modern scholarship which enriches and clarifies. It calls for taking some time and discipline. The Achilles Heel Potpourri By Thomas H. Hicks Thomas Hicks is a member of St. Theresa Parish in Trumbull. “When I found your words, I devoured them; they became my joy and the happiness of my heart” (Jeremiah 15:16) Catholics as a whole have a general ignorance of the Bible.

There are some laborious and boring Biblical books one might rightly skip e.g., Leviticus, Numbers, Chronicles, Kings.

We Catholics are beginning to again become, in some small ways, a Biblical people. A poor Bible Study can be worse than none at all. It is sadly true that most Catholics still have scarcely more than a passing acquaintance with the Bible. One can be surprised to learn that well-educated people are not generally acquainted with even the most famous Bible stories.

A Biblical scholar, Daniel Harrington, wrote: “I find God largely in and through the Bible. It is for me the most important way to know, love, and serve God.” Many of my own happiest personal experiences have taken place in the academic study of the Bible. The Bible never grows wearisome or stale for me. Like Harrington, I find God largely in and through the Bible.

We cannot conduct evangelization well without studying the Bible. There’s a saying by St. Jerome: “A person who is well grounded in Scripture is a bulwark of the church.”

St. Augustine insisted that sanctity involved “soaking yourself in Scripture.”

Thus, many take the view that the church needs a massive Bible education program, and Bible study should be at the center of what we do in our parishes.

(Mr. Hicks conducts two Zoom Bible Studies. One meets on the second Tuesday of the month from 10 am-Noon. The other meets on the second Thursday of the month from 7-8:30 pm. For information email your name to Thicks@snet.net. The group doesn’t meet during July and August. You will hear from us the first week of September. We are presently studying “The Book of Job.”)

As I was walking back to my pew after receiving Communion, I spotted a fellow who was holding the host in his hand and staring at it curiously, as if he didn’t know what it was or what to do with it. Maybe he wasn’t Catholic or maybe he was one of those Catholics who think the Eucharist is just a symbol with the same efficacy as a crust of Wonder Bread.

A disturbing survey by Pew Research in 2019 concluded 70 percent of self-identified Catholics “believe the bread and wine used at Mass are not Jesus but merely symbols of the body and blood of Jesus Christ.” (I’ve often thought that those who believe it’s just symbolic shouldn’t object to receiving unconsecrated hosts.)

Some 43 percent were “unaware” of the teaching about the Real Presence and 22 percent knew but didn’t believe it. This lack of belief in the fundamental mystery of our faith has consequences that go far beyond whether politicians who promote abortion should be given Communion. At the turn of the millennium, Jesuit theologian John Hardon, whose cause for sainthood is before the Vatican, foresaw dire consequences as a result of unbelief in the Real Presence.

“I believe the center of the Church’s crisis in the Western World is the doubt and denial in an ever-widening circle of once-professed Catholics about their faith in the Real Presence,” he wrote. “As a result, we see the massive desacralization of the Mass, hidden tabernacles, iconoclasm perpetrated on Catholic Churches, reduction of hundreds of churches to mere social meeting halls and the casual handling of the Sacred Species. The future of the Catholic Church in one Western country after another is on trial. One thing I have learned is the deepest and most devastating crisis in all the 2000 years of the Church’s history is what we are undergoing now…. In one declarative sentence: Without faith in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, there is no Catholic Church.”

Many disbelieve the teaching, and even more just don’t care, which is one of the greatest tragedies of our age. When the priest holds up the Eucharist and says, “Body of Christ,” he really means it. And when you say “Amen,” you’re saying you believe it too.

It’s time for believers to say prayers of reparation. The Litany of Reparation to Our Eucharistic Lord says in part: “Lord, for so many unworthy communions, we offer you love and reparation. For the infidelity of those who call themselves your friends but betray you, we offer you love and reparation. For the sacrileges which profane your sacrament of love, we offer you love and reparation.”

In “The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O’Connor,” the celebrated Catholic author recounted a dinner she had with critic Mary McCarthy and their exchange about the Real Presence. She wrote: “I was once taken by some friends to have dinner with Mary McCarthy. (She just wrote that book, ‘A Charmed Life.’) She departed the Church at 15 and is a Big Intellectual. I hadn’t opened my mouth once, there being nothing for me in such company to say. Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but, overcome with inadequacy, had forgotten them.

“Well, the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. She said when she was a child and received the host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the most portable person of the Trinity. Now, she thought of it as a symbol…. I then said, in a very shaky voice, ‘Well, if it’s a symbol, to hell with it.’ That was all the defense I was capable of, but I realize now that is all I will ever be able to say about it, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.”

Since the first Holy Thursday when Jesus gave us the Eucharist in the Upper Room, it has been the Sun that illuminates the Church because Jesus is really present, Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity.

If that teaching sounds unreasonable, far-fetched or preposterous to you, remember one thing: Nothing is impossible with God.

And like Flannery O’Connor, we all should say, “The Eucharist is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.”

(Joe Pisani can be reached at joefpisani@yahoo.com)

It’s that time of year again— the family heads to the beach. For one blessed week, we load up our cars with beach chairs, books and sunblock, and make our way to our safe haven on the North Shore of Massachusetts.

Our little cottage has been in my extended family’s possession since the year I was born. I learned to walk in the sand here, the wide-open space perfect for little legs.

This time last year, the house was under construction due to a pipe burst, so this year it has had a bit of a facelift. It was exciting to arrive and see the newly installed floors, new countertops and bright backsplash…almost as if we were seeing it with fresh eyes. But as we sat around the table playing a round of cards, we were reminded just why this place is so special to us in the first place.

For one week a year, we set everything else aside and focus on spending time with each other. Dad can be found scanning the tide line for special shells and rocks. Mom can be found following the sandpipers’ path as they scurry along the shore. My sister and I can be found sunning ourselves on our towels, anticipating our next jump in the brisk surf. Brendan can be found skim-boarding, throwing a frisbee or playing a round of can-jam.

Family and friends come and go throughout the week, quickly acclimating to the time-honored traditions—a cook-out on the deck, a trip to the local seafood joint…and of course, the outdoor shower.

They learn that a long walk on the beach can lead to some of the most special moments and nuggets of wisdom that will never be forgotten.

Those who stay for longer, get to experience the joys of attending Sunday Mass at Star of the Sea. A beach parish true to its name. Parishioners file in in flipflops and shorts, getting to Mass early so they can spend the rest of the day in the sun and sand.

The priest, with a heavy Boston accent, keeps his homilies “short and sweet,” knowing the congregation will be anticipating reveling in God’s beautiful world just outside. A Mass on the beach was attempted…but once everyone got eaten alive by “greenheads,” that was the end of that.

Our lives are interwoven with memories of this place…a story of us. And those who get to experience the joy of it get to feel the magic first-hand.

Taking this time to rest and rejuvenate is so important. Jesus knew the value of rest. After long sermons, he would often take time to himself or with his disciples.

After what we have all been through during the coronavirus pandemic, these moments seem more special than ever. There was a time when we didn’t get to visit with family and friends. So now, we hold those we love a little closer and savor every moment of rest.

Wishing a blessed summer to all—one full of rest and special moments with family and friends.

The general view of physicists is that time started at a specific point about 13.8 billion years ago with the Big Bang. The Big Bang can be considered the “birth“ of the universe and the beginning of time as we know it. Matter, energy, space and time began abruptly with the Big Bang. Hence it can be said that time is a creature of God. Aristotle defined time as the measure of change. St. Augustine defined it as a measure of motion.

There can be no discussion of what was going on before the Big Bang, or, specifically, what was God doing before the Big Bang? There was no previous era. We are dealing with the mysterious idea of eternity.

Augustine reflected on time as a painful affair. Time was the devourer, seeking what it might devour. Time was ever working, never at rest, bringing age upon us all (Confessions, Book One). There is no conquest over time. No one can defeat time. Time will never relent. Time moves and everything comes to an end. There’s all the brightness and beauty that could not last. How innocently time eats the days – all those lost days.

The Scriptures tell us that the sovereignty of God is over the length of our lives. Job 14:5 states that “Man’s days are determined; God has decreed the number of our months and has set limits we cannot exceed.” Psalm 139:16 speaks of the “Book of Life” in which “are written all the days that were ordained for humans when none of those days as yet existed.” God is the giver of time and our term of life is fixed by Him. We are allotted a certain period of time in the world. We have an expiration date. Time belongs to God; it is not our own.

Old age is an end product deposited by time. It is the time of the body’s cruel betrayals that bring with them the indignities of old age. We disintegrate slowly. Those who have reached the evening of their lives have to adjust their lives to the limitations of aging. They reach what is called life’s “last lap,” or the “home stretch.”

There’s a haunting sense of passing time. There’s a fear of time. An old person is now well aware of how November grinds darkly on, how November leans toward December, and December slides into Winter. Children and grandchildren grow and flower, etching mortality even more sharply. The evening is drawing in. There’s a sense of time left. They find the words of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus very meaningful: “Stay with us, Lord. For it is nearly evening. The day is almost over” (Lk24:29).

When he was near ninety, the art critic, Bernard Berenson, said: “I would willingly stand at street corners, hat in hand, begging passers-by to drop their unused minutes in it.”

However, many old people are ready. They have had their fill of life and seek rest from the irritations and agitations of life. There is a “ripeness” for death. There’s a sense of relief that the struggle was over. It’s coming to an end, and that’s all right.

There is a Jewish Midrash that says: “When a fig is gathered at the proper time, it is good. The owner of the fig tree knows when the fruit is ripe for plucking and plucks it. The Holy One knows when the time of the righteous has come.”

Old age brings with it the awareness that so many people you loved are gone. There’s the sudden silence. The world without those loved ones is incomplete. There is no substitute for them. Many elderly people say: “It’s not hard to die when everyone you loved is dead.” Our faith tells us we will find one another again. Many of the elderly feel like one who is waiting and waited for. There is a prayer to the angel Raphael, guide of Tobias, which says “lead us toward those we are waiting to see again, those who are waiting for us, those we are looking for.

The daily dread of all old people is—when will it all stop? How many more chances will I have to welcome the Spring? When will it be my time to be shaken from the tree?

There is the loneliness of age. As we age, we have to “let go” of more and more; one thing after another falls away. One can have the feeling of having outstayed one’s welcome in the world. Many old people often feel superfluous and unwanted. Doubtless, one of the assets of old age is the ability to enjoy being alone. Solitude is frequently the lot of the elderly. So many men, particularly, are left an old man in an empty house. They grow old and grow sad. The old sigh for lost years; weep for the short tomorrows.

Despite it all, most of the elderly regard everyday as a gift, and have a deep gratitude for life; a gratitude for all of life’s blessings.

When I think of dying, I remember my mother bending over my bed, singing in her lovely, throaty voice, “Close your eyes and you’ll have a surprise. The Sandman is coming. He’s coming, he’s coming.” To hear that voice one second before death is what I hope for.

Let me end with an anecdote about Winston Churchill that can have a religious meaning. Churchill planned his own funeral. He directed that after the final religious benediction a bugler high up in the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral would play “Taps.” Churchill then directed that immediately after the playing of “Taps,” a second bugler, also in the dome would play “Reveille,” the call to get up in the morning.

In a public speaking class I teach, I often use famous speeches to demonstrate the power of the spoken word to students. At the top of my list is Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, delivered during the March on Washington in 1963. Then, there’s John F. Kennedy’s 1961 inaugural address and Winston Churchill’s “This Was Their Finest Hour” speech.

I also use a commencement address delivered by actor Denzel Washington at Dillard University in 2016. His message to the graduating class is pretty straightforward: “Put God first. Put God first in everything you do.” It’s one of the most inspiring speeches you’ll ever hear in an era when commencement addresses are notorious for being bland and boring.

The last time we listened to the Denzel Washington address, one student tracked down a transcript to share with the class. (To hear the speech, go to https://youtu.be/BxY_eJLBflk).

The problem was that God’s name had been deleted throughout the text and replaced by asterisks. Is the name of God so offensive that it has to be censored by high-tech digital vigilantes, who are working tirelessly to make the world safe and secular for the rest of us?

In modern America, it’s dicey to mention God in public, especially on college campuses or in the workplace. We live in Orwellian times when it’s perfectly acceptable to use foul language and say offensive things, but mentioning God can get you in trouble with the thought police, and before you know it, you’ll be put under surveillance. There’s no free speech if you have to look over your shoulder every time you mention God.

Imagine for a moment that you’re looking down on this sorry planet—somewhat like God, who is the creator, redeemer and sustainer of this piece of rock and its inhabitants. Now, imagine you see countless dimwits who are arguing about why it’s offensive to say “God” because…because why? Because it might anger an atheist? Because a politician or lawyer or journalist or professor says it violates the separation of Church and State? Or because it might “trigger” some unbelievers to cover their ears and run through the streets screaming in terror?

Our parents used to say there were three topics that polite people don’t bring up in conversation—religion, sex and politics. Someone didn’t get that memo because all you ever hear about nowadays is politics and sex. Religion is the only topic that’s verboten.

A friend of mine recently discussed career opportunities with a student I knew, and they had a Zoom session because of COVID. As it turned out, the young woman, who is from a devout Catholic family, was sitting beneath a crucifix. My friend spotted it and cautioned the young woman about the importance of having a “neutral background” during teleconference interviews. Why? Because people might be offended by Christ on the cross and employers don’t want to hire someone who’s “too religious,” someone who might create problems for the Human Resources department by evangelizing or—heaven help us—mentioning God.

Recently, I had a telehealth session with a doctor who asked me what I do to reduce stress. “I exercise. I meditate. I do some awkward yoga poses,” I responded. “And I…pray.”

There was an awkward silence. That “pray” idea went over like a lead balloon. The doctor, who had been nodding her head in agreement with everything I said, stopped nodding when I mentioned prayer. It would have been more socially acceptable if I had replied, “I use recreational marijuana.” And I wasn’t sitting under a crucifix.

There’s a war being waged and many of us are trying to ignore it. It’s a war between people who want to remove God from society and those who should stand up for God every chance they get. Each of us has to ask, “Which side am I on?” There’s no sitting on the sidelines anymore.

Never forget what Jesus said: “Everyone who acknowledges me before others, I will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my Father in heaven.” There’s a lesson in those words for all of us who claim to be Christians.

The time has come, as Denzel Washington said, to “Put God first. Put God first in everything you do.” And don’t be afraid to tell people.

People are reluctant to admit to loneliness, it seems to denote failure. But Loneliness is one of the most universal human experiences. A great amount of research has been done concerning loneliness. These studies have found such interesting facts as: there is greater loneliness among single elderly people living with relatives than among those who live alone; there is no less loneliness in small friendly towns than in the big cities; loneliness is not identical with solitude; many married people feel lonely, as do many college students and high school seniors; etc.

According to Chinese tradition, there are two kinds of people who experience the most tormenting loneliness: the parent who has lost a child and the old widower. The Buddha said, “There is no greater sadness than separation.”

The parents who have lost a child are afflicted with one of the greatest and deepest losses possible to humans. The wound is usually incurable, refusing to be healed. The parents grow old in the missing. Many a father has thought he buried his hopes and dreams when he lost his child. A father said: “Being his father was the thing I was best at, and I find it paralyzingly hard to go on without it.” What he remembered most about the grieving with his wife was the tears. Even much later after the death of their child, every morning he and his wife would awaken and look at each other, and cry for their dead child.

I remember a father trying to tell me about the death of his only child, a college-age daughter. His face took on the kind of desperate and frozen quality men’s faces take on when they don’t want to cry. It’s a tactile fierceness, heart breaking to behold.

I’ve heard mothers speak of how they can’t rest not knowing exactly where their departed child is. One mother told how in her dreams she goes to find the child, often crying out, “Where have you gone beloved? Where are you my little son? Are you afraid, wherever you are? Are you crying? Please God, love him for me, Please God.”

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief…
So gentle and so beautiful should perish with the flowers.
(William Cullen Bryant, “The Death of the Flowers”)

At some point in a long happy marriage something like fusion takes place, and when a wife dies, not only does the person die but a world dies with her. When my wife died my world collapsed like a circus tent unstrung from its moorings. I lost a sense of self; I lost my confidence; my tolerance for stress was greatly reduced. The flame went out; the shoulders folded dejectedly; My memory irrepressible returns to her passing. I could see death in her face. It was as if she were going away from me, and I couldn’t hold her back. She looked at me as if she was bidding me good-bye, then some force drew her over the sill and closed the door, so to speak. Then I heard the nurse’s voice say, “She’s gone.” After that, a growing loneliness enveloped me. Even after so many years, it is always awful coming back to the empty house and being overwhelmed with the recognition that she was gone forever. There’s the dreadful stillness in the house.

There are times when I catch myself looking for her—even expecting to see her. Sometimes I expect to hear her footsteps or voice. Sometimes it feels as if she went on a journey without me, and I feel like calling out: “Where are you? Come back! We have things to do.”

I have memories of certain occasions. for example, feeling her shoulder pressed against mine as we listened to music or watched TV; her helping me get my arms into the sleeves of my coat; rainy day trips home where I found supper waiting, found love waiting. I remember the times together writing a list for the store. Now one of my most difficult times is pushing a cart through grocery aisles, trying to look purposeful.

There are all those mornings of rising alone. It was an effort just to get up and get from one place to another. Long nights and lonely dawns.

Barren of her companionship, there was nothing I wanted to do, nowhere to go. I came to hate having to show up everywhere alone. I measure everything into before and after. I count the years we should have had together. There are the walks never taken.

Grief feels so like fear. The bereft widower is often alone and afraid. It’s not something that ever goes away. It constantly keeps you company. It is something you learn to live with. You work around it. You often use TV to shelter against the inexpressible loneliness. I envy men who could watch their wives grow old with them.

But O for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still.
(Tennyson, “In Memoriam of M.H.H”)

We say how Jesus understands all our sufferings because of all the suffering he went through. But as someone said, Jesus never lost a child or a wife.

Parents who have lost a child and aging widowers experience the most acute and crippling loneliness. There’s the grief we can’t resolve. It turns even happy times wistful. In certain ways, the wound widens and deepens with the years. Some words from Jeremiah would apply.

Jer.14:19,22: “Why have you struck us a blow that cannot be healed? O Lord our God, we set our hope on you, for it is you who do all this.”

Parents of a deceased child and bereft widowers expect a reunion with loved ones in the life to come. A mother who lost her son at Newtown said that when she dies the first voice she expects to hear will be God’s saying, “Well done thou good and faithful servant,” and the second voice will say “Hi Mom.” I expect to hear my wife’s voice say, “What took you so long?” She was mine and shall ever be.

How long it is since she with whom I lay O Lord, has left for thine my widowed bed.
Yet still our spirits mingle, as our clay, and still half living yet, and I half dead.
(Victor Hugo)

While I’m lying in bed in the morning, halfway between sleeping and waking, I say, “Good morning, Jesus,” which is how St. Teresa of Calcutta began her day. I believe it’s best to learn from the best.

From then, it’s all downhill because I start to think about what the day ahead has in store for me, and my response can vary from anxiety to anticipation and outright terror. You never know what a new day will bring. I suppose I have to work on trusting Jesus more and take a page out of St. Faustina Kowalska’s book and pray, “Jesus, I trust in you.”

Somewhat compulsively, I start mentally cataloging what I have to do—the dentist needs to replace a worn crown, I have to grade 52 tests, the dog needs to go to the vet for surgery. (My wife says I’m more afraid than the dog, and she’s right.)

During those early moments, when I’m previewing the upcoming events, which have the potential to turn into full-blown crises, I turn to Jesus dozens of times for backup. “Jesus, help me because I have to get those papers corrected. Jesus, help me, may Bella be all right.

Jesus, help me finish this project on time. Jesus, are you listening?!?” Of course, he’s always listening, but I ask just to remind myself, not him.

This pattern continues throughout the day. “Jesus, may that check arrive. Jesus, may this meeting go well. Jesus…” The good thing is that I know he doesn’t get tired of listening to me, the way some other family members do.

However, when I think about this nonstop petitioning and pleading, which I call “prayer,” I’m a bit embarrassed because it seems like I’m turning Jesus into my personal assistant. Do this, do that, don’t forget this, I really need you to do that.

I’m also embarrassed because I seem to be always asking for something. How selfish, how narcissistic. It reminds me of when my daughters were kids and repeatedly came to me with requests…which they still do as adults. “Dad, can you pick up my car at the garage? Dad, run out and get a pizza. Dad…” You get the idea.

But back to Jesus.

First of all, he’s infinitely older and infinitely wiser than we are, so I think he’s pleased when we ask him for help, especially when we pray for someone else’s needs. Plus, he’s not thin-skinned, which means to say he understands human nature and our seemingly insignificant needs.

At the same time, I’m absolutely convinced he appreciates an occasional thank you for everything he does, so lately I’ve been trying to sprinkle gratitude in my daily prayers.

“Thank you, Lord, for another day.” “Thank you for my family, most of the time.” “Thank you for my friends because I realize you gave each of them to me for a specific reason.”

I help them, they help me, and together we grow spiritually as we move toward salvation… even that annoying friend, who is helping me learn to be patient and tolerant.

In addition to my prayers of petition and thanksgiving, there’s another prayer I say, which goes something like this: “Jesus, how’s your day going? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Believe me, you don’t have to ask twice. He’ll answer that prayer almost immediately.

I’m beginning to think that’s the most important prayer of all. Whenever I read news stories about global atrocities, disdain for God, violence in the cause of righteousness, and the pandemic of hatred, I think that Jesus must still weep over this sad and sorry world. He must be as discouraged in his humanity as when he walked the Earth. So, I pray, “Jesus let me help. Show me how.”

To me, this is a way of turning my will and life over to God, which is the greatest gift we can give him. When we do that, he can use us in ways we least expect.

We don’t even have to search for opportunities because he’ll bring them to us…the same way he brought that person to me who had a kind word after I pleaded, “Jesus, help me.”

That person was the answer to my prayer, and you can be the answer to another person’s prayer.

The past few summers, I’ve found myself gearing up for a move. Such is the life of a twenty-something, when many of us are still trying to figure out where we want to be and what we want to do.

At one point in my life, I would have found this daunting, but I’ve learned to embrace the change and get excited for new opportunities. Moving isn’t the most joyful of activities in and of itself, but as I become increasingly able to envisage a future I desire for myself, it’s easier to get excited about change and the opportunity for growth it presents.

As I begin to plan what I want my new space to look like, to feel like and to consist of, I realize that my excitement mirrors that of the coming days of summer itself. With its beautiful weather and increased down-time for relaxation, summer always presents a chance to take a deep breath, regroup and renew.

This summer in particular seems to be one of great promise for many. After a year of stagnancy, it is exciting to hear talk of vacation plans, party plans and even, dare I say, travel plans. As the sun shines through, we begin to shake off the year we’ve just had and welcome the gentle breeze of the coming months.

There is an underlying layer of joy to everything we do these days. As we slowly begin to gather together once again, each moment is a prayer of gratitude. This natural movement of life seems that way again… natural. And we realize how resilient we are as humans, how we can adapt and change, how we learn what we need to and move forward. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble (Mark 6:34).

We emerge, faces toward the sun. Things are new and different. It may take some longer than others…but we can walk with them on their way, giving them the time and space they need, while encouraging them also to grow and adapt.

Parishes and schools around the diocese have begun planting gardens and beautifying their outdoor spaces. St. Anthony of Padua in Fairfield started constructing and planting a vegetable garden with plans to donate the produce to the Thomas Merton Center in Bridgeport. Students at the Catholic Academy of Stamford measured, seeded and watered a garden full of future zinnias and marigolds that should bloom in time for school’s return. Doors are open and parishioners are returning to in-person Mass. All around the diocese, life is springing forth.

We have all experienced a world of change in recent months, but my prayer is that we embrace these coming summer days with renewed vigor and hope—of new opportunities…of new beginnings.

God is giving us a glimpse of our future here at Hennessey House. It’s the future we’ll be facing in two years (*gulp*) when some of the ganglier people around here start folding their laptops and heading to college.

Our Clara, 16, is breaking free of the lockdown and spending a few weeks out west at Wyoming Catholic College. This small, classical liberal arts school is less than two decades old—still in its gangly phase. It offers what it calls an “education of immersion” in the Western tradition, “the beauty and challenges of the wilderness,” and “the treasures of our Catholic spiritual heritage.”

All that stuff is okay by me. WCC happens to be famous for its horsemanship program. Clara and 50 other high schoolers from all around the country are riding the trails, reading Thucydides, and not calling home.

To me, the enforced de-plugging was a big selling point. The program collects all the kids’ phones on the evening they arrive, locking them up and burying the key under a cow pat. I’m sure the first days of withdrawal were difficult. Hopefully the horses weren’t too spooked by their sweaty, fidgety, gangly riders.

Paying someone to confiscate your teenager’s cell is the next big “pre-college experience.” Take my word.

The downside of the undigital fortnight is that Clara won’t come home with a phone full of pictures of the mountains she’s hiking or the stars she’s sleeping under. The upside is she will actually spend some time looking at those mountains and stars and not at the mesmeric, internet-enabled ball-and-chain.

I do hope she’s enjoying herself. My guess is she’s learning a lot. About herself, about the Peloponnesian War, about staying up later than you should, and about the vast scope and exciting diversity of this country. Perhaps she’ll get lucky and see a bison or a grizzly bear. From a distance, I mean.

So how are we, the left behind, getting on in her absence? Depends who you ask.

“I do miss Clara,” says Billy, who turns 4 soon. “Can I have a mango squeezer and some Honey Nut Cheerios in a cup?” He isn’t the sentimental type. I ask Sally, who is 7, if she’s noticed anything different lately.

“Not really. Will you come outside and spray me with the garden hose?”

I’m not surprised the second-division siblings are less than broken up. The fact is, we are all sweltering to death in an early summer heatwave and diligently avoiding exposure to the virus Billy calls “the big bad worm.” We are dealing here with the beauty and challenges of our own little wilderness.

Still, Mrs. H. and I can’t help but frown at the empty bottom bunk in the girls’ room. We’ve set our iPhone weather apps to Lander, Wyoming, and we check the WCC Instagram for updates constantly. It feels like we’re missing a body part.

Lord, make us ready to see our children fly off and become well-functioning, independent adults with good jobs, families, cell phones they can pay for on their own, and even horses if they want them. Just not yet.

When I was a boy, I watched my two older sisters head off to college. Each time one left, my status in the house improved. I got my own room, and more space on the couch. Their departures created holes in the house, but I wasted no time filling them right up.

When it was my turn to go, my mother offered her big, gruff boy an emotional warning: “Moms are allowed to cry when they drop their sons off at college.” She should have saved her tears. I was back living at home three months later.

Not so big, not so gruff, turns out. Pretty gangly though.

Interesting thing about being a kid: You never really think about your parents when they’re not around. Interesting thing about being a parent: You never really stop thinking about your kids no matter where they are. Parenthood is an education of immersion.

“It’s a little like how God’s always waiting around for us to come back,” observes Mrs. H. “Your parents never give up on you even when you forget about them for a little while.” Ain’t that the truth.