Occasionally there are times in my ministries that the demon of disappointment overcomes me.  It is during those times that I begin to think that I must be doing something wrong because there is very little to show in people’s responses to my efforts.  In pastoral ministry, there doesn’t seem to be enough of a response from the parishioners when there are special events such as formation opportunities, lectures and retreats.  In my service to our local diaconal community, I can be disappointed by the sparse response or even worse, no response at all from my brothers and sisters.  It leads me to the diseased thought that I do not have to put all this effort and energy into these ministries, maybe it would be easier if I just quit and move on to something else.  After all, who would miss it?

Upon more self reflection, God would miss it.  Perhaps the problem does rest in me but not in the manner I thought.  For if I want to have a better response from the parishioners, maybe I had better respond more to what they are doing in the parish.  If I want to see a better response from my community, maybe I need to attend to the community functions that are occurring within that group.  Maybe Mohammed needs to go to the mountain. 

The willingness to participate within a community is a grace from God.  It can immerse us into the life experience of the group and allow God to speak to us in many varied ways.  As a servant leader there is a tendency in me to be the leader, to pick up the reins and guide the people, but I am learning that I must put down the reins and sit in the back of the wagon and enjoy the ride.  It is hard for a minister to be ministered to. 

To battle the demon of disappointment needs a heart that is strong and enduring.  To be consistent, to be open to opportunity, to be there is the armor that shields us from that demon.  After all, God does not expect success but expects faithfulness, to paraphrase Mother Teresa.  I can only pray for an enduring faith. 

I have always been attracted to Franciscan spirituality.  The Franciscans have always enticed me with their incarnation and creation spirituality because it was simple and not full of “heady” theological mind games.  I was so attracted that I became a Secular Franciscan (along with Mary) so I could keep in touch with the spirituality.

Francis was called a deacon, but there is no obvious evidence that he entered this level of the clergy with ordination.  He was given a tonsure (a sign of the church’s authorization to preach) but no formal submission to ordination.  The bishops and popes wanted Francis to become a priest but he refused.  He thought that ordination would place him above other people.  He viewed ordination as a separation from his people and he would not be able to call others his brothers and sisters anymore.  He wanted to remain a part of the minore, the little people, because that was where Jesus would have stayed.  He dressed as the poor dressed, in woolen rags and a rope belt (not leather as this would indicate he carried money) which became the traditional Franciscan garb of today.

There is some debate among the diaconal community on whether we should be permitted to wear the Roman collar.  Although this may be appropriate in some institutions such as hospitals and prisons, I feel that we should also dress as our brothers and sisters that we serve in our lives.  I admire those deacons who have hard physical jobs.  There is nothing like meeting one of my brothers on the job, work shirts soiled with grease and sweat, blue jean pants worn at the knees and pockets, boots caked with mud, and hands that have just finished cleaning out a mower deck. That is the reality of the diaconate, that is what our people relate to.  Francis would be proud. 

But the Franciscan way of life is also a life of disciples, not apostles.  In a lecture at Villanova University, Fr. William Short, OFM, a Franciscan teacher noted that Franciscans do not adhere much to the church of the apostles, the church that came after Pentecost where everyone shared in a common fund, etc.  But Franciscans live in a church before the Church, one of the life of Jesus when he was with his disciples.  This was a way of life in poverty and relying on others for their livelihood.  It was a life of living with sinners and begging for their needs.

How can I live this life of a disciple, a life of discipline?  Maybe I have to get back to being a minore, a little poor one.  Maybe I have to lower my expectations, to cherish what I have, to open my eyes and ears to the reality of creation and most especially to be thankful, to be truly Eucharistic.  Maybe, I have to let go of those things that are so great and live life in simplicity, not looking to be great but just looking to be.  Francis, I think, would like that of a deacon.  And may the Lord give us Peace.

Today is the celebration of the martyrdom of Saints Cornelius and Cyprian, very early martyrs of the Church (250 AD).  As I completed the morning office, I questioned my own martyrdom.  To what am I giving my own life?  What cause or crusade have I joined that places me in a position to where I can give up my life for Christ?  I look at my life now and say, “I haven’t given anything to the cause.”  But the voice of the One who speaks to me simply said, “The martyrdom of work.” 

Saints Cornelius and Cyprian were faithful not only to the life of Christ but also to the life in the Church.  That Church required a consistent, on-going and especially a loyal devotion to its continued existence.  It more than likely demanded that they “showed up” every day.  It required them to do the liturgy, the work, of the people of God.  It drew from them their very life blood in ways that were essentially the everyday faithfulness to their tasks.  I would like to think that if they preached a good homily that this act contributed to their martyrdom, but I would also like to think that when they swept the floors of the gathering space after the liturgy, that that too also contributed heavily to their martyrdom. 

In our American society today we rarely hear about people giving up their lives for the faith, because we live in a safe and protected society.  Would we be as secure if we lived in Somalia, Iraq or China and continued to practice a Christian faith?  Would we be able to be physically martyred in the name of Jesus?  I feel that would be a tremendous struggle for me.

But God asks us not to do the spectacular things, but asks us to be faithful.  Each morning that I arise from bed I say to myself, “Boy, it would be good to sleep in today and not have to go and face my obligations” and I get ready to go to the office and serve my patients anyway, I now believe that that is an act of martyrdom.  I have turned away from my false self and remained faithful to the doctrine of service to others.  Does that act place me in danger of being killed for my faithfulness?  I would like to think so because no one takes my life away from me, I give it up freely. 

The everyday acts of martyrdom such as facing the lifeless computer screens for eight hours a day, watching a lathe turn out a tool part hour after hour, drive the monotonous interstate highways in a semi truck for days, or scrub out sinks in toilets in motel rooms for a full work shift are acts of martyrdom.  It takes away our lifeblood one drop at a time day after day after day.  But in reality, we give that blood away because we know that we can remain faithful. 

One day I would like to hear, “Well done good and faithful servant.”  Amen.

There are whispers in the media (take them as they are) that we may be seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in regards to the economic recession.  The economy of Japan has now moved into a positive trend (however they measure these things) and there are hushed voices talking about a recovery.  Since this recession was one of the most severe in our generation (the tail end of the baby boomers) I have been mulling over the question that has come into my mind namely, what have we learned from this?

My parent’s generation witnessed and lived through the Great Depression where markets failed, industry closed, environmental disaster occurred (the dust bowl) and families were driven apart and separated.  My mom and dad lived through this disaster, but it was not easy.  My dad’s family grew up on a farm where they were essentially self-sufficient, providing for the family through the earth and the animals that they were stewards of.  My mother lived in a small village where the family struggled to put food on the table.  They walked the mainline of the Pennsylvania Railroad to pick up the coal that tumbled from the hoppers as they bumped along the track, just to warm the home.  They knew how to eat any food that was presentable, moldy bread, rotted fruit, soured milk and lard sandwiches.  They both learned lessons that were to be valuable in their later lives namely, to be self-sufficient and to offer themselves to others.  My dad was able to tear down and put together any mechanical contraption that broke down on the farm.  He was able to make a set of electrical contact points for our water pump out of a nickel sawn in half (which lasted longer than the original parts).  My mother knew how to can vegetables that grew in the garden and there were many winter days when I was warmed with fresh fruit and vegetables from those beloved Ball jars (the wild strawberry jam was exquisite).  Our home was open to all in the family.  I considered it normal to have my uncle live in our house, to put up other aunts and uncles and cousins in our home until they could get on their feet.  There were always people around to whom I was directly related.  They were changed by surviving the crisis.

Am I?  I fear that I may backslide away from the life lessons that we have experienced in this economy.  Will I go back to driving hither and yon just to get some Chinese food?  Will I fall back into spending my hard earned dollars on silly things for my computer that tend to drive me crazy?  Will I be able to remain in a state of life without the full package on my satellite TV?  I fear that I can’t. 

What I need to learn from this is to come back to what will always remain, what I will never ever lose, to what is always dependable and will never break down, that is always fresh and gives me life.  It is my relationship to God.  God will never need to re-boot.  God will never need to be filled up just to keep going.  God will always be on.  God will always be open 24/7.  God is always there and here.  God is always at home.  God will never need a monthly payment for us to remain in His house.  Maybe, only maybe, I can learn to be self-sufficient and be able to give myself away.  If my mom and dad could do it, by God’s grace, I may be able to, too.