Team Skerjanec Top Ten

From time to time something is said or done that brings a chuckle in our household, so I've decided to start keeping track of them, and hope you enjoy them as well.

Cana Twist
A few weeks back our new, young parochial vicar gave a homily on the gospel reading about the wedding feast at Cana. He discussed Jesus' answer to Mary's request to produce more wine. Jesus' response was, "Woman, it is not yet my time." Fr. Dave used an example for the young of the parish of what NOT to do. He said if your parents ask you to do something, this is not a good response. The boys were all serving, so just my wife and I were in the pew with Grandma and Grandpa. We both leaned toward each other and took bets which lad would use it first on their mother.

That morning at breakfast, Grandma asked boy number-two why he never folds his hands with his palms together and fingers pointing toward heaven when he serves Mass. She said, "Show me how it would look if you did."

His response? You guessed it, "Woman, it is not yet my time."


Is it Bigger than a Bread Box?
So we're traveling miserably slow on a trip down the interstate (as described in another blog entry), and we begin to play "Twenty Questions." Finally, boy number-three gets the giggles. He says with enthusiasm, "Okay, I've got one. It's a thing."

One question we always seem to ask when playing this game: "Is it bigger/smaller than a bread box?" When the question came up, he responded that it could be.

Twenty questions later we gave up.

An almost inaudible response behind more laughter, "It's a bread box!"

The Joy of the Journey

My family and I decided to take a quick day-trip to my sister's to spend time with the auntie and catch up on some shopping. The two-hour trek in our eight-year-old van was a bit sketchy since we have had some mechanical issues, but our mechanic assured me it would make the trip.

Unfortunately, once we arrived, we realized the automatic transmission would not shift, so the rpms exceeded the comfort zone. The bigger question was getting home that evening - no shop would be open on a Sunday, let alone a long holiday weekend. Long story short, we decided to put our trust in God, said a prayer to Him through the intercession of St. Christopher and St. Raphael, and headed down the interstate with our flashers on. (Nothing more frustrating than driving 78 miles-per-hour at night and coming upon a vehicle driving dangerously slow.)

Normally, a trip like this entails our four boys (mostly teenagers) listening to their iPods, reading a book, or, of course, sleeping. My wife and I will visit for awhile, and then she eventually dozes off with one hear open - in case I get sleepy.

A trip such as this, as it is for many people, is an opportunity to shut down. We as a culture have formed a habit of being in such a hurry that the destination is the focus, and the quickest possible way without distraction is the norm. We have forgotten how to enjoy the journey. I am reminded of the animated film Cars in which the joy of the trip is triumphant over the speed in which to reach a destination.

At any rate, the idea of this particular trip was met with opposition and an occasional whine (I am reminded of the phrase, "Are we there yet," though this time spoken in Teenese.) After miles and excessive minutes passed, they grew tired of the iPod, the eyes became fatigued with reading, and the naps no longer endured. Normally boredom evolves. But this time it was different. Dare I say...a miracle occurred.

It started with my oldest saying, "I'm thinking of a place. You have twenty questions." First it was just my wife asking the questions. I chimed in some (not my favorite game), then boy number-two, then boy number-four. Number-three held out the longest with a nap but eventually joined in.

The next hour-and-a-half seemed to fly by as we put everything aside and played "family." The climax of the trip came with our version of karaoke. My wife has a beautiful singing voice and her enthusiasm for music had been genetically transferred. The van was filled with the music of family as they joined Straight No Chaser, Harry, and Aida. (The boys are going to kill me for sharing that one.)

I just smiled, listened, and thanked God that sometimes we get it right.

The Archbishop the Apostle

My priest, our business manager, and I with two members of our parish trekked to Denver, for we were afforded the opportunity to present the state of our school to the powers that be at the archdiocese--including to the Archbishop. Before the meeting as we were making introductions, I knelt down to shake the hand of Archbishop Chaput. 

I met him before a couple of times, but neither time did I kneel. Perhaps I didn't feel comfortable. Perhaps I didn't have the courage. Perhaps, this time, the Holy Spirit granted me the necessary fortitude and humility. How many times has the Lord told us to be not afraid. This time I am glad I wasn't--I experienced a revelation...an epiphany. As I looked up into his strong, compassionate eyes, I truly saw an apostle of Jesus. For the first time, I saw myself as his humble soldier of Christ.

For the rest of the day I was profoundly touched with this illumination. The experience was no different than had I met St. John or St. Matthew. The fact that I am reading his book, Render Unto Caesar, may have something to do with it as well or that my oldest is discerning the priesthood. (He met him a few times this past winter and a few years back in Australia during World Youth Day.) Whatever the case, I truly realize he is a successor to the apostles, and I am deeply humbled. At once the meaning of my responsibility as his Catholic school principal came to fruition. I am his simple disciple.

Twain's Jewel of Arc

I just finished Twain's biography of St. Joan of Arc. While I, like the rest of the world, knew her fate, I found myself with tears in my eyes at the conclusion of the story. Twain proved himself, again, as America's storyteller.

A beautiful young person called by God to reform His Church in France, St. Joan of Arc was not only burned at the stake by the Burgundians of France, she was left to fend for herself by the very country she was called to defend--especially by King Charles VII. And he did not choose to defend her until, 25 years later, when they said he was not legitimately the king since his royalty was founded on a young woman found to be a child of Satan. Thank God she was redeemed through the papal investigation..albeit only because of a king's greed.

On another note, she is left a martyr of the Church, and one whose character we can all aspire to. She was truly a Soldier of Christ, and I can only hope to strive for such a distinction; although, I doubt I shall ever succeed in achieving it. Her only passion was to serve God and his mission. What she received was the backhand of an overzealous bishop aspiring for an archbishopric promised him by the English should he find her guilty. In the end, his soul we can only pray for. And to her, a devotion and admiration for the ages to come. May I succeed in MY mission...whatever that may be. I pray God will some day make that clear.

Artistically, Twain maintained his humor in this historical fiction; though, in minute forms through St. Joan of Arc's personal entourage. I understand he wrote this in his later years, and with his daughter's untimely death in the shadows, published thereafter in novel form. However, I found myself touched by his compassion for St. Joan of Arc's passion and for her faith. I admire his respect for the Catholic faith, yet he points out very well the evils of men...no matter their faith.

Thus, I am left with a void. The time invested in reading a book leaves one with a sense of accomplishment yet a yearning for the story to continue. I have a newfound respect for Mark Twain, I have a newfound devotion for this great young saint, and I have yet another reason to say the rosary, receive the sacraments, and get down on my knees and thank God for his greatest Gift.

Every Tongue Confess

Normally, when I go to Adoration, I sign up for the early morning hours when no one else is there like at 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. I like that it is just God and I. I say a few prayers, and then I say the Rosary and ask the Blessed Mother to pray for me that I may grow closer to her Son. And then, gulp, I sing - loud and off-key. Usually I first sing "Holy Mary, Gentle Woman." Again, to gain her assistance to grow closer, and because it reminds me of mom. Then I sing "How Great Thou Art." I am always humbled to tears when I think the Lord did not even spare his Son for us. That is how much He loves us. Usually at this point I pray some more, and then I wrap up the hour by reading the Bible.

This morning was different. For whatever reason, I chose to sing another hymn: "At the Name of Jesus." (At the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow...)

When I turned to read the Bible, I asked the Lord to show me what He needed to tell me. I asked the Holy Spirit to stir in me His gifts: knowledge, wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, piety, fear of the Lord.  I then opened the Bible and found myself at Philippians - right at the beginning, so I read the introductory material. I did not know it is known as the "letter of joy." At any rate, I was drawn to a description that Paul had written a hymn, so that is where I decided to read - Philippians 2:5-11

"Who, though, he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God

 something to be grasped.

Rather, he emptied himself,

taking the form of a slave,

coming in human likeness,

and found human in appearance,

he humbled himself,

becoming obedient to death,

even death on a cross.

Because of this, God greatly exalted him

and bestowed on him the name

that is above every name,

that at the name of Jesus

every knee should bend,

of those in heaven and on earth and 

under the earth,

and every tongue confess that

Jesus Christ is Lord,

to the glory of God the Father."

...the very words of the song, "At the Name of Jesus," that I sang earlier.