Who’s the Vine & Who’s the Branch?

Posted on April 29, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

“Remain in me” is the gospel imperative calling us to an intimacy in Christ that must be the foundation of our identity. St. John tells us that we remain in him when we fulfill the commandment to love by living in his Spirit.

What does it mean to “remain in Christ?”

First of all, we have to ask ourselves which Jesus is the “Christ” in which we hope and pray ourselves to be and remain? The gospels portray various facets of Jesus as “the Christ.” These same gospels also portray Jesus as, well, Jesus. The meaning of remaining “in Christ” takes shape in the scriptures for not only Jesus but also includes you and me.

Take John’s gospel, for example. The first sign of Jesus witnessing to the presence of God’s love at work in him is at a party—the wedding feast at Cana. There’s the Jesus who refuses his mother request saying that it’s not time to be “Christ.” However, collaborating with his mother, Jesus brings people together for a good time, foreshadowing the reign of God’s love.

A life that resonates with this Christ today is a hospitable presence in a world desperate for communion. Jesus also uses his “Christ-ness” in serving the best wine last. A total “no-no” when you’re paying the wedding bill or is it Christ-like?

There is also the Jesus who performs his song and dance to the gathered listeners but then he escapes to a lonely mountain. His “Christ-ness” hears those gathering listeners following him who want and need to hear even more about faith and fidelity to God. He slowly becomes Christ, as we do, and then joining them enjoying fish and chips at the sea or in making a couple of fish become baskets full leftovers for all the folks to take home with them. No refrigerators, so quickly please pass and share the Good News about the food of life to your neighbors and friends.

That’s his beautiful, powerful vine story about himself and us. There’s that ever growing and expanding vine bearing fruit for all to pay attention to and enjoy. Whether it’s salty fish, cheap wine or good wine, a shared piece of bread, telling and sharing a story or two, or touching his tortured side, as Sly and the Family Stone sang, “It’s a Family Affair.”

Fast forward to the account of the woman caught in adultery. In this story of misery meeting mercy, a woman is about to be stoned. Rather than expressing scorn or condemnation, Jesus, or now the Christ, offers only words of love and mercy. In our human judgmental world we keep our stones close at hand. Sin sticks. But to remain “in Christ” is to be a nonjudgmental presence with no dividing stones at hand to cast but open hands calming us to heed that other Divine voice, the Holy Spirit.

The garden of Gethsemane is the best duality example of our Jesus/Christ story. First, it’s the earnest plea of “Father, let this cup pass (Jesus) followed by his saying “Your will be done.” (Christ-stuff)

When are we the searching and stumbling “Jesus” and when are we a “Christ-like” one?

Throwing stones is so maliciously easy…mercy is the Divine living within in us to come down from the mountains of ourselves and become the “Christ-like” to both ourselves and especially to others.

This may surprise you but Christ is not his last name. It is who he struggled with, argued about, bowed downed to and slowly became. Christ is not a last name, it is a title, an earned title. Can we hope and say the same about our searching and stumbling lives?

If we are not pruned of ourselves to reap the vine of a Christ-like love then we are very much withering away, alone.

“There is [but, only] one vine and we [We?] are the branches.”

Adapted from Fr. Richard M. Gula

Richard M. Gula, PSS, taught in seminaries and ministry formation programs for many years and then served as director of personnel for the U.S. Province of the Sulpicians. He is now retired.

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Returning God’s Love for Us

Posted on April 21, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

A great tragedy of our world is that men and women do not know, really know, that God loves them. Some believe it in a shadowy sort of way, but their belief in God’s love for them can be very remote and abstract.

Because of this, we do not know how to…we do not know how to…love God back. Often we don’t even try, because it all seems so very difficult or we can think we’re doing our faithful best by repeating repetitive words and rituals but we need to realize that the Christian faith, in its essence, is a love affair between God and each human being. Not just a simple love affair: it is a passionate love affair.

God so loved each of us that he created us in his image? Have you heard that one before? God so loved each of us that he became human himself, died on a cross, was raised from the dead by the Father, ascended into heaven—and all this in order to bring each of us back to himself, to that heaven which we had lost through our own fault? Sound kinda familiar?

Yes, of course us Christians have dogmas, rules and regulations but they all concern love, which is the essence. Dogmas and tenets without love are dead letters, not even worth spelling out. God is love. And where love is, God is.

It is time we awoke from our long sleep, we Christians. It is time we shed our fears of and about God.

Our relationship toward and about God tends to move in cycles. For how long we’ve heard of the necessity of a “personal relationship” with God as though that’s the end all. Heard countless times, “Is Jesus the Lord and Savior of your Life?” as though it’s a “yes/no quiz” question on life’s final test. Or, the best, or worse, is taking out of context and isolating one sentence out of John’s Gospel and making it the gospel: if you don’t accept Jesus as your Savior then you’re going to Hell. Period.

That’s not Catholic theology. That’s Protestant. There is of course a singular bond between the Creator and the created. But the very much stronger bond is called the Body of Christ. Kinda sounds familiar, I hope? The Body of Christ.

The Body of Christ that gathers and brings us to this ritual, the Body of Christ that we eat and the Body of Christ that we become, share and act upon in our behaviors and commitments to each other. And to our treatment of the earth and dealings with other nations.

Now that’s a passionate love worth embracing and living. The peace and joy we all seek? That love brings us and fills us up with an authentic, true and lasting peace. A Divine peace. This “Body of Christ love” immerses us in a joy far more fulfilling than that silly one sided God and Me one. Those private questions and answers that we all have and hold up are handled and erased by the amount of love that we love about ourselves and the love, care and support we extend to others.

Because as we say in Church, “Thanks be to God.”

Adapted from Catherine de Hueck Doherty, “Grace in Every Season”

Catherine de Hueck Doherty (1896–1985), a laywoman of Russian heritage, was foundress of the Madonna House Apostolate in Combermere, Canada. Details at madonnahouse.org.

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Worthy!? Come on!

Posted on April 7, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

“Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof…”

Unworthy? Ummm…

Abraham was not only too old to have a kid but he enjoyed the company of a mistress and it wasn’t just for tea and crumpets. (Birth of the Muslim religion.) Abraham’s wife boldly laughed at God and got away with it. (Only person in the Bible achieving that feat).

It’s an endless list of struggling Biblical believers that looks a lot like a bunch of comedic characters in a TV show that we laugh about and move on to the next comedy. Yet, this is real. This is our faith and hearing about the faith of those who’ve gone before us.

Noah was a drunk. And, just telling me that Mary didn’t say her “Yes” with hints of both wonder and anxiousness? Miriam was a gossip. Jacob was a deceiver stealing his older brother’s birthright. Lazarus died and then needed to die again. John the Baptist loses his head over a silly pledge. The great King David had his best friend killed so he could marry his wife. What’s your excuse for your unworthiness?

These are our forebears before, during, and after Jesus. This is where we enter this comedic, serious drama of life. Before receiving the Body of Christ we admit we are not worthy…who is!? It is exactly our unworthiness that prompts us to prayer and to gather here.

For his done deed, Judas needs no introduction to belong to this motley group. He needed some extra cash. Moses stuttered and forty years later was refused entry into the promised land. What’s your major excuse for your unworthiness?

We come to this sacrament as the broken people that we are to be united, once and every time after. Joining our lives with the foibles and follies of centuries-old people. What a wonderful and complex company we keep.

And is the question, in spite of who we are, or is the question because of who we are?

Eve selfishly thought that an “apple a day kept God away.” The Brothers of Joseph sold him only to be saved by him, years later, when they were hungry. Thomas gets the dubious adjective “Doubting” added before his name until reality faces him in the face. Matthew kept his tax license, just in case. Brothers James and John? They both butted heads about who’s the better person. Predicted for after they’re dead! What’s your minor excuse for your unworthiness?

To paraphrase a philosopher, “What is it that you desire, you who aim at perfection? Your wishes need to have no measure. However much you may desire, I can show you how to attain it, even in and within its infinity…it is the present, [this very moment, this very passing minute] is ever filled with infinite treasure, it contains more than you will ever, ever have the capacity to hold and behold.

Before receiving Communion, let’s form that statement not as a statement but as a question. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof? Come on, Lord. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Be glad you are not worthy or else there is absolutely no other reason for us to be here. Just recall and remember the crazy company we keep.

Oh, and our first pope? He denied he knew the Son of God…let’s see, was it once or three times?

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Easter! One Day!?

Posted on April 4, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

It had been a startling week since Easter Sunday. These disciples had had their worlds, as we would say today, truly rocked and rolled. What to do when everything around you is shaken, no longer the same? Nothing makes sense anymore. We start thinking that it’s now forever and Jesus; Jesus shows us it’s only for a time.

What do you do whether savoring Easter’s joys or falling heap deep into the throes of personal sadness, family upsets, worrisome medical news?

Well, what do you do? Well, you do something you know how to do . . . Like, those now wondering and now wandering disciples, you … you go fishing. But there was little reward out on those waters. Until something happened.

Was it a replay of Jesus calling Peter years before when he’d had a bad night out on the sea when Peter thought he was Jesus and couldn’t walk on water?

Jesus, a carpenter who supposedly knew nothing about fishing, amazingly fills their empty, hungry nets. Now, after trauma had ripped through them through his death and resurrection Jesus uses that familiar fishing event to remind them of their initial calls.

Jesus may have chuckled to himself saying, “Remember, guys? Well, I told you many times before but I can better than repeat it to you one more time, so I’ll show you.”

And, what did he do? A post-resurrection miracle to convince and amaze them?

No. No, he made them breakfast. There’s nothing like enjoying breakfast beside the lake. They were stunned, silenced, and maybe amused themselves. Because you never, ever know what happens with Jesus around.

This relationship with Jesus motivates Peter to proclaim months later that Jesus is the cornerstone of faith, the keystone which stabilizes the entire frame of belief.

Easter, continues in our Church’s calendar, but forever resides within our minds and hearts. For there is always and everywhere a time of heightened gratitude for the dying and rising of Jesus; that we too can breakfast with him in a new or renewed awareness. (Breakfast as a verb; only Jesus!)

So, pause around the fire of that realization on the lake and soak in his comfort for whatever sadly Good Friday or joyous Easter you may experience at anytime. His Presence. It is a time, an encounter, for wonder, peace and trust in the connection with the One who anchors our boats and feeds us with himself.

Because isn’t breakfast the most important meal of the day? I mean, all of our spiritual days?

John:21

When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come, have breakfast.” And none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they realized it was the Lord. Jesus came over and took the bread and gave it to them, and in like manner the fish. This was now the third time Jesus was revealed to his disciples after being raised from the dead.

The Gospel of the Lord.

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The day before “Holy Week”

Posted on March 25, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

We absorb watching the movie move from one moment to many moments. We press the pause button and notice there are 34:50 seconds left.

We are intrigued and perhaps identified with some characters but are happy that the others are simply villains. We carefully watch and weigh every scene as the plot unfolds, thickens, and then seems to also slowly un-thicken as those remaining 34:50 seconds are shown.

Whether it’s popping the popcorn or needing to pee, we love our remote’s pause button. We’re able to stand and stretch after watching this long, future film recommended to us by our friends.

While popping or peeing, we have that pause to guess or figure out the end of the movie. We’re confident who the villains are and we’re winning for the winners. Smiling to ourselves we think, “It’s only a movie.”

Returning to our favorite “movie chair,” we watch those remaining minutes. Entranced now. Involved now. Included now even if our names are not listed in the closing credits.

It’s the movie of our lives. It’s the movie we Christians call the beginning of “Holy Week.”

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Easter Sunday for Older Catholics

Posted on March 23, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

Easter’s joy may be cloudily looming by so many, many of our accumulating years. Young ears heard about eternal judgment, again and again, and inculcated during those so very important and formative growing years. All about the practices (whether doing or missing them), memorizing them, honoring religious rites, and that oh so very, very important kneeling and standing at the correct times. And now, here we all are in the third chapter of our faith life’s journey.

Our faith formation time youth, in body, mind, and spirit, engendered into a rather beautiful and powerful gift of faith, was often based on that eternal, all awaiting, that unknown sometime but soon-to-come, judgment. Believing was secondary to the doing or as say, “practicing” our faith. Grace was considered a reward instead of strengthening us. Indulgences were a bonus, if practiced correctly – the right time and said correctly. Please notice that I said, “said” and not “prayed.”

It happened to be on a First Friday that I was distributing communion at a hospital. I entered her room and she sighed, “Thank goodness you’re here!” I felt flattered until she told me that she’d never missed First Friday communion in forty-one years and feared, being the hospital, that she would miss it. That’s the best example I have of our faith’s formative years growing up.

Analogously, we can safely say that we were taught the Hebrew Scripture or Old Testament method of living faith. Simply said, it was judgment and commandments. Fear can easily be inserted at any time and anywhere. “Pray, Pay and Obey” may sound funny now but it was the unspoken mantra of many Christian churches, including us Catholics.

Faith’s words of mercy, forgiveness, compassion, and generosity were spoken but intended to be “said,” (there’s that word again!).

The Christian Scripture or New Testament boldly holds up those words of mercy, forgiveness, compassion, and generosity.

The act of simply saying words to satisfy our jealous and loving God is transformed into the act of performing and bringing life to the words we say. Words no longer merely said but now believed and lived to the best of our gifts and abilities.

That’s the kind of Easter joy that’s available and celebrated for Catholics and Christians of all ages.

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Why Catholic Sermons are so Bad

Posted on March 23, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

I begin the sermon, as I begin every sermon with, “In today’s Gospel.” I then proceed to illustrate how dumb you all are by repeating the Gospel you’ve just heard, sprinkled with long words you’ve never heard of, many not even in English, to show off how smart I am and to justify my graduate education.

Then around the five-minute point, I move to offer personal examples that hopefully apply to your life. By personal, I mean that all the examples are about me; thoughts I’ve had during the week, people I’ve met, and how I affected them including a story or two about my mother and the great impact she’s had on my life. (She’s included every week.) The time is now ten minutes into the sermon.

It’s now time for the big conclusion. However, there will be three conclusions. You will hear one thinking relief that it’s almost over when I segue into conclusion two and finally the third.

We’re now at the 15:30 mark which I reach each and every week. I’ll give this same sermon two more times today regardless if there’s a children’s Mass.

On Monday morning, I’ll smile to myself at how effective I was over the weekend as I plot, I mean plan, next weekend’s sermon by using the exact, same format.

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Holy Week’s, “Light”

Posted on March 21, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.


Holy Thursday, “Passing the Light”

Please excuse my bluntness. I don’t know if it’s sad news or good news. The other Fr. Joe is shrinking. I know, it’s true. “Two inches” last year, he told me. It could be more even as I speak. I’m down 3/4 of an inch in my previous physical, so I have some catching up to do. He gave me this white vestment because it didn’t fit him anymore. Thanks, Fr. Joe.

And here we are tonight, at the table of Our Lord. I mean that literally. Here we are gathered at the table of Our Lord. He is our Passover tonight. He is here to Pass Over to us what he received from His Father. His passion, death, and resurrection are his Passover given freely. He then Passes Over to us the baton of His Body like the track runner who reaches out, hoping not to drop it when handed off to the next runner. That next person is waiting, anxious and nervous but willing to firmly grab it away from the runner who ran his course.

It cannot be extinguished no matter how often we try during our trials or by others attempting to quench it from us. The tiniest of it, it holds on dearly with the hopeful enveloping that it can become. It still burns, especially in that Ukrainian chaos or on those sleepless nights of yours and mine. Ever so slowly burning. It is still active and alive.

The “it” is light. Light, for us, in all its Christian forms. It is the light of love. It is the light that Jesus passes over to us and then requests that we pass it on to others. The light of love. Thomas Merton wrote, “The gift of love is the gift of the power and the capacity to love, and, therefore, to give love with full effect is also to receive it. So, love can only be kept by being given away, and it can only be given perfectly when it is also received.” So, thanks again, Fr. Joe; I like it a lot.

So, what does Jesus say to us tonight? “Take this all of you; I’ll loan it to you.” No. Jesus says to us tonight, “Here, borrow it from me until I return.” Nope. Jesus says to us tonight, “Hold onto it for a while.” Enough of that “it” stuff. The “it” said by Him is His body and blood. The “it” said by Him to us is passing the light of His light to become our light living through Him. What a profound invitation. Or, better yet, what a profound challenge.

Jesus did His job. That’s the Last Supper; that’s Holy Thursday. Jesus passes over for us to pass on. He says at the Ascension in different words, “Get out there and baptize everyone you meet in my name, in my father’s name, along with the gentle power of the Holy Spirit.”

We tend to jump to the resurrection. But we don’t know about that yet, just like his disciples. Tonight is purely the giving of Jesus, who, while innocent, shrinks himself by dying a criminal’s death for others to become enlightened and grow into God’s light of love. So we can “pass on” because of His “Passover.”
Once more, Thomas Merton. “The truth I must love in my brother [and sister] is God Himself, living in [others]. I must see the life of the Spirit of God breathing in [others]. And I can only discern and follow that mysterious life by the action of the same Holy Spirit living and acting in the depths of my own heart.”

At a gathering of priests of all ages, I was taken back seeing those newly ordained priests who looked like they had just graduated eighth grade. I saw the youth and eagerness in their lighted eyes.
Fr. Joe, your white vestment fitted you well for as many years as I hope to, at least, match. I like it. I hope to find an eighth-grader who can one day also wear it.

Good Friday, “The Fledgling Light”


It flickers back and forth, ever so slowly so as to not extinguish itself. The wax surrounding it allows the tiny flame to stay lit. A cold December night on my kitchen table rests my tiny but still my burning flame.

“It’s not my fault,” says Peter warming his hands in the courtyard fire just like Pilate washed his in the palace. Peter says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you; what did you say that guy’s name is?”

My apartment is still heated; I can’t rely on that tiny, little flame to flame forth a comfortable, warm winter home. Heck, I bet if I quickly stood up right now, it’d go out!

“Is he dead yet?”

“There’s dramatic climate change affecting the next generation,” says one group to the disagreeing other.

Forget what I just said about my tiny candle. I stood up, and it didn’t go out.

Matthew says, “It’s not my fault. I still have my license; tax collecting was very rewarding for me. Hell, I can return and retire in a few years!”

My kitchen candle continues its flickering, ever so slowly and softly, tirelessly trying to keep itself alive, aflame. The wax surrounding my tiny flame keeps it alive. Yet, I think that the wax that keeps it alive can also drown the love. I don’t understand what I just said but I think there’s something significance to it.

“Is he still breathing? Is it almost finally over?”

“I still say the last presidential election was rigged? End of discussion,” says one. “It doesn’t appear so,” says another.

My light’s oil appears to be going down. The flame is still seen, but I’m not sure I trust it. It seems too shaky to be trusted. What happens when the oil runs out?

“Is He dead yet? It’s been one hour. How long can he last?”

“Critical Race Theory? Wrong,” says one. “No, it’s okay, really,” says another.

Pilate said, “Thank goodness I’m not elected because it certainly is not my fault. I set Anthony Quinn free. What more do they want from me! It’s their fault, don’t blame me.”

In the 1940’s movies, Bette Davis would approach her lover with a cigarette and cooly ask, “Got a light?” Then they’d both kiss…oh wait…they didn’t kiss. They only exchanged smoke.” There is no kiss. Is that who we are on this sorriest of days hoping when Jesus no longer prods and propels us. Thankfully, we don’t need him to guide us toward our tomorrows. Each of us knows what needs to be done. Each of us, singularly, knows what needs to be done. My tiny kitchen flame just flinched as I typed that last sentence.

“It’s not my fault, says the elder. It’s that guy at that Bethesda pool who blabbed the whole thing to those big guys. And, you’ve got to be kidding; who could have fed all those men with small portions of food. Plus, I don’t like fish, and they didn’t even count the women?”
“It’s 2:15, and he’s still alive? How does that happen?

I hope my kitchen flame glows a while longer.
Judas said, “I wanted eighty, but they only gave me thirty of those silvers. Something about the present market value for someone claiming to be the ‘Son of God.’ And, after taxes and Rome’s VAT – I got $18.75 – American. It’s not my fault this guy stiffed me out of fifty. I didn’t kiss him. I smoked him. You know, I liked him, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do and then move on.”
“Which cable channels do you watch? What newspapers do you read?” Is that what defines us in 2022? Centuries-old questions with new technology.

“Is He dead yet? It’s almost 2:30?” “I gotta home and get supper ready.” “I need to pick up my kids from school.” “If I knew it would take this long, I would’ve stayed home.”

A ray of light, we’re told. An eternal beam of light we’d like to believe. His shining light we so often selfishly attempt to extinguish. His glowing, bright light that now can only be kept radiant and bright through our words and deeds.

“Whew, that was close. I thought he might have survived. Thank goodness He’s finally dead.”
Wow. My little kitchen flame is still burning away as I write this. Go figure. The timeless love of Jesus Christ and those who came before us and for all of us gathered here today and for those for whom we pass on a light – even a tiny light.

We ask ourselves on this Good Friday. What’s so ‘good’ about it? Good that we’re finally in control and in charge? Or “good” for what was sacrificed for us to become the Body of Christ? “Do we now become Jesus in our comfortable and contentious daily lives because we successfully killed the real one? Or, do wait and wonder what comes next, just like disciples? Is there even a “next.” What does “next” mean?
It’s now 3:15. Earthquakes were heard… Darkness covers the earth, and it still covers our lives. The wholeness of the sacred temple curtain is no longer what God promised nor intended.

Torn and separated is an act of religious rejection. Perpetuating division and divisiveness in all parts of our lives. Political and religious. Never in polite conversation, we’re told to talk about those two – only those two most important human topics instead of the safer two’s: Brewers or Packers. (And, we still disagree about those two so why not those previous critically important two’s?) Torn in half. “Torn in half,” Scripture recorded centuries ago. What is our present behavior recording? Can that curtain be sown together again? Or, do those two parts of one, whole curtain simply but stupidly flap away from each other with their passing winds.

Dare we ask what Leonard Cohen sings, “Show me the place, help me roll away the stone. Show me the place where the word became man. Show me the place where the suffering began.
Are we keeping that every-flickering flame alive? Or did the wax meant to keep the -Christ-love alive or was it to drown away the Christ-like flame?

Cohen again. “Magnified, sanctified by the Holy Name. Vilified, crucified in the human frame. A million candles burning for the help that never came. ‘Here I am, here I am.’ I’m ready, my Lord.”

Easter, “Sharing the Light”

Just imagine. Your boss told you that you have that new position that you’ve been working toward. Just Imagine. You just got engaged to be married. Just imagine. Those test results came back negative. Just Imagine. You walk out of the hospital after your spouse dies. One more – You won the Publishers Clearing House grand prize soon to be taking a picture of yourself holding a check taller than you in front of your house.

You’re home now and find no one around to share your news. Your good or sad news. I guess it’s okay if you’re Simon and Garfunkel’s “I am a rock, I am an island” or Gilbert O’Sullivan’s “Alone Again, Naturally.” However, it’s a pretty gloomy night in your home when there’s no one to share. Sharing your good news lifts up your light and lights up another’s. That same light applies to distressing news. Unshared, it feels like it’s not real; it never happened; it’s not valid until it’s shared. Trust me on this. My two cats only want food; my good or sad news is entirely mine.

Easter is never mine but ours. It’s a collective season. Lent has the reputation of being a solo trip, whether that’s true or not, but Easter is definitely a journey we all travel together.

But I gave examples of “others toward me,” how about “me toward others?”The light of Easter is mutually witnessed through everyone’s everyday lives. A sincere welcoming smile and that includes your eyes. (The eyes always tell so much more than stretched lips.) Asking that flippant opening question, “How are you?” but, this time, waiting for a complete answer. Unlike the waitress walking past your table who asks, “How’s everything?” but never stops, and you yell, “It sucks,” but she’s three tables beyond you. A firm handshake. (Remember, a two-handed handshake only means that you’re running for public office or looking for a handout.) Easter is expressing meaningful, joyful words of encouragement, words of hope. Not in a pollyanna way but in a risen-Christ way. Because that’s who we’ve become because of this night, because of His sacrifice.

You should know by now that I love words. Well, it occurred to me writing this that adding “en” to the beginning and end of the word “light” means that you’ve received an even greater knowledge or insight about yourself or about another person. A revelation to be shared, whether about a situation, offering a bigger picture view to a predicament, or addressing a perplexing problem. In other words, a deeper understanding.

That is the Easter’s spirit and gift to us all. You know, we all sadly call it a day, as if it has a twenty-four window, and then on Monday, we call it a season for a couple of weeks. And then it’s on to the next holiday. I think we ought to make it our journey. I said earlier, “a journey we all travel together.”

Playing “Tug of War” when we’re young is one fun thing, but playing the same game with God can be quite troubling. (Take out the word “quite.”)

One more song reference. It’s the Beatles singing, “Hello, Goodbye.” Palm Sunday has its glorious “Hello, Lord, Hello Lord” (“Hallelujah,” in church lingo). Good Friday has its “Goodbye God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and those glorious angels,” with us giving in, giving up, and caving into our faults, foibles, and failings. You know what I mean; it occurs every single day. Are those three “f” words holding us down? They’re never told to anyone. Cue “Simon and Garfunkel” once more? Easter is also about sharing those three “f’s,” asking for others’ encouragement, prayers, and support.

Here are three more “f” words. How about three “f” words that are proudly and sincerely living within ourselves and then shared, like a virus, with all we meet: faith, fidelity, and fruitfulness. If you noticed, those three “f” words are all about growth rooted in the seeds of His sacrifice. Tonight it surely has the Resurrected Christ singing to us and every day afterward, “I don’t know why you say ‘goodbye,’ [when] I say ‘hello.” That’s the miracle of this night. That’s the miracle of our lives to be lived in God’s bright light every day.

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Funeral Sermon for Duane Schuler

Posted on March 21, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

We all would love to be anywhere else in the world then here today. Yet, there is no other place we would rather be then right here, right now.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, who comforts us in all our afflictions, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” (St. Paul)

Said at the casket:

Wood, lumber. Created and nurtured by God for its use during our human journey through life. To create or, in human terms, to recreate and to protect and nurture your life with new life. A recreated home from God’s blessed created woody gifts. Designed to warmly protect and safely raise a loving family, always done within Your holy name.

The tree talks to us this holy day, “I am the heat of your hearth on cold winter nights, the friendly shade screening you from the summer’s sun, and my fruits are refreshing, quenching your thirst as you journey onward. I am the beam that holds your house secured, the flat board of your table offering shared food from my earth, I am the bed on which you lie and peacefully rest.”

I am the handle of your hoe to till the rough soil, I am the always welcoming door of your homestead to both friend and stranger, the wood of your cradle that houses those three newborns and one day, that one unknown day, but far too soon … I will become the shell of your coffin.

Sermon

Duane thought he had a religious vocation. He knew he had a vocation.

Who was Duane? Outspoken, opinionated, politically very liberal, sarcastic and caustic.

Who am I? Shy, introverted, speaking either in small sentences or short phrases, very observant and absorbing of people and things around me but always with a tint to others of not being known in a mysterious sort of way.

Oh, wait? Did I switch the two of us around?

Duane spoke numerous sentences without speaking. I speak multiple sentences without anyone listening.

Duane thought he had a priestly vocation.

The year is 1965. Weekend retreats were common for young boys to find a seminary high school they’d wish to attend. I had to trek a whole twelve miles and his was in his backyard. Salvatorian Seminary. He knew the woods. He knew farming. He knew a hard days work. He knew discipline. He was taught early on the virtue of endurance to get a job done and get it done correctly and completely. He thought he wanted to be a priest. We met that weekend and we had absolutely nothing in common, except our search for that vocation in our lives. He was a dairy family’s son and I wanted to work at WOMT radio. But at Salvatorian Seminary that weekend, we both loved their bowling alley when guys needed to manually load the pins for the next frame.

As a high school junior, I got the radio job at WOMT radio. No one else was allowed in the studio but that didn’t stop us. Duane and friends would visit me on Saturday nights when I could play the rock songs. Sundays was reserved for polkas.

Duane thought he had a priestly vocation.

During our four high school years together we stayed connected and became friends. I admired him for his softness but also the strength of his character and he found me, well, amusing. Isn’t that the making of a lifelong friendship? Well, it worked. During those years, his very successful in cross country, track, and wrestling and I’m smoking cigarettes with fellow losers in the seminary woods.

But again, that nagging question that only any one can ask of himself/herself, and no one else. What should I do with my life? He told me that he didn’t want to be a dairy farmer like his parents but, at the same time, didn’t wish to disappoint them. Those thoughts run through your mind when you’re fourteen years old. He tells me that he should go to college and have the college decide for him. Since he’s not deciding himself. Since he’s shy, introverted and talks in small sentences and often short phrases. Duane decides, “After high school, I’ll go to UWGB and they’ll help my future be decided for me.” Didn’t happen. Institutions nor anyone else can determine or define your life’s future. I hope you find or have found that true in your own life. You, Duane, then uncovered your own path, found that personal drum living and drumming away within you and then proudly banged it hard and firmly throughout your entire adult life. (I think he lasted a semester or two at UWGB.)

Very early one morning, I ate breakfast with his family during those early years. He showed me how the cows were milked and then told me to take a shortcut back to the house. I walked knee deep into the cows’ SH__. He gives me a pair of shorts and his dairy family had a great laugh over city-slicker-me but still welcomed me to breakfast at 8:00 a.m. When I saw the huge spread of food, I thought to myself, “Why, this family is guilty of gluttony!” Duane smiled at me, knowing my thoughts, and said, “You get up at 4:00 a.m. and see how hungry you get!” So I enjoyed a wonderful breakfast, lunch and dinner – all in one, with my SH__ pants in their washer. Who says he didn’t have a sense of humor?

Duane falls in love and marries his high school roommate’s sister, Mary. (I think that’s illegal in most states!) But free haircuts! Three wonderful, but still introverted children He then enjoys what Frank Sinatra called, “the second time around” for eighteen years with Diane. And, she’s a nurse. We should all have a nurse handy. Diane knew what the pain meant in his arms that Saturday and now she knows how special an ash tree can become. Let’s all plant a new ash tree in his memory. Anyone who wants to can write a message to Duane to be buried into the tree’s root as it expands. I can attend and bless the tree but, of course, that involves travel expenses and stipend but we can talk about that later.

Speaking of Saturdays, I have a possible child abuse case. Almost every Saturday, Duane would subject his three young children to a seventeen-minute song played on the radio – 8:00 pm., 93.5FM – written by some drugged-induced guitarist because the song made absolutely no sense. To young children it would seem more like an hour. He attempted to soften this parental infliction with popcorn, but come on – really! It became a Saturday family ritual as often as possible.

(Beginning of “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Iron Butterfly.)

You thought I was going to play the whole song!

During one of our Salvatorian Seminary/JFK Prep reunions, four of us decided to explore the Main Building, just one more time. We sneak through a basement window and walked those hallowed hallways one last time. Mike Bushman, Mike Macy, Duane and me. Suddenly it occurs to us, “What if we get caught?” (We’re all in our late 30’s and still worried about being caught!) Then it suddenly occurs to us that … Bushman’s a cop, Macy’s a lawyer, Duane’s in maintenance and I finally realize, “I own the place!”

Children, please cover your ears. Can you spell SH__ in church? I only spelled two of the four to be religiously correct. Four letters to describe our gathering together. Four letters that express our grief and frustration of losing the life of a brother, dad, grandfather, two wonderful marriages, life-long friends and how many other titles from his professional career. Today we are filled with all kinds of grieve yet our beautiful faith can one day or some day replace that grieve with God’s hope and peace. God owns it all, you know – hope and peace. We only ask of Him a piece of it to see us through this. Such an untimely death for such a wonderful, quiet and thoughtful man, Duane Schuller.

How do you say “Goodbye?” You may be thinking about that received that phone call with the caller’s cautionary beginning, “Hi, you’re not going to believe this but” or “Hi, are you sitting down now?” as Duane’s sister told me on that Saturday night. Or, those of you who made it to the hospital. That’s a very personal question and is only answered by each of you in your own unique way. Do it through prayer. Do it through your memories. Do it through the consolation and strength that others offer you.

You wanna know about male bonding? I make a surprise visit to Duane and Diane to show off my new Audi convertible. In conversation, I tell Duane that my dad passed away. Duane says, “Why didn’t you call me, I would have gone?” I replied, “You didn’t tell me when your parents died. I would have gone!” That’s called “male bonding.” Can’t beat it.

Grieving is just like finding your own vocation, there is no magical or mystical solution to your tears, your numbness, or your doubts. Or, in my case, just a weeklong case of bold denials and tearful tears every time I read this to myself. Your “Goodbye” need not be its ending-word but a living word about Duane living within your continuing lives. What quality of his can you slowly make your own as we continue our life’s journey? His sly smiles that spoke unspoken paragraphs? His head slightly tilted with eyes firmly on you with unsaid words like, “You’re kidding yourself, just stop it!” His feeble attempt at humor for which I surely surpassed him, hands down? Or, is it the love in his wordless eyes for each of the loves in his life?

For all of us today, I hold out for the last question. “The love in his wordless eyes for each of the loves in his life, including his dedication to hard work.” To all of us to address that question, in different ways, but with that same loving commitment. Nothing, ever can top the last question. Duane showed us through his life how simple and enriching life can be. We’re the ones who so often complicate and muck it up. A simple man, living a simple, wonderful life. A man whose actions spoke louder than his words. (Isn’t that mentioned somewhere in the Bible!?)

I hope you didn’t forget that I talked earlier about vocation. It’s wasn’t priestly life as Duane found out. But he truly and irrevocably uncovered his vocation. That’s truly a gift from God when it happens. It was the land, the woods. It’s wasn’t cows, like his parents, but it was in the same spirit as theirs. The land. All the wood needed to build a safe home to build a family, Mary, Bradley, Leah and Natalie and Diane. The woods surrounding his life and the home he loved. I saw the yearly Christmas trees display that he shared with others and I heard about the ash tree that brought his weary, tired arms to an alarming end.

Diane said that she and Duane never separated without saying, “I love you” to each other. They said that to each other on that Saturday. As Bradley told me, “He died doing what he loved.” That quickness may be a comfort for Duane but is truly difficult for us who did not have the opportunity to say, “I love you.” I never said “I love you” to your dad but I hoped I said in my wordless eyes, like he did, every time we had an enjoyable time together. Years would pass by and I’d pop in to visit. From that beginning handshake to its ending, “Goodbye,” it was as though we had just done the same thing yesterday. “Thank you.” “Thank you, Duane Schuler.”

Oh wait! This is the Catholic Church. Our undying faith tells us both in hope and the promise of everlasting life that we can say, “Thank you, Duane,” and “I love you, Duane” every day of our remaining days.

So, imagine it’s Saturday night. His kids would be in their pj’s. Popcorn popping away. Perhaps a fire crackling away in the fireplace from wood he’s cut. Sitting around the radio, intently listening as though it’s President Roosevelt talking about Pearl Harbor. And that seventeen-minute song, that seventeen-minute song comes to the end. Ready kids?

(Ending of “Iron Butterfly” song.)

Amen.

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Pause

Posted on March 20, 2024 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

The group leader says, “We pause for a moment of prayer” when no one knows how long that pause will last.

These days the uselessly used word in our crazy culture proudly declares us to be one of 24/7.

TV pauses you for an important message while watching a program you’re enjoying but now hearing about hemorrhoids for thirty-seconds. (And, the couple are seen running around in fields that never resembles your home). You pause at the red light because that’s the law but pausing may be longer when the driver in front of you is messaging a friend. However, that traffic’s red light means you have two more seconds for either that pause or hitting the gas.

We seem to be losing that brief but beautiful word, that gift. It’s the space between saying something you’ll later regret and it’s that space, even a tiny space, between one event before the next.

Adding “ing” to the word returns you to yourself. Pausing becomes a powerful tool for taking a deep breath of silence to recollect yourself reminding yourself of your roots, whatever anchors you. For us Christians, it’s naturally the heritage of our faith returning us to who God wants us to be. Pious, perhaps but giving us that small moment of time for us to regain or reinforce ourselves. It breaks apart that dumb 24/7 attitude allowing us to make time meaningful and fruitful.

Needing time alone? Desert? Mountains? Gardens? We’re talking about Jesus Christ even when the crowds stalk him.

My habitual but well serving habit is going out for a smoke when dining with friends. My three-minute pause recaps what I’m hearing and saying and what I’d like to include next in our conversations. It’s a mental digestion before the meaty one. Works for me.

Pause is the action, pausing is the prayer. Movie characters run to the roof to exhibit their pausing time for us. Believers run to the roof of the Holy Spirit seeking divine support or correction. She contains all the virtues needed for life but may, at times, find it difficult to be heard through those 24/7 noises. Feel her and let her fill you.

Enjoy and endure your hemorrhoids. Smile and continue to watch and enjoy the unfolding TV show that is called “Your Life.”

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