blessings

Sound and Silence, or Surviving Spiritual Whiplash

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

On Thursday, I attended a day-long silent retreat with the rest of the staff from our Catholic church and school. Father Park opened the retreat with the Old Testament account of Elijah in the cave on Mount Sinai, waiting for the Lord to pass by:

And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.

– 1 Kings 19:11-13 (RSVCE)

It was a scriptural reminder that God speaks to us in silence, but I didn’t need convincing. For the past several years I’ve tried to make an annual, three-day silent retreat to reconnect with the Lord and re-examine what He is doing in my life. I find great solace in the silence. I feel Him near, and if I work at quieting my head and heart, I hear that still, small voice.

Thursday was no exception. After the longest three months of my life, comprising…

  • the arrangement of in-home care and support for my dad and mom, respectively,
  • followed by Christmas with most of the kids and a trip to Italy to visit the rest in December;
  • Dad’s rapid decline and death in January;
  • three trips to Michigan and back (one flying; two driving);
  • a surgery for my bride;
  • and a mad scramble to keep up with work in between

…even a few hours of silence were, to me, like a soft, steady rain on parched earth. I could feel my heart expand to fill the hollow between my lungs. Slowly, tentatively at first, it stirred to life and began to beat again. I spent two fruitful hours in silent reflection. I prayed a rosary while picking my way through the ruins of the frozen lakefront outside the retreat center. I spent a restful half-hour before the Blessed Sacrament—so peaceful, in fact, that I fell into a deep and silent slumber.[1] When the priests intoned the Tantum Ergo, I suddenly and unexpectedly levitated.

At the end of the afternoon, Father asked us to share a little bit about our retreat experience. When the mic came to me, I said, “I lost my dad recently. It was good to spend a day with my Heavenly Father, and with our Mother in Heaven, while I try to care for my mother on earth. I like silence and try to make a silent retreat every year. I missed it this year, so even this short retreat was a blessing—now I get to take three middle-school girls to the Toby Mac concert!”

Nearly everyone laughed.

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Daryl Thorp, 1948-2024

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

REMUS, MICHIGAN—Husband, father, machinist, and mule driver, Daryl Thorp passed away on January 28, 2024, in the log house north of Remus with his wife and children around him.

Daryl lived on his own terms. He was born in the Thumb of Michigan in 1948, the youngest of the four living children of Duane and Mary (Hawley) Thorp. He lost his mom in 1953 and spent much of his formative years with his Little Grandma. Though he was never religious, he was a deeply moral man who, even late in life, said that in everything he did, he was trying not to let Little Grandma down.

Life wasn’t easy, and by the time he was a teenager, he was already making his own way as best he could. He was bright and mechanically gifted from an early age, but he had little love for school and would rather be working with his hands or hunting and fishing. He joined the Army after high school and was blessed to be stationed in Alaska. He said the biggest thing he learned from the Army was that he didn’t want to stay in the Army, so he had better figure things out. He told a buddy he was going home to marry the neighbor girl, and he did—though at that point they had never even been on a date.

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Blessed to Be Here

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This post appeared as a column in the St. Michael Catholic Church bulletin for December 17, 2023.

A couple of weeks ago, we announced that our long-time youth minister, John O’Sullivan, has been hired to promote his brainchild (or rather, heartchild), Extreme Faith Camp (EFC), to parishes across the archdiocese. For those who don’t know, EFC is a wild, week-long Catholic summer camp that brings middle-schoolers to a deep encounter with the love of Jesus through fun and fellowship, small groups, prayer, and the sacraments.

Aside from making Mass a priority in our own lives, EFC was the single best thing Jodi and I did for our kids to engage them in the faith. Where else do tweens and teens enjoy a parent-free week with their friends and come back saying their favorite part was Adoration?

EFC is just one of the many reasons we are blessed to have been here in St. Michael for the past 20+ years. This parish’s strong support of marriage and family life is another, not to mention our beautiful church, our stellar parish school…the list goes on. We are a growing Catholic community because we have something for everyone—every person and family, at every stage.

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Grandpa Vibes

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Blogger’s Note: Now that I’m writing for a living again, I am trying to find my way back to writing for the heck of it (i.e., for the sheer enjoyment). Wish me luck!

A curious thing happened at the St. Michael Catholic Church Fall Festival last month. The celebration was just getting underway on the church grounds; I was setting up a St. Vincent de Paul display in the gathering space of the church (which also serves as our cry room), and Saturday evening Mass was about to culminate in the reception of Holy Eucharist.

Just then, a young father approached me with his infant daughter in his arms. I am familiar with this young man: We are close friends with his wife’s family and attended his wedding, though I’m not sure I ever spoke to him directly before this moment.

He leaned close and whispered, so as not to disturb the other parents praying nearby: “Would you mind bringing our baby down to her mom? She’s working in the food tent outside. It’s almost time for Communion, and baby needs mom-time!”

I was not expecting this, but the prospect of snuggling this baby, even for a few minutes, was irresistible. “Sure!” I said, extending my arms to receive the precious bundle, “Happy to do it!”

“I knew if I found someone like you or John*, I’d be all set,” the young man said. “Thank you.” Then he knelt and returned to prayer.

As I carefully descended the stairs, I nuzzled the fuzzy head near my chin and a wave of infant sweetness swept over me. Her eyes were open wide, but she seemed content. I stopped at the bottom, closed my eyes, smiled, and sighed, briefly contemplating if it would be a violation of trust to find a quiet corner to enjoy this blessing while she was peaceful and quiet. I shook off the desire and headed out to the festival grounds.

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Seeing Jesus in the Poor

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Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

James 1:27

A year or two ago, I took my dad to visit an old friend. I heard many stories from their younger days, from middle school through their time in the Army.

I knew my father grew up with a little bit of nothing: He was the youngest of his siblings; his mom died when he was little, and his dad and stepmom had new babies to provide for and little means to do it. That morning I learned that Dad and his friend lived out of Dad’s car for awhile when they were in high school, scraping together what money they could for food or a cheap hotel room by doing odd jobs for their teachers and neighbors.

I learned something else as well: As tough as Dad’s life was at that point, his friend’s was tougher. From his outside perspective, Dad had a wonderful family—a place to get a half loaf of bread if things got really bad. Dad was his friend’s safety net.

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