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Everything He Has Is Ours

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

This post also appeared in the Sunday, March 17, issue of the St. Michael Catholic Church bulletin.

A few weeks ago I was blessed to attend a day-long silent retreat for church staff, led by Father Park. It had been a long while since my last silent retreat, and the time was truly blessed.

One of the scripture passages given to us for reflection was an old standby: the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). Like many of you, I’ve heard this story countless times and sometimes approach it like an old friend I know well, slipping into familiar patterns without a second look or thought.

This time was different. Instead of focusing on the father’s forgiveness, the younger son’s repentance, or the older son’s hardness of heart, what struck me was the father’s unflagging generosity with both his sons.

Or, more specifically, our Heavenly Father’s unfailing generosity with me.

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The Dad-Roll and Other Defensive Maneuvers

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

I am not naturally graceful. As a boy, I cast a shadow like a keyhole—a melon head atop a stick-figure body, careening through the world in whatever direction my topmost orb led me. As a teen, I lived in a narrow trailer house with my folks and spent two miserable weeks after my dad’s foot surgery finding every possible way to pinball into his elevated leg and throbbing big toe.

Today I am much the same: I move effortlessly, like an October acorn pinging from roof to car to driveway. I still drift the way I’m leaning and collide with stationary objects, softly as a poolside preschooler wearing swim-fins.

And yet, somewhere on the outer ends of my Y-chromosome is coded an instinct for self-preservation, which (to date) has kept me physically intact and free of broken bones or stitches.

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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

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

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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