Wednesday Witness: Fasting Well, Feasting Well

On Easter Sunday, we were blessed to talk with Brother Jude. Brother Jude is our second son, Gabe, who is now a novice with the Community of Franciscan Friars of the Renewal (CFRs) in Newark, New Jersey.

From the outside, the novitiate year seems very focused on spiritual growth, detachment, and obedience. Aside from occasional letters, Brother Jude’s contact with his immediate family is strictly limited and with everyone else, non-existent. He spends a great deal of time in prayer and formation, and he does very little without first getting permission from his superiors. This was our first conversation since Christmas and our last until Jodi’s birthday in July.

As you can imagine, it was good to hear his voice. He seems very recollected and peaceful, and I told him so.

“I am, most of the time,” he said. “At least, I try to be.”

We catch each other up on the news and our Easter celebration, then I ask him about his Lent. Our impression last year, when he was a postulant, was that the friars observe a fairly stringent fast during Lent and Advent, which he was not subject to at that time.

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Book Break: Hillbilly Elegy by JD Vance

Last summer, when we were visiting Jodi’s parents, her mom gave me a copy of JD Vance’s memoir Hillybilly Elegy. I think she had picked it up for herself, but we were talking about the upcoming election, and she thought I had a better chance of reading it sometime in the near future. She said I could tell her about it when I did.

Well, Momma Venjohn, here you go.

In case you avoid the news: JD Vance is a young, former US senator for the state of Ohio, now vice president of the United States of America. He is a Marine Corps veteran, a graduate of Ohio State University and Yale Law School, and the author of the afore-mentioned memoir, a book-length reflection on a traumatic childhood, poverty and addiction in Appalachia and the Rust Belt, and the dysfunctional family connections that somehow got him through where so many others flounder.

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Wednesday Witness: Belong, Believe, Behave

Over the past week or so, I’ve found myself reflecting on a homily delivered by Father Richards some years ago. I have written about it before; the gist of the message was this:

  • People in a group or community often insist that those who want to join behave properly and believe correctly in order to belong (Behave, Believe, Belong).
  • People on the margins, however, need a place to belong, where they can come to believe, and learn to behave (Belong, Believe, Behave).

Belong, Believe, Behave is the natural order of things. From the moment we are born into a family, we need secure attachments to our parents to form healthy, ordered relationships and learn to navigate the world. But once we find our place in the world, we often lose sight of the fact that we ever weren’t a part of it.

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Wednesday Witness: Corporal Works of Mercy – Bury the Dead

These Wednesday Witness columns essentially track what the Lord is doing in my heart and life regarding the seven Corporal Works of Mercy:

  • to feed the hungry
  • to give drink to the thirsty
  • to clothe the naked
  • to shelter the homeless
  • to comfort the sick
  • to ransom the captive (to visit prisoners)
  • to bury the dead

If you look closely, one of these works is not like the others: While the first six Corporal Works concern the needs and comfort of living persons, the seventh focuses on our bodily remains. As a result, it has often seemed like the work I’m least likely to carry out in any practical sense, since I am not a minister, mortician, or cemetery attendant.

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A Year Apart: Reflecting on My Father’s Passing

One year ago today, my father passed away.

I flew to Michigan early that morning with the experienced observation of a close family friend ringing in my head: It won’t be long. The flight was flawless and landed early. When the rental car clerk learned why I was in Michigan, he expedited everything, and I was on the road in minutes. Traffic moved. The pavement was dry. I drove the limit and made myself relax, reflecting that this was unfolding in God’s time, and I would arrive when I should.

I arrived just in time. My sister came out to greet me in the driveway and said she thought Dad may have just stopped breathing. I went in and held his hand, which was warmer to my touch than it had been in years. I spoke to him softly, telling him it was okay, telling him to go to the Lord and not to be afraid, telling him we were okay and would take care of each other. 

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