Blessed Maria Restituta—Her Lenten journey took one year

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Blessed Maria Restituta

Her lenten Journey took one year                                                                     en.wikipedia.org

By Larry Peterson

Arrested and imprisoned for hanging crucifixes.

Just imagine being arrested on Ash Wednesday and sentenced to prison for the crime of “hanging Crucifixes.” I cannot imagine how I would have handled it. All she had to do was take the crucifixes down. Maybe I would have complied with the order. Honestly, I do not know. Helena Kafka, who became known as Sister Maria Restituta, refused. Her story follows.

May 1, 1894, was a happy day for Anton and Marie Kafka.  Marie had just given birth to her sixth child, and her mom and her daughter were both doing fine. The proud parents named their new baby girl Helena.  Devout Catholics Anton and Marie had Helena baptized into the faith only thirteen days after her birth.

The ceremony took place in The Church of the Assumption in the town of Husovice, located in Austria.  Before Helena reached her second birthday, the family had to move and settled in the city of Vienna.  This is where Helena and her siblings would remain and grow up.

Began training as a nurse at the age of 15

Helena was a good student and worked hard. She received her First Holy Communion in St. Brigitta Church in May 1905 and was confirmed in the same church a year later. After eight years of school, she spent another year in housekeeping school and, by the age of 15, was working as a servant, a cook, and being trained as a nurse.

In 1913, she became an assistant nurse at Lainz City Hospital. This was Helena’s first contact with the Franciscan Sisters of Christian Charity in Austria. She was immediately moved to become a Sister herself.  On April 25, 1914, Helena Kafka joined the Franciscan sisters and, on October 23, 1915, became Sister Maria Restituta. She made her final vows one year later and began working solely as a nurse.

Worked as a surgical nurse during World War I

When World War I ended, Sister Maria was the lead surgical nurse at Modling Hospital in Vienna.  She and all other Austrians had never heard of Adolf Hitler. They could never have imagined that one day, because of this man, their beloved nation would be annexed into the German Republic.

On  March 12, 1938, the Austrian Nazi Party pulled off a successful coup d’etat, taking control of the government. The unforeseen and unimagined had come to pass. The Nazis, under Hitler, now controlled the once proud Austrian nation.

As a head nurse, she was indispensable

Sister Maria Restituta was very outspoken in her opposition to the Nazi regime. After a new wing of the hospital was built she hung a Crucifix in each of the new bedrooms. The Nazis demanded that all crucifixes be removed. Sister Restituta was told she would be dismissed if she did not comply. She refused, and the crucifixes remained hanging on the walls. The Nazis wanted to remove her immediately from the hospital staff but were prevented because Sister Maria was the head nurse and, at the time, indispensable.

One of the doctors on staff, a fanatical Nazi supporter, , would have none of it. He denounced her to the Nazi Party. On Ash Wednesday, 1942, she was arrested by the Gestapo after coming out of the operating room. The “charges” against her included “hanging crucifixes and writing a poem that mocked Hitler.”

 She loved her Catholic faith

Sister Maria Restituta, the former Helena Kafka, loved her Catholic faith and, filled with the Spirit, wanted to do nothing more than serve the sick. The Nazis promptly sentenced her to death by guillotine for “favouring the enemy and conspiracy to commit high treason”.  The Nazis offered her freedom if she would abandon the Franciscans she loved so much.  She adamantly refused. She would be the only Catholic nun ever sentenced to death by the Nazis.

Her one-year Lenten journey ends during Holy Week, 1943

An appeal for clemency went as far as the desk of Hitler’s personal secretary and Nazi Party Chancellor,Martin Borman. His response was that her execution “would provide effective intimidation for others who might want to resist the Nazis”. Sister Maria Restituta spent her final days in prison caring for the sick. Because of her love for the Crucifix and the Person who was nailed to it and died on it, she was beheaded on March 30, 1943. The day she died happened to be Tuesday of Holy Week. She was 48 years old.

Pope St. Joun Paul II visited Vienna on June 21,1998.  That was the day Helena Kafka, the girl who originally went to housekeeping school to learn how to be a servant, was beatified by the Pope  She had learned how to serve others extremely well. But the one she served best of all was her Savior. She gave Him her life.

She had been sentenced and sent to prison on Ash Wednesday, February 18,1942. She was executed one year later on March 30, 1943. It was Tuesday of Holy Week. It was truly a remarkable Lenten journey for Blessed Maria Restituta.

From a letter written by Blessed Maria Restituta Kafka:

“It does not matter how far we are separated from everything, no matter what is taken from us: the faith that we carry in our hearts is something no one can take from us. In this way, we build an altar in our own hearts.”

Blessed Marie Restituta, please pray for us.

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2023

 

 

The Shadow Saint; March 19 is all about St. Joseph

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The Shadow Saint; March 19 is all about St. Joseph

Joseph and child public domain

By Larry Peterson

All humankind contributed to the death of Jesus Christ. That is why God sent Him to us. Without the salvific actions of Jesus we would have been lost forever. He suffered and died for us because the love of God is so unfathomable it was the only way to give us all a second chance to grab onto the brass ring of Eternal Salvation. But first we needed a man named Joseph.

I call Joseph of Nazareth the “Shadow Saint” because so little is known about him. There is not one spoken word he ever said that was recorded.  But his quiet life resonated like huge cymbals being smashed together over the ages and into our very 21st century existence.

Joseph was a Jewish man who possessed great faith and was considered ‘righteous’. He trusted God and took Mary as his wife even though she was pregnant at the time. She could have been stoned to death for the sin of adultery but her betrothed loved her unconditionally. He was a regular man and must have had doubts but he would never allow anything to happen to her. He cared for and protected his wife and “foster” Son from the moment God asked him. He loved them without reservation. Imagine the faith and courage that took. Imagine the love that flowed from within him.

Joseph, the carpenter from Nazareth, was obviously humble and egoless and gave of himself. He was a real MAN.  And it was this man, this quiet, shadow saint who single handedly saved the life of our Savior from being put to death while He was still an infant. Imagine if he had not been able to accomplish this.

As a man, I try to imagine having to confront what Joseph confronted as Mary’s husband. He accepted her pregnancy at a time when the scandal of such a thing oftentimes meant execution for the woman. He was forced to put her on the back of a donkey and take her 80 miles over rocky, dirt roads to Bethlehem for the census. She was almost full term and the trip would have probably taken three to five days. I would have been sick to my stomach praying we could make it. Then, upon arrival, his wife goes into labor. There were no ERs, no cell phones, no 911 calls, no paramedics…you are on your own, end of story.

He was in a strange town without friends and could find no shelter. He was probably trembling and telling his wife, “Stay calm sweetie, it will be all right. Don’t worry. Don’t worry.”  And he is forced to bring her to a dirty, smelly stable that is an animal shelter. Here she has to give birth to her child. As a man, he must have felt so inadequate, so un-manly. His heart must have been breaking.

The miracle of the Virgin Birth takes place and mother and child are fine. But then Joseph discovers that King Herod wants to kill his baby boy. Okay guys, think about it. You have made it this far and now you learn the army has been ordered to find your child and kill him. They are out in force searching for YOU and YOUR family. They are killing all boys two years old and under so as not to miss killing your son. But it is you and your wife and child they want. Those other children are ‘collateral damage”, an afterthought to Herod’s vicious orders. The fear and anxiety within him must have been overwhelming yet he did his best to maintain upbeat.

Somehow, someway, with his resolve of faith and trust in God propelling him forward, he made it to Egypt and saved his family. I have no idea how he managed to do it. Egypt was three hundred miles away but he got them there safe and sound. He saved not only the Redeemer of us all and the Blessed Mother, he made it possible for all of us to be saved too. Imagine that.  And he never said a word we know of.

St. Joseph, thank you and please pray for all of us. HAPPY FEAST DAY

 

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2023

Sometimes we need a Coach in the Pulpit

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By Larry Peterson

We Catholics hear much about how we must evangelize. Unfortunately, most Catholics do not know how to do it. Most of us even avoid discussion with each other about controversial topics in the Church. Certainly, none of us are going to stand on a milk crate on a street corner, hold up a Bible and say, “Repent, repent.” So, how should Catholics evangelize?

Pope Francis “Every baptized person has a mission—“

On March 8, 2023, Pope Francis gave a talk about Evangelization in Vatican City. He is quoted as saying, “Every baptized person, whatever his position in the Church or level of education in the faith, is an active subject of evangelization.” The Holy Father also said that every baptized Catholic has a mission to actively proclaim the Gospel. I think that for the vast majority of  Catholics, that seems to be a pretty tall order. Why? Because we are not sure how to evangelize and may even be afraid to try.

Imagine we Catholics are a football team.  Our “head coach.” would be Pope Francis and he would have a huge and experienced coaching staff in place. It would consist of many priests and bishops. The “head coach” would need these assistant coaches because the Catholic Church has members (players) all over the world. The vast majority of players need guidance in being taught the faith, practicing the faith, and of course, in spreading the faith. That part includes evangelization. Teaching their players is the job of the coaches.

Venerable Fulton J Sheen—the greatest Evangelization “Coach” ever

Among them stands one coach that may be the greatest Catholic coach ever. This man taught over 30 million people the Catholic faith. His name is Fulton J. Sheen. He was so effective in his ministry that he is on the road to sainthood.  On September 12, 2012, upon recommendation from the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, Pope Benedict XVI, declared Fulton Sheen a man of “heroic virtue” and elevated him to Venerable Fulton Sheen. His beatification is pending.

When I was a child, our dad tuned into “Life is Worth Living” every Sunday evening with Bishop (he was not an Archbishop yet) Sheen. Dad loved this show and we all sat around on the floor, “quietly” watching with him. Truth be known, even though I was only a youngster, I liked the show. Something was mesmerizing about listening to and seeing Bishop Sheen.

Bishop Sheen once said, “I am worried about America—I am worried about her soul”

Bishop Sheen had a big blackboard he used as he taught the viewing class. Without fail, the first thing he always did was draw a small cross on the top of the board and write the letters JMJ (representing Jesus, Mary, Joseph) under it. Then the lesson would begin. The following quote harbors a profound insight from the great Catholic teacher.  Close to sixty years ago, he said, “I am worried about America! I am not so much worried about its politics and economics, important though they be: I am worried about its soul. After all, politics and economics are determined by the sense of values which underlies them.”  Bishop Sheen surely knew his business.

Maybe it is time we not only worry about our nation’s soul but maybe it is time to actually do something about it. Maybe we all need to somehow find our own way to stand up and follow the Holy Father’s admonition to Evangelize so as to help save its soul.

We have all witnessed over the years the destruction and heartache caused by floods from hurricanes such as Katrina in 2005, Andrew in 1992, Maria in 2017, and Ian in Naples in 2022. These are awful occurrences, but we all try to help by either going to those places to give hands-on assistance or sending money and food. Many of us, especially elderly and homebound, simply pray.

Are we to be simply bystanders as our religious freedoms are stripped away?

But are we, the people of faith, doing our best to stem the flood waters of secularism pouring into our American life and smashing down the doors of religious freedoms? Are we just bystanders as the very spirituality that is the foundation of all our freedoms is slowly stripped away. Piece by piece they are being packed up and stuffed into the storage bin of what “once was”?  Are we more concerned with “not offending someone” that we do not defend this great gift of faith of which we have been blessed?

I believe that for us, the “players” on the Catholic team, it starts with the priest, the pastor of our parish. He is our local Catholic coach. We need him to validate our game plan. He has the “bully” pulpit where he can stand before his congregation (team) and proselytize however he wants. If he has assistant priest(s) assigned to the parish, he can give them his game plan for the week.

We need to be given an evangelizing game plan from our spiritual coaches

Sunday Mass would be an excellent time to give his flock some guidance. Most of the time, we hear about the bible readings for the day. Rarely, if ever, are the issues facing us outside the church doors mentioned. Abortion, LGBTQ, gay marriage, the ‘woke agenda”, euthanasia, drug use, obeying the Ten Commandments, etc. These issues face the average Catholic/Christian the world over, on a daily basis. We need an evangelizing game plan from our coaches. How should we defend our side of the field?  And, can it be done without “offending” someone?

If we, the faithful, attend Church one hour a week, that leaves 167 hours (or the rest of the week) outside the Church. The problem is that by the time most of us leave the Church, we barely remember what the homily was about.  Our “coach’s” fifteen minute talk was more “blah-blah-blah than “fight-fight-fight!  Heeding the gospel lesson should be like following the game plan we have just been given. We had better stop taking our faith for “granted”. Leaving church is like the opening kickoff.  Game on!

I wish our clergy would be more vocal about current issues that affect our faith. How often do you hear from the pulpit about a morality that has run amok in the United States and around the world? They could mention much more often that abortion is evil, and gay marriage is not approved of by the Church, and transgenderism is not acceptable. They can explain that divorce and getting remarried without annulment is not permitted. These are things that are “in our face” every day. Most of us do NOT know how to stand and defend against these onslaughts.

The coaches should mention the rules of the game–OFTEN

They can do much more to clarify Church teaching about marriage, family values, birth control, cohabitation, and contraception. We, the lambs, need to be guided by our shepherds. These are topics the flock needs to hear about, starting with the “game plan” presented on Sunday. The secular world is a daunting foe. And what about the Holy Eucharist and the Mass?: It is said (Pew Research) that 70 % of Catholics do NOT believe in the Real Presence. If that is true how come most everyone at Mass will go up to receive the Risen Christ in Holy Communion? Have they ever been told they should NOT do that? Have the coaches told us the rules of the game?

We, in the pews, need to hear it from the pulpits. Then we need some guidance on methods of evangelization. When, where, how, with whom? How can we be “lone evangelizers”?  Alone, we can always be setting Christian examples by giving a smile to someone passing by, saying hello to a stranger, opening a door for someone, giving some money to a person in need, or saying grace publicly in a restaurant. Those things can be our evangelizing warmups. From there we can advance towards becoming Christ-like.

The Greatest Commandment’’ know it by heart

The Ten Commandments (also known as the Decalogue) were given by Almighty God to a Hebrew man named Moses.  He in turn handed them over to the Hebrew nation. These same commandments were embraced by Christ Himself and used as part of the cornerstone of His new Church. They still are the basic rules given to us to live by. But in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus simplified the Ten Commandments.

We can go to Luke 10: 25-28. This is when Jesus gives us the Greatest Commandment. He is asked by a scholar, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

 Jesus asks, What is written in the law?”

The man replies, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”

Jesus replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”

 Yes, our foremost Catholic roots come from a Hebrew man who was personally given them by God. Our Catholic roots come from Judaism. Our Catholic faith comes from Jesus Christ, the Son of God. And he was Jewish. We are all joined together in perpetuity.

In the 21st century they are described in detail in the Catechism of the Catholic Church beginning on page 553; #2052. (If you do not have a catechism, you should get one—they are available at all Catholic bookstores and also on-line). The world of the secularist frowns on the Ten Commandments. Why? It has a lot of “Thou shalt NOTs” in it and many people think that they should never ever be told what or what not to do.

Time to spread the “:Good News”

I think most Catholics today would defend their faith and evangelize but just do not know how to do it. My method of being a “lone evangelizer” is via social media.  How many of you use Facebook and/or Twitter? How about Linkedin or Pinterest? Youtube? Snapchat? Google plus? Tumblr? Instagram? Jump on and spread the “Good News”. We all can be evangelists right from our own homes. How easy is that? Or is it? You may lose some friends. I have for sure. I have also gained some. I have also been removed from sites a few times.

My link;   www.facebook.com/larrytpbx

You know, following Christ was never supposed to be easy. But Satan and his people are a formidable foe. We need a more aggressive game plan.

Evangelize Pic reprinted from public domain

©Larry Peterson 2023  All Rights Reserved

 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).

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Grief

By Larry Peterson

Some words from a Catholic man about grief and bereavement 

We say many “comforting” things to people in “mourning.” Still, I have discovered that for those who are in a “mournful” state, comforting them sometimes is not possible. Many have what is akin to a deep, open wound that is extremely painful. For many, the healing and scarring process takes a long time. The scar formed is always there to remind us of what was.

From the CCC 989: We firmly believe, and hence we hope that, just as Christ is truly risen from the dead and lives forever, so after death, the righteous will live forever with the risen Christ, and He will raise them up on the last day. Our resurrection, like His own, will be the work of the Most Holy Trinity. 

 Oh yes, we know all these things. We indeed say that we believe these things. Every Sunday, we profess our faith out loud and in public, saying, “and on the third day, He arose again.”.

As Catholic/Christians, our faith has comforted us during our lives. The belief that death is only a transition to a world filled with perfect happiness is instilled in us. We shall be sharing our heavenly world with Jesus, the Blessed Mother, angels, saints, and loved ones gone before us. There will be no more pain and suffering, no illness, and nothing negative. Shouldn’t we be jumping up and down with joy? Unfortunately, “tomorrow” now has a permanent hole in it, and we have no idea how to fill it.

Victims of Adam and Eve’s original sin

We are human beings after all. We are also victims of Adam and Eve’s original sin. This is the sin that brought us illness and death. This is the reason for our grief. This is the reason for our pain and suffering. This is the reason for “bereavement,” which means “deprivation” or to have “suffered a loss”.

“Big Boys don’t cry”

Having these feelings is “normal”. As a man, I have tried to stifle any outward display of emotion in public. (That is how we were raised—Big boys don’t cry—well, real men do.). At home, who cares. No one is there to see my crumblings. After my wife’s funeral a few years ago I did fail miserably at Walmart. It was several  days after her funeral and  I had gone there to get a few things. I noticed that there were no customers in the  cell-phone section  I needed a memory chip for my phone so I asked the clerk where they were. He pointed them out and I grabbed a new chip and handed it to him.

He offered to put it in the phone and transfer my photos into it. He opened the picture file and there is my wife smiling at me. I lost it and morphed into a babbling spectacle at, of all places,  Walmart. A nice little crowd gathered for my impromptu performance but kept their distance. Hey, I might have been a lunatic or an old terrorist…whatever. You get the picture (pun intended). I was told by the facilitator of a bereavement group that my reaction was perfectly normal. Maybe it was, but I sure was embarrassed

We come face to face with a journey we all must take

The point is, as Catholic/Christians, we all witness death during our lives. And we should remember that seeing death brings us face to face with a journey we all must make. Grief is an internal process, and everyone experiences it in their own unique way. We all know of the resurrection and the reward of eternal life. However, it can be tough to deal with when you get hit with the personal impact of a loved one’s death and the grief that instantly explodes inside you.

What she did for all of us is indescribable

Time and prayer help heal those deep wounds. The days come and go and it does happen. We are mortal humans. We must feel the pain. Imagine how our Blessed Mother felt watching them torture and kill her Son? What she did for all of us is indescribable.

From CCC 991: belief in the resurrection of the dead has been an essential element of the Christian faith from its beginnings. “The confidence of Christians is the resurrection of the dead; believing this we live.”

We should never forget this.Do not be afraid —the Eternal Now awaits us all. It will be a wondrous place indeed.

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

“YES Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!”

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Celebrating the 125th Anniversary of Virginia O’Hanlon’s Santa Claus Letter

Santa Claus and Child               photo   Hollywoodreporter.com

By Larry Peterson

I wrote this blog  years ago and except for a few minor changes,  I am re-blogging it for Christmas, 2022.  The reason is simple. I believe in Santa Claus and I am sick of hearing these elitist-know-it-all-uppity-ups declaring that “lying” to your children about Santa Claus is wrong and traumatic and teaches the wrong lesson and blah-blah-blah. That is NONSENSE.

Christmas with  Jesus and Santa (yes, they are tied together) is not about a day in time. No, it is about a seasonal spirit in time: a season where the spirit of kindness, and goodness, and charity, and most of all love explode around us. It is a time of wonder and miracles. Damn right I believe!

Many may feel this article makes no sense at all. Well, I don’t care. The fact is, Santa Claus, is rooted in the great St.Nicholas and this 4th-century saint, heeding the words of Christ to “sell what you own and give the money to the poor,” did just that; he gave everything he had to the poor and needy. He devoted his very existence to serving God.

St. Nicholas morphed into the Santa we are familiar with today. But there is no getting away from the fact that his origin was heaven sent. The Santa Claus we know and all that goes with him has filled the hearts of children with wonder and awe since the 19th century. Why do so many folks want to take it way? Why does anyone feel the child must know the “truth”. They find out soon enough what “truth” is. Believing in Santa Claus and the wonder he creates never hurt anyone. Rather, it is one of the great unheralded examples of all that is GOOD.

Therefore, I would like to share an editorial from Mr. Francis Pharcellus Church, who was an editorial writer for the old New York Sun. The editorial was about Santa Claus. It is an example of what the media people of today should be telling our children, (fat chance of that happening). It was written during a time when there were no radios, phones, televisions, iPads, smartphones or even blue-tooth. People talked to each other and used paper, pen, and pencil to message each other. Can you imagine?

What follows was written back in 1897 and, in my opinion (given a chance), is still timely.  Some of you might have seen this before. If you have, enjoy it again. If not, enjoy it now. It is a letter written by eight-year-old, Virginia O’Hanlon, of West 95th Street in New York City, to the newspaper asking if  Santa Claus was TRUE. Her dad had told her that if the “Sun” said it was true then it must be so. Enjoy a moment back in time when things were a bit simpler and the innocence of children was loved and respected by most ‘grown-ups’.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Is There A Santa Claus?             

From the editorial page of The New York Sun

September 21, 1897

_______________________________________________

Dear Editor—I am eight years old. Some of my friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in THE SUN, it’s so. Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

115 W. 95th St.

_______________________________________________

Dear Virginia, your friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes Virginia, there isa Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus? It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginia. There would be no child-like faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your Papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah Virginia, in all this world, there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives! And he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten time ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

©Larry Peterson 2022

A Mirror of Christmas— the Happily Married Couple

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By Larry Peterson

 

Honoring Traditional Marriage during the Christmas Season

 

Joseph and Mary set the standard for married couples.. This is about a couple who did their best to meet that standard. There are many more like them. No couple can compare to Joseph and Mary but many do try to follow their example. This couple did for 68 years.

Roger and Helena Cartier on their 65th Wedding Anniversary

St. John Paul II said, “Marriage is an act of will that signifies and involves a mutual gift, which unites the spouses and binds them to their eternal souls, with whom they make up a sole family, a domestic church.”

The sainted Holy Father was referring to people like Roger and Helena when he made that statement. That is because this couple did, in fact, create a domestic church when they took their marriage vows so long ago. These two people, this man, and woman are a Catholic love-story not only for today but for all time. They made the ultimate commitment to each other, emptied themselves for each other, and never looked back.

.I am using them as examples of the countless couples like them, past and present, who have also joined together to create “domestic churches.” These domestic churches that supported their love were built on the cornerstone we know as faith; faith in Jesus Christ. And it was Jesus who was the cornerstone of the first domestic church, which included Mary and Joseph.

Spread across the landscape of our society are many well-springs of marriage and family. These homes have one predominant thing in common. God is the essence and focal point of their lives. Roger and Helena were the patriarch and matriarch of one of those families.

The family is the nucleus of any society

Of course, we all know that many marriages have not worked out. But this essay is not about failed marriages. This is about the millions of marriages that have stood the test of time and became “domestic churches.” Sadly, secularism has convinced many the world over that marriage is what “you” want it to be, with whomever you want to be with. It also proclaims those of the Judeo-Christian faith are intolerant and have NO love in their cold hardened hearts for diversity. This secularistic atmosphere has cut deeply into the very fabric of our society and wounded it severely. That fabric is the family. And the family is the nucleus of any society.

Roger passed away in 2017. He was 91. Helena passed in in 2019.at the age of 90.  Roger was a retired letter-carrier. He was also an ordained Deacon in the Catholic Church. When Roger passed on to his eternal reward, he and Helena had just celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary.

The thought of applying to the Permanent Diaconate horrified him

The Deacon was a World War II veteran. He was hired by the post office after he and Helena were married. A few years after that, he became quite active in the Knights of Columbus. He rose to the District Deputy’s position giving him oversight of many K of C councils in the Connecticut area. Then his good friend, Father Kuzdal, suggested to Roger that he should apply to the Permanent Diaconate. Roger was horrified. He believed he was highly “unqualified” to do this.

What Roger and Helena did not realize at the time was that God had chosen both of them. Just as Mary Magdalene was there to help the apostles, Helena would help her husband in a ministry that required ordination into the Sacrament of Holy Orders. They had embraced themselves with each other’s love and wrapped their Catholicity around it. The “domestic church” they created was what St. John Paul II spoke of.

Deacon Roger told me how close he was to leaving the diaconate program. All the other candidates were college graduates, seemingly well versed in scripture and well-spoken. He was sure he had no business being in such “lofty” company. He went to Father Kuzdal and voiced his concerns. Father looked at him and said, “Roger, you have a quality these other fellas do not have. You are a natural listener. You have a gift. You do belong here.”

The final confirmation came from his partner in love and life, Helena. She agreed with Father Kuzdal, and in 1986, L. Roger Cartier became Deacon L. Roger Cartier. He was ordained in the Diocese of Norwich, CT, and remained there for a year. Then it was on to Pinellas County, Fl, where he served until his retirement from ministry.

Deacon Roger assisted quietly and efficiently over the years, always being there when needed. He was the spiritual director of both The Legion of Mary and the St. Vincent de Paul Society. Roger always donned his Santa outfit for the Christmas parties delighting countless children, and he visited the school frequently, talking to the kids about “being Catholic.”

He was always available for Stations of the Cross, or Benediction and novenas. Roger visited the funeral homes when folks passed, did internments at the cemetery, and still spent time with the families. He was a constant fixture at the local hospital and nursing homes. He also presided over weddings and performed Baptisms.

“…the man was a listener. People sought him out specifically for that reason.”

The one thing that was most noticeable (at least to me) was the “one on one” conversations he always seemed to be having with someone. This is where Father Kuzdal, so many years earlier, had profiled Roger Cartier correctly. The man was a “listener.” People sought him out specifically for that reason. He would look them in their eye and listen.and he would remember to ask them the next time he saw them how things were going with “such and such,” ie;  (lousy back, a surgery, kids, financial worries, family problems, or whatever it might be. People loved him because they knew he cared about them. He was REAL.

Deacon Roger and his Helena left behind three daughters, nine grandchildren, and 14 great-grandchildren. They had formed a “domestic church” within our midst, and today it has expanded to over a dozen more domestic churches. . As for me, it was my honor and privilege to know them. As for all those who did not, comfort in the fact that people like Roger and Helena are always among us. Goodness exists and is often part of a “domestic church” that extends its loving arms to all that may cross its path.

Christmas is about love and giving. A young, happy couple celebrated the first Christmas by greeting their newborn Son. The Cartiers, and those like them, are the reflection in the mirror of that very first Christmas.

Man and woman are created in God’s image and likeness; and for this reason, marriage likewise becomes an image of God.

Pope Francis: Rome, Italy, May 25, 2018

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2017; 2022

 

Don’t Believe in Christmas Miracles? Maybe You Should Reconsider

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Our Mom, Lillian  age 39   1959

By Larry Peterson

I believe, without reservation, that the Christmas season is a time for miracles. I have, over the years, experienced more than one. This was my first. You can decide for yourself if it qualifies.

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It was August of 1960 and our mom had just celebrated her fortieth birthday. I was the oldest of the five kids and what I remember about her birthday was that she kept saying that her back hurt and that she did not feel good. I honestly do not remember the next few weeks. I had just turned 16 and had other things on my mind, mostly Babs McNulty who lived around the corner and who, for some reason or another, was occupying  my thoughts most of the time.

All I remember about Mom from that time was that she began going to the hospital and staying there for four or five days at a time. I guess it was near the end of September, school had recently  started and for the first time she was not at home. Dad told us, “She has the ‘grippe’ real bad and they need to keep an eye on her for a few days.” Okay, what did we know. Back then it seemed that everyone got the ‘grippe’ (today we call it the flu). But Mom’s was “real bad” so we accepted that.

We were kids. My brothers were ten, six and “going on two”. I had no idea how they were doing with their mommy being absent but that was because Grandma was in charge and, to me, everything was almost normal. Plus, it seemed like every four or five days mom would be home again.

Personally, I was a bit upset that she never looked quite right. She was thinner, had this pasty complexion and black and blue marks covered her arms from her hands up to her shoulders. My sister, Carolyn, 13, told me it was from her being stuck with needles for IVs in the hospital. She was in eighth grade and, since she wanted to be a nurse, I figured she was speaking with some authority on the subject. The thing of it was you could tell she did not believe her own explanation.

Dad, well, he said nothing that helped. It was always the same thing, Don’t worry, it’s just  the ‘grippe’, a real bad grippe”. But he was noticeably more quiet than usual and was always getting home much later because he would go to the hospital every afternoon. When Mom was home she always tried to act like everything was “normal”. Unfortunately, she was a lousy actress and could not hide her strange bruises or the fact that she was sleeping so much. As for Grandma, she was quite happy to accept the “real bad grippe” story. Today I understand that is what is called Denial and Grandma had truly embraced it.

Mom was home for Thanksgiving but most of the work was handled by Grandma.  I do not remember much about that Thanksgiving Day or when Mom went back into the hospital but I do know it was a few days or maybe even a week before December 18. That was the day Dad, Grandma, Carolyn and myself, headed downtown to Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan for a simple Sunday visit. That visit turned out to be anything but simple.

Dad had left our little brothers with his good friends, John and Adeline Tosarello, who lived downstairs.  We arrived at the hospital around 1:30. I remember the time because it seemed to take forever to get there.  Anyway, I believe Mom was on the third floor and when we got to the room a swarm of doctors and nurses were inside scurrying about. Mom was on the bed, head to one side and her eyes were closed. She was not moving. Carolyn and I stared at our mother as an ominous fear grabbed hold of us. Grandma placed her  hand over her mouth and started to cry. One of the doctors pulled my dad to the side and quietly talked to him. I watched him shake his head ever so slightly and then he turned to me. and said (and this is almost a direct quote from that day), “Please, take your sister and Grandma to the chapel and say a rosary together. She needs all the prayers she can get right now.”

Grandma gasped and I do remember putting my arm around her shoulder and saying, “C’mon Grandma, let’s do like dad asked.” (I was trying to be grown up).  I knew that the small, interdenominational chapel was down on the second floor. When the elevator door opened we moved aside as a priest stepped out and headed down the hallway toward mom’s room. Grandma had tears running down her face but was stoic and got onto the elevator without saying a word. Carolyn and I followed and we went down to the chapel.

The chapel was empty and serenely quiet.  There were about ten small pews on each side of the center aisle. Flowers had been placed on the plain, flat altar that was up front. A stained glass window of an angel was centered high up on the wall in back of the altar. There were no kneelers so we sat down and began to say the rosary together. Grandma broke down and began to sob. I remember putting my arm around her and crying  too. Carolyn leaned her head into my other shoulder and cried along with us.

I have no idea how long we were there but we did pray two rosaries together. At some point in time a nurse came in and asked us to please come back to mom’s room. We were a bit shocked because the nurse was smiling and definitely not somber. Grandma asked the nurse, “How is my Lily? How is my Lily?” Can I see her?”

“Please ma’am, just go back upstairs. You can see her. She is anxious to see you.” Grandma, on her worn out arthritic knees actually tried to run to get back to her daughter. I hurried after her as she had just, for the moment, shredded 30 years of age.

When we walked into the room we were confronted with a sight to behold. Mom was sitting up in the bed, smiling. Dad was next to her leaning against the bed with his arm around her shoulder. He was sporting a grin that went from ear to ear and tears were streaming down his face. Standing on the other side of the bed was the priest we had seen leaving the elevator.  He was just standing with his hands clasped together and a look on his face I cannot describe. I did not know it but for me this was to  be a moment etched in time and I can still see that ‘moment’ as clear as I did then.

Our mom, who we were sure was dead or almost dead, extended her arms and said, “Well, don’t I get a hug from you two? C’mon, get over here.”

Carolyn ran over and I sheepishly walked. Dad stayed right where he was and then Grandma had her turn. She had mom’s face between her hands and was saying over and over,  “Oh mein Gott, Oh mein Gott”, (Oh my God in German).

Inexplicably, Mom was better, ALL better. Her arms were clear, her face had color, and her eyes were bright and cheerful. There were several doctors outside the room in deep conversation with each other. They were baffled and had no explanation for her sudden recovery. We learned that Mom had Leukemia and, in 1960, your chances with that disease were virtually non-existent. Dad had asked us to go to the chapel and pray because the doctors had told him she had only a very short time to live and he wanted to spare us having to watch her die. It did not happen. My father and the priest believed they had witnessed a miracle. Grandma, Carolyn and I had seen the results of that miracle. Mom came home the next afternoon.

Christmas fell on Sunday in 1960 so it was still a week away. All the heretofore stifled Christmas “spirit” suddenly exploded in the Peterson house. By Tuesday a tree had been bought and was up and decorated.  Mom was the tinsel expert and she, with Carolyn as her pupil, finished the tree off by meticulously hanging the shiny aluminum strands one at a time. Mom and Grandma baked cookies and cakes and pies and there was singing as they did their work and neighbors stopped by all week long with Christmas cheer and greetings. It turned out that the Christmas of 1960 was probably the best Christmas any of us had ever had.  Monsignor Martin even mentioned Mom at midnight Mass and how she and her family were given the great gift of her recovery during Christmas.

Danny’s birthday was January 12 and he was about to turn eleven.  Johnny’s birthday was January 17 and he was going to be two. Mom continued to remain healthy and strong and both boys had great birthdays.  The discoloration on Mom’s arms began to make its reappearance around a week after Johnny’s birthday. Mom tried to hide it but she could not.

She began to get weaker and weaker and by the beginning of February she was back in the hospital. On February 18, 1961, exactly two months after our family Christmas miracle, Mom passed away. We had all been granted one more Christmas to share with the lady of our house and home. It was the most beautiful Christmas we ever had.

copyright©2014 Larry Peterson

 

The “Piano Smile” A Christmas Season Moment

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Through the fog of Alzheimer’s–The Piano Smile

 

By Larry Peterson

What follows happened several years ago. The time or date does not matter but the moment is timeless.

Occasionally a smile unexpectedly bursts forth from someone and transforms the day into pure sunshine. That person might be a spouse, your child, a relative, a friend, or even a stranger. This is about one of those smiles. This smile came from my wife, Marty.

Marty was diagnosed with cancer (lymphoma) in 2010. After many cycles of chemotherapy, the cancer seemed to be in remission. But her memory had been slipping and three years later she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. As her primary caregiver, what I had learned was that   Marty had taken a journey (as do all Alzheimer victims) into a nether world, a nether world with an ever-vanishing landscape of what once was. An invisible eraser had entered her mind and was moving back and forth, making her memory vanish with its incessant woosh, woosh.

My task as her caregiver was to do my best to guide her through the ever-increasing unknown world she had entered. If that sounds bizarre, unusual, or weird, that’s because it was. I, as do all caregivers to those with this illness, do our best to navigate this strange world where nothing is ever the same and every day is unpredictable.

Patches of beauty in a world of expanding nothingness

The nether world mentioned does have patches of beauty, little islands if you will, strewn randomly about the expanding nothingness. What follows is about finding one of these little islands, stopping there and thanking God for the moment. These moments were one of my perks. I never knew when they would appear but, when they did, I was always grateful.

Two years before, Marty had fallen and broken her right ankle. It was a severe break that required surgical repair. The rebuilding process included the use of various pins and screws. The course to recovery included time in a rehab center, ongoing physical therapy at home, and increased doctor visits. The Alzheimer’s had rapidly exacerbated. I realized that the combination of trauma, hospitalization, surgery, anesthesia, rehab, and time away from home contributed to her rapid cognitive decline. Breaking her ankle had just added ‘fuel to the Alzheimer’s fire.”

Marty began complaining of pain in her surgically repaired ankle the day before Thanksgiving, 2016.  Thanksgiving Day, the ankle was discolored and quite swollen. She could not stand up, and even touching it resulted in severe pain.  Our Thanksgiving holiday proved to be far from traditional.

The first thing Friday I brought her to the doctor. He immediately knew it was seriously infected and prescribed antibiotics. The medication did not help, and by Tuesday she was in the hospital. Thursday her ankle was operated on, and all the hardware was removed. They cleaned the infection from the site the best they could. However, the infection had traveled deep into her bone—Onward to a rehab facility.

Marty was taken by ambulance from the hospital to Bon Secours, Maria Manor, in St. Petersburg, Fl. I arrived a bit after she did. When I walked into the lobby and down the hall, to my right was the chapel, and to my left a spacious room they used for events. In the rear corner of this room, I noticed a grand piano sitting quietly by itself, minding its own business. Marty, who began playing the piano at the age of six, always talked about how she wished she could play a Grand Piano.  My “wheels” began spinning, and an idea was born.

We had a piano at home, and she played it every day. The Alzheimer’s Disease had not seemed to have affected that part of the brain, and she could still read and play music. But she would not play in front of people. She even shut the front door when she played at home so no one would hear her (that drove me a bit crazy). Anyway, I was determined to get her to sit at that Grand Piano and begin fingering those keys. I knew it would be no easy task.

“that’s a Grand Piano in the corner”

She had been admitted on Saturday evening, and on Sunday afternoon I got her into the wheelchair and took her for a tour of her temporary home (She was to be there until at least the beginning of January–maybe longer). We took the elevator down to the first floor and somehow “managed” to find our way into the event room. No one was in there, and I said, “Hey–check it out, Marty. That’s a Grand Piano in the corner. Let’s take a look.”

My goal was to get her to simply sit on the stool. She refused. I knew that timing was everything, and this was not the time. She would not remember that we were there, so I would have to choose a better time and a better way of introducing her to the piano. Sometimes people with Alzheimer’s do not remember things that happened minutes earlier.

Tuesday, I managed to get her to slide out of the wheelchair and onto the piano stool.  She felt the keys and grinned. Then she got back into the wheelchair. Thursday was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and I knew in my gut this would be the day. I brought sheet music with me from home and stuck it in the pouch in the back of the wheelchair. She had no idea.

Thursday, I took her down to the chapel for the 11 a.m. Mass.  Mass ended at 11:45, and I casually began pushing the wheelchair toward the side entrance of the event room. She had no idea where we were going, but before she knew it, she was next to that Grand Piano. This time she pushed herself up and immediately sat on the stool. Her fingers instinctively reached for the keys in front of her. At first, they remained still.

Slowly her fingers began to feel their way around the keys under them. They were not pushing down, but I knew the moment had come. I reached into the pouch behind her and pulled out sheet music. I placed it in front of her and softly said, “Here ya go.”

Her fingers began to move—

Her fingers began to move, and the next thing I knew that event room was filled with the music of the Skater’s Waltz. They say a “picture says a thousand words” so I quickly grabbed my phone and took her picture. We had landed on one of those little islands of beauty and the “Piano Smile” captured in the photo proved that to be true.  For me, that “Piano Smile” is one of the greatest Christmas gifts I have ever received.

She did not remember being there and she had no idea that more than 30 people filtered in and took seats to listen to her playing. I did bring her back again and I showed her the photo I had taken. I had it enlarged and framed. When I showed her, she stared at it and stared at it and then tears came to her eyes. I was not sure what was happening inside her head but I believed there was some ‘remembering” going on.

I insisted on bringing Marty home earlier than they had planned and her doctor agreed. .She came home Christmas Eve. The Alzheimer’s and lymphoma combined to take her on her final journey March 27, 2017.I still have the picture and her Piano Smile lives on.

Merry Christmas  to everyone

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2022

 

 

The Thanksgiving Day Parade and the Hot Chocolate Miracle

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Macy's Thanksgiving day Parade

Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade from “back when”    wikipedia common

The Thanksgiving Day Parade and the Hot Chocolate Miracle

By Larry Peterson

During the early morning hours of November 24, 1906, a ship quietly slid against the ebb-tide waters of the Narrows and entered New York harbor. Onboard were almost 2000 people, mostly immigrating Europeans. Through the emerging light of the new dawn, the Statue of Liberty came into view. The appearance of the great icon had them mesmerized. They had arrived at their new home, America.

Among the people on board was a little girl from Hungaria. Her name was Julia, and she was four years old. She held a small rag doll tightly in her arms. At that moment in time, it was the only link she had to security and happiness.

Eight days earlier, Julia had hugged her poppa goodbye. She remembered his stubbly beard tickling her face and how he had reached into the pocket of his big wool overcoat and pulled out a surprise. It was a doll. He smiled and said, “For you, Shkutabella (my little pretty).  Her name is Rachel, and I made her for you. As long as you have her, I will always be with you even if I am not there. Do you understand?”

Julia nodded her head up and down, and her mom said, “Please, Bollassar, please come with us. I do not like going without you.”

“Viola, it is all right. I will be over in a year. My brother George will take care of you. It is all right. Our love will keep us close to each other.”

A week had passed, and as Viola and Julia stood on the deck, a lifeboat broke free from its support cable. It fell and hit Viola, killing her instantly. Julia’s mom had been standing next to her, and then suddenly, she was lying lifeless on the deck. The child’s young mind could not understand why her mom did not move. She screamed at her to wake up.  That would never happen. As the ship docked at the pier, all Julia could feel was fear and loneliness.

At Ellis Island, a bizarre series of events saw Julia shuffled from one official to another. When a lady smiled at her, the official nearby assumed they were together and made Julia go with the lady. The woman took Julia as far as Broome and Varick Streets in lower Manhattan. She told the child to stay there and walked away.  The little girl did as told, and just like that, Julia had become another abandoned child on the crowded and dangerous streets of lower Manhattan.

Little Julia, holding Rachel, had been standing in the same spot for more than an hour. She was cold, hungry, and frightened. Wiping her tears had left gray smudges across her puffy cheeks. Then her guardian angel stepped in. Turning the corner was the beat cop, Paddy Dolan. He was instantly smitten with the dark-haired, blue-eyed child and asked her her name. Hesitatingly she said, “Julia.”

The policeman knelt in front of Julia and placed his hands on her tiny shoulders. He smiled at her, and for the first time since she saw her mom’s lifeless body lying next to her on the ship’s deck, she felt a sense of peace grab at her. Officer Dolan brought her with him to the station-house.

After reporting in and signing out and checking as much as anyone could in 1906, Julia was declared an orphan. But this orphan was not going to an orphanage. Paddy Dolan brought her home.

Paddy’s wife, Aileen, a wee wisp of a gal from County Galway in Ireland, could not have children. Paddy and Aileen adopted Julia, and she became Julie Dolan. She grew up to be a teacher, married a man named Tommy O’Rourke, (also a policeman), and they had three children, two boys and a girl. The girl was named Viola.

On Thanksgiving day, 1951, Julia, her daughter Viola, and Viola’s four-year-old daughter, Karen, went to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. They stood in the crowd at 63rd Street and Central Park West, and, as Santa passed by, Viola suggested that they go to the Squire’s Restaurant a few blocks away and get some hot chocolate.

Karen was holding Rachel, Julia’s doll. Karen loved the doll and, in a moment of weakness, grandma Julia had allowed her to take the doll with her to the parade. Rachel had not been out of the house in over forty years.

They sat in a booth, sipping their hot chocolate, and Karen placed Rachel on the table. Julia reached over and fingered the doll lovingly.  Suddenly a man stood by their table. He was old and weathered and quite nervous. Julia turned her head and looked up at him. Instantly, a chill ran down her spine. The man pointed to the doll and nervously said, “Excuse me…is..is that doll’s name, Rachel?”

Not seeing her mother turning pale, Viola looked at him and answered, “Why yes, how could you know such a thing?”

As tears fell from the old man’s eyes, he looked at Julia and softly said, “Is it really you, Shkutabella?”

Julia jumped from her seat and threw her arms around the old man. “Oh Poppa,  Poppa, Poppa.  I can’t believe it. Yes, it is. It is. It is ME.”

 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Copyright©Larry Peterson2021

 

One Legend of the Jack-O-Lantern—Fact or Fiction

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  Jack-O-Lantern   en.wikipedia.org

By Larry Peterson

Long ago in Ireland, the land of shamrocks, leprechauns, soft winds and smiles, there lived a man named  Jack. Jack was quite lazy and did not like to work. But he had the gift of “blarney” and could talk the peat off the moss.

He would tell wondrous tales about his adventures as a world traveler and the people in his village would be held spellbound by his golden tongue. Alas, Jack outsmarted himself when he stole money from the townsfolk. He thought that they were not very smart and would never find out. But they did find out and began chasing him down the streets of the village.

As Jack ran down the road as fast as he could he rounded a bend and ran smack into the devil. The devil smiled at Jack and told him it was time for him to die and that he was there to take his soul. Jack quickly convinced the devil that if he would let him go and promise to never take his soul he would give him all the souls of the folks who were chasing him. “And how do you plan to do that, Jack?” the devil asked.
“Well now, all ye have ta do is turn ye-self into a pot of gold coins. Then I will give the coins to the people and you will be in all of their pockets. They will be yours.”

Since many souls were better than only one, the devil readily agreed and turned himself into a pot of gold coins. Jack gave the coins to all the people and they went away smiling never realizing that they had given themselves to the devil in return for money.

So Jack lived on, grew old and, like all mortal men, finally died. His life had been so sinful on earth that he could not get into heaven and since the devil could not take his soul, he could not get into hell. He had nowhere to go. He asked the devil how he was supposed to see because he was in complete darkness. The devil laughed and tossed Jack a burning ember from the fires of hell, an ember that would never burn out.

Jack, using the ember to guide his way, found a pumpkin patch (some say it was turnips) and carved out a pumpkin. He put the ember inside and began carrying it around so he could see where he was going. To this day he wanders the earth seeking a resting place. And that is why he is known as “Jack-O’-Lantern” or “Jack of the Lantern”.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN