No Quarantining for this Priest. He walked straight into the deadly Pandemic to minister to his people. It cost him his life.

Fr. Patrick J. Ryan      public domain

By Larry Peterson

Patrick Ryan had been born in 1845, and he was never aware of the hard times his mom and dad endured during his first few years. It was during the time of Ireland’s  Great Potato Famine when his family was evicted from their farm. After selling whatever they could, they managed to make their way to New York City. It was here young Patrick would grow up and eventually answer God’s call to serve.

Patrick was an average student and had to study hard to make acceptable grades. When he was 21, he was able to enroll in St. Vincent’s College in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Patrick was ordained in 1869 at the Cathedral in Nashville by Bishop P. A. Feehan. Ironically, the Feehan and Ryan families were close neighbors in Ireland, and this may be the reason Patrick joined the Nashville Diocese.

Father Patrick took charge of the Chattanooga area on July 10, 1872. He had to take care of not only the city but also of the southeastern part of the state. The baptismal register included towns such as Tracy City, Winchester, Cleveland, and others as places where Father Patrick had traveled to perform baptisms and administer the other sacraments. Father also was keenly aware that the need for a Catholic school was a prime requirement for the growing population.

The parish had always maintained a school for children. It operated under the supervision of the priest in charge, but all the grades were either taught by one man or one woman in the basement of the church. Father Patrick had different ideas. He was bound and determined to have a first-class school in his parish and the area. He also wanted nuns to be in charge. He headed to Nashville and pleaded with the Dominican Sisters of the St. Cecilia Congregation to establish new roots in Chattanooga. The Sisters had been in Nashville for sixteen years, and the timing was right for them to expand.

On January 6, 1876, four Dominican Sisters arrived in  Chattanooga and began the establishment of the Catholic faith in the area. The first thing they did was open the Notre Dame de Lourdes Academy. This school was located in the former rectory, which would also house the sisters. The regular school remained in the basement until a better facilty could be constructed. But the school had a “new life” about it. This was brought in by the nuns who immediately gave the school a level of excellence unseen until that they took charge.

The future of the parish seemed to be filled with hope and unbounded possibilities. Father Patrick was a happy man. But as is the way of things, sometimes things do not follow the way we think they will. A series of disastrous fires had consumed the business district. Then a cholera epidemic threatened the entire population. In 1875 a massive flood had struck. And now, unexpectedly, a little more than two years later, the school had to be converted into a hospital and an orphanage. The flooding created a perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes and Yellow Fever spread like wildfire.

The people of Chattanooga had escaped other plagues and considered themselves protected by the nearby mountains. It offered its hospitality to those in neighboring towns as a haven. But people coming into Chattanooga brought the disease with them.  Within a few days, the disease was declared an “epidemic,” and 80% of the population fled. One person who did not flee was Father Patrick Ryan. This was his home and these were his people. He would never leave them.

Witnesses said  Father Ryan was going from home to home in the worst infected sections of the city. His duty was to help the sick and dying and he was going to do that until he dropped. He came down with Yellow Fever on September 26. He was much sicker on the morning of the 27th and his newly ordained younger brother, Michael, administered Extreme Unction to his big brother. Father Patrick died on the morning of July  28, 1878. He was 33 years old.

Father Patrick Ryan was fully aware of the danger of yellow fever but chose to tend to his parishioners. He died, giving his life for others. On November 16, 2016,  the U. S. Bishops, at their General Assembly meeting in Baltimore, declared that Father Patrick Ryan is a Servant of God and his cause for sainthood has been forwarded to Rome.

We ask Servant of God Patrick Ryan to pray for us all, especially during this Covid-19 pandemic.

copyright©Larry Peterson 2020


COVID-19 and Euthanasia; potential allies in this Pandemic? Where is God in all of this?

Influenza epidemic in United States. St. Louis, Missouri, Red Cross Motor Corps on duty, October 1918. (National Archives)

By Larry Peterson

Portugal is a step closer to approving euthanasia and assisted suicide, and in Spain, the leftist government is completing their approval of legalizing life-ending procedures. Medical gurus in Italy, that very Catholic nation, home to Catholicism and the Pope, are telling their doctors that they should just let the elderly patients die. Why not,  if they have no insurance, they will cost the government $73,000.00 anyway. In our secularized world, it makes sense; the monetary cost outweighs the “value of the life.”

Remember the sad saga of little Alfie Evans, from the spring of 2018? Alfie was the disabled 23-month-old boy whose parents wanted to keep him and take care of him and love him until God took him. Ah yes, the wondrous doctors and legal scholars of Mother England decided that was not in the best interests of Alfie. No, they decided he was better off dead. One judge even got angry when they called Alfie a “human being.

I mention Alfie because I have experienced circumstances similar to Alfie’s parents. My wife was on life-support, but unlike Tom and Kate Evans, I had the task of allowing the machines to be turned off.  It was not a judge or a doctor or the courts or anything like that. It was ME,  the woman’s husband. The result was different. Alfie’s parents were stripped of their parental right to protect their child. I had secured the right to defend my wife.

Except for two overriding factors, Alfie’s death was unnecessary. First, the assumed necessity of his death is embedded within the secular practicality of  21st-century culture. Secondly, among many medical practitioners who lean on their omniscient ability, it was in Alfie’s “best interests” to die. They decided there was no hope for him to live on his own, and it followed that his life was mercifully disposable.

Although my wife was a middle-aged adult, and Alfie was a baby, the parallels in each case were quite similar. Alfie, at the age of seven months, developed seizures, and they caused him to go into a “semi-vegetative state.” Alfie did have brain function, but most doctors agreed that his condition (which they were not sure of) was incurable. Most importantly, his parent’s rights to try to save him were stripped from them by the courts.

Six doctors told us it was “no-use.” The consensus was, without doubt, that she would never survive without the ventilator.  My grown children took turns going to their mom’s bedside to say their “good-byes.” One at a time, they came from that room sobbing like babies. I was last and sat by her side, looking at her, holding her hand and saying whatever it was I was saying. Those words I do not remember. I do remember one word I heard; I was called a “murderer” by someone in Loretta’s family.

Unlike Alfie’s parents, I had control over the machine that was doing her breathing (she had been on life-support for three weeks). That was because Loretta had a “living will,” which gave me the right as her husband to sign what is called a DNR order. DNR means Do Not Resuscitate, and it allowed me, as the husband, to decide when to “pull the plug.”

Three of her doctors were there and the hospital chief-of-staff. I asked them to pray with us, and they all did. The machine was switched off, and the intubation tubes were removed. A minute passed by, and she kept breathing. Then two minutes passed by and then five and ten and then one hour. The cardiologist said, “Don’t be fooled; she is not going to  make it.”

Well, they were wrong. She did make it. Three days later, she was up in a room, and three weeks later, she came home. She had earned the title of “The Miracle Woman of Northside.” Her recovery was not only baffling; it was unexplainable. Ironically, cancer killed her exactly one year later.

In Alfie’s case, his parents had no choice. They were invoking God, along with countless others around the world, including the Pope, who had secured Italian citizenship for Alfie. The Italians were ready to transport Alfie to Italy for care and treatment. Unfortunately ,virtually every court in the U.K. ruled against the parent’s rights. The government and their “experts” knew best; Alfie must DIE. I cannot imagine standing by as my child’s life was taken from him and his family by court order. It is incomprehensible to me.

So the state took away the parent’s right to protect their child. They subjugated Natural Law and trampled upon the very nucleus of any thriving civilization, the family.  They removed Alfie’s tube, and the little boy lived for five days breathing on his own. Was that a message from above that those in charge should have tried harder? If they had waited one more day, might he have breathed on his own for six days and so on? Would recovery have been in Alfie’s future if he had lived another six months? I guess no one will ever know.

The point is,  the possibility exists for many families to be confronted with a life-death situation in the immediate future.  Many patients may not have a “living will.” If not, the hospital administrators will be in charge. If thousands of people become seriously ill with COVID-19, who is to decide what an average allowable time to live or die should be? We are all different, and some of us will pass on, and others will survive. Who will determine the acceptable “time frame” for the life and death struggle?

If you think it cannot happen in the USA, you are wrong.  The respect for God-given life is under assault all over the world. The Catholic governor of NewYork cheered the passing of the “infanticide bill” in January. His state has the most prolific number of COVID-19 deaths in the entire country. If the numbers increase, will he agree to an acceptable age limit to allow the “elderly NOT to be cared for?

The unpredictability, combined with the deadly consequences of COVID-19, leaves us all in a tenuous position. Who among us will be left to determine who lives and who dies and when and where? If you do not have a Living Will find one on line—preferably faith-based. Yes, get God into the equation. We need Him more than ever.

 

Copyright©Larry Peterson 2020

 


Satan tried to give us The Darkest Sunday Ever —Once again He Failed Miserably

St. Joseph Calasanz–Patron of Catholic Schools                 public domain

By Larry Peterson

It is Sunday morning, March 22, 2020. What follows is simply this man pondering a  morning that he never in a million years could have imagined happening. It is a Sunday morning without Mass. Yes, the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is nowhere to be found. Nowhere in my town, my county, my state, or my country is Mass being offered. Or is this just more “fake news?”

This unimagined directive was ordered by each of the Bishops and Archbishops and Cardinals, who oversee the 177 dioceses that occupy the entire United States of America. They did it to save us from a virus, known as COVID-19.  They were worried about us getting sick and were trying to protect us.

So today, Sunday, March 22, 2020, as the secular world rejoices, its best friend and biggest cheerleader, Satan, does not. He outsmarted himself. The Master of Darkness simply used the smallest weapon in his arsenal to halt the thing he hates more than anything else on this planet,  Christ present in the Holy Eucharist.  He used a virus; tiny, invisible, yet deadlier than the dreaded AK-47. But he failed because hate gets you nothing but more hate, and that is what Satan once again achieved, stuffing more hatred into his blackened spirit.

You see, Satan, shrouded in his hate-consumed black spirituality, forgot one thing; he forgot about the Catholic Priesthood. He may have been influential in having the churches close down, but he was unable to stop the celebration of the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Christ’s thousands of ordained priests will still be celebrating Mass in the churches.

Along with a few attendees to assist, the Most Holy Sacrifice will go on in individual parishes all over the United States and throughout the world. The faithful Catholics that attend Sunday Mass will not be present. They may be watching the Mass live-streamed or on TV. It will not be the same for them. They will be unable to receive Christ in the Eucharist. Maybe it is good for the laity to be deprived of this great gift anyway. A few weeks being told “NO” may help many of us appreciate a bit more what a great gift this is.

We must remember that the primary purpose of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is for the Son of God, Jesus Christ, to continue offering  Himself to His Father, in heaven, for all of us here who are sinners. Calvary lives on in perpetuity through the power of the Holy Priesthood and the Sacrament of Holy Orders.  The priest stands in the shoes of Christ and changes bread and wine into the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ Himself. Upon completion of the consecration, God’s angels escort the precious Gifts to God the Father Who, after accepting them, asks the Holy Spirit to give the now Risen Christ back to all of us  as His great gift of Salvation. We  are then able to receive HIM within our very selves, sharing in the life of God.     (See Eucharistic Prayer #1 The Roman Canon).

We should not worry because, on this day, March 22, 2020, there are still Masses being offered all around the world. We also might remember that a Mass being offered by a missionary alone in a cave in some faraway place has the same intrinsic value as the Holy Father offering a Mass St. Peter’s Basilica on Easter Sunday. Satan tried again and once more, failed to stifle the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. He will never quit trying. He will always fail. But we all must always be vigilant because Satan and his minions never rest.

From the Roman Canon:

With deep reverence we ask you, almighty God: command that these gifts be carried by the hands of your holy angel to your altar on high in the sight of your divine majesty. And for all who will receive the most holy body and blood of your Son in this communion at the altar, let them be filled with all the blessings and gifts of heaven. (Through Christ our Lord, Amen.)

copyright ©Larry Peterson 2020


The Strange Paradox of COVID-19. Saving the Lonely by making them Lonelier

Influenza epidemic in United States. St. Louis, Missouri, Red Cross Motor Corps on duty, October 1918. (National Archives)

By Larry Peterson

I have learned that loneliness has no boundaries. It reaches out for everyone and captures many of the unsuspecting, including the seemingly happy, satisfied, and successful. Yes, loneliness is capable of dragging the lonely into a world of hidden misery and often depression. It can attack anyone at any time, and it has become a social condition of almost epidemic proportions.

I have been widowed twice and know full well how loneliness can occupy a unique place in the widowed equation. Loneliness also reaches out and captures those who may have lost a child, a parent, a sibling, or even a dear friend. I carry the loneliness package from all of those

Suddenly, loneliness has been gifted with a new victim to feast on: it can now extend its ravenous appetite into the pandemic known as COVID-19, aka the coronavirus.  Loneliness is about to ravage the senior citizen in ways never imagined.  One way will be to take away their chairs and sofas.

I have been bringing Holy Communion to the homebound on Sundays for over twenty years. It may be the most uplifting thing I do and I know I have been spiritually rewarded many times over. This past Sunday, I confronted a new wrinkle among my visits. I have one lady, Virginia (she is 98), who resides in an independent living apartment. It is a reasonably long walk from the parking lot to the building entrance. Once there, you use a keypad to gain access. I scroll to Virginia’s name and get her on the speaker. She buzzes me in.

As the sliding doors open, I stop short. No one is there. Every Sunday, there are four or five, maybe six, people in the lobby sitting around chatting and just visiting with each other. They know my name, and I always get a friendly welcome from them.  We exchange a few pleasantries (I usually joke about something), and then I go on my way.

But this Sunday no one is there. I just stood there because it took me a few seconds to realize that no one was there because the furniture was gone. The lobby was empty. There was no sofa, or chairs, or coffee table. They had been removed, and there was no place to sit and talk. This was done courtesy of the management “protecting” the residents against COVID-19 or coronavirus. We must keep the elderly SAFE. No problem; just keep them in their rooms—ALONE.

The situation impacted me deeply. I have been visiting the sick and homebound for a long time, and they do not ask for much. However, in their low profile quiet world, they look forward to sitting together (if possible) and just talking about whatever it is they talk about. My visit is a big deal for them. I see each of my folks for about ten minutes each, sometimes a bit longer.

I may be the only visitor they see all week. Yet my visit buoys them up for my next visit which is a week away.  The folks that gather in the lobby every week are non-catholic and do not receive. But I do get to say a short prayer with them, and they like my doing it. So do I.

But now, on this Sunday morning in March of the year 2020, it seems things have changed in a way no one could have ever imagined.  The powers that be want us to be alone. They want us to avoid each other, not touch each other, and become individual entities. But we are social beings and like it or not; we need each other. We need to touch and hold and shake hands and hug, especially among family and friends.

Nursing homes all over the country have been placed on “lockdown.” Patients in these places will be relegated to their beds. Family and friends will not be allowed to visit them. Independent living apartments will have empty lobbies and courtyards. There will be no place for the tenants to sit and congregate.

Will our country and maybe the world soon have billions of separate individuals with no one to talk to or visit with.  It is such a strange paradox; saving the lonely by making them lonlier than they already are.

We had all better pray like we never prayed before that this coronavirus is vanquished quickly.  We cannot live this way for very long.

copyright©Larry Peterson 2020