Moving Forward in Hope and Love

When I moved to Rochester from Long Island in 1995 and joined St. Joseph’s Church, I was surprised to see women preaching at the time of the homily. My surprise soon gave way to a new way of understanding our shared responsibility for the vitality of our Catholic community, and the need to develop our talents in the service of God and each other. Like the Samaritan woman in this past Sunday’s Gospel and the man born blind this week, my faith slowly deepened and I ultimately understood myself as called to ministry.

For the past five years, as your pastoral associate, my ministry has included occasionally offering Scripture reflections at the Mass. Authorized by Bishop Emeritus Matthew Clark for lay preaching in 2009, I took this sacred privilege very seriously. My formation has included six years of study at St. Bernard’s School of Theology and Ministry, receiving a Master of Divinity, and ongoing Scripture study.

I am deeply grateful for the exchanges I have had with so many of you in dialogue with what I have shared in my reflections.  I am deeply grateful to Bishop Emeritus Clark and Father Jim Schwartz for entrusting me with this ministry.

The matter of canon law relevant to preaching at the time of the homily is currently being reviewed on a case-by-case basis by the Most Reverend Bishop Salvatore R. Matano.  My reflections at St. Joseph’s Masses have been addressed in the early part of this process.  In compliance with canon law and more recent Church documents, I will no longer be reflecting on the Scripture in the context of the Mass.

Moving forward, Bishop Matano is encouraging to me in my ministry with you. I very much appreciate words he wrote to me, “To be sure, your love for Our Lord, the Catholic faith and the Church is quite evident, and I pray you will continue to use your talents to build up the Body of Christ.”  Please join me in praying for Bishop Matano and his ministry with us, his care and concern for all so beautifully demonstrated when he was with us this past Saturday evening.

I recommit myself to using my talents to build up the Body of Christ.  I hope to refocus some of my energy and gifts on new forms of adult formation and Scripture study. And there’s my new-found love, social media! If you want to follow my ramblings on a daily basis, follow me on Twitter @cathykamp or Facebook at Cathy Kamp. Weekly, check out “Cathy’s Journal” at http://cathykamp.blogspot.com. If you have other ideas or suggestions, please be in touch.

Humbly, I seek your prayers as I reflect on what this change means for me and other lay ministers in the Catholic Church. I thank you for the gift and the joy of being your pastoral associate at St. Joseph’s. You are ever in my prayers.

Blessings,

Cathy 

Show Me the Way

Throughout my life, when I have really felt confused and unable to discern the path God has in my mind for me, my mantra in prayer has been, “show me the way.” Our Gospel question of the week asks how our dialogue with the Lord has evolved over the years, as the Samaritan woman’s dialogue with Jesus evolves in this Sunday’s Gospel (John 4: 5-42). I find my need for direction and my dialogue changes as the crosses and joys of my life change, but the mantra stays the same. This Lent, that seems particularly ironic since here at St. Joseph’s our message is that Jesus is inviting all of us to “follow me.” I hear that invitation but I must confess I am still praying, ever more fervently, “show me the way.” With our five Lenten Gospels as guideposts, I find this prayer has been percolating in my heart. Maybe it will help you to know where Jesus leads when he says, “Come, follow me.”

Jesus, I desire always to know and follow you.

When I am tempted by own deserts of despair and disappointment,

Show me the way.

When I can no longer see you transfigured before me,

Show me the way.

When the well is too deep and I cannot find my way to your life-giving waters of truth,

Show me the way.

When the light of faith eludes me,

Show me the way.

When the ones you and I love are sick,

Show me the way.

Jesus, I desire always to know and follow you.

Show me the way.

Amen.

Blessings,

Cathy

Two Great Women of Faith

Over the course of the day yesterday, I learned of the loss of two great women of faith, Mary Claire Lyons and Sister Charles, OCarm.

Mary Claire was a decades-long parishioner at St. Joseph’s. She was deeply committed to many ministries over the years but nothing more than participation in the celebration of the Eucharist and the preparation of youth for the Sacrament of Confirmation.  I was privileged to get to know Mary Claire when her beloved husband, Charlie, was in the last year of his life, about three years ago. She was very committed to honoring his wish to live and die at home. Once when I was visiting with them at home, Charlie, who was not supposed to walk on his own, tried to follow us to the door as I was leaving and took a fall. He said, “A gentleman does not sit when two women stand.” Not wanting to call 911 for fear they would take him into the hospital unnecessarily, Mary Claire called a friend to help lift him while I enlisted a certain unnamed volunteer firefighter. Together, they were able to lift him. She never stopped expressing her gratitude for that simple act of kindness and respect to Charlie’s and her wishes.

After Charlie passed, I learned first-hand what others had shared with me about Mary Claire. She had a fierce determination to do everything according to a set of standards and values all her own. She knew how she needed to grieve for Charlie and no societal norms were going to get in the way of that. I came to have the greatest admiration for how she remembered her husband in her day-to-day living in the home they had made together and where they had raised their family. May they be reunited now in their eternal home.

Last evening, I also received a call that a lifelong friend of my parents and family had gone home to God, our dear Sister Charles. She and my dad had worked together and then she took her vows as a Carmelite nun, and she worked the rest of her life in physical therapy with the aged and infirm. 

I have the most wonderful childhood memories of dining out in the best New York restaurants with her and her fellow sisters. In the 1960s and 70s the Carmelite sisters wore full habits, but that did not stop my dad from egging them on to enjoy a cocktail or two with dinner. How they would laugh! How they loved God and life! How the maître d in one particular German restaurant would roll out the red carpet every time we arrived. For a young Catholic schoolgirl, this was delicious stuff! I loved our outings with her, and the mutual affection between her and my parents knew no bounds. Even in her final years when she was not so well herself, that love poured forth at the death of my mom and again a year later when I received my Master of Divinity. She was proud of that little Catholic schoolgirl all grown up, and she no doubt was an influence on my vocation to the Church. My “prayer” this happy hour is that Sister Charles and my dad are clinking glasses in heaven.

And so the Communion of Saints grows by two. May your precious souls rest in peace, Mary Claire and Sister Charles.

Treasured--All My Life

When you work for the Church, you’re always thinking a liturgical season ahead. And so I’m presently immersed in the Lenten Gospels as we’re preparing video and print materials for our small groups at St. Joseph’s. And so on this 13^th anniversary of my dad’s passing, I find myself pondering a question meant for reflection in the fifth week of Lent and the raising of Lazarus: How has the death of one you loved affected your journey of faith?

The truth is, prior to my dad’s battle with lung cancer in 2000-2001, I’m not sure I would have understood the question. In reflection, my journey of faith began anew with my dad’s passing.

As in any family or close group of people, when tragedy strikes, we discover many things about ourselves. First and foremost, we all handle crisis and grief differently. We take on roles to complement and support each other (and, of course, at times clash with one another’s human frailties).

When my dad was ill, there was no doubt about who would tend to his physical needs. My mom would take care of him for as long as she could, and then my sister Margaret would share her nursing skills and love to assist them. And so Margaret did, with a selfless tenderness I will never forget.

What could I do except be there? Even that was easier said than done with my parents living in Florida and Greg and I having a houseful of young kids in Rochester.

But on the trips I managed to make to Florida, I came to realize that my dad had a need to openly talk about dying. He needed to say the words out loud and be heard. He needed to wonder about what came next for him and for those he would leave behind.

In his need, I discovered something about myself. I was OK with his need to talk about it. I came to treasure these conversations or his very occasional, very brief written notes.

One was a handwritten note that came in the mail along with a 1960s, yellowed, soft-cover composition notebook. It was our bird-watching list, started in 1967, and kept by my dad for the rest of his life. He returned it to me, writing: “It has no monetary value, but it has been a treasured possession for a big part of my life. Take care of it for me.” I take it out every year on this morning and chuckle at the silly bird names and marvel at how my little-girl penmanship gave way to his continued decades of recording birds from Long Island to the West Coast to Florida, and even Rochester.

What a gift it was in those last months of his life to see into the very sensitive, emotional, and spiritual side of the one I loved. That experience awoke in me a need to better understand that bit of myself that was comfortable with these conversations, and to appreciate it for what it is – like everything else in life – a gift from God, not to be hidden but shared.

What gifts are waiting to be awoken in you? Blessings!

Then What Happened?

This past weekend, I had the sacred privilege of sharing a reflection on Luke’s Gospel for the Presentation of Our Lord. As an illustration of how both prayer and life’s moments of testing can lead us closer to God and open us to hear God’s voice, I shared a parenting experience from about seven years ago. (You can link to the full text here.)

In an attempt to be both precise and to intentionally leave a bit to the imagination, I left out some details. Some people (moms, in particular) seemed to react with an intuitive understanding. Others really needed to know the whole story.

So today, I share a few more details in this blog. Here’s the part I shared in the reflection:

Simeon and Anna got me reflecting on a time in my family life when I really felt tested as a mom. I had just started working here at St. Joe’s. At home one of our daughters was in high school and a young driver. A few close-calls made us think it wise to impose the restriction that she not drive her friends around town.

A few days later, I pulled out of the Church parking lot on my way to visit three homebound elderly women with Holy Communion. From the high school parking lot came my daughter in her car – and it seemed like kids were just filling up every square inch of that little automobile. My heart sank, my maternal blood boiled.

I had no choice, thanks be to God, but to continue on to my scheduled visits. In the sacred space of these older women’s homes, we talked, we prayed, and Christ was present among us and in the Holy Communion they received. As I went from home to home, the gentle wisdom of these women of great faith replaced my angry, hurt feeling. I returned to St. Joe’s and felt drawn to the chapel, again to the presence of Christ. All was quiet. Out of the silence came a word, over and over. FORGIVE. FORGIVE. FORGIVE.

Now, if you’ve ever raised teenagers…you know this is about the most counterintuitive advice you could imagine. But the message from Jesus was clear. I needed to trust the beautiful person that deep down I knew was emerging in my daughter. I needed to let go and recognize the potential inside her. I needed to see that God was present in this young and vulnerable child of mine, this beloved daughter of God.

Needless to say, how right God was. Out of that test, that challenge, I was blessed to see the mature, caring, responsible young woman God was already busy creating before my eyes. Out of that test, that challenge, my relationship with her changed forever. Thanks be to the wisdom of our elderly, faith-filled parishioners, thanks be to our Lord and Savior.

A few details that people asked about:

“Did your daughter know you saw her?” Yes.

“How did you just keep going with your visits?” I turned my cell phone off.

“How did she get in touch with you?” When I returned to the pastoral offices, I found out my sister was frantically calling from Long Island to track me down because my daughter had called her. (My family is not used to me going off the grid.)

“Do you still see those parishioners you visited that day?” All of those beautiful women have gone home to God – may their souls rest in peace. I was blessed to know them.

But the big question: “Weren’t you letting her get away with it? How was she going to learn?”

Oh my, I see it so differently. What is more intimidating than a calm parent when you know you’ve really messed up? What is harder than taking responsibility for yourself?

And who says she was the one with something to learn?

God spoke to me in my anger and hurt. God moved me to forgive and to figure out what that meant. Out of the opportunity I had to be in prayer that afternoon, and to be with people of wisdom, I had the gift of time and God’s voice to guide me in how I should react.

God gave me the gift of a more mature relationship with my daughter.

Greg and I often reflect on how fortunate we are to have four responsible, loving, hard-working twenty-something kids. They are the light of our lives now and always – thanks be to God.

Blessings to you and your family!

What helps you recognize God?

Our question of the week at St. Joseph’s, in anticipation of this Sunday’s Gospel on the Presentation of the Lord, asks: What helps you recognize the presence of God in daily life? Is it prayer? Struggle? Being “tested?”

For myself, I often find it’s a combination of these things. When life is swimming along, it’s easy to express gratitude to God and to bask in warm feelings.

When the tides turn, I find my focus shifts more intensely to prayer and it tends to be more transformative.

One year in particular that stands out in my mind in 2001, when in the space of 12 months my dad passed away after a painful battle with lung cancer; 9/11 happened; and one of my daughter’s young friends suffered a devastating brain aneurysm. Everything in life seemed askew, from the immediate world of my family and community to the larger world stage.

Yet, it was in those difficult events that I started to see God’s presence in the things of daily life in a much different way: appreciating the grace-filled lifelong love of my parents for each other as my dad’s life was nearing its end, seeing the world rally in compassion for the victims and their families in the tragic events of 9/11; and witnessing how one young girl’s crisis could impact so many people and their faith in so many positive ways, large and small.

What are your struggles this day? How are you being tested?

Would you know Jesus if he were to come to you in the midst of your difficulties?

Give yourself the gift of some quiet time in prayer this week.

Spend time with people who have the wisdom of years and lifelong faith, like Simeon and Anna in this week’s Gospel (Luke 2:22-40).

And stay warm.

Blessings!

Sharing the Light--This Week!

In this coming Sunday’s Gospel, we hear about the call of the disciples, how each of us is called by name for a specific purpose in the discipleship of the Lord Jesus. All of us are called to share the light of Christ.

One of our RCIA candidates recently said in response to this Gospel truth, “That’s scary.”

Isn’t that the truth, too? What if we miss God’s call? What if we don’t get it?

Fortunately, that’s why God gives us faith for life and a lifelong journey so that over and over again we have the opportunity to hear where we are being directed and chosen for the work of God—today, in this time and place.

In the past week at St. Joseph’s we have seen people witnessing to the love of Jesus Christ in so many ways. Here’s just a few ways people are sharing the light:

Our Martha Ministers outdid themselves in hospitality and pastoral care for parishioners and others in our community who currently are caregivers, and for those whose loved ones have now gone home to God;

Parish Social Outreach leaders have challenged us to learn more about Rochester ACTS—Alliance of Communities Transforming Society—so that St. Joseph’s may be part of this urban/suburban partnership to “to train and empower citizens to shape the political, social and economic decisions that impact their lives;”

Too many people have volunteered for our homeless outreach next week in partnership with St. Mary’s downtown … so much food was contributed to Phillip the Van that we need to find alternative ways to manage the food in February!

People of all ages (toddler on up) gathered to talk about ways to form the faith of our youngest parishioners—how do we best plant “seeds of faith”?;

Parents are learning in faith in anticipation of preparing their children for First Eucharist this Easter season;

New Bible studies are beginning;

And more…

I am blessed to be part of a community with so many opportunities to hear God’s call and to share the light of Christ received in Baptism.

Blessings!