Fr. John's Christmas Note 2006

DECEMBER 2006

And what a year it’s been. I write this from New York City - Manhattan - the Big Apple - the place of my birth and where I worked professionally as an actor and the center of the New York Province of the Society of Jesus. (When I first was applying to the Jesuits, the Vocation Director said at one point, “You know, since you live in Princeton, technically you are in the Maryland Province, and you could apply to join that Province. You’re free to apply anywhere, but I wanted you to know you had that choice.” I looked at him, and said, “But New York is the center of the universe.” He said, “OK, you should apply here.”)

Back in New York. This note assumes you have read the missive (which is also found here) “The Priest Has Left the Building” which explores my leaving Kwajalein. If you read last year’s missive, you were probably surprised I was leaving. So was I. It was a very busy, very good year - and I’m going to zip through some of the high points of it right now.

HEALTH
I have crossed the invisible divide - I’m 60 years old as of December 13th - and so (like so many “old” men) I find myself talking about my health. Aches and pains. Bodily functions.

As the last massive missive for last Christmas ended, our hero (that would be me) was still suffering from an unnecessary appendectomy. They had taken out my appendix because of the pain in my gut, only to find out that the poor little guy was perfectly healthy. Actually, that didn’t upset me a lot, since it’s nice to have that essentially useless appendage out of the way. (They tell the story of Eisenhower as a young officer, saying that he thought he’d have his appendix removed. Someone asked him if it had been bothering him, and he replied, “No, but it might rear up and put me out of action some time when it was really important.” The ultimate in planning ahead.)

What upset me was the pain. Not only that it continued but that it continued to grow worse. And the doctor didn’t seem to be terribly interested. Maybe he was embarrassed that the appendix had proved healthy, but there seemed to be no curiosity about what had caused the original pain, and no curiosity about what was causing the ongoing pain and even less interest in trying to stop it. I kept going back and each time I was told, “Let’s give it a little longer.” Finally, after a month, I exploded, slammed doors, raised my voice - and changed doctors. (One of the hospital staff said to me, once the decision had been made to send me to Honolulu - hereafter referred to as Hono - that several people on the staff couldn’t understand why I had waited so long. Sigh.)

So off I went to Honolulu, where a nice surgeon took about ten seconds to diagnose (in his words) “a really big hernia.” His question to me was how in the world they could have missed this where I was. For which I had no answer. So they cut me open (although I missed an opening in the surgical rotation by about a half an hour and so had to wait four or five days before the job could be done) and they put in one of those net things to hold everything in place. It’s a great system - I came from the hotel by cab early in the morning, they checked me in, tucked me into a bed in an area where lots of people were being prepped for out surgery. I had my own little tv set to keep me company (and I was even able to tune it to the Golf Channel) - heated sheets (now THERE is a nice touch) and I dozed off. When I awoke, I was in another little cubicle - they brought me coffee and toast - called me a cab - I was back in the hotel by 2 pm, and feeling much better than I thought I would. Of course I was doped to the gills, hence the lack of pain and sense of general well-being. The hotel staff had been alerted, so if I needed anything they were ready, and I had laid in a supply of food and drink in the little fridge in my room. This was all good.

Now the next morning was a little tough - there was a lot more pain on the day after than on the day of. It took me a full 30 minutes to get the determination and sheer will power to complete the task of actually sitting up. Sitting up was tough. But once up, I could (with concentration and focusing really hard) move a little - and each day got a little better. It was frustrating, being in Hono without being to see anything or do anything. I had had a nice tour of the island before the surgery - a friend of a friend took me on a tour of the island (by car, since walking was painful) and since she is Hawaiian, I got to see some great things. One of the parishioners from Kwaj was passing through, and he took me shopping and we had a fun lunch - and I managed to get to two Rotary meetings - so the time before wasn’t a total waste, nor the time after. But each adventure prior to the surgery took its toll (I was in a fair amount of pain at that point) and it was NOT your typical trip to Hono, and since the company had very tight limits on what they would pay for, I couldn’t do very much. (Not being able to walk and not being able to pay for a cab cuts down on the options a WHOLE lot.)

When I got back to Kwaj, I was under doctor’s orders not to walk more than block at a stretch, not to even try riding a bike for a number of weeks - how does one get to and from work? I had permission to get a golf cart - but there were not any available - or so I was told. So I walked. I had bought myself a little folding stool in Hono which I carried about, so I could sit down when I needed to. And I walked slowly. But there was no choice. Visitors to the island could get carts so they didn’t have to walk around or ride bikes to which they were unaccustomed. VIP’s had vehicles - but apparently there is no provision for employees who need temporary help in order to do their work. (Grumble, fratsis, snort.)

Bit by bit it improved, and while I still get an occasional twinge in that area, the doctor I saw in New York did not seem unduly concerned. As long as we’re talking about health things, that same doctor did a whole physical on yours truly, and pronounced me fit and healthy “with the blood pressure of a 15-year old.” (I wish I had some of the other things of a 15 year old.) The dentist has pronounced my teeth fit - so barring some surprising news from the podiatrist or the eye doctor, I enter into my 61st year with the body in good shape.

EVENTS AND ADVENTURES
OK - now that we’ve taken care of the physical stuff, what about other things? Well, January, for all the pain I was in, was a busy month. I was still going up to Roi Namur for Mass, and for those who like to read significance into events, it was in January that one whole side of the small chapel collapsed.. Fell right down. Fortunately no one was around, so there were no injuries, just mess. Bless the workmen - they not only came in quickly to fix and clean, they even put the Stations of the Cross back together. Glued broken pieces, put something in the cracks and painted over, so you were hard-pressed to tell where the damage had taken place.

Unfortunately, it’s indicative of the general state of things in many places on Kwaj. Buildings are decaying, in some cases downright dangerous. There is one office where (I speak nothing but the truth here) they literally wear helmets at their desks, because of concrete pieces falling from the ceiling. The trailer where I lived was built in 1962. Now in ’62 they built good trailers, so the thing is holding together. But I doubt they thought the useful life of this thing was going to be almost 45 years. And in a climate where a bicycle will rust out in less than two years, because of the salt land humidity.

One wonderful woman on Kwaj gave me a Christmas present - a day of cleaning. (Isn’t that a much nicer gift than a fruit basket?) I invoked it on the day the Christmas tree came down and so not only did my trailer get a WONDERFUL cleaning, there were no residual pine needle popping out from unexpected places. (Says something about my own skills as a housekeeper that when I left my hard housing residence in October to move into the trailer, and we did the final clean out of the place, after the furniture and everything else was gone, there were handfuls of pine needles in the final trash sweep.) Later in January I went to Majuro for a couple of days of training, with other Jesuits from the Marshalls, and a couple of our men from New York who came out. It was nice to be with other Jesuits, if even only for a couple of days. The pastor of the church in Majuro was ordained the same time I was, although when I came for this visit, he was on Pohnpei for another meeting. Ain’t it always the way?

And then to Hono for the surgery. Back to Kwaj for recuperation. When I got off the plane, a friend came by with a truck and drove me back to the trailer with my suitcase. On the way (foreshadowing of things to come?) he said the latest rumor going around Kwaj (Kwaj exists on rumors) was that KRS was going to do away with the chaplains, had I heard anything about it? I dismissed it as silliness, because the Army requires chaplains. Hmmm...I wonder.

February brought a visit by Ken Hezel, the Regional Superior of the Jesuits and the First Communion candidates receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time (confession for your older hands). There was a great Mardi Gras party (at which I was crowned King of Kwajalein - picture available somewhere on this site) and the parish had a terrific second year of Death By Chocolate, a combination Mardi Gras and dessert party at the Country Club, for kids and families as well as single folk.

In March I had a formal evaluation of my work as chaplain - rave reviews, high marks, compliments up and down the line. (I have a copy if you’d like to see it. Darn thing practically glows in the dark, for all the good it did me. I don’t mean to keep harping on this being sent away business, but it does rather frustrate when the powers that be give you a glowing evaluation and then send you away for reasons they won’t discuss. Grumble.) Lent started, and I made a guest appearance in the high school production of Taming of the Shrew (I played a priest - let’s hear it for type casting). Fran Hezel (cousin of the Ken Hezel mentioned before, and one of the great experts on Micronesia) came out to do a Day of Recollection for the Parish, a workshop with kids in the high school, and two talks for the general population.

As I reviewed events of the year, I kept coming across these little foreshadowing moments. On April 1st, I was late coming into the office, and I told the secretary and Rick Funk, the Protestant Chaplain, that the reason I was late was because I had been over at HR handing in my 90-day notice (ie resignation) and filling out the paperwork. Yup, I said, I wrote down my name and my date of birth, today’s date, April 1st - and I paused. It was such a successful April Fool’s I sent it out to a bunch of friends as an e-mail. (I wonder if that started to give people ideas?) I was supposed to go to Pohnpei for a gathering of Jesuits but I had sent my passport off to get new pages in it, and it did not get back in time. In fact, it arrived on Kwaj the day I would have returned.

Holy Week is always a busy time. On the day after Palm Sunday we had the Way of the Cross through the community, carrying a large cross to a number of places around the island, At each we would stop, read a little Scripture for reflection and pray. On that same day, I had confessions, and then I went and joined a group who were bringing presents and food to a small community on Carlson, about a 50 minute boat ride from Kwaj. On Wednesday there was a Town Hall meeting. Can you imagine scheduling a gathering like that in the middle of Holy Week? Sigh.

Holy Thursday last year was also the first night of Passover, so we combined the Holy Thursday ritual with a traditional Jewish Seder meal. The first part of the ceremony was the Seder, with the prayers and readings about the meaning of Passover. That, along with a Gospel reading, was the Liturgy of the Word. We celebrated that sitting at tables in the large public gathering room at the high school. Then we moved to stand around the altar at the far end of the room. After Mass, those who had made reservations returned to the tables, where we had a meal. At the end of the meal, I re-enacted the washing of the feet, and then, since the New Testament tells us they “went into the night singing psalms”, we carried the Blessed Sacrament in procession along the ocean road, singing hymns. It was a great celebration, very dramatic, and we had about 90 people for the Mass. My years with the Jewish Temple keep coming in handy.

Holy Saturday - the great day of silence of the Easter Triduum - and the powers that be scheduled a Mass casualty exercise. Sigh again. I know, terrorists could very well strike on Holy Saturday as well as any other time. But really and truly, it does rather seem to be a tad inconsiderate for the people who are trying to keep the spirit of this extraordinary weekend. Between the Town Hall meeting and the mass casualty exercise, you’d almost think there was a plot against maintaining a religious spirit of Easter. (Last year I managed to get a party for kids changed from Good Friday afternoon. )

May is always a busy month on Kwaj, because we have high school graduation and the parties that surround that, and many people are preparing to leave. Of course, lately people seem to be leaving in a fairly constant stream throughout the year, but in May the pace picks up, both the permanent leavings and those who go away for the summer. We also celebrated First Communion in the parish, and Mother’s Day, with the traditional May crowning (some traditions never die).

One of the aspects of the Kwaj community was the way in which we could sometimes incorporate bits of the Marshallese community around us into our liturgies. For First Communion, for instance, Marshallese women came in the day before and created spectacular palm frond weavings for the front of the church. The young people were in matching outfits, native style, flower leis for the priest and altar servers. All quite beautiful. Palm Sunday is another occasion when the palm weavers really shine, and they can make the most extraordinary palm weavings out of a single palm, with the individual fronds split and woven together in a dazzling display of imagination and dexterity.

In May I gave a thank you dinner party for the CCD teachers, and I sang a concert up on Roi. Last December, Neil Dye and I were supposed to repeat Father John’s Birthday Bash for the Roi residents, and at the last minute, because of a mission, Neil couldn’t go. I did a solo concert up there anyway, but we had promised them something special, so in May, Neil and I and Jane Christy, with Win Keller, Jr on the piano did “Beauty and the Beasts.” Great fun. We did everything from opera to Broadway (very broad) to folk songs and lots of jokes and stories. For the terminally curious, there is a DVD of the evening - bad photography but you get a sense of what you missed. (For that matter, there are disks for three of the four concerts I gave while I was out on Kwaj. I’m not distributing them but if we’re ever together I can show them. I might leave the room and go read, but they do exist. For the wonderment and edification of future generations.)

Summer is quiet on Kwaj, because so many people are away. So, at the time when the most people are off island, the company decided to have a survey, to find out what the workers really thought about some key issues. On the face of it, this sounds like a good idea, in a place where morale is in the toilet. But not only was this scheduled for the period of fewest people around, when the forms were sent to each member of the community, we discovered that the forms were numbered. Now THAT is a good way to discourage anyone from responding. When the issue was raised, the response from the company was that there were no plans to track individual answers, but rather that they were trying to prevent people from stuffing the boxes. In other words, they didn’t trust the employees. Of course, the employees don’t trust them either, so I guess that’s fair. Most places, people who run a survey are delighted with small responses. If someone is willing to go to the trouble to make extra copies and stuff the boxes, I think that says something. Some did answer, and some really took time and wrote pages of supplemental material. No one really believes that it will have an effect on anything, quite honestly.

The other thing that happened during the summer was that two of my god children came to visit. They had each just graduated from college - they are brother and sister but Rob had taken a detour for a while, and so he and his sister ended up finishing at the same time. She was at Cornell, did a double major, Magna cum laude, and he was at Johnson & Wales. For those of you who do not know these things, J&W is perhaps THE best school for catering and food service management there is - hot stuff.

So this was my graduation present to them. I have not seen much of them growing up (I have been away most of the time) so I thought before they disappeared into careers, I’d at least have a chance to get to know them a little. We did the full range of Kwaj things - boating and fishing and they each got their Open Water Diving certification. Several people fell in love with Tory and Rob cooked - boy did Rob cook. One of my good friends on Kwaj is, among other things, a personal chef. (That’s a job - he had done that as a career for a number of years, and he’s really good.) And Rob held his own quite handily when the two of them cooked together for a St Ignatius Day dinner and then for the regular gathering of the Padre’s Pub.

(Padre’s Pub? This was a weekly coming together of odd folks that I had inherited. It was started by a great guy in the fire department, Mike Gabany - the company got rid of him because he would not certify things as safe that manifestly weren’t. When he left, a couple of others hosted the gathering for a while, and then I took it over and named it the Padre’s Pub. Anyone was welcome - people would bring food to cook and share, we fired up the grill, and we never knew from week to week how many might show up. One week we’d have eight, the next week 23/ It was great fun, and there was always more food than people. Folks enjoyed it because they got to meet people they would not otherwise cross paths with, and great friendships were formed across departments and ages and backgrounds. Sometimes people brought instruments and there was music - sometimes not. One never knew.

As I was leaving Bob Hamel offered to take it over, and so one night we had a ceremonial passing of the torch. .A real torch, of course. We had it light at my place, and about the middle of the evening, complete with singing and a recording of the Olympic anthem, we all marched the torch from my trailer down to the new location, and ceremoniously passed the torch, had a drink, made short speeches and then went back to finish off the desserts. The tradition continues.)

So Rob and Tory were out for about two weeks, and that made the summer much more interesting. Tory went back to start law school (anyone looking for a summer law intern, I’ve got a really great prospect for you) and Rob went looking for work. Ah, the real world. One entry for the “how small is the world getting department.” When she was visiting, Tory was still looking for a place to live in Austin. During the visit, a very good friend from Nigeria (actually she’s Italian, married to a Nigerian - been there for years and years) called from the US where she was visiting one of her sons who lives in - wait for it - Austin. And she mentioned that she had just bought an apartment, as an investment. I mentioned I had a god daughter who was looking. One thing led to another, and sure enough, Tory is now in Katia’s apartment. I love match-making.

Two other friends, who had visited last year, called about this time and said they wanted to come back. Now they’re based in the UK, so this is not an idle trip for them - London to NY (or some intermediate US city) to Honolulu to Kwaj. Except that, being creative people, they decided this time to come the other way. So they went to Japan first, then Guam, then Kwaj.

Now in between when I said come ahead and when they arrived, I had learned about the not having my contract renewed thing. So they got to be around for farewell parties and the last night of the pub and things like that. Mark is a great diver, and in fact, as it worked out, my last dive on Kwaj was with him. And a small shark who decided that we were most interesting and stayed with us for pretty much the whole dive. He wasn’t big enough to be bothersome, he was just cute and inquisitive.

Mark and Kemi are individually entries on my list of amazing characters I know - and together, their impact is just that much greater. Last time they came, by the end of the first week they knew people I hadn’t met, and complete strangers were coming up to me to talk about Mark and Kemi. (She is the daughter of a dear friend in Nigeria, who is herself and author, and you should betake yourself immediately to Amazon.com and look at Splendid, which is her first book (of about 8) and arguably her best. He is an engineer, twelve years in the Royal Navy - I was duly scolded for having said he was in the British Navy. Apparently there is no such thing as the British Navy, so he couldn’t very well have been in it. Oops.) This time people were coming up to ask when they were coming, where they were staying, and they got invited to all sorts of parties and events I wasn’t invited to. But they took me anyway. Good friends to have, ones who get you to parties.

Other highlights of the year? Well, an idea that had been talked about off and on for several years finally came to pass - the taxi program. Bicycles are the primary mode of transportation on Kwaj, and bikes are often being “borrowed” by people who don’t have them right handy. Usually the borrower is Marshallese, but not always. As an attempt to help that situation, the chapel got ahold of a bunch of bikes (when I left we were up to 57) that were painted yellow, with “Taxi” stenciled onto the center bar. The idea is that if you see a Taxi bike anywhere you can take it and use it. You can’t lock a taxi bike or take it home and hide it. We also have several bikes at the chapel that we reserve for visitors and people coming down from Roi.

The other thing that was a first was the Chaplain’s Cup Golf Tournament, and that one was my idea. We raised money to underwrite the cost of printing Bibles in Marshallese, and we had a full house. Four man scramble (unfortunate term, since we also had women in the groups) best ball format - and great fun. A friend of mine had found a golf ball imbedded in a large piece of coral - the coral had grown up around it - and that became our trophy. Rick Fun, the Protestant chaplain, made a base for it, and got a brass plaque which we had inscribed. We begged prizes from different groups around the island and everyone had fun. Lunch was included - the chaplains neither won nor did we come in last.

The only other really big thing was, of course, packing and moving. Moving on a regular basis is probably a good thing, because it does force you to take stock of what is important and necessary and to get rid of the things that don’t meet that criteria. (And, let’s be honest, that’s really most of it.) One Jesuit recently said that the secret to not being bothered by moving or worrying about losing a lot of stuff is not to have a lot of stuff to begin with. This is a level I have not reached. I have some good friends who offered to store my bits and pieces until we know what the next assignment is going to be. For the record, something like 60 boxes of bits and pieces, depending on how many actually arrive at the end of the moving process.

Although I am getting better at having fewer bits and pieces. And consolidating. So many of us have moved from records to tapes to CD’s and now many of the cd’s have been copied onto the computer and into a little tiny mp3 player. I discovered recently that I could buy a CD (well, two CD’s) on which are all the scores of all the Verdi operas. And another with all the Wagner operas. And another with all the Schubert songs. ALL the Schubert songs - that’s a lot of songs. And another for Puccini, and another with tenor songs and arias - about 300 of them. So instead of two or three shelves of very heavy books, one can have five CD’s, from which one print individual songs or arias as needed. This is good. And as I get smarter I will perhaps even get around to scanning other books of music and pieces of paper and turning all my boxes (well, some of the boxes) into digital formats.

Cast of Characters
I think I should start to try to bring this wandering to a close. But I cannot wander off without a few words about other people. My sister, to start with. If you know her, then you’ll want to know how she’s doing. (If you don’t know her, you are missing one of life’s great experiences. Of the two of us, she is far and away the most extraordinary. Not as flashy as her older brother, perhaps, but multi-talented, much smarter and with a capacity to get to know and care for people that continually leaves me breathless.)

She’s doing well. Her body continues to give her troubles - they put in a piece to help her ankle but her body rejected it, so they had to take it out, and they’re try again in a little bit. She’s going in right after Christmas for an evaluation to see about killing some nerves to ease pain around her neck. And a half a dozen other things I can’t keep track of. But in between doctors and hospitals and what-nots, she travels to see cousins and friends, and belongs to a group that does trips all around the world. She was supposed to go to Egypt in January, and I think there was another trip she has to miss. She is definitely going on the safari trip in September, to South Africa and Kenya - and who knows where else she might turn up. (If you see her, say hello for me.)

And my rambling on about Kwaj has really done nothing to give you a sense of the amazing cast of unusual and rich characters that have assembled there. One of the gifts of Kwajalein is the extraordinary level of intelligence of the average person, the varied backgrounds from which they come, the breath-taking imagination and creativity they bring with them, and sense of goodness and dedication that is inspiring. It is really and truly a little bit like living in a Norman Rockwell painting in the best possible sense of that overused phrase. (And the company does everything it can do kill all those good feelings and drive away those good people. I know, I’m kvetching again. - but it’s the same kind of disbelief I felt when I read about the guy smashing the Pieta or slashing the Mona Lisa. Mindless destruction.)

I was thinking about talking about some of them but I realized this would suddenly become a twenty or thirty page missive - and I would all unintentionally leave someone out, and feelings would be hurt - so maybe (uncharacteristically) shutting up is the best route.

There is or will be shortly a companion reflection at this very blog site on coming back to the US and spending time in New York. In fact, I am finishing this up while on a plane to Arizona, to meet with some Rotarians I have been working with online for a year, and have never met in person, and some other friends with whom I am going to celebrate my coming of age. The Rotary thing is really quite fascinating. I am a third-generation Rotarian. My grandfather was a Rotarian, and at one point, my father was the youngest Rotarian in the US. I have belonged to clubs in the US and in Nigeria and it’s a great organization. I am the charter member for Nigeria of a group called RTI - Rotarians on the Internet, one of the first Rotary group to seriously try to make use of this new technology.

When I went to Kwaj, I figured my Rotary time was again suspended, since the nearest Rotary club was a couple of thousand miles away. But Rotary International has sanctioned, on an experimental basis, the operation of a few eclubs around the world, groups based not on geographic association but rather on association through the internet. So I joined the Rotary Eclub of Southwestern US (Recswusa for short). We have members in South Africa, Italy, our incoming President is in Japan, and members in six or seven states in the US. (We used to have a member in the Marshall Islands - but you know that story.) We have a truly global perspective when we discuss issues, and the resources we can bring to bear for a project or a problem are most impressive The founding core group is based in Arizona, and so I’m really excited about meeting folks. I am the current Sgt at Arms for the club, and put together the first club directory. (Anyone want to give me a birthday present can contribute to help me gain another level in my Paul Harris Fellow - signifies a contribution to the Rotary Foundation. I became a Paul Harris Fellow when I was in Nigeria, and for my 60th thought it would be nice to move up one level. It’s only a thousand dollars, and I have a couple of gifties already. End of pitch.)

One of the great things about Rotary is that wherever you go, you can attend the meeting of any Rotary club anywhere. In fact, your obligation as a Rotarian is to attend one meeting a week, if not your own club than some other. As an eclub, attending a meeting is much easier because the meeting is on line and you simply sign in and read the material. Maintaining the level of fellowship that is the Rotary ideal is a challenge in our circumstance, and I am also chairman of the fellowship committee, so it’s a problem I continue to wrestle with.

God is full of surprises. When I left Nigeria I was all prepared for one thing, and it quickly turned into something else - which then turned into something I didn’t expect. When I first suggested going to Kwajalein, I had thought it would be a quiet semi-retirement posting. While it was not Lagos (among other things, no cars and no one shooting at you) it was also a lot of work. People with real needs. Lots of time spent with people both Catholic and not. And just as I was thinking I was starting to get the hang of that, boom, here we go again. This is good. I used to nag the people on Kwaj, find God in all things. (It’s a Jesuit mantra.) And while not all things may COME from God, God is definitely in there somewhere, and it’s not His fault if we’re not always smart enough to figure out where.

I‘m actually pretty much at peace with the changes and the future. (Although looking at the number of times I’ve referred to it, maybe I still have a little settling to deal with, eh?) But I am looking forward to whatever comes next.

I hope your Christmas season is filled with wonder and joy and wonderful people you can hug, who will hug back. (A very dear friend read somewhere that you should never be the first one to let go of a hug. She made the mistake of telling me, and we engaged in some truly mammoth hugging sessions. People would come and go and we’d just hang on - little contest thing going on. Well, if you’re going to have a contest, at least with this one, both people win. And she is a wonderful hugger.) May the joy of the Hanukkah lights illumine all your days, and the richness of the Kwanza celebration fill your cups and plates and hearts. (Covered everybody?)

As I write this, the plan still is that I will be at 83rd Street until at least the end of the year, maybe even a little longer. Mail can always be sent c/o 39 E 83rd, although for the moment I am in residence at 53. Same zip code. I don’t want to put the phone numbers on this very public place, but they’ll be good until I leave - and if you send me an email the reply has all the numbers. As soon as I know anything definite, I’ll put the news here on the blog site. (Ain’t technology wonderful?)

Hugs and love and prayers and stuff like that.

And thus endeth Father John’s Christmas Letter for 2006.

Memories of Kwajalein

OK - This is NOT a Kwaj picture, but some people were wondering what I looked like without a beard. Last time I shaved was 20 years ago, but it was probably something like this....




When I used to do ice skating, I knew I looked like Mr. Potato Head, but I felt like Fred Astaire. Same thing with diving. I feel like a dolphin - and yes, I know, I look like a whale.




Last Mardi Gras there was a big party and I was elected "King of Kwajalein." No perks, but a really nice crown. I'm the one in the middle.




For a while I was doing a weekly radio show - well, I appeared one morning a week with the guy who does it every day. That's him (Rich Feagler) without the beard. He's been on Kwaj for going on ten years, and he's no more crazy than any other radio person.



A friend of mine has a wonderful tri-maran, and we went sailing before I left. At sunset, we were sitting on the deck, watching the world around us go pink and orange and then into black. The picture looks like a studio set - and trust me, the picture does not do justice to the reality of the sunset.




The chapel on Roi Namur used to be the video rental place. The window behind me looks out on the ocean, and at night, when I am nsaying Mass, I can often tell when people are looking at the sunset through the window rather than paying attention. That's ok - God is in the sunset too.

THE PRIEST HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

THE PRIEST HAS LEFT THE BUILDING
(For those of you who perhaps have not had much experience reading my wandering prose, a couple of hints. I respect parentheses and dashes - they are interjections, and I will almost always pick up the train of thought after the parenthesis or dash that I had interrupted. If you lose the train of thought, try reading out loud - sometimes hearing it helps to follow the train. If that doesn’t help, there may not be a train to follow.

Since my writings tend to go to many places, I usually avoid naming names. Those of you who know “the company” don’t need to be told. Those who don’t know, don’t need to, since what I have to say remains true whether you know the corporate name or the names of individuals. The lawyers tell me it dampens the likelihood of legal action. Of course, I have two friends who are lawyers who are chomping at the bit to institute legal action, so maybe I shouldn’t trust them completely.

And finally, I’m not trying to write history or psychology or social commentary. These are my missives - ramblings - and I write them for me and the enjoyment of my friends. If you don’t find them enjoyable, there is a button on your computer marked “Delete” and a receptacle near your desk into which printed copies can be put. Go for it.)

My sainted grandfather (of whom I have only the vaguest memory, since he died in 1948. I do have a couple of memories of him but not much) apparently used to say, when something very good had happened, “Ah, sure and you’ve landed with your ass in a tub of butter.” He did it with an Irish accent, for effect. He did not normally speak with an Irish accent. He was Episcopalian.

He would have loved today.

My first full day off of Kwaj - and because of the international date line, it was the same day on which I left Kwaj. My flight left Kwajalein on November 21st, Tuesday morning, we flew for six hours, and landed around 6 pm on Monday night, November 20th. And the butter started even before I left.

I had gone on line the night before I left, and found that there was an open seat in an exit row which I promptly assigned to myself. When I went to check my bags the next morning - well, first of all they did not weigh my bag. Thank you, God. There is supposed to be a weight limit of 50 pounds per bag. My golf clubs were around 42 - the other bag? I had no idea but I knew it was more than 50 - the next day I would find out it was closer to 73 but at that point, ignorance was truly bliss. Anyway, when I got to the counter, the ladies there warned me that the seat I had selected, while in the exit row, did not recline, and they suggested perhaps I would be happier in a bulkhead seat, which had extra foot room and which did recline. It was a window seat, so I got to watch Kwajalein as we rose into the sky and headed off and I got to see the most amazing sunset over the clouds as we came into Honolulu. The sunset was over the clouds, and we were over the clouds, so it was clouds and color and sky and color and even beat the admittedly spectacular lagoon sunsets on Kwaj.

The movies on the flight were a loss - one was not something I would have ever watched, and the other I had seen. So I read. And listened to their music, and when that started to recycle, tried out my new mp3 player, and I have to say - I who tend not to like things that everyone else likes simply because everyone else is using them, and I know that’s not always the brightest possible response but there I am - this is a good thing. I have a Toshiba - since everyone else seems to be buying iPod, you KNOW I’m not going to buy THAT - and it does pictures and video and radio stations in addition to playing music, and it probably makes coffee but I haven’t gotten to that section in the manual yet. I really only care about the music and it does that VERY well. I napped a little and I even could use my computer (!) Imagine having a seat on the plane where you can use a computer. (!) There were several children on the flight and none of them were anywhere near me (I think they were drugged, ‘cause I really never heard anything from them at all). So the first part of leaving Kwaj was really very nice.

We landed at Hono, and got through Immigration quickly, and the bags came, and the shuttle bus came. The hotel where I usually stay has been going through renovations, and I would not have recognized the lobby, it is gorgeous. I got a room on the 16th floor, with an ocean view, and a balcony that was almost as large as the room. Overlooking the swimming pool 12 floors below. Two lounge chairs and two deck chairs and enough room for a dance. This is living I could get used to. High speed internet connection in the room. More butter.

I unpacked the necessaries, logged onto Continental and printed out the boarding passes for the next step in the adventure, and went out for a walk in the Honolulu night. First impression? If you’re going to spend any serious time in Hono, knowing a little Japanese is not a bad thing. I don’t remember the Japanese so outnumbering everyone on my previous visits. I do not know from whales or spotted owls or fingered newts but trust me, the Japanese tourist is definitely NOT an endangered species. They are great fun to watch, however, and they come in an amazing range of shapes and sizes and protective coloring. (Hair coloring is obviously a booming business in Japan - colors God never thought of when He was doing hair.)

I ended up back at the hotel, grabbed a sandwich and a cold drink from the ABC store in the lobby (I had considered giving myself a fancy dinner at the wonderful restaurant in the lobby, but between the price and the calories - this IS Thanksgiving week, after all, and some ritual overeating is on the agenda for Thursday and probably Friday as well - I decided to go for simple life style. Besides, I thought to myself, self, you will be in the Business Class lounge (which is called the President’s Lounge) and in that kind of place there is free food and free drink. (And I was right - but more of that in a minute.)

And thus endeth the first day. Or the last day, depending on how you want to tell the story.

Of course, there were moments in the leaving that weren’t butter. (Maybe I’ll call those the margarine moments. I’m not a great fan of margarine. When I graduated from college, I shared a house with a guy who was working as a magazine editor - those familiar with earlier editions of these missives know that I speak of Joel Garreau, author and editor and raconteur extraordinaire, and makes a fairly good cook in a pinch, although definitely comes in second to his lady wife Adrienne - but I wander) I had a series of planned moments in my “last days” that never came to pass. I had arranged to go up to Roi Namur and go diving “for the last time.” The guy I was going to dive with called a couple of days ahead of time and told me that there was going to be a fishing tournament and all the boats were booked, so no diving. Sigh. Had a great time anyway, but no last dive. I was going to get my suits dry cleaned, since I cannot remember the last time I wore a suit - and the dry cleaning equipment on Kwaj was down (again!) so no dry cleaning. I went to play golf, and there were hordes of people, groups of five with booked tee times, all going out, so I practiced putting and worked on the chipping green, packed up my clubs and took them home.

On the last day, a plan had been hatched to have a bunch of people all come to the airport to say goodbye. The concept was both to say goodbye but also a little stick in the eye to the administration. (A lot of people were very upset at my leaving.) On that morning? Rain. It actually stopped for the period of time I was outside the terminal saying goodbye, but it was discouraging for people who might have been thinking about coming over.

One of my last Kwaj moments was truly extraordinary. As I mentioned, and as many of you know, my leaving was NOT my idea. The company had told me they were not going to renew my contract. They were not firing me, they were quick to point out (several times), they were simply not renewing my contract. No reason given, thank you very much, go away.

Both Catholics and non-Catholics had the same response. How and why? That a company could get rid of the spiritual leader of a major congregation without any consultation with the congregation seemed extraordinary to many (and does to me as well). There had been no complaints previous to this, certainly no abuse of the pulpit (I had not, despite severe temptation, preached against the injustice this company continues to perpetrate against not only the Marshallese who are there but against members of their own company.) and I was not guilty of any high crimes and misdemeanors. Several people had notions about why I might have been let go - and I’ll go through those in a bit. Some are quite entertaining, and some are so appallingly discriminatory you can understand why they might resist making them explicit. Many feel that those are precisely the most likely.

I had heard a rumor that the contract might not be renewed, and so I confronted the head of my department, who referred me to her boss, who finally - after some delay, and making sure that he had two witnesses with him when he met with me - confirmed that they were not going to renew the contract. He also steadfastly refused to say why, and when I pushed him, the only thing he would say was “We feel it is time for a change.” (Remember those words, they will come back again.) This from a man who has been on the island less than six months, and who has never been at one of my services. Whether he has ever been at one of the Protestant services I cannot say.

I wonder, if I had not brought the issue to a head, when they might have told me. There was a case several weeks before I left, where they told a man they were not going to renew his contract and gave him and his family five days to leave the island. They were not able to schedule a pack out - neighbors and friends had to handle the packout for them. The company in my case had not told my religious superiors, and had made no previsions for finding a replacement. Apparently - strictly my own interpretation in the absence of any evidence to the contrary - it was more important to get rid of me than to take care of the Catholic community. Priests not growing on trees these days.

There is, in some circles on Kwajalein, a strong anti-Catholic bias. I know it exists and anyone honest and aware and at all perceptive knows it exists. When I preached at a Protestant service early in my time (Pastor Rick Funk was away at the funeral of his father) I was warned that some might walk out when they learned who I was. To what extent that prejudice exists within the administration I do not know. Not knowing the reason my contract was not renewed means that a simple bias against the Catholic Church cannot be ruled out, since I was very active in creating and promoting events that brought the practice of the faith into the community. We had a Stations of the Cross in the community on the Monday after Easter, where a large cross was carried to different places on the island and prayers were offered. We had a Seder dinner last Holy Thursday, which ended with a procession carrying the Blessed Sacrament back to the chapel for much of the length of the island. Our events have always been publicized on the local tv channel, and the Catholic priest (that would be me) has been very active in a number of community events and groups, including the Art Guild, the Vets Hall (the local American Legion) and working with the Marshallese. It may have been that simply the public presence of a Catholic priest was offensive to some.

Anyway - and I will have more discussion of my leaving later, but before I started wandering down THAT road, I was talking about a margarine moment as I was leaving. Picture in your mind a group of people standing outside the terminal, taking pictures, hugging (there was a LOT of hugging) - at one point I said I felt like a cardboard cutout, since people were coming up individually to have their pictures taken with me. Many of these aren’t Catholics, and that was something I was proud of, that the numbers of those upset at my leaving were not along religious or congregational lines - the Catholics were joined by the Protestants, the non-church goers and even the outright pagans (come on, every community has pagans, whether you acknowledge them or not).

So there I am, getting ready to go in the terminal building, and the president of the company comes up. Now everyone knows that at the least, my leaving had to be approved by this guy, and most felt that it was in all likelihood initiated by this guy. At the Town Hall meeting earlier in the week he had refused to answer questions about my leaving - not questions about why I was being sent out but if “it was time for a change,” some asked what changes the company was looking for. In his remarks earlier at that same meeting the Colonel who runs the base had stressed that the holidays were always difficult for people away from families and familiar surroundings and that we should all be careful to take care of and be aware of one another. (In a letter to the local newspaper, one woman wonders, if this is the case, why the company picked this time to get rid of the priest. Her letter is reproduced in this missive somewhere. Keep reading.)

So this guy - the president - comes up to me in the parking lot, sticks out his hand and says something about being grateful for my work and he hopes I have a good trip, or a good future, or something of that ilk. I confess, I was biting my tongue so hard it was probably interfering with my hearing. Then he reaches into his pocket and gives me a coin.

Now in the military there is a Commander’s coin, a specially produced coin that symbolizes a gesture of respect and appreciation from the Commander and is given when someone does something worthy of special merit. This company has created a coin of its own in the same tradition. And this is what he is giving to me in the parking lot on my way out.

I was very well-behaved. I didn’t say anything - although I had a number of alternately witty and caustic responses right on the tip of the tongue. I used to do night club, and I can slice and dice with the best of them. But as soon as he had gone off, I handed the coin to someone who was standing there and asked if he would do me the favor of drilling a hole in it and hammering into a place of particular symbolic value. (I told him where to put it, but since people from Kwaj will be reading this, I don’t want to spread the word as to where it has been nailed. Those who will enjoy it will know - the grapevine is very efficient. I also, sad to say, don’t want to mention any names, because on Kwaj right now, the fear of retribution from management is strong - and realistic. If I mentioned who had drilled the hole and hammered the rusty nail, they might find themselves on an outward bound plane because it was “time for a change.”)

It was a truly bizarre moment, and the word most often used by those standing there and to whom I have told the story since has been “hypocrite” or some form thereof. A margarine moment.

Or maybe butter - because it, and everything that took place in the weeks leading up to my departure, re-enforced the sense that I had done well, I had touched lives, and whatever the reason management had, it had nothing to do with my work as chaplain, my availability to people, my counseling and supporting and working with people. I say that because, let’s be honest, when the company says they don’t want you, you start to ask yourself what you’ve done. Or not done. How have I failed? People who aren’t there will ask the same questions. Rather like the Book of Job - you must have done something or this would not be happening. And if what I had done as a chaplain, as a Roman Catholic priest, WAS the reason for my leaving, then so be it. Having the job is not as important as doing the job - and if the truth is that this company doesn’t want the job done, then they (and everyone else) is in far worse trouble than any of us can begin to imagine.

Many people in the weeks before I left stopped me to express their outrage, their sympathy, their confusion. People wanted to sign a petition. I told them I didn’t think it would do any good, that the people who signed could be endangering their positions, and I said that, unfortunately, in the current climate, if there were enough of a public outcry that management felt they had to back down and I did stay, the managers would begin looking for a reason to fire me. From that point on, everything I did and everything the Catholic parish did would be subject to extraordinary scrutiny. That’s not how we should live. When I said that, most agreed. One man got so upset he burst into the president’s office, interrupting a meeting, to demand how he could “fire the priest.” (At this point the company would step in to stress that I was not being “fired,” but that my contract was simply not being renewed. I can hear the lawyers murmuring softly in the background.) He was suspended without pay for two weeks, and his future at the company is extremely tenuous.

A group got together and wrote a letter (reproduced below), specifically designed to be entirely positive, no criticisms or negative shots. They felt that if there were anything negative, people would be afraid to sign it. It was hard to get it around for signatures, since they did not want to alert management in advance, so a low profile was necessary, but when I left there were over 300 signatures. Many Marshallese signed as well, and some who were off island and had heard sent emails asking to have their names added. I was/am very proud of that letter, both in what it says and that so many people were willing to publicly add their names.

I have a framed copy of that letter that I was given at a dinner party before I left. It is truly a butter moment for me. And again (forgive me for repeating myself, but at least I know that I am doing it) it is a list with Catholic and non-Catholic signatures, people who are active in each of the congregations and those who don’t go to church. The chaplain (I believe) needs to go out into the community, to be where the people are, where the need is greatest (and that may not always be inside the chapel) and that was what I tried to do. And for which I make no apology. If some felt that the image of a priest who smokes a cigar and who has a drink (that would be me, in both cases) is unacceptable, that’s not my problem. Any number of people, when that notion was mentioned, point out that Jesus was certainly known to attend parties. (And the Protestant chaplain actually makes beer and wine.)

So this may be a good time to talk about the suggestions - the guesses, really - as to why my contract was not renewed. The leading suggestion was that I was “too outspoken.” (In reviewing my time on Kwaj, one of my observations would probably be that I don’t think I was outspoken enough. Jesuits have a reputation for working for social justice, and I think there are some real questions about justice in how the company is running Kwaj and treating its employees, questions that I did not raise from the pulpit and perhaps should have.) In fact, I was very conscious of not abusing the pulpit and while my homilies were, I hope challenging, I tended to preach from the gospels and feasts of the church more than from the events of the day.

Now, as those of you who know me know, I am not shy. I did write a letter in the local newsletter about a survey the company was conducting. I was in favor of the survey and worked actively to encourage people to take it seriously, to spend time with it, to answer the questions both honestly and fully. I questioned its timing - and many people questioned the decision to number each survey. (When that was finally made public, by the way, the company’s answer was that the numbers were to prevent someone stuffing the box, as it were. In other words, the company didn’t trust the employees so they numbered the forms. The employees, of course, worried that the numbers would enable management to trace responses back to individual employees. I encouraged people to simply switch forms, so management would know that could not be an option.)

So if my being “outspoken”’ was not related to anything I said at or in church, then - if this guess is correct - I was being sent off because I had dared to express a private opinion. Sadly, in the climate of the moment, that is a notion that many on Kwaj would say reflects the present reality.

Another notion, mentioned above, was the question of image, that since the president and the head of community services (in which department the chaplaincy finds itself) are both fairly fundamental in their religious beliefs, having a priest who smokes and drinks in public goes against the grain. (For the record, the Protestant chaplain has for the past two years conducted a discussion group during Lent called “Theology on Tap,” which met the first year in the bar at the Yokwe Yuk Club and the second year in the bar at the Vets Hall.) Is the priest being held to a different standard than the Protestant chaplain? We’ll never know, of course.

Or is it a case of anti-Catholic bias, as mentioned above?

One of the pet projects of the Protestant chaplain is to hire a youth minister, under a program sponsored by the military. He had talked with me about it, and I had checked with the Military Archdiocese in Washington to see what the response had been to this program in other Catholic facilities. It got mixed reviews. I had expressed some concerns to our parish council about the program, and the expectation that the Catholic community would participate in and help to fund this. There is in some circles an approach to ecumenism that is based on “All religions are pretty much the same and we should all just come together and ignore out differences.”

This is not a point of view which Catholics can easily accept. We’re not talking about a better or worse conversation, but our beliefs are certainly different and, with absolute respect to other beliefs, these are differences we feel are crucial. There is a Youth Fellowship on Kwaj right now, to which the Catholic youth are regularly invited, and it comes out of this approach. It is, by the way, run by the president of the company. There have been times when this group goes out for an event, like visiting one of the outer islands, and it is announced that these gifts are being brought by or this presentation is sponsored by the Protestant chapel. If Catholic kids are there it makes things awkward for them, and several parents have expressed their concern to me. Was my reluctance to support a program that weakens the sense of Catholic identity for the young people the reason I became expendable? Again, we’ll never know.

Was it my beard? The new commander is himself a Baptist minister, was his input part of my departure? I had been a counselor for several people the company seemed to want to get rid of - accusing one man of being an alcoholic, a charge unsupported by repeated blood tests. In order to help preserve his position, he came to see me for counseling on a regular basis, as did a couple of others with other “problems,” at least in the eyes of the company. Was my participation in this the reason I am about to go on a sabbatical? Again, we’ll never know.

My own feeling is that the reason is probably something the company does not want to try to defend in a public arena, and that in itself says a lot about how the company deals with its employees. The rate of people leaving Kwaj is off the charts. In any operation like this, there is a turnover rate - but for the last year or more, the rate of people leaving, not finishing their contracts, doing something for which their contracts are not being renewed are off the chart. Many do not want to leave, but the rising expenses and decreasing benefits, the unwillingness of the company to support the work, the shrinking work force and the increasing demands for more work (with no corresponding increase in pay), the drastic changes in basic quality of life issues - all contribute to the growing realization for many that while they love the place, they love the work, they love the community - bottom line, it’s just not worth it. And away they go.

Wow - this has gotten heavy, hasn’t it? For those from or on Kwaj who are reading this, I’m repeating what you know. For those who aren’t there - in all honesty, you probably don’t care and may already have skimmed on to another section. So let’s go back to butter moments.

Recap - before Father John started wandering down this road of corporate injustice - last shot, I promise - we had left our bearded priest fast asleep in a bed on the 16th floor of a hotel in Waikiki, overlooking the ocean. As light dawns, we see his fuzzy face peeking out from underneath covers, wondering what time it is, realizing with a slight “Drat” that he really needs to get up - and we are now beginning the first full day of not being on Kwaj.

Any day that is going to qualify for being a day with butter (as in, landed with your ass in a tub of...) is going to start with coffee. And it did. This hotel has a free continental breakfast, served on a lovely open area on the 16th floor, overlooking downtown Waikiki. 16th floor, you say? That rings a bell. Where did we read about the 16th floor?

Aha! The clever and observant among you know that Father is actually staying on the 16th floor (well, I did put it in the previous paragraph, not exactly an SAT question - degree of difficulty squat). So I dug out my coffee cup from the suitcase (the thermal cup with the screw on top) and paddled down the hall to get my coffee and juice and toast and Danish and donut holes, and to greet the woman who runs the operation. Who remembered me from my last visit. I took my munchies back to my room, because I had a much better view from my own balcony and welcomed the day while wallowing in scenery. There was - wait for it - even a rainbow. Well, part of a rainbow, peeking out from behind another of the beachfront hotels. The day was starting out as definite gift. Butter.

One of my minor fantasies (those with children do not need to worry, we will NOT be going into my major fantasies) was swimming in fresh water. Oceans are all well and good, and very good for things like fishing and sailing and diving. But swimming? Plain old swimming? Sorry, the idea of a salt water pool is rather in the same category as tofu turkey. Technically, it can be done, and it serves many of the same purposes as the real thing - but to this hoary head, swimming in a pool is and always shall be a fresh water concept. And there, just outside my balcony (well, twelve floors below just outside my balcony) was a pool. Not a huge pool, not even an especially glamorous pool, as pools in Hawaii and hotels go. But a pool. And since the major news story was President Bush at Hickham Air Force Bass on his way back from Thailand - he had stopped on Kwaj to refuel but that was a secret - there was nothing to miss on tv. Butter days often include fulfilling minor fantasies.

And a shower and packing the suitcase and checking the room to see what I had left and off for new adventures. I had arranged for an early pick up to go out to the airport, but I had three hours to kill, so I put all my bags in the check room and went out to walk around Honolulu. Do I go right and head downtown? Do I walk over to the canal and maybe go by the golf course? For reasons I do not know, I went out and headed in the general direction of the Hilton. I had never been to the Hilton, and since it seemed likely that I will NEVER be at the Hilton Hawaiian Village, I thought I might see how the even more other half lived. I was walking along the sidewalk, enjoying the odd and unusual people I was seeing (and I am sure that they were equally enjoying me) and suddenly (pause for dramatic effect) there, on the other side of the six or eight lane road, walking determinedly along, was Helen! I called over to her, and when she had picked up her jaw from the sidewalk, she crossed over so we could visit.

Interlude - a word about Helen, which may or may not be her real name - she’s a woman who has gone through a variety of difficult times, which she has shared with me - and who has recently been away getting some medical help and who has experienced something of a breakthrough while away. We’ve kept in touch by email (every now and then, those of us old enough need to remind ourselves and anyone else who will listen how email has changed how we communicate, and equally as important, how we think about communicating. That’s a long and complicated reflection I will not lay upon this missive, but it bears exploring at some point.) and she was very disappointed that, as our schedules worked themselves out, she would not be able to see me before I left. (I like to think that was an expression of affection rather than dependency.) And so - another butter moment - there she was!

We had a chance to visit and catch up, and it was truly wonderful (well, for me) because all the change and energy and enthusiasm that I had been reading in her emails was there in person - in the flesh, as it were - and the change from when I had last seen her only a few weeks before was wonderfully remarkable. I could NOT have thought of a nicer way to highlight my last moments in tropical climes. She was on her way to meet someone for lunch, so we walked over to where they were supposed to meet, and - TARA! - I ran into several other people from Kwaj on their way back. Two had been bumped from the space available flight and I never did hear when the other one was heading back. Honolulu may seem to be a large city, but given the frequency with which Kwaj people run into one another, it scarcely seems to hold water.

As I write that, I realize that when I use the expression “Kwaj people,” I can no longer include myself. Hmmmm.

After I left that mini-reunion, I headed over to the Hilton (remember that?) and wandered through stores and down paths, paused in front of waterfalls and walked around swimming pools, enjoying (and occasionally being appalled at) the people who seem to have successfully lost all sense of being self-conscious. The people who wear the strangest bathing outfits in public. I’m no Arnold Schwarzenegger (of course, neither is he any more) but really and truly - you would think an occasional glance in a mirror might cause you to reconsider.

At one point I found a little oriental pool and garden, two ducks and a bunch of fish, and, most important, a bench. Spent some time in prayer - the noise from the surroundings formed a little cocoon which somehow protected the silence, and I found myself focusing ever more tightly - first on the garden, as opposed to the whole space, then on the pond, then on a Japanese (?) piece in the pond, then on the figures on the piece, then on the top of the piece. The sunlight bits coming through the shade, the noise bits coming through the silence, the God bits coming through all of it - it was a lovely time. A woman was doing a hula for some people in one of the dining rooms and instead of being distracting, it simply strengthened everything else that was going on.

I walked along the ocean and thought about the difference between Emon Beach (at its MOST crowded) and the human sardines I saw there. Given my reaction to the beaches of Honolulu, the streets of New York are sure to prove stimulating to reflection. I visited an occasional store - although when you walk into a store knowing that you’re not going to buy anything because there is no way you can squeeze ANYTHING into a suitcase is rather a downer - and spent some time on a bench watching the ocean and the surfers and the people watching the oceans and the surfers.

And before I knew it, it was time to wander back to the hotel. I had a cold drink (everywhere you go in Hono there are ABC stores - I assume someone knows how many there are but it’s rather like orders of Franciscans, there always seems to be another one around the corner.) The van was early - I was the only person - check in was easy (although my suitcase somehow seemed to weigh 73 pounds, and since the limit was 70, the guy asked very apologetically if I could move something into the golf bag - which I did.) Sailed through security - the woman guard was so fascinated by the shell necklace that Hemikko had given me as I was leaving that she forgot about anything else and all my bags got through before I did - and after buying a NY Times and a box of mints, rang the bell and entered the President’s Lounge.

The President’s Lounge. Sounds very grand, doesn’t it? It’s nice - fairly comfortable chairs, open bar, snacks. Compared to some, not terribly exciting - no net links for computer, although there are two desks with phone lines you can hook into. No cots to lie down on, no windows with a view - and the snack and non-alcoholic drink selections are decidedly limited. But for me, the most wonderful part of the President’s Lounge was Jean.

Jean was sitting behind the desk when I entered, I gave her my boarding pass, and she asked “How are you today?” I responded, “I’m about to get a whole lot better.”

Significant pause. Then she said, Oh I’m afraid not.

This is not good. Even before knowing what she’s talking about, I know that this is not good. She told me that my 7:30 flight has been delayed. To ten pm. Which means that the connecting flight in Houston at 7:50 ain’t gonna happen. And the next available connecting flight in Houston is three hours later and doesn’t have a Business Class. Hmmm. I asked if there were anything earlier that might get me there - since I had arrived some four hours before flight time - and it turns out there is a seat available on the direct flight to Newark. I do not express high enthusiasm, and explain that with all the luggage I am schlepping about - I further explain that I am a missionary priest returning to the US (hey, if you’ve got the cards, play them) and transport from Newark to Manhattan with all these bags on the day before Thanksgiving... next thing I know, I am booked on the Newark flight, and thanks to Jean - who has called all sorts of people and worked odd bits of magic with her computer - I am being given a voucher for a cab ride to Manhattan from Newark. Now I have to stay in the President’s Lounge until 10 - so I will have been in the lounge for ten hours before I even get on the plane for the 11 hour flight. BUT I will, even after the long cab ride, get to my Manhattan destination earlier than I would have on the original schedule. And I won’t have to have changed planes in Houston. And my bags will definitely arrive on the same plane I will.

This is all good.

I also got to meet and spend some time with Fr. John Keenan, a Blessed Sacrament priest (and since the chapel on Kwajalein is Blessed Sacrament chapel, I have to think this is a sign of some kind) who works in Honolulu. He’s at Star of the Sea Parish and is a clinical psychologist with an office downtown. Educated by the Jesuits, he knows a bunch of guys I do and I encouraged him to see if he knew anyone who might be a good priest to go to Kwaj. You never know.... I actually know a GREAT priest for Kwaj, but they just got rid of him...

OK - I promised, no more shots.

So this butter day ends with me at 37,000 feet, and my ass not in a tub but rather tucked into a Business Class seat, with a Business Class drink on a Business Class tray, while I browse through the Business Class media center and munch on a Business Class snack. (Hey, indulge me. Overkill is my middle name, and how often do I get to be in a Business Class anything?)

I have no idea what comes next, but so far, this is a pretty good beginning. Or a pretty good ending, depending on how you tell the story.

(Some days later but picking up the thread of the story while still on said plane.)

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - the real joy of Business Class is the seat. The food is decidedly better (in the case of the non-stop to Hawaii, the difference between steerage and Business is that there IS food. Experienced travelers on this flight show up with take-out meals in styrofoam containers, cause Continental gives you a packet of pretzels and a soft drink. Finish. ), and the choice of things to watch on your personal tv set is better and there are even audio channels that steerage doesn’t seem to have (which seems silly, since providing an audio channel is simple and doesn’t cost anything. Ah well.) But I’d give up the food, not use the blankie or the pillow (and the pillow in Business is about twice the depth and softness of the oversized dab they call a pillow in steerage), I wouldn’t even watch the tv set - if they’d just put me in THE SEAT.

So I read and prayed and got a little sleep and had a fairly gentle trip. Got into Newark - got the bags, and out to use my voucher at the cab stand. Well, nothing should be without some difficulty - seems the folks in Hawaii had not put the destination on the voucher (They had asked me and I had given them the address) so the cab lady wouldn’t accept the voucher. Back into the terminal, found some very nice Continental people, who made it work and gave me a new voucher - back to the cab line, got a great driver who was creative and fast and got me to 83rd Street very quickly - and as I started to unload, an old friend was just coming in, so he opened the door and I was as close to home as I have.

There will be more adventures, reflections and observations. But this seems a logical place to take a rest - and give loyal readers a rest. I’m attaching the letter from the Hourglass and the letter that went around for people to sign at the end of this piece.

I am, all things considered, feeling good. I did my best at Kwaj, and (in all humility - yes, I can do humility) I think I did well. Perfectly? Nope, lots of mistakes, lots of areas where I could improve - and I had lots of plans for things I wanted to do. But - my final tally is, I think, more good than bad, more help than harm, and whatever the reason for my leaving - I got a raw deal.

I am content - I leave in peace and I am starting to look forward to whatever’s next. I will miss the people - although I suspect many of them will be moving on themselves in the near future. I met some truly wonderful folks - generous and caring and enthusiastic and a couple of WONDERFUL huggers. The world is getting ever smaller and I know I will keep in touch with many of them.

It’s all good.



From: Select Members of the Kwajalein Community

To: Fr. Provincial, G. Chojnacki, S.J.
cc: John Pickler
Steve Beuby
Col. Stevenson Reed
LTC Justin Hirniak

Date: 4 November 2006

RE: Father John Sheehan S.J.


We, the undersigned would like to commend Father John Sheehan for his outstanding job performance during his tenure on Kwajalein.

Two years ago Father John Sheehan S.J. arrived on Kwajalein to begin his duties as the new Catholic priest on Kwajalein and Roi-Namur. He brought with him significant experiences from remote locations such as his 12 years of service in Nigeria.

When the people of the Kwajalein community first began to know Father Sheehan, there was a general feeling that we had someone special among us. The ease with which he endeared himself to the people of all nationalities and faiths is testament to his commitment to his vocation and his benevolence.

Getting to know Father John or “Padre” as he is affectionately known, was accompanied by a warm feeling that we had a great spiritual leader as well as a good friend. This was not only a priest. This was a man who made Kwajalein a more unique and special place. He not only preached, he lived with us. As a good friend he enriched many lives with his humor and musical shows. When there was a celebration, Father John was likely to be there with his incredible voice and stories. He opened his home to the general population even when he wasn’t there. By his example Father John taught us that our lives are truly gifts. We could see in our new friend that our enjoyment of our precious lives was an act of celebration and reverence. He was an example of genuine joy and generosity.

In his official capacity Father John proved to be a wise and caring counselor. Residents of various backgrounds and faiths benefited from his ready ear and compassionate advice. We knew that here was a HUMAN priest who UNDERSTOOD. Everyone knew that Father John’s caring was more than lip service. He was frequently a spokesman for the residents and a catalyst for community improvement.

Besides fulfilling his assigned duties as the resident priest on Kwajalein, he fostered a strong relationship between the Marshallese and the residents of Kwajalein and Roi-Namur. He provided church services to the Marshallese for a period of one year (October 2004 – October 2005) when they had no other religious leadership. During this time, on every Sunday, Father John would celebrate the 7:00 AM and 9:15 AM masses on Kwajalein, fly to Roi on the 10:30 AM flight and celebrate the 11:30 AM mass. He would then take a water taxi to Ennubirr, say the 1:30 PM mass, and then take a water taxi back to Roi. After this, he would take the 5:15 plane back to Kwajalein, and then a water taxi to Ebeye where he would celebrate the 7:00 PM mass. Finally, he would return to Kwajalein on the 8:30 PM LCM. He created a religious exchange whereby the Catholic communities of Kwajalein and Ebeye host each other at mass several times per year. Father John took the initiative to learn the Marshallese language and to promote the understanding of their culture even to the point of saying the mass in Marshallese. He has also organized a number of charity events such as the sending of bibles to the outer islands. John Sheehan was an outstanding example of understanding and respect between the Kwajalein community and our host nation.

Father John can always be counted on in time of need; he never fails to administer spiritual guidance to those in need. Indeed hospital personnel have spoken admiringly of his exceptionally dedicated service to hospital patients bringing comfort to the sick and dying and their loved ones. He was available when he was needed and never complained about the lateness of the hour. It should be noted that his performance and dedication was described as exceptional.

As we contemplate the loss of our priest and dear friend, we mourn his loss in pain and confusion. We also celebrate our good fortune for having him among us for these two years. Our lives have been greatly enriched. We know that we are better for his time among us. We commend him and request that this outstanding priest and man be officially commended.


(This was submitted with over 300 signatures. I cannot, at the moment, find a copy of the other letter I mentioned - when I do I will add it to the blog site.

Changes, and More Changes

A fairy typical sunset - the kind of view I might get riding along the lagoon on the way home. See why I might miss this place?




Here we go again. Father John is on the move. The company here has informed me they are not going to renew my contract when it expires in November. Their privilege, although a bunch of folk here are upset. They refuse to give a reason why - when pressed, the only response has been, "We feel it is time for a change." No consultation with the Catholic community or my religious superiors, and certainly no contact with me.

But Jesuits go where we're sent - even if it is only being sent away. So here's the immediate schedule

November 18th - last contract day. (For those with calendars, that means I no longer work after that day - and the next day is Sunday. I'll celebrate Mass on Saturday and sleep late.)

November 21 - leave Kwaj. Spend the night in Honolulu (which is the 20th) and off to New York on the 21st, arriving on the 22nd - yes, the day before Turkey Day. As all of New York will be heading out, I, in my usual unorthodox fashion, will be heading in.

December will be vacation - doctors and dentists and visiting friends and family. And my 60th birthday. After that - a sabbatical, although for how long and in what form I can't say. I have been assigned to someone from the Provincial's office, and I have some suggestions - we'll see what happens.

If you have an email address for me that ends in army.mil you should change it to
johnsheehan_13@Yahoo.com
or
johnrsheehan@Yahoo.com

I will be based in New York at our community on 83rd Street, so mail should go c/o 53 E 83rd Street, New NY 10028. If I disappear from your radar ever, mail sent c.o 39 E. 83rd will always find me. And if you call that community (212) 774-5500, they should be able to tell you where I am. Hopefully not necessarily what doing but where I am. I will rent a cell phone for December, so I can be reached, and when I get that number I will email it to people. (Even I am not so naive as to post it on a blog.)

So there I am, packing again. Last week I had a stupendous, humongous once in a lifetime yard sale - both for financial and packing reasons - and the company has been very generous about granting me extra weight for moving out. It has been a great time to be at this place. Much of what I said in my Christmas letter unfortunately still applies, and once I have a chance to sit and reflect, this year's Christmas letter will talk some more about all this. My friends who came from England last year are coming back just before I leave, so in the guise of showing them around and making sure they have a good time, I will be able to do the "last time I will do this" tour.

The wandering priest is on the road again. All invitations welcome.

As a friend of mine here is wont to say, "It's all good."

FIRST RECONCILIATION

FIRST RECONCILIATION
On Friday, February 24, five boys and girls from our parish who are preparing to receive their First Holy Communion on May 7th received the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time. They are:

Audrey Corbett
Chris Kulig
Kailea Moseley
David Sholar
Jared Wase

For those who were not able to attend, here are some pictures from that event.

DEATH BY CHOCOLATE PART IV

See, your teacher always told you that knowing Roman numerals would be a help. I have wonderful captions in my mind for some of the pictures, but I just don't have the time to deal with the program and lay it out and load it, so I'm just going to pop in another couple of pix and there we are. Hopefully some folks who also took pictures will share, so there might be a part V or even a VI.
Enjoy.....

DEATH BY CHOCOLATE PART III

At its best, Death By Chocolate is an event for the whole family - and the adults seem to enjoy the dressing up almost as much as the kids. Of course, the range of refreshment is greater, but many people seemed to have a very good time.

DEATH BY CHOCOLATE PART II

An event that features masks and costumes and chocolate is a natural for kids, and the children always enjoy the evening. Dancing - putting on the adjacent putting green - dressing up - and some even put the chocolate in their mouths.

LOYOLA JESUIT COLLEGE - Update

On December 10, in Nigeria, a plane crashed, killing 100 people on board. 60 of the fatalities were from Loyola Jesuit College, a co-ed boarding school that I was part of creating. It was, and continues to be, a terribly traumatic experience. Yet, there have also been great signs of hope and faith, and Fr. Peter Schineller, whose name appears in a number of my earlier blogs, is the current President, and his reports have been very inspirational.

Below is his latest letter, in which he shares some of the letters the school and the students have received from around the world.



“This is not Just Your Loss, but Our Loss, the World’s Loss:”
Insight from Youth in a Time of Tragedy

Rev. Peter Schineller, S.J. - Loyola Jesuit College

It was the beginning of the Christmas holidays. Exams were over. Christmas carols were sung. That Saturday was departure day. Our students on Sosoliso flight 745 were about to land in Port Harcourt, Nigeria after a one hour flight from Abuja. Many of their parents and brothers and sisters were at the airport anxiously waiting to welcome them. Then the crash, the fire, and the death of over one hundred persons, including sixty from Loyola Jesuit College. One tenth of our student body. One mother and father lost three children, four other parents lost two.

Instead of Christmas joy, there were tears and grief. There were funerals and burials. Fourteen alone in one parish in Port Harcourt, including the priest who had baptized several of the young students when he was parish priest there some years earlier. He too died on that fateful Saturday. Seven bodies could not be identified and had to be buried in a common/mass grave.

Visitors came to our campus to pay condolence visits, including the President of Nigeria, many members of the Senate and House, traditional leaders, Christian and Muslim leaders. Many came from secondary schools, near and far. It seemed that teachers could in some way more keenly sense what it must be like to lose 10% of your student body, at least one student in each of the 24 classes.

Then letters and e-mails began to pour in. From leaders and public officials, from executive and friends. As President of Loyola Jesuit College, I was privileged to read, reflect on, and share the condolence notes. I wish to share some reflections on what I read, and what these letters meant to our College.

Among the thousands of notes received, there is one group of letters and notes and banners that I will focus on and highlight. These came from school children in the United States and Scotland, mostly at Jesuit schools. So powerful and so beautiful were they, that we covered the walls of our reception hall and dining hall with these cards and letters for our own students to see when they returned to school in January. And they made a difference!

The notes were addressed to the parents of those who lost their children, to Loyola students who lost their classmates, or to the staff and teachers here at Loyola Jesuit College. Believe me, they made a difference, and still do today, several months after the tragedy. They assure us that we are not alone. They remain a powerful witness to Christian faith. They show me in particular the strength of Jesuit education.

Many of the letters and notes and banners were hand made cards, drawings, art, depicting candlelights, Jesus on the cross, the pieta, a rainbow, angels of heaven, and planet earth surrounded by human hands. All done by school children aged between 10 and 17, the same age as the children who died.

Let me turn, however, not to the pictures, but to words by which the youth of the world tried to console our own youth and families. A number of themes emerged as I read and reflected over the letters. I will quote from the notes and allow the students to speak for themselves. In them I find remarkable simplicity and directness, powerful insight and inspiration, strong faith and love, freshness and depth.


Solidarity. The first theme is solidarity. We see clearly in the letters that in this global village, we are not alone.

You attend high school just like us. You have the same emotions as us. That makes you all our brothers and sisters. Know that we are here and know that we are praying for you. Never lose faith. We are behind you and with you.

In times of need we try to lend a helping hand, and though we cannot do much since we live in a far away land, just know that our love and prayers are with you. No matter what, you are in our hearts.

I feel that we are all connected in Christ and brothership, so in a way I feel that I have suffered alongside with all of you.

Our love goes out to all affected by this tragedy. The loss of children in Nigeria is a huge loss to everyone and is felt by all. We hold each and every one of you in our prayers.

God never meant us to face the tough times alone. That’s why he gave us each other, so here I am!

This is not just your loss, but our loss, the world’s loss. The world will be a lonelier place due to their absence. I know that they would have changed the world.


Sympathy and Compassion. Several related their own experience of suffering, or much more commonly, the fact that they could not imagine what it must be like to lose so many schoolmates.

I don’t really know what to say because all my family and friends are OK or have
died a natural death. I don’t understand how all of you feel and I won’t pretend I
do. I’ll pray for you guys. It’s the least we can do for you. Stay strong.

I know how you are feeling. When I was eight, my dad, brother and two sisters
died in a plane crash off the coast of California. Now it is just my mom, two
sisters and myself. This is a very delicate topic for me and this is the first time
that I have talked of it in years. It must be the same for you, as a delicate topic.
(Note – I changed the details slightly to preserve privacy)

I am sorry for your loss, I know it must hurt. I recently lost a very good friend and have had trouble getting back to my normal day life. God for some time left my heart, judging by how I felt. My life went downhill quickly because I left God. I ask that instead of leaving Him, that you go to Him and seek help.

Our school here has suffered losses of our own. Two years ago, three students from my class died in a tragic car accident. The feelings are painful and they linger longer than desired. I only hope your loss shall bring you closer as a community. Look to your friends, they shall be your primary source of comfort.

Please know that I can understand what you are going through, because I too lost friends recently. Two of my closes friends were gunned down, and for a while I couldn’t contain my grief. If it weren’t for my family, I would have done something irrational and hazardous for my health. Now more than ever, you, your families, and your school must remain unified so that you can properly remember all the great times you shared with them.

Remember that death is a comma, not a period. I just want you to know that whereas you are in your heart burning now, as the time passes on, your heart will be warmed by the precious memories that were once just a daily normal unappreciated thing. Cry and don’t care what anything thinks, be depressed for as long as it takes. Time heals all wounds. Let time heal yours. I hope you take what I say to heart, because it comes from my heart, the heart of someone who has lost plenty of family and a close friend.

Just this Christmas I lost my brother in a severe car accident on his break home from the Army. I wish I could tell you that the pain goes away. Just never forget them, always love and miss them and still talk to them. Live everyday in happiness and remind loved ones how much you love them every day.
(Changed slightly by the editor)

Around September 11th support came from all over. It is now our turn to reach out to you. Know our prayers and support is with you.

I can imagine what it would be like to walk into school and not see my best friend standing by his locker. I have very strong relationships with the people around me and can only imagine what it would be like to lose these friends.

Messages of Faith, Hope, and Love. In simple words, we see how Christian faith, and belief in the power of prayer make a difference.

We may never understand why this tragic incident occurred, but it teaches us the importance of prayer, and the need for us to count our blessings everyday.

May Mary, the mother of Jesus, who stood at the foot of the cross, stand beside you and comfort you in your tremendous loss. May the Mother of Consolation be with you.

We would like to stretch out a hand of comfort to you. We are here, just as Christ is, grieving your losses. We are here for support and comfort to all of you, just as you would be to us.

May the peace which only Christ can give fill your hearts and begin the healing process. As the days progress, may the healing take root more deeply and may you carry on the spirit of the students lost, through living your lives as fully as possible.

Not sure what to say, not sure what to do, but one thing’s for sure… We’ll be praying for you.


Notes to the Bereaved Parents who lost their Children: We have tried to share these beautiful thoughts with the parents – hoping they offer some small consolation for their unimaginable loss.

Dear Parents: I am very sorry. I know that in heaven your kids are happy to have
such wonderful parents.

Dear Parents: I can’t imagine what you are going through, but I thought it would
be nice to know that there are people who care.

Dear Students and Families: I am sorry. I am praying for you. I know things will
get better for you soon, and I know Jesus is watching over you.

Dear Loyola College: I am so sorry. Tell their parents I am sorry that your children died. Their children will be waiting for them in heaven and they will always be watching over them.

Your children will always dance, always sing, always play in the presence of the Lord. He loved them greatly in this life and he will not forget them in the next.

Going to a fine Jesuit school, these children must have been kind, generous, loving and genuine people. I know they will be missed, but you are not alone.

Dear Parents: I know it would be tough to lose a young person like your children. I am sure you children were great people and I would have loved to be friends with them if I had been given the chance. Thank you for your time in raising your children and know that this was a great loss for the world. You will be in my prayers.

Dear Parents: I heard about the accident, I was sad. Writing this letter made me
cry. I have been praying for you every day.

I did not know your son. All I know is that he went to a Jesuit school, and from what I know, only the best go there. I believe that he made the world a better place and will be greatly missed by all who had the privilege of knowing him.

Dear Parents: I am sorry. Don’t worry. They are still with you in your heart. They haven’t left you. The will be with you for eternity. Just remember that they will always be with you as long as you believe they are.


The Jesuit Family. Most of the schools that sent notes were Jesuit-run secondary schools, Cristo Rey, or Nativity Schools. As I read through them, I had a feeling of pride in our Jesuit schools. Something wonderful and good is happening there in the classrooms and the chapels.

You are in our prayers and thoughts. You have to remember that the Jesuits are a
large network and we are always there for you. If we stick together, we will get through it.

May all of us, the Jesuit family, bind together and pray for the terrible loss.

I feel privileged to attend a close-knit school and I cannot imagine what it would
be like for me to lose my family and friends.

I am a student at Regis Jesuit High School in Denver, Colorado. We received
news of your tragedy, and since then my thoughts have been focused on you and
your school. This is the true test of the Jesuit brotherhood, and how we help one
another in times of need.

I know how close Jesuit students are to each other, and I know that this is the worst thing that can happen to a school.

From one brother school to another, we offer you our prayers in coping with this
terrible tragedy. Your loss is not yours alone, for we feel it too.

I am sorry to hear that so many close people have died due to this horrible disaster. For I am in a Jesuit school too, and would you to know my thoughts are
with you.

In this time of mourning and sadness, forget not the support and love that lies
within the worldwide Jesuit community.

As fellow students of Jesuit teaching, we understand how close your community
must be, and share your grief.

When one Jesuit school loses someone, all the Jesuit schools across the world
experience a loss. Of course, we don’t experience the reality of it as much as all
of you do, but being the community that Jesuit schools are, I feel your pain.

Although we are so many miles apart, know that the entire Jesuit community of
teachers, students and families around the world is one in your sadness and shares
the pain of this great loss.


Learning From the Tragic Loss. Even amid the pain and grief and loss, many urge our students to think positive, and make it a time for reflection and growth.

I would ask you to use this loss to strengthen your relationships with one another
and to become better men and women for God. AMDG

I can tell you the best way to deal with the pain is to remember the fun times and
honor their lives by living life to the fullest.

Their death makes us all too aware of our human frailties, our terrible temporariness, our failure to appreciate the gift of life, both our own and others. If their passing makes us more compassionate, more appreciative, and more loving, then perhaps they will rest content in knowing that they have helped us become better people.

Even though they are not with you any more, you are still here and can do great things. You are still alive and can contribute many things to the world. All of this you can do in remembrance of those you know.

We must keep the memories of these students in our hearts and not forget their
personalities and dreams.

As we keep you in our thoughts and prayers, your plight has reinforced the need to remain humble and appreciate everything you experience in life, be it friends, or family, or education

Last summer my Jesuit school lost three boys (in my class) to a car accident. My class was divided at the time of the crash. Now my senior class are like brothers, all caring about each other immensely. In this loss, I hope you will all find consolation and realize that their death was not in vain.

Always try to remember the good times that you shared with them. Always remember that they didn’t leave you completely because they will always be with you in spirit and in heart. You will always have what you lived with them.


Pain, Loss, Grief, yet Hope of Heaven. So many of the children were able to keep the pain and grief together with the solid hope of new and everlasting life.

I am sorry for your loss. I just know every last one of those kids went to heaven. I
felt your pain all the way in America. I will pray for your lost ones.

This is not just your loss, but our loss, the world’s loss. The world will be a lonelier place due to their absence.

There is no way I could imagine what you are feeling right now. I can only send my love and remind you of God’s presence.

When a pet or person dies, they go to the rainbow bridge. That person/pet will be happy and be young again with no problems or pain. They will make friends and be friends. Then one day they see a familiar face. They come running toward you. Then you will cross the rainbow bridge together.

Gathering strength from God may not be your first priority, but I pray that you
realize that it’s a big source of comfort. In grieving, you are honoring their
memory. So it’s all right to feel sorrow, for it will show your love for them in God’s eyes.

It’s terrible what happened to the kids, kids you know and loved. It’s hard to
comprehend sixty people dying that you are close with. I don’t really know what
to say because I know that when I’m sad, I don’t really want to talk to everybody
all at once. I guess I am just trying to say, hang in there, and know God is there
for you.

Sorry, we miss them too. I hope you will feel better when you get this letter.

If I could, I would take your cares in my arms and release them to the scattering
winds. I know there is not much I can do to makes things better right now… but I
hope it helps to know that I am here. I care and I believe in you.

I feel as though everything happens for a reason, and is included in God’s plan.
This may seem ridiculous now, but perhaps God wants them to sit at his side at his table, which we all will soon enough. Keep these thoughts in your mind during this hard time, and try to see that they are experiencing bliss with the Lord in his Kingdom

Try to think of the good times you had together. I will pray for you and hope that the tragedy doesn’t ruin your life. They are now in heaven with God. So now my Advice for you is to cherish every moment as if it’s your last.

Concluding comments:

Many of the students reflected on how words are inadequate in the face of such great loss. One note put it beautifully: “Hopefully our prayers can do more for you than our words, which must seem feeble from your point of view.” Yet so many were able to express their thoughts and feelings in words. Reading over their comments, often with tear-filled eyes, has deepened my own faith in youth, in the Christian faith, and in Jesuit education. I am impressed, indeed proud, that so many youth were able to reach out in sympathy and touch the hearts of our students who in turn deeply appreciated the love coming from around the globe.

I am proud of the Christian and Catholic faith of these youth. The mystery of death and resurrection, belief in life everlasting, the love of God in Jesus, come through strongly. The children see that in spite of geographic distances, Christians form a family that mourns together in solidarity.

As a Jesuit, I am proud of what is happening in our Jesuit schools. There is a closeness among students in our schools, and I see how that bond and solidarity extends from one Jesuit school to another.

The crash of December 10th remains a tremendous tragedy. The loss of sixty bright young students will never be forgotten. Yet expressions of love and support from students around the world have helped all of us, the parents of the deceased, the students and staff at Loyola Jesuit College, to move forward together in faith, hope, and love.