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.

DEATH BY CHOCOLATE Part I

On Monday, February 27th, Blessed Sacrament Parish held the second edition of Death By Chocolate, our version of Mardi Gras for the whole family. Everyone had to bring something for the Table of Chocolate - and they did. It was a taste heaven and a calorie disaster and absolutely the right way to get ready for Lent.

Here are some pictures of some of the moments in the evening, starting with several views of the table and the people crowding around it.

More Pix from the Peripatetic Padre

Down this lane next to my trailer, you can see the lagoon. No beach right here, just rocks - but a five-minute walk to the right takes you to a lovely beach. The sign in the window says "Rhino Crossing."


There was a Lucille Ball movie, "The Long, Long Trailer." Here is my version. They have planted coconut tree along the side so that in twenty years it will be harder to see. (Which means they think this trailler will still be here in 20 years!)


Here is the back yard of my "new" (1962 vintage) trailer, with my infamous hammock, assorted seating for guests and a covered porch so I can smoke my cigars when it rains.

There is no way to look good when emerging from snorkeling - we call this one Father Fish.



Different views of life - here I am with one of the Prayer Leaders from Third Island, where I go to say Mass in Marshallese each Sunday. There is a wonderful musical called "Robert and ELizabeth" - this is John and ELizabeth.





And then there is sailing on a large tri-maran. Actually, someone else is sailing - I am sitting in "The Father's Chair" and supervising.

Tough work, but someone has to do it.




Here is one end of my narrow and not all that long living room. Decorated for Christmas - ie, stuff stuck everywhere. No decoration should NOT be put out, so once the tree is full, they get put on tables, hidden in lampshades. If you look at the Nativity scene carefully in another picture, you'll see four kings - one is a Santa ornament I couldn't find room for.


I still get a real kick out of being able to have a "real" Christmas tree ("Live" doesn't quite seem accurate.) Pine needles everywhere but the smell is so nice, the look of it - I spend hours between Christmas and New Year's just enjoying the tree and I do NOT take it down until January 6th (at the earliest - this year, January 9th). This is the other end of the living room.

Fr. John's Christmas Letter 2005

THE CHRISTMAS LETTER OF FATHER JOHN
2005

Greetings from the beautiful island of Kwajalein! A slightly delayed Merry Christmas, and wishes for a new year that are good for 365 days, whenever you read or receive them.

Christmas letters can start from the present and go backwards, or start from last year and move forward. For this world wanderer, December was a heck of a month. The overriding event was the plane crash in Nigeria in which 60 students from Loyola Jesuit College died. 60 of the best and brightest young Nigerian students lost their lives because of the greed and carelessness of the airline operators and the government officials who are supposed to supervise the industry. I knew many of the students from my visits to the school. Part of me wishes I were back there – and part is glad I am not, because I don’t know how you respond to a calamity of that size. 45 families lost children, so some suffered multiple deaths, including one family who lost all three of the children on that plane.

The school is taking this tragedy and is going to build a much-needed multi-purpose hall for the school, called Memorial Hal, with a special place for remembering those who died. The parents and the Jesuits have also vowed to make this the beginning of a nationwide campaign for improved safety and transportation. The parents have been amazing – thinking of others in the middle of their own pain. One of the girls from the school was sent to the US for a special operation to remove a brain tumor. Surgeons donated their services, but the costs of the trip were paid for with contributions from other students and families – many who helped raise the money were on that ill-fated plane. In the midst of the aftermath, one of the mothers wanted to be sure that the girl in the US had enough money. (The operation was done in Cleveland, and was a great success.)

So – although my pitch for contributions usually comes at the end of my letters, this one is right at the front. You can send money to the Jesuits in New York, and indicate that it is for Memorial Hall in Abuja. Contributions should be sent to

Fr Ray Salomone, SJ
39 E 83rd Street
New York, NY 10028

Make the checks to New York Province, Society of Jesus. It’s not just for building a hall, or remembering a group of 60 children. It’s much more about supporting a school designed to change Nigeria, about encouraging people who are determined to use their pain to make the world a better place, to confront the government and the bureaucracy and the corruption. It’s some of the best money you can spend, so if at any point during the next year you get a little ahead – win a lottery, find extra money in a sofa, decide you can live without that whatever – please remember Memorial Hall at Loyola Jesuit College in Abuja. If you forget the details, I will be glad to refresh your memory.

This has been a month of pain for me – certainly the pain from the news from Nigeria. But at the very end of November I was suffering abdominal pains and after several days of increasing discomfort, I worried that it might be the appendix, so I went in to the hospital to have it checked. They x-rayed and sonogrammed and drew blood and eventually the doctors said they could not rule out the appendix. (I think the language was crafted by a lawyer – notice they did not say that it was the appendix, merely that they could not rule it out, leaving me to make the decision about whether I wanted to wait and see if it ruptured or if they should go in and check it out. Since I did not want a rupture (and especially not when I was on some outer island, a boat and plane ride away from medical facilities) I opted for the surgery.

We have a couple of surgeons on staff and a small hospital. Good people – but you have to walk into the operating theatre. (I didn’t have to walk back – I woke up back in my room. I did have a room with an ocean view, which was very nice – although I had to keep discouraging the nurses from lowering the bed.) I was in the hospital for three days, nothing but water and ice chips – and I gained five pounds! Scarcely seems fair. Toward the end they did give me jello – and stool softener pills. Don’t laugh – you didn’t see the jello.

Well, almost a month later, I’ve had more pain from the post-op, in quality and quantity than ever I had before. The doctors keep assuring me that this is normal – and to be honest, I have to admit I have probably not been the perfect patient. In the weeks before Christmas, I have given two concerts, pretty much maintained my schedule of Masses, and led the Casual Christmas Choir in several performances, including caroling at the Tour of Homes and caroling through the streets. I was released from the hospital on Friday morning, and on Saturday I was at the Community Tree Lighting to offer the benediction, and then led the choir at the festival on the plaza afterwards, at which I also sang several songs myself. Extreme pain – but the show must go on, and on it went. So the slow healing may be (partly) my fault. Now that Christmas has passed, I am spending more time really and truly sitting, or using my hammock, and trying not to be too active. I know, this does not sound like me – but I am really tired of hurting, I would like to be able to get back to golf and riding and just sitting down without it hurting. If it continues – back to the doctors.

The concerts I mentioned were in honor of my birthday. Father Jon’s Birthday Bash took place here on Kwaj on the 12th of December. I sang – I surprised the audience with the Casual Christmas Choir, and Neil Dye, a well-known DJ here sang with me in the second act, and a very talented high school senior played piano for some of the songs. We did an audience participation 12 days of Christmas, and a multi-lingual Silent Night. (You’ve never lived until you’ve heard the audience version of Silent Night in pig Latin.) Great stuff – but by the end of the concert, I had no energy left. I don’t work as hard at singing as I should but I had such an amazing teacher – anyone who knows me has heard me talk about Mr. Reading – that I can almost always pull out a decent performance even when I probably don’t deserve it.

A week later I repeated much of the concert on Roi, the other island about a 25-minute plane ride away. Neil wasn’t able to come because of a mission that was scheduled, but the piano player and I did about an hour that was very well received. God bless’em, they not only applauded nicely but they bought every CD I had brought up with me. Smaller group but one that was a good audience, because on Roi, they are an independent breed and won’t be polite if you don’t deserve it.

Visitors
One day I got a phone call from a very good friend of mine in the UK – she and her husband were thinking about coming out to visit. I had visited their home in the southern part of England when I was on my way out of Nigeria, and I had said at that point that I looked forward to being able to reciprocate. Of course, when I said that, I wasn’t expecting to be in any one place for long for at least a year; I was still thinking I would be having a sabbatical. (See what happens when you say these things? People take you up on them – in this case, thank heaven.) Both Kemi and Mark have British passports, so no US visa is needed, so the security clearance was easy. And out they came, for just over a week – long way to travel but they stopped in the US on the way out (playing in New York, where they also got me some Zabar’s coffee as a present) and on the way back (when they visited Kemi’s brother in Texas). Mark is a diver – twelve years in the British Navy all over the world – so we went fishing and snorkeling and diving and up to Roi, visited the Marshallese on Ennubir where I go to say Mass – and everywhere they went they made friends and met people, even appeared on the local radio show the morning they left. Great fun. In Nigeria, I only had guests once, just before I left. Here – less than a year. It’s a fair distance away – six hours beyond Hawaii. Ah but once you get here, those who have come say it’s worth it. Mark and Kemi are talking about their next trip.

Moving
Those who have kept up with life and adventure on Kwajalein remember that last year the company tore down the trailer and made me move. I went into a nice hard housing unit, settled in, learned to enjoy neighbors. This past year, I got a note from my supervisor, warning me that I was going to have to be moving soon. The company line was that I didn’t have to move right that moment (why would I have to move at all? Policy. And although I questioned it, there was no chance I could go back to the same place I had left. I had left a two-bedroom trailer which was replaced with a two-bedroom dome house. But apparently the policy is I am not eligible for a dome. Sideline – there is a tremendous amount of empty housing, and the company policy is to hire unaccompanied over people with families. I’m waiting to see which company bigwig gets that location.) The reason they were “suggesting” it was that there was a nice trailer available. But if a moment came when I had to move, I would have to take whatever housing was available, and there would be no guarantee anything as good would be ready as this trailer.

Now I don’t have a lot of experience with corporate whatsis – although I have to say, if the Apprentice is a sampling of the best the United States has to offer, we are in serious trouble. Most of those folks wouldn’t last very long in the real world I know. But I do know that this is not the kind of situation one guy (that would be me) is going to win. So I made the best of a lousy situation and packed and moved and unpacked. How much lost time and energy was spent that could have been better focused is beyond calculation.

So I’m settled. As trailers go, it’s not bad. There is an extension on the front of the trailer, which gives me an extra room although it is not as large as the extension that was on the original trailer. No view, but empty lots on either side, so I am not intimately adjacent to a neighbor. There is a covered porch, which is nice. Not much storage – it feels a little like living in a space capsule. (There are pictures at the blog site, in case you are reading this other than on the blog – if you are, take a look around, the pix are here somewhere.) It is teaching me to clean up something as soon as I use it, especially in the kitchen, because there is NO room for things sitting around waiting to be dealt with. These trailers were originally brought in to be “temporary housing”; in mine, there is a schematic in the closet in the guest room, worn and faded but you can make out the date on the drawings – 1962.

Now, those of you who worry about me being lonely, I suppose I should tell you that I am not living alone. I saw a factoid a couple of weeks ago that said that for every human being on the earth, there are one million ants. Well, I have mine – and they’re all right here with me. Everywhere I go, I kill ants. I kill a couple of hundred ants a day – and trust me, I am not exaggerating. I have poison traps out – I have laid down lines of poison (which the ants simply walk around) – if you leave food out for five minutes you have created a convention. I continue to be grateful I am not a Buddhist – I do enjoy killing things.

I also have something in my walls. Could be lizards, could be crabs – could be ghosts. My bet, however, is rats and I have asked for traps to be set around and under the trailer.

Snakes in the Garden
Many of you, when you have heard about where I am and what doing, have talked about how perfect it all sounds. And it can. At the same time, it is my first experience dealing with a major corporation, and according to many people who have been here for a long time, the current company that has the contract to run this place is running it straight into the ground. Certainly morale is at a disastrous low. The company lived for a while off the inventory the prior company left, and is simply not spending money on maintenance or replacing stores. Across the board, the story is the same no matter whom I talk to – attention is not being paid. Technicians spend a whole day literally in the dump, trying to scavenge material to keep large radar units running. Fire suppression systems are not having the materials replaced to keep them active. All departments have been warned that when their vehicles are no longer able to be repaired, they will not be replaced; there have been days the fire department cannot send out men to do inspections because there are no vehicles. When I was discharged from the hospital, the doctor wrote a note that said (quite accurately) that I could not ride a bike or walk more than six blocks. The theory is that I should be provided with a golf cart until my wound healed. Good theory – but the official policy was that there were no carts available. Eight days after I was discharged I got an official note from one of the USAKA staff approving the letter, but saying that I should not apply to them for a vehicle, and when I got one (where did they think I was going to get one) I did not have permission to park it overnight at my trailer. I can’t walk – but I can’t put the vehicle near where I live. Fortunately the Protestant Pastor did some juggling and “traded” our chapel van to someone who has access to a golf cart and so I used his cart for four days (not the ten the doctors had indicated) while he used our van. After four days I went back to the bike- little choice there.

The list goes on and on. The radio station is being held together with spit and prayers, the tv system is disintegrating before our eyes, the weather radar was out for almost a month for “maintenance,” and now it has been down for over a week without anyone even trying to come up with a reason. A new public internet system crashed before it was fully operational, and a recent note said that they would no longer sell or service tv antennas until they solve the problem of maintenance. Now these are the antenna that are optional but if you buy one (for $180) you can’t sell it, and if you move, you can’t take it with you to the next house. Yes, even if you move on the island. So if you bought one, they won’t do the maintenance on it and you still can’t sell it. Sigh.

There is a local “newspaper,” more a small magazine, that is published twice a week. Technically it is a function of the military but historically it has served the role of a community newspaper, and featured local stories and cartoons about life on the island. Shortly after I came they appointed a new editor, who has killed the cartoons, and filled the pages with canned articles from military sources that have little or no bearing. All is policy and less and less concerns people on the island. They refuse to call me “Father” – I am “Rev. John Sheehan, Roman Catholic priest.” Even when a photo caption refers to me, same formula. The last four articles or letters I submitted were not published, so I have rather written them off. When I was advertising my last concert (Father John’s Birthday Bash) someone asked me if I had sent a notice in to the Hourglass (the local journal). I said no – they would probably feel they had to advertise as Rev. John’s (Roman Catholic Priest) Birthday Bash, and that would just be confusing. At one point I made a suggestion about something in the paper, and one of the management wrote me to say that the newspaper was an organ of the military, who paid for it, and if anyone wanted freedom of the press, they were welcome to go back to the mainland where they could find it. Love it or leave it was an earlier formula I remember from my younger days, but it says something about corporate arrogance.

The really depressing thing is that there are people here who are good people who want to do a good job – and the “corporate policy” is hard at work discouraging them. Someone said it is as though there is someone whose job is to find ways to make it more and more difficult for the rest of us to do our jobs – and he (or she) should get a bonus, ‘cause he (or she) is doing a great job. Latest moment – the parent company has put together a special task force to find out why the retention rate is so low. People who have been here for ten and fifteen years are leaving, because the standard of living, the reasons they came and stayed, are disappearing. The company has even refused to sponsor the Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts. The troops in the field (civilian as well as official military) could answer that question without a task force – but the company has consistently indicated they don’t want to hear the answer, so we are all fairly sure that the task force will come up a politically correct, corporately acceptable reason why people are not staying. A reason that will bear little resemblance to the situation actually on the ground.

Now in fairness, it may be that there is a directive from the government, or from some higher corporate authority, directing those in charge to start the process of closing it down, dismantling the services and community that have made this a special place for the last number of years. That is certainly what is going on – if it is part of a plan, I think most people would at least like to be dealt with honestly. The place is beautiful, the people are good – but certainly in the sixteen months I have been here I have seen morale plummet, and not in any one level of employment or any department – it is across the board. People who have been here for many years say it is the worst they have ever seen – and as I write this I know of at least six people in good jobs who are packing it in and leaving. They love their work, they love the location – but they have decided that it is simply not worth putting up with the company.

It’s a toss-up. It’s like America – but we have no access to a lot of the computer world. In Lagos I could listen to the Metropolitan Opera – can’t do it here. We have the limitations of a military base and few of the perks. The stores sell things at high mark-ups – shirts that here are $37 you can buy at Wal-Mart for $7.89. But because we are an APO, there are some things that cannot be shipped. High security items like a pepper mill or a golf ball retriever. They don’t sell them here – but if you try to order one on-line, you discover companies won’t ship these items. The company has an ordering system so if I want to buy something for the chapel, like new altar linens, I can order it through the company and it comes out of my budget. But it takes six months and longer for it to arrive. (One altar cloth I ordered last March has yet to appear.) The paschal calendar had better be ordered in October and last year it only made it by two weeks. If I need it sooner – like materials for catechism classes – I have to pay for it out of the collection money, so there is less that goes to the Outer Island Fund for the work of the Jesuits. One suspects the company doesn’t work very hard at getting things on schedule, because they then save the money. Or am I being cynical?

Music
As you know I sang the two concerts in December, and created and conducted the Casual Christmas Choir. I sang for the 4th of July gathering on the beach, and a couple of songs for the post Christmas tree lighting. During the summer I had a weekly informal singing group, the Summer Singing Session. And of course last May I had my first concert on Kwaj, cleverly titled The First Kwaj Concert of Father John.

Just last week I finally got out the violin and have started to get more disciplined about going back to the piano. Over the recent years the field of rep-recorded accompaniment has blossomed and there are thousands of tapes and cd’s. Some call it karaoke, but the result is that here is a huge repertoire of music one can sing and play with.

Miscellaneous Stuff

Weight Loss – There is less of me to love since I arrived on this little island. In fact, since I came I have lost 45 pounds. Since the surgery I have been able to do practically nothing in the area of exercise – but I made it through the Christmas season without adding anything. Holding the line is a pretty good accomplishment. Once we figure out what’s going on I can get back to golf several times a week and work on the remaining 30 pounds I would like to leave along the way.

Santa for the Marshallese Christmas party – One of the things I did do during the Christmas season was to be Santa for the Marshallese Christmas party. I did this year, and I said at the time the reason they had asked me was that their Santa suit didn’t have a beard. This year I knew it was coming, so at Halloween I had stashed away a couple of cans of white hair coloring, so my grey and white would be the Santa white. The event has a jepta (chapter) from Ebeye over to dance and sing as is the Marshallese tradition. And the local USAKA jepta also performs – and at the end of the evening Santa comes in to help throw candy. This year the gym was packed, and the jepta from Ebeye was around 65 people, all dancing hard and singing. The air conditioning in the gym doesn’t work well at its best and with all those people – it was getting really hot. Any time anyone complained, I sort of thought to myself, “Hmmph – you ought to be inside a Santa Suit.” Complete with pillow padding and white wig and hat and carrying a heavy bag full of candy canes. And the pain from the surgery still with me. It’s a fun event, and the Marshallese kids who know me are completely able to simultaneously know that I am Father John and at the same time accept me as Santa. (Maybe they think Santa is my part-time job?)

Third Island and the arrival of the MSC priests. Jesuits have been in Micronesia since the war, from the Marshall Islands through to Yap. At the moment, not counting me (since Kwajalein is technically under the jurisdiction of the Military Vicariate rather than the local prelate, like a bishop) there are only two Jesuits in the Marshalls – the Apostolic Prefect (like a bishop) and the pastor of the church on Majuro. There is also a brother, who is usually at the Majuro church, but he’s away at the moment doing his tertianship. The New York Province has said they can’t provide any more men, and requests for help from other Provinces, like Indonesia and the Philippines, did not produce any help either. There are no indigenous Marshallese priests, either diocesan or Jesuit or any other order. Obviously we need more men.

So the MSC (Missionaires des Sacres Coeurs – Missionaries of the Sacred Heart) have expressed an interest in moving into the Marshall Islands – but at the same time, they have also made it clear that they do not want to work with the Jesuits. (No, I don’t know why.) So what has happened is that three priests from the MSC have come to Ebeye. They will learn the language and start to work with the people for a period of around 18 months, at which point Rome will review the situation and see what the way forward looks like.

Now Jesuits, while we believe in community, are ready and willing to go out as single missionaries when needed. We go where the need is greatest. Here I am – and the others are doing their things as singles as well. The MSC don’t – so the three priests insist on remaining as a community. It’s good for their mutual support, but it does limit their apostolic effectiveness. We went over as a parish the week after they arrived, and had a celebration to welcome them here. Two of them are from the Philippines and one from Indonesia. One of them did go to Santo (Third Island, also known as Ennubir) for the Christmas celebration – but while I am spared the Sunday evening Mass on Ebeye (which, while it was certainly extra work, I did enjoy) I still go and say Marshallese Mass.

The Marshallese are torn. They are certainly glad to have the new priests – and they hope that in time they will branch out and be more active in the community. Their first job, of course, is to learn the language. But the Marshallese also hope the Jesuits will stay. We are willing to do whatever is best for the church. We are concerned about funding – certainly the parishes and schools are not self-sufficient, and our guys have had a long history of bringing money in to the region from a variety of sources, but mostly based in the US. Will the new priests be able to provide that kind of money? We also worry about schools – education has been the primary thrust of the work of the Jesuits and we hope the new priests will have the same interest and dedication to the work of education. Too early to tell – but the situation made the front page of the Marshall Island News, the major newspaper in Majuro.

Meanwhile, the Parish Council of our community has decided that they would like to help the church by renovating (re-building in reality) the church. We’re in the process of trying to get a stronger sense from the community of what they want (Ah, Father, whatever you decide will be good. Very flattering but doesn’t seem to involve the community very much.) Then we need to coordinate with the MSC priests, and raise money, and go through the logistics and red tape of actually getting the material here and then building. It won’t be an easy or quick process, but hopefully at the end of it there will be a new church with a living space for a priest and maybe a couple of classroom or meeting rooms as part of the building or compound. Brick rather than wood, since the salt and wind here take out wood pretty quickly. There are some pictures of the chapel on the blog site, some focusing on why the renovation is needed. Warps in the roof, soft wood underfoot, old and decaying wood throughout. One more little projectfor those odd moments.

Western Africa Province creation. One year to the day from when I left Nigeria, the Nigeria-Ghana Region became an independent Province in the Society of Jesus, the Northwest African Province. I was invited to come for the erection of the new Province, but between finance and schedule that wasn’t possible. They are on their way – what so many people have worked for for so many years is now in place.

COMING TO AN END
Not me, hopefully, but this letter. Reading back on it, it’s not all peaches and cream, sunshine and flowers, tickety and boo. I am in the second year of a two-year assignment here, so at some point during the year I will have to make a recommendation to my superiors as to whether I should stay or move on for that overdue sabbatical and an eventual assignment somewhere else. It is sometimes interesting – and sometimes I wonder if I am doing any good. It is sometimes frustrating and challenging, rewarding and whatever the opposite of rewarding is. I wonder at what point I stop being silent about corporate injustice and start preaching on the larger issues of justice on our own island and within our own system and how the company (and the Army) treat the Marshallese population. From a purely selfish point of view, I would like to stay longer – there are things I would like to do, both personally and apostolically, that are still in the to do pile, and a nagging suspicion that I have not yet learned all that I am here to learn.

I can receive mail through the regular US postal system – at PO Box 1711, APO AP 96555. I have a Yahoo email (johnrsheehan@Yahoo.com) which is reliable. Email to john.sheehan2@us.army.mil goes straight to my desk – when I am at my desk. We have a phone link to the U.S. via California (805 355-2116 at the office, 805 355-4535 at my trailer. There are answering machines in both places.) If I call you, your caller ID will tell you that someone is calling from Huntsville, Alabama, because that’s where our tie-line to the U.S. goes through outbound.

And if you got this in print, or as an email message, there is also a blog site – www.frjohnsj.blogspot.com. You’ll find this there, and pictures and who knows what other wonders and bits of life out here in the middle of the Pacific.

One of the items for this year is to get my diving certification – but only once the internal problems have been diagnosed and solved. And cut some significant strokes off the golf game. And continue with the weight loss. To take some serious time off, a real vacation. Write more, play more, do more serious singing. And relax more, enjoying people and this place.

Not a bad set of resolutions. We’ll see how well I do. I’d like to get serious about learning more Marshallese, but I suspect time will work against that one.

You and your loved ones are regularly in my prayers and Masses.