ON THE ROAD - AGAIN

What would a sabbatical be without a little travel, I ask you? And I answer - Why, nothing at all.

So from February 28 through March 31, I will be on the road. First to London - although I am sure Her Majesty would be delighted to see me, and I her, she is so busy preparing for her tea with Helen whosis from the movie that I am sure she will not be able to see me. Just as well, as there are a bunch of friends I would like to see whilst there.

I am going to be visiting Mark and Kemi, of the TWO visits to Kwajalein fame (What?! You haven't read about their visits to Kwaj? Tsk, and tsk again, and hie thee to the appropriate prior entry. Or entries.) We will be going to visit a mutual friend who lives just outside of Paris, so that will be another fun (and gastronomically exciting) adventure. Our friend is a chef, you see, and is out hunting snails even now, in anticipation of our arrival. They are not actually in London but down in Southsea, near Portsmouth, so that's another little trip that leads to a longer trip.

And then to Austria. I was a student in Innsbruck in the mid-60's, at the University there, and spent almost two months in Salzburg, and haven't been back since. Soooo - I've been brushing up my German and I'm off, to visit old haunts (as these things go, so far most of my old haunts have been torn down - but Europeans generally are less into tearing down than are Americans, so the places I remember from my student days might even be there still.)

I will also spend a couple of days with some friends in Gaming (Niederosterreich, for those who like to follow these wanderings on a map) and then back to London for a couple of days, and I will return to the U.S. on March 31st, the day before Palm Sunday, just in time for the parade in the church with the palm branches and the looooong Gospel reading (The Passion).

I have some study work with me for the trip, and any time I run across a piano, I did bring my music with me, so hopefully I will not forget too much during this time away from my routine of daily practice. I have determined a couple of things - I do enjoy the practice, and am more disciplined about it than I thought I would be. I am also not a child prodigy - certainly not a child, nor, unfortunately, a prodigy. Even with a fair store of musical talent and experience, this comes with effort. I think of the child Mozart, five years old, whipping off minuets and symphonies and playing in front of kings and emperors and I want to wring his little neck.

Since coming back, I have been to concerts at Avery Fisher Hall, Alice Tully Hall, Carnegie Hall, and organ recitals at several churches. I heard a wonderful choir at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and went to the Metropolitan Opera for a great performance of Simon Boccanegra. I saw Kristen Chenowith in The Apple Tree and an odd-Broadway production of the C.S. Lewis book The Great Divorce. Love the book, hated the play. Takes a certain effort and a lot of hard work to make ole C.D. boring, but by heaven, they managed to do it. I went ice skating last weekend for the first time since 1992 and I did very well for an old man on rutted ice with rental skates that had no edges to speak of. The instincts came back, and the next morning I was able to get out of bed and walk around without pain or making suffering sounds. I was really rather pleased with myself.

Contrasting that with my two attempts at bowling - I hurt myself both times, and the second time a couple of those pains are STILL with me. If they survive the Europe trip, it's going to be back to the doctor. Imagine being too old to go bowling!

Now I know those who have suffered through these many pages are going to think I have a "thing" about the company on Kwajalein that didn't fire me - so they kept telling me - but I still somehow found myself out of work. (Last I heard they still hadn't found anyone for that spot. Maybe they don't WANT anyone....) Anyway, because of the way the company does things, when I left I had to pay for my own plane ticket from Hono back to New York, and then (once the flight was completed - not when the ticket was bought, mind you) along with the other reimbursable expenses for the leaving, they would write me a check. The total comes to something over $1,100. I bought the plane ticket in October - it is now the end of February, I am about to go away for a month and guess what?! No check. I was assured weeks ago it had been sent. So the man with the vow of poverty is carrying the subsidiary of Bechtel for over $1,100 from October until - well, now it will be April.

I know - I shouldn't let myself get upset. But - well, just but. If any of you are looking for a great present to give me, stock in this company would not be a good idea. (Although it would mean I could go to a stockholders meeting, and.... bad John. Bad John.)

So if, during the next month, you are coming to New York and were hoping to see me, let me know and I'll email you a picture. 'CAUSE I WON'T BE THERE!!! I love New York, and I am looking forward to coming back. Some neat stuff is going to be going on in April, and in May, and in June - and in June I might even learn what my next assignment might be. But for this month - new currencies, old places and new adventures, and change of scenery.

Have a wonderful Lent. (What did YOU give up?) I will be checking email hopefully at least once a day - and the Minister at the Jesuit community and my sister each have phone numbers where I can be reached in case of real emergencies. I will take copious notes, and who knows, there might even be an old-fashioned massive missive come out of this. I will be remembering many of you in prayer - well, some of you don't need praying for, and some are beyond help (Kidding, just kidding). And I would hope that every now and then, when you are engaged in conversation with God, you would mention my name. He is even busier than the Queen, and yes, He IS God, still - for reasons we cannot begin to understand, He likes to be reminded. So make Him happy - remind Him there is a fuzzy Jesuit wandering about Europe who might need the occasional taking care of.

That will make me happy too.

Love and hugs and prayers and stuff like that.

AND ON THE SEVENTH DAY

January 30, 2007

The word “sabbatical” comes from the notion of Sabbath, that on the seventh day, God rested from all His labors. If it’s good enough for God, it ought to be good enough for the rest of us. And the extrapolation is that every seven years, one should get a rest. In academic circles, the idea was that every seven years, a professor would get time off to re-tool, to explore new areas of study, to not just rest but to re-energize.

Sometimes, even in religious life, members are given that same opportunity. Now I am getting a mini-sabbatical - not a full year, but a chance to refresh and explore. As some of you may know, I had made a couple of proposals, ideas I had had about how this time might be spent. Father Provincial was not impressed, and sent me back to the drawing board. But we had a very good meeting, I got caught up on what’s going on in the Province, and he got caught up on what I had been doing and was/am feeling. I came away with a much better sense of what he and the Society of Jesus expected from this time.

So I came up with plan 3. And shortly after I submitted it, with some further thought and talking with people, I revised even that one into plan 4. And plan 4 it is.

So - for those who keep track of these things - I will be based in New York until July, with the following dimensions. In February I will be studying piano, and working on music theory. Also exercise - both for keeping healthy and I would like to lose a little more weight. (When in my life has THAT not been the case? Sigh.) But in addition to the treadmill and the bicycle in the basement (and I use them, I really do) one can easily do golf and ice skating and bowling. (Bowling? Yup - I had not been bowling in more years than I can think about, and last week I bowled three games. Thought I was going to die - started to think seriously about a thigh transplant. Talk about using muscles one doesn’t usually use. I heard that - yes, I have muscles. They’re disguised, but they’re there. I went again today - I am nothing if not stubborn - and on the first ball hurt my hip. I may be too old for bowling. Next week - ice skating.)

In March I will be going to England and Austria, to visit some friends and places I have not seen in a long time.

In April and May I will be back in New York for more work on the piano, and some study on the problems of aging in religious communities. I’ll be going to the Rotary International Convention toward the middle of June, (Salt Lakle City!) and I’ll be visiting some friends in Texas, and I will spend a little time in West Virginia and Washington.

I will also have two times when I go away for retreat - times of prayer and silence, and I hope to do some reading on the Gospel of John.

I’m in residence with the Jesuit community on 83rd Street, and I will have the same room until July, so the phone numbers remain the same. If you don’t have my phone numbers, send me an email and you’ll get them automatically. (I’m not crazy enough to put my phone numbers on a public blog site.) Probably in June, the Provincial will have a conversation with me about the next assignment. I asked if there were any merit in using some of this time for preparation, and he wisely said no, use the sabbatical time for its own purpose, and if any preparation is needed, we’ll deal with that once we decide on the next assignment.

So, at the moment I am studying piano and practicing 4-5 hours a day. I really am. I have an electronic piano in my room, with earphones, so the community doesn’t hate me, and I am trying to take advantage of being in the city. My teacher is the conductor of the Riverside Symphony Orchestra. I was introduced to this group by the cousin of a friend of mine on Kwaj, and it is a wonderful group. Through this introduction, I have been to jazz at Squadron A, and found a weekly jazz group at St Bart’s, and a weekly jazz presentation at St. Peter’s. I’ve been to several organ recitals, and recently I went to the Carlyle Hotel to hear Rita Moreno. (Yes, she is still alive.) She’s 75 years old and did a wonderful show. The voice is a little thin and breathy but she controls it superbly, and a couple of ballads were tinglingly beautiful. (My spell checker doesn’t know that word, but it is absolutely correct, and if it doesn’t exist, it should. And now it does.)

Let me back up a little and try to bring a little chronological order into this. I returned from Kwajalein the day before Thanksgiving, and celebrated the day itself with Jeanne French, mother of Rob French, who was perhaps my best friend in all the world. He has gone, but Jeanne is very much with us, and hosted a whole gathering for the ceremonial eating of the turkey. (That would NOT be me.) I think there were eleven people gathered around the table. I started getting used to cold weather - this is a process that is still ongoing. Christmas in New York was fun, and I started to catch up with old friends. I went to a wonderful concert at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and did the tourist thing of Radio City Music Hall at Christmas. Great fun - they had a 3-D movie segment that was very well done, and the two organs played before the extravaganza started, and the orchestra rose up and went down and the rose up and slid across the stage area - making room for the ice rink to come up and down and up and down. (Okay it was a small ice rink but let’s not lose sight of the fact that it was an ICE RINK.)

At the end, staying with tradition, there was the Nativity story. And they had live donkey and camels and sheep, and they read from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah and from the Gospel according to Luke, and they had Joseph and Mary and the Kings. What they did not have was angels - no mention of the angels. And the word “God” was never heard, nor was the word “Jesus.” It was as delicate a bit of writing as you could hope to find. Imagine doing a whole Nativity scene without ever mentioning Jesus. Now at the end there was a great light shining behind the Holy Family and everyone on stage was in various poses of adoration - but as the conclusion, a scrim came down with the old thing about one solitary life - you know, this one man never traveled more than 30 miles and never commanded armies but no one has ever had more influence, cha cha cha. A very secular view of the nativity - but at least it was there, and the whole thing was really great fun.

Treated myself to another Christmas tradition in New York (at least for me) and that is the Big Apple circus. The night I went there were a whole groups of kids from some organization who were being treated, so the energy under the tent was remarkable. Every time the lights went out, the volume moved from loud to deafening. But they also quieted down just as quickly, and it was a fun night. Critic that I am, I have to say it was not the most exciting version I have seen from this group, but great fun. Someone I know is a relative of the lead clown Grandma - and blessed if I could remember who it was. I did talk to him (Yes, Grandma is a him) but since I couldn’t say who I knew who knew him, I just told him how much I enjoyed his work. Always a safe thing to say.

One of the nicest things that happens to me is meeting new people, and so far in this incarnation, I have been blessed several times. I mentioned the relative of the guy from Kwajalein - very active in music, a lawyer who was in the Special Forces, very generous with his time and acquaintances - invited me to a salon before the Symphony concert, where I met the woman who is the speech writer for the Commissioner of Police, and several other interesting folk, including the guy who plays trumpet at the Friday jazz group. He gave me tickets for the first concert - which included a harmonica concerto by Villa Lobos (yes, a harmonica, and the guy who played it makes a living playing with symphony orchestras around the world), and introduced me to Oscar Hijuelos, the Pulitzer Prize winning author, whose writing (if you are not familiar with it) will blow you away. WONDERFUL stuff. (And I now have signed copies of his books for the library.)

At a party after the concert, I met another guy who is working on a musical for Broadway. Now, in New York, it is not difficult to meet people who are “working” on a Broadway play. But we chatted for a while, and the guy called me up the next day. The idea was that I might be able to sing some of their music for a backer’s cd they are trying to put together. I went over to his apartment, and was delighted to find that the music is really good. I’ve been over four or five times, the author likes what I have been doing, and I am really enjoying it. It’s work - music changes as we work on it, I’m sight reading and trying to do interp, and the author has his own ideas and it’s all great fun. In fact they’re working on two shows - one completely original, one an adaptation of Androcles and the Lion (the George Bernard Shaw script), and what I have heard from both is very good music. Who knows? I might get to do a Broadway show yet. (I have another friend who is also working on a show, and he has a place for cameo shots, and he has promised me one of those if it makes it. Can’t have too many chances.)

In December, an old friend of mine from Buffalo came to town and introduced me to a friend of hers who had just moved to New York. This new friend is in the State Department and was formerly Consul General in Toronto. She is here on assignment to the Council for Foreign Relations. She is delightful, and basically, I have a playmate to do things with in New York. We went to the Riverside Symphony together and joined my cousin and her friend for dinner, and have done all sorts of other things. Friends are a little startled when I bring a “date” but she is enjoying learning about New York and we have great fun.

I celebrated my birthday in Arizona, with very special friends. (I am trying not to say “old” friends) - I share the date with Ed, and in our past, we have celebrated together. I was with them on my memorable 40th, when I shaved my beard and no one knew who I was. So I went out to the warm weather (although as these things work out, it turned out to be warmer in New York than in Phoenix. New York had the warmest December on record since 1877 and had no snowfall during the whole month. I learned that my two favorite words since coming back are ”Unseasonably warm.”) We played golf and had dinners at wonderful restaurants and breakfast where they brought us cake with candles, and because it was my first time they gave me four muffins. I saw the museum where they both volunteer, and I got to meet some of the Rotarians in the eclub to which I belong. Nice to meet people in the flesh you’ve been working with for a year.

And after the first of the year I traveled again, this time to Tulsa, for the wedding of the daughter of another long-time friend (there’s that “old” problem again.) Got to see some college friends I had not seen in years (and years and years) and again, got to meet a whole bunch of new people and renew acquaintance with some I had not seen for a while.

One of the nice things about growing older is that your friends are too, and are getting more respectable - which includes having houses in the country. I got to visit two friends who each have houses in the country - one in upstate New York and one in Connecticut. I saw the grave where Virginia is buried (of “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” fame) and I met more wonderful people and had amazing food and most important, got to spend time with friends.

Now those of you who know me and who have been reading carefully will note that I have made no mention of opera or Broadway theatre. That’s ‘cause I haven’t been, a combination of finances (lack of) and opportunity (ditto). Trust me, I will remedy that in the weeks to come. I have not been doing as much singing as I would have liked, and I will have to add that to the schedule.

I do hear from friends on Kwaj. A number of people have left and are leaving - they love the place but I keep hearing that the work environment continues to deteriorate and they simply don’t think it’s worth it any more.

For instance - A friend who was feeling sick went to the hospital on Kwaj, and was given aspirin and told to rest. (no x-ray, no blood work, no meaningful diagnosis.) He went to the US, before he was supposed to go on to South America for his vacation, and the doctor there diagnosed a severe intestinal infection, put him on a heavy dose of antibiotics, close observation and cancelled the trip. Said if he had waited another week he could have been in serious trouble. Reminds me of my own appendix adventure.

On to new and (we hope) greater things. There probably won’t be any more blog updates until after I return from Austria - or I get a visitation from an angel. Or win the Lottery. Or like that.

But the assorted emails all work, phones work, I even get real letters in the snail mail from some people. If you ever get near the NY area, give a shout - I’m always glad to have people to play with.

Hugs and prayers and love to you all - and let us continue to pray for one another. (And if you haven't been praying for me, NOW is the time to start. Get on it!)

Fr. John's Christmas Note 2006

DECEMBER 2006

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hugs and love and prayers and stuff like that.

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

Memories of Kwajalein

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




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




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




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



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




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

THE PRIEST HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

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

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

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

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

He would have loved today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is all good.

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

OK - I promised, no more shots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all good.



From: Select Members of the Kwajalein Community

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

Date: 4 November 2006

RE: Father John Sheehan S.J.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Changes, and More Changes

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIRST RECONCILIATION

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

Audrey Corbett
Chris Kulig
Kailea Moseley
David Sholar
Jared Wase

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