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SomeThings Lovely
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Traveling 800 miles for Confession
By FR. MIKE SHIELDS
CatholicAnchor.org
The writer is pastor of the Church of the Nativity in Magadan, Russia.
The church is a mission of the Archdiocese of Anchorage.
March 5th, 2010: Alaska News
I think I heard this joke from Archbishop Hurley first. The priest is by himself and is asked, “Have you been to confession lately?”
He answers, “No I have to fly, which is too expensive for venial sins and too dangerous for mortal sins.”
If I want to go to the sacrament right now I have to fly. The nearest priest is 800 miles away.
I have seen marvelous healing and deep changes here in Russia in people’s lives after receiving this sacrament.
I remember when I was asked to hear someone’s confession for the first time since her baptism some 40 years ago in the Ukraine. Another Russian said to me, “Father, you know this is a new life for her, so please take your time and listen to her and give her the needed advice because she wants to change her life.”
From that time on, I spend time before every Mass and often throughout the week with people who take seriously this sacrament of healing. Russians sin seriously and repent just as seriously. I myself am suffering from not being able to receive this gift of forgiveness. I used to go every week when Father David was here. It was my Saturday night routine, which I loved and hated.
I hated it because I knew I would have to be honest with myself because Father David already knew my sins anyway. I couldn’t make a superficial confession as if sin didn’t matter. It divides us from God and ourselves. I loved it because it does exactly what it is suppose to do: it frees the heart to love again and the soul to praise God again and the mind to think clearly again and the will to choose freely again. I love this sacrament so much that I will fly, in March, to receive it before Easter.
I really pity people who don’t receive this sacrament when it is available at every church almost anytime.
I have a hunch if an announcement was made in the bulletin and from the pulpit that people were not allowed to go to confession anymore, there would a great protest and maybe some long lines would form outside the churches with plaque cards saying, “Hell no! We want to go.”
It is so unfortunate that so many are missing the reality of a great healing and not taking seriously the truth of the condition of our soul before God.
“Hell NO! Heaven Yes!” For this reason, we must receive the sacrament regularly even if we have to fly.
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God's Lovely Blue Marble Earth
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Vocal Duet of Bocelli and Dion - (NOTE: it takes time to download
this song, but it's quite lovely.)
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THE SNEEZE
THEY WALKED IN TANDEM, each of the ninety-two students filing into the already crowded auditorium. With their rich maroon gowns flowing and theIr traditional caps, they looked almost as grown up as they felt.
Dads swallowed hard behind broad smiles, and Moms freely brushed away tears.
This class would NOT pray during the commencements----not by choice, but because of a recent court ruling prohibiting it. The principal and several students were careful to stay within the guidelines allowed by the ruling. They gave inspirational and challenging speeches, but no one mentioned divine guidance and no one asked for blessings on the graduates or their families.
The speeches were nice, but they were routine, until the final speech received a standing ovation. A solitary student walked proudly to the microphone. He stood still and silent for just a moment, and then, it happened.
All 92 students, every single one of them, suddenly SNEEZED!!!! The student on stage simply looked at the audience and said, GOD BLESS YOU and walked off. The audience exploded into applause.
This graduating class had found a unique way to invoke God's blessing on their future with or without the court's approval. This is a true story; it happened at the University of Maryland
vTony Melendez and the Pope
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The Old Phone
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle . A different voice answered "Information." I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "Yes." I answered.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
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