Volunteering and helping others is a big part of your life — especially since retiring from Catholic Financial Life four years ago. What are some of the ways you do this?

I’m involved with quite a few organizations through my parish, St. Mary Mother of God in Menomonee Falls. My wife Debbie and I have been members since 1977. We were active with the school while our four children were there, and I am still active in the parish, including being an usher for 37 years. Beyond the parish, I am vice president of our local Catholic Financial Life service chapter, which is active in the community in many ways. Just to name a few, we provide volunteers for fish fries that raise money for Catholic schools, we place flags at VA cemeteries and lead flag day ceremonies at Catholic grade schools. I also lead bingo and the Rosary at an assisted living home where my brother lives.

Why are blood drives and giving blood so important to you?

It is really an important way of giving back for me because when I was born, I needed a blood transfusion. I wouldn’t be alive if someone hadn’t given blood. I donate platelets every two weeks at the blood center — I’m on a regular schedule.

People who know you say you are always smiling and willing to help. How do you stay so positive?

I have a very strong faith, and my goal is to live each day to the fullest by leading a good life and following Jesus. It’s not always easy — especially when you experience the loss of a loved one, or loss of a job, as many of us do over the course of life. But you have to trust in God and take up your cross like Jesus. These struggles just bring us closer to him, and that is a reason to feel blessed. I also get strength from my faith community at St. Mary. I participate in the Rosary prayer group at the parish, as well as the men’s group led by Fr. Andrew Linn, our associate pastor. Being around men of different ages in the faith is a real blessing.

You feel it’s incumbent upon all Catholics to be servants to others, but you also enjoy it — what brings you enjoyment?

I am a people person. I love talking to people and getting to know them. When I usher, I get to meet a lot of the young families in the parish. Seeing the children at Mass is such a joy. It’s not easy for them to sit through the Mass when they are young, but it’s so important for them to be there. It’s wonderful seeing the faith passed on as my parents did, and my wife and I did with our children. When I am out in the community, serving others and seeing them smile to receive a meal at St. Ben’s, or thanking them for giving blood — it just makes me feel good. Sometimes nine or 10 people might show up when I lead the Rosary at the assisted living home where my brother is, other times there may only be one. But that one person is so happy to have someone to pray with — how can you not feel good?

Sometimes people want to serve, but they aren’t sure where to start. What advice would you give?

There are a lot of needs in the world. God will lead you where you are most needed. Just know that when you live like Jesus in your everyday life, you will be serving him and others. When I get up in the morning, I know that it’s a gift and my call that day is to serve God however he asks.

January 14, 2024

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

1 Samuel 3:3b-10, 19

1 Corinthians 6:13c-15a, 17-20

John 1:35-42

Cleaning up from the Christmas Eve liturgy just a few weeks ago, I heard the small protestation of a little child, begging not to leave the very elaborate crèche designed by the parish. Like the little child, we also find ourselves peacefully drawn to the stillness of that night and the charming innocence of the Lord who comes to us as this tiny babe. However, the loveliness of this scene is not long considered. If you had the opportunity to attend Mass the day after Christmas on the Feast of St. Stephen, you might have been struck by the red vestment of the priest, symbolizing the bloody sacrifice of the protomartyr. In a sense, just hours removed from the stillness of the manger, the Church reminds us of the reality what it means to be a disciple of Christ: “If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you.” (John 15:20)

As we step forth from the Christmas season into Ordinary Time, we similarly might be tempted to linger at this scene. There on the shores of the sea of Galilee, we see our Lord begin to gather his first disciples, but more poignantly, we are given the commanding image of the Baptist, gesturing to his cousin, Jesus: “Behold, the Lamb of God.”

Drawing from this scene, consider later the depiction of the Baptist anachronistically included in the famed Isenheim Altarpiece (Matthias Grünewald, ca. 1512–16) in Colmar, Alsace, France. The altarpiece depicts in stark realness Christ’s body from the cross, contorted in pain and plague-ridden. On his left, we see the Baptist gesturing as he once did years before to the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. The last prophet who announced the coming of the Messiah is included here in this Calvary scene to emphasize the dynamic nature of what it means to follow Christ.

It is tempting in our own lives as Christians to subsist in spiritual autopilot. But the frustrating truth is that we are either drawing closer to or further from the Lord. Or more accurately, we are increasing or decreasing in our desires for him. In the Isenheim Altarpiece, we see St. John the Baptist framed by the words he spoke at his final witness, “He must increase, I must decrease.”  (John 3:30) As our late Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI wrote, “Man was created for greatness — for God himself; he was created to be filled by God. But his heart is too small for the greatness to which it is destined. It must be stretched.”

We desperately want to stay with the Lord in these peaceful scenes — at the Nativity, at Cana, on the shores, in the hills — but the Lord is also inviting us into the more dynamic encounter of truly living as his disciple, truly following him. To bear this disposition in our heart, mind and soul, means grappling with the same question that Jesus asks the two disciples in the Gospel, “What are you looking for?” As the disciples will learn later, there are many who come to the Lord not knowing who they seek; they come in search of a prophet, a king, a teacher, a healer. But how does Jesus respond to this question that burns in the hearts of these disciples, of each one of us? “Come, and you will see.” At every moment of our journey of faith, following Jesus requires faith. He knows us and knows our hearts; he does not answer the question of the disciples; instead, he invites them into a relationship, one that demands trust and faith in him.

This can be daunting, especially when following the Lord means necessarily following him into what is unknown, unseen. We should not be afraid. Instead, we must assume the posture of Samuel who, when called upon by the Lord, simply responds, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” The docility that Samuel shows in patiently discerning the Lord’s voice and his will is rewarded: “Samuel grew up, and the Lord was with him, not permitting any word of his to be without effect.”

The Lord is not less generous than we are, friends. Whatever we give in small measure to the Lord — like an act of faith and trust in him — will be increased one hundredfold. St. Paul promises us today that, “whoever is joined to the Lord becomes one Spirit with him.” This is why the Baptist is able to be diminished before the Lord, to decrease so that the Lord might increase in him.

As we enter more steadily into this new year, come before the Lord and simply repeat the words of Samuel, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” Do not be surprised when the Lord refuses to meet you where you are, but instead invites you to follow him even more: “Come, and you will see.”

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5f/Grunewald_Isenheim1.jpg

It was a terrible calamity, and the little people at our house were completely up in arms.

The concrete statue of Our Lady of Grace that sits between two bushes in our yard had been blown over by a strong winter wind. She lay diagonally against the neighbor’s fence, palms and face pointing heavenward, like a weary mother at bedtime prayers who can’t quite stand up straight.

The children were dismayed that Mary should suffer this indignity, and went to work reinforcing the statue’s base by employing a host of questionable engineering strategies. They piled sticks and rocks and mud around the little hemisphere upon which she stands, crushed serpent slithering beneath her feet. They set to work using mud to patch “cracks” they became convinced had developed in the concrete. It became quite a hearty little ministry, and their zeal for Mary’s comfort intensified with every subsequent project, as they all sought to ought-do each other.

Finally, my son announced he had to make her a campfire and get her a jacket and hat. “It’s cold out here, and she’s only wearing that dress,” he said.

Of course, then a quarrel ensued: one of the children wasn’t building a campfire correctly, another was overstepping his bounds, one was feeling sidelined, one refused to surrender her coat for the comfort of the Blessed Virgin. The whole exercise was a microcosm of the modern Church, really: a great, elaborate struggle to please God, each participant completely certain of the rightness of his own methods (at least, he is completely certain when contradicted by someone who disagrees).

I watched them with equal parts admiration and amusement. I am under no delusions that this playtime activity was an indication of any great piety on their part. These were normal gestures made by normal children to an object of their affection. But there was something so innocent and pure in their enthusiasm. There was something so lovely in their determined belief that they could, in fact, offer some kind of consolation to God by their actions.

How sweet it seemed. How naive. How silly.

As a family, our prayer lately has been for God to fill us with a genuine yearning for holiness. I always assumed that I wanted to be holy, that I was trying my best to be holy. But when I really thought about it, was holiness something I desired? Or was it a hill I watched other people climb, while I thought to myself: “How sweet. How naive. How silly.”

Striving for holiness is different from wanting to do the right thing, an action which offers lots of benefits that have nothing to do with our souls. “Being a good person,” that nebulous yardstick of morality popularized by secular culture, is not an unworthy goal. But it’s also not enough. You can be a “good person” in this world by doing just enough, by giving just enough. By being kind (most of the time). By making the right choice (most of the time). A good person is usually admired and well-liked, because they are deemed good for actions that are visible, public.

You can be “a good person” and still risk nothing, lose nothing, suffer nothing.

But a holy person? A holy person is usually a freak. Look at any of the great saints, and you’ll see that most of their peers looked at them a little askance. We admire them now, when death and canonization frame their earthly struggle as heroic. But while it was happening? When they were just ordinary, sinful, fallen people trying to be holy, trying to do whatever objectively crazy thing it was that God was asking them to do? When Bernadette smeared her face with mud and Rose donned a crown of spikes and Veronica offered a towel to a man that everyone hated?

Well, they may as well have been making campfires for a concrete statue.

That’s the struggle for holiness, really, in a nutshell: doing something that makes no sense, that gives no benefit that anyone can see or touch or smell. Doing it badly, haphazardly, but doing it with purpose. Doing it simply because you’re motivated by a feeling deep within you, some little fledgling stirring of love in the recesses of your soul.

We can only be holy by following that feeling, even when everyone else thinks we’ve totally lost it. “How childlike. How naive,” they say when we go to Mass, when we whisper our sins through a grate, when we politely ask someone who has been dead for centuries to pray for us. “How silly.”

Sometimes, holiness looks like building a campfire for a concrete statue. (Photo by Colleen Jurkiewicz)

Once again, we find ourselves tottering on the brink of a new year. At this point in my life, time seems to speed past me with a previously unexperienced velocity, certainly with illegal speed. The days and months move swiftly, and the years seem to miraculously accumulate, almost behind my back, or when I am simply absorbed in other activities and not paying attention. The mornings especially seem to move very swiftly, often sustained by a sense of deep and grateful prayer.

No wonder that philosophers tell us that we can experience the passing of time, and even on occasion adroitly describe it, but we can’t ever seem to define it. I know how the passage of years feels, but simply cannot tell you what it is with any precision. Time seems to be doled out by the Lord of history, event by event, without ever pausing long enough to be precisely defined, so we are forced to be content with merely counting the years and documenting the events and blessings left in their wake.

Webster’s Dictionary tells us that time is a period during which an action or process is measured. Its focus seems inevitably to be on some other event or activity, not time itself. Even the numbers on the face of a clock tell us that the machine, however precise, is simply a measure of events in sequence as 10 o’clock in the morning or 3 in the afternoon or 8 in the evening. The numbers are inevitably referring to something else in our daily life.

For the most part, Hebrew has one basic word for time, but the Greek mind was ever willing to offer a choice with more careful precision. The ancient Greeks used “chronos” for the time of the day or year measured in a sequence, but “kairos” for the specific action which should be taken at that given moment. Kairos requires a response, but chronos is simply there for relationship or measurement.

As a teacher many years ago, I remember on occasion casually walking into my next class and asking, (I confess even after all these years with a devious purpose) what time it was. One of the students would look at the clock on the wall and respond, “9 in the morning” or “7 in the evening,” and I would then respond in turn, “That is chronos, but kairos says it’s time to begin our work.”

On one occasion, Jesus wryly noted that the people of his age could look at the clouds in the sky and judge whether it would rain or not, but could never seem to figure out when it was time (kairos) to act boldly in response to the sovereign actions of God in their history. (Luke 12:56)

The end of each calendar year means that it is time to take a closer look at our lives and make whatever decisions are necessary in order to be good stewards of the rich gift of life doled out to us in bits and pieces by our God.

Our world seems to be in a mess these days. Bitter division and violence mark every part of our globe. Here at home in the United States, the political parties seem driven by mutual distrust and disagreement. The poor folks left in the political turmoil are so often no longer served. Every part of our world seems wounded. The gift of this New Year offers yet another opportunity for healing and a possible occasion for a fresh start for all of us. I pray that the graces of this week may be welcomed and that the blessed gift of a potential new beginning be accepted as the treasure it truly is.

Happy New Year to all.

How would you describe your relationship with Jesus?

Ever-changing and ever-growing. There was a time in my life when I thought that, eventually, I would have the whole “prayer life, relationship with Jesus thing” figured out, and then everything would just be great. No relationship should be stagnant. Through all of the ups and downs, I’ve grown to learn that Jesus always wants more for me and more of me, even (and maybe especially) when I’m reluctant to want more for and give more of myself.

Why are you very active in your parish?

Community is so important. From the beginning of time, God made us for relationship, and in an age where people experience loneliness at epidemic levels, community has never been more needed. As an essentially Christ-centered and intergenerational community, a parish community is uniquely and especially life-giving. I receive so much from my parish community and the relationships that I have formed there, and like any relationship, there has to be a give and take. If I want a strong parish community that enriches my life, I have to be part of forming and caring for that community.

What drew you to serve on your parish’s Pastoral Council and lead the Prayer and Worship Committee?

I was relatively new to my parish when there was a need for several new pastoral committee members. I thought that it might be a good way to meet other parishioners and learn more about my parish, and it certainly was. I eventually transitioned off the Pastoral Council and into leadership of the Prayer and Worship Committee. I’ll be the first to clarify, though, that while I may run the meetings and set the agenda, I spend most of my time learning from the dedicated past and present members.

Why did you become certified as a special needs foster parent earlier this year?

Through the course of my work, I came to meet a number of children, all with special needs, who would live in the hospital for weeks to months because there was nowhere for them to go. I would come home from work angry and sad, and finally I told myself that I either had to let it go or do something about it. I took my thoughts to prayer, and it became very clear what God was asking me to do. Even though I could come up with a million reasons why I shouldn’t or couldn’t become a foster parent, I eventually decided I just had to trust that if God was asking me to do this, he would give me what I needed. And he has. I have been blessed by the most amazing family, friends and parish community who have supported me with everything I could ever need, from furniture and toys to emergency late-night car seat help, to advice from their own experiences of parenting and fostering. I am so humbled by the generosity that surrounds me.

What instrument do you play?

I’ve played the violin since I was 5 years old. When I was very little, my violin teacher taught me that the ability to make music is a gift from God, and that it is a gift that is meant to be shared. Today, I love to share music by playing at my parish, for Brew City Catholic events, with the Wisconsin Intergenerational Orchestra and at living room jam sessions with friends.

What is a Christmas song you really enjoy and why?

I love the song “O Holy Night.” Both the music and the lyrics work beautifully together to bring us a message of life-changing hope, reminding us that God came into the world as a real person at a real time and a real place in history for the sake of our salvation.

What do you want to get better at?

Gardening. I love the satisfaction of growing something to eat or share with others, but, as the solitary fruit of this year’s tomato plant can tell you, I have a lot to learn.

Merry Christmas and a Blessed New Year!

On the Sunday within the Octave of Christmas this year, December 31, the Church celebrates in the liturgy the solemn memory of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  I have always loved the feast of the Holy Family because I have been always in awe that Jesus wanted to have a family here on earth. The Redeemer of the world chose the family as the place for his birth and growth, thereby sanctifying all families. Most of us are probably spending this feast day with our own families. This year, I will be in Colombia with my family for this great feast.

It makes absolute sense that we celebrate this feast day the Sunday after Christmas. After all the business of the days leading to Christmas and the exciting hours of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I love the quiet and simplicity of the days between Christmas and the New Year that we spend with family. I remember the following quote from St. Paul VI when he was pope: “The home of Nazareth is the school where we begin to understand the life of Jesus — the school of the Gospel. First, then, a lesson of silence. May esteem for silence, that admirable and indispensable condition of mind, revive in us … a lesson on family life. May Nazareth teach us what family life is, its communion of love, its austere and simple beauty, and its sacred and inviolable character … a lesson of work. Nazareth, home of the “Carpenter’s Son,” in you I would choose to understand and proclaim the severe and redeeming law of human work.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church #533)

The family of Nazareth, which the Church, especially in today’s liturgy, puts before the eyes of all families, really constitutes that culminating point of reference for the holiness of every human family. The history of this Holy Family is described very briefly in the pages of the Gospel. We get to know only a few events in its life. However, what we learn is sufficient to be able to relate the fundamental moments in the life of every family, and to show that dimension, to which all who live a family life are called: fathers, mothers, parents, children. The Gospel shows us, very clearly, the educative aspect of the family. “He went down with them and came to Nazareth and was obedient to them.” (Luke 2:51)

The family is such an important building block of society and the healthy development of each person, so there is no surprise to see how the enemy wants to destroy families. In the first year of the pontificate of St. John Paul II in 1978, he gave a beautiful and timeless reflection on the meaning of the family and the threats it faces, in 1978 and today: “The deepest human problems are connected with the family. It constitutes the primary, fundamental, and irreplaceable community for man. ‘The mission of being the primary vital cell of society has been given to the family by God himself,’ the Second Vatican Council affirms. (Apostolicam Actuositatem) The Church wishes to bear a particular witness to that too during the Octave of Christmas, by means of the feast of the Holy Family. She wishes to recall that the fundamental values, which cannot be violated without incalculable harm of a moral nature, are bound up with the family.”

How can we defend the sanctity of the family? I want to go back to St. Paul VI and use his image of the family as a school. For every believer, the humble dwelling place in Nazareth is an authentic school of the Gospel. Here we admire, and put into practice, the divine plan to make our family an intimate community of life and love. The Church teaches us that every Christian family is called to be a small “domestic church” that must shine with the Gospel virtues. Recollection and prayer, mutual understanding and respect, personal discipline and communal generosity, and a spirit of sacrifice, work and solidarity are typical features that make the family of Nazareth a model for every home.

Every family is unique, but mine is not the typical family; I was raised by a single mom with my half-brother and two half-sisters; lived through the divorce of most of my aunts and uncle; some of my family members are practicing Catholics, but some haven’t been in church for years, and others have joined other Christian denominations. My family is not perfect, but each member is trying to grow and be better. My prayer is that each one of them embraces the holiness that God is inviting us to live. I like the following quote from St. John Paul II, because it reminds me that nothing is impossible for God: “Let us look to the Holy Family of Nazareth as an example for all Christian and human families. It radiates genuine love and charity, not only creating an eloquent example for all families, but also offering the guarantee that such love can be achieved in every family unit.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, pray for us.

Asking For A Friend

Full disclosure: Santa Claus was a part of my childhood experience.

I always thought that our family celebrated Advent and Christmas quite fittingly. We would light the next candle, inaugurating the new week in Advent each Sunday evening. The crèche would make an appearance, slowly coming into focus as the Wise Men approached and the shepherds began to gather. Even throughout the season of Advent, my mother would have cut up pieces of brown and yellow yarn, and whenever we did a good deed, we could place a piece of yarn in the manger so that Jesus would have somewhere to lay his head. I remember fondly in the final week of Advent, my parents chiding us, “The manger is looking pretty bare and hard.” It was a nice way to learn patience and preparation, hallmarks of the Advent season. On Christmas morning, we would place Jesus Christ in the manger and say a prayer in thanksgiving for the gift of the Incarnation.

But we also believed in Santa Claus, at least until the notion of flying deer became a little too farfetched. Why teach it at all, though? Some examples that are usually cited include helping to convey a sense of wonder or offering a good example of kindness and generosity. Certainly, celebrating and teaching about the real St. Nicholas is important, but to a child, the prospect of an individual being able to span the globe in a single evening bringing gifts to children, rich and poor, is admittedly a far more marvelous example than most anything else.

Those who criticize the practice argue that, at its base, Santa Claus is just a clear example of lying to children. Recall that parents have “the first responsibility for the education of their children” (CCC 2223), and that especially means in passing along the faith. Why distract from the real meaning of Christmas — the birth of Jesus Christ — by introducing a fantastical character like Santa Claus? Or are we just bypassing the crèche on the way to “visit” Santa at the mall?

These are good questions. I think for many people, there is not a deep consideration; if their family had Santa growing up, so will their children. The only exception I have seen to this is when the “reveal” about Santa’s veracity was actually so damaging as a child that I know parents who do not want to pass that experience on to their children.

If we reduce the question to its simplest form: Does teaching about Santa Claus truly detract from the coming of Christ? I remember when I was studying Italian in Siena, I was introduced to another cultural tradition known as Il Palio. The Palio is a horse race held twice a year in July and August in honor of the Blessed Mother. The weeks leading up to the races include pageantry and neighborhood meals and culminate in two, short and raucous races in the Piazza del Campo of Siena. While the origin of these races is Marian in devotion, witnessing it firsthand I was dissatisfied with how much emphasis had been placed on the race and how much less emphasis had been placed on honoring the Blessed Mother. One could ask, as my host family had, was the event even Catholic anymore? What had begun as a religious event had so obviously become secularized over the centuries.

Speaking to my language tutor about this divide, she shared how her own family managed the tension between the obviously secular festivities and the celebration of Our Lady. They prayed novenas in anticipation of each feast and made a point of attending the Mass held at the cathedral on those days. Furthermore, the race became an opportunity for them to convey to their children the rich Catholic heritage of Siena. No matter who was the victor, they nonetheless would join the crowds in the parade to the church to sing songs of praise to the Blessed Mother. It remained for them a beautiful opportunity to pass along the faith and cultivate a devotion to the Mother of Christ.

I would contend that a similar disposition should be maintained here in America and our cultural practices. The Church will never give us an official pronouncement on Santa Claus, but what I do think is important is honestly assessing the place that this tradition has in our home. Is there more eager expectation for the arrival of Santa Claus and the gifts that he will bring, or is it merely part of the background experience, instead allowing the coming of Christ to reign as the preeminent cause of our joy? Whether your family does subscribe to Santa Claus or not, it is important that the other traditions the Church employs remain at the heart of our Advent experience of preparation. The Advent wreath, the crèche and the anticipation of Christ needs to be the most significant part of our experience of patient preparation so that, should even Santa Claus come to our home, the joy at his arrival plays a distant second to the real reason for our joy, Jesus Christ, the King of Kings.

Young Adult

On my lists of favorite movies, books, podcasts, etc., there are some things that are R-rated. There are a lot of reasons why I love these things that are sometimes painfully full of mature content. Most of those reasons have to do with the objective value they have as art. But they also have to do with some other things that I spend a lot of time thinking about: comedy, King David and the scandalous reality of the Incarnation.

Comedy is deeply involved with the always messy reality of being human. Aristotle says that comedy portrays those who are worse than us. A helpful rewrite of that might be that it portrays those who display what is less polished, more embarrassing, even more sinful than the people we like to think we are. And importantly — the thing that makes comedy a good parallel for the story of grace — is that those people get better than what they deserve. The trajectory of comedy is upward. While poor quality comedy tends to use the messiness of life to take cheap shots — to try to get us to laugh by sheer force of shock value — high quality comedy tends to contain its fair share of the mess as well. Rather than cheat its way into cheap laughs, it embraces the mess and pulls it up into its upward and redemptive trajectory.

I have been praying about acceptance lately. It is one of those words that felt sort of colorless and forced to me for a long time. Recently, I have been seeing it in the context of comedy, and that has helped me to see its beauty. Because to allow my story to be brought into the upward trajectory that God is always trying to write in my life, I have to accept the full reality of who I am and what my story has been so far. God only deals in the real. He loves not the facade version of myself that I would like people to see, but the person I actually am. If I try to will away any chapter of my story that is ugly or embarrassing or terribly painful, I lose the integrity of the whole, redemptive story that God wants to write in my life. By embracing the reality of my whole messy story and self, I can allow God to bring all of it into his redemptive and upward trajectory.

On my list of arguably R-rated favorites is King David of the Old Testament. If lusting after a married woman, impregnating her and having her husband killed to cover it up isn’t an R-rated storyline, I don’t know what is. Even more dramatically and obviously than in comedy, his messiness is pulled into the redemptive, upward trajectory of God’s grace and mercy. What is clear in David’s story is that this grace is unlocked in his life because of his radical trust in and wholehearted love for God.

God does not leave us to deal with the story on our own. He comes all the way down into the reality of our lives to meet us exactly where we are and to walk with us into the full beauty and glory of who he created us to be. The Incarnation tells us that he is not afraid of our mess, that he wants to be with us exactly where we are. The Gospels constantly paint the same picture: Jesus eating with public sinners, seeking out the weak to follow him and physically touching the ritually unclean to heal them. His Passion tells us that he can use the darkest parts of our story as the very instrument for his victory, but he always waits on our yes.

That is why acceptance is very different from complacency or giving up. Acceptance is actually the only real path to change and growth — to allowing his story to continue and unfold. It is a necessary step of saying yes and opening our whole selves to the love of God.

That matches how human stories work. If you want to get to the true happy ending of a story, you cannot pretend that the preceding chapters were other than what they were. It would break the integrity of the story. Similarly, if you want a doctor or a coach to help you get to your goal, they need to know how you are actually doing, not how you wish you were doing. Even more so, if you want the God who loves you and who will not infringe on your freedom to heal you, you have to give him access to who you really are. It takes courage to see yourself as you truly are, and it takes even more courage and trust to open yourself and surrender yourself to God. That acceptance and courage gives permission to God to bring the whole of your story and who you are into an upward, redemptive trajectory more beautiful than even the best of comedies.

That is why comedy is such a helpful lens for me. It helps me to reflect more concretely on what it means for me to receive the reality of the Word made flesh and to say yes to him being born in my life — my real and very messy life. It strengthens and contextualizes my hope in the reality of redemption and brings a new and joyful layer to my celebration of the Incarnation at Christmas.

Before entering the seminary, you originally planned to go into your family’s metal fabrication business and even learned to weld in high school. Do you ever use any of those skills in your work as a priest?

I think God uses all our past to help shape us for our vocation. Obviously, studying business in college, I took classes in accounting and finance, and now as a pastor, those are things that I have to discuss and make decisions based off of, so it’s good to have at least a preliminary background. Not that I’m an expert by any means — but I can read a balance sheet.

Looking back on your first few years of priesthood, what is the biggest takeaway? What have you learned?

I’m amazed at the beauty of the Church. When I thought about the beauty of the Church in my early years of seminary, I would have associated it with the liturgy, the teachings of the Church, or the great patrimony we have in our traditions. But the more I’ve gotten involved in parish life, I’ve been awed at the beauty of the Church as the mystical body of Christ. More concretely, I’m really just in awe of just the beauty of the faith of the people of God. I’m convinced that there are a lot of ordinary saints who are in the pews — people who are just living life and just being faithful.

Who is someone in your life whom you admire or strive to be like?

In my first assignment, I had the privilege to live with Fr. Wally Vogel. He’s 93 and has been a priest for 63 years. What was beautiful about that assignment was we had perhaps one of the youngest priests of the diocese living with one of the oldest priests, and despite differences in age and upbringing, I was really inspired by him and we formed a very beautiful friendship. He has a real love and joy for the priesthood, and he has a deep commitment to prayer.

What do you like to do in your free time?

In the last year and a half, I’ve gotten into shooting sporting clays. Up here in the Kettle Moraine area, that’s very much part of the culture.

What’s your favorite book?

The most impactful book that I’ve ever read was “Come Be My Light,” the spiritual writings of Mother Teresa. That book had a huge impact on my vocation: her radical generosity as she experienced the cross for almost 50 years, when she experienced this great dark night of the soul and didn’t sense God at all in prayer. I think it’s a message that I think we all need to hear — that being a saint, ultimately, is just about being faithful to what God asks us every day.

If you could invite any saint to dinner, who would it be and why?

I think I would choose St. Josemaria Escriva. He was a priest in a time in which the culture was very much polarized by different ideologies. He was really devoted, amidst the chaos of the world, to pursuing a call to holiness — really inspiring Catholics to be faithful to the Gospel and not faithful to ideology. I think that’s an important lesson, that God is inviting us to find holiness precisely where he has us. Our circumstances in life, our vocations, aren’t obstacles to being saints. They’re actually the very means by which he’s inviting us to be saints.

What’s the most interesting place you have ever traveled?

I think the most impactful place I’ve been was to the Holy Land, and in particular the most beautiful place in the Holy Land was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

What is your biggest hope and prayer for the people you serve at your parish?

That people fall in love with the Eucharist. That they realize not only that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist and have an intellectual belief in that, but that their hearts actually long for the Eucharist.

What is your favorite Christmas tradition?

My mom’s background is in England, and so I really enjoy roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. She makes plum pudding, too — which is very labor-intensive but very enjoyable, and you really only get to enjoy it this time of year.

Some years ago, when most of my sister Anne’s six children were in the lower levels of grade school, my mom purchased for them one of the finest Christmas gifts they ever received. She gave them a Nativity set.

At first, I was taken aback somewhat, because my sister’s family already had a very beautiful Christmas crèche. However, my mom insisted that this Nativity set was different. She instructed me that this set was not simply for display. She noted that this set was specially constructed so that children would be able to play with the figures of the Christmas story. They were fashioned more like dolls than statues, and the intention of the set was to encourage children to use their faith and imagination to dramatize the biblical narrative.

Some weeks after the grandchildren had received this gift, I spoke with my mom and inquired if they actually were enacting the Christmas drama. My mom sounded elated as she recounted the enthusiasm with which the children were engaging the figures of the set to make the story of the Nativity come alive. In fact, she even related how Corinne, the oldest of the granddaughters, had made an alteration in the pieces of the crèche to emphasize an important lesson.

It turned out that Corinne had become very upset when she saw how uncomfortable the manger appeared, with the wooden trough looking creaky and old, and the hay within it visibly bumpy, scratchy and itchy. Blessed with a very sensitive and gentle heart, Corinne spoke up in defense of the care of the Christ child, “Baby Jesus is the Son of God, and he came to show us how precious is each and every child. We cannot just leave him in that miserable manger.” She then then went into her bedroom and returned with a tiny pillow and blanket to comfort the Lord, and she added, “Now, he can sleep in heavenly peace.”

Inspired by the tender love which Corinne extended to the Baby Jesus, my mom then expressed the joy she found in the effects of playing with the gift she had given. “You know how I was hoping that the Nativity set would help the grandkids learn the Christmas story and come know it better. But, my heart overflows, because it is doing more than that. It seems like it is helping them live the Christmas story.”

I must admit the lesson demonstrated by my niece Corinne dramatically altered my earlier reticence regarding my mom’s bestowal of a Nativity play set. Like her, I was moved to believe that celebrating the sacred mystery of Christmas involves much more than simply retelling a laudable story and entertaining some fond memories. Granted, we have a hallowed duty to proclaim the Christmas story. We are bound to solemnly declare with a sense of awe and wonder what often is called “The Greatest Story Ever Told.” For, in doing so, we encounter once again the revelation of the immensity of God’s love for us: How God loved us so much that he sent his only son into the world to become one of us so that someday we might become one with him. And it is appropriate — indeed, truly fitting — that we retell that story of grace because it gives birth to hope in our world, a world which too often dwells in darkness — the darkness of hurt and pain, evil and cruelty.

Yet, I would like to suggest that simply retelling the Christmas story — no matter how joyful and hopeful it may be — really is not enough. Because the power of listening to a story can fade. As it is said, hope in itself is still not a plan or strategy. The Gospel must be embraced and put into practice — not just felt.

If we truly want the power of the Christmas story to be more lasting, then we cannot simply tell the story. We must live it. As my mom intended in the special Nativity set, we must inhabit the Christmas story and become its characters and enact what they stood for and what they believed:

• Like the Blessed Virgin Mary, we must become so faithful to the Word of God that it can become flesh in us — when it becomes the inspiration and source of our every thought and action.

• Like St. Joseph, we must become a guardian who protects and defends the preciousness and sacredness of life — especially when it is most vulnerable.

• Like the shepherds in the field, we must be open and receptive to the revelation of the Good News of our God and respond to its fulfillment without delay or procrastination.

• Like the angel among the multitude of the heavenly host, we must never tire of singing the chorus of “peace on earth” and “good will to all,” and we must refuse to let it be drowned out by the noise of violence and injustice.

• Like the Magi from the East, we must ever give the greatest of gifts — the very best part of ourselves — in homage to the Lord.

Ultimately, the Christmas story must become our story, too. And if it does, the promise made by St. John the Evangelist in the prologue of his Gospel proclaimed on every Christmas Day will become more and more manifest. For in living Christmas, we will show more fully our acceptance of the “True Light which came into the world,” and it will be this True Light which then will shine through us — emanating a radiant glory — a glory that not even the darkness of the world will be able to overcome.