a new saint

soon-to-be Saint Jose Sanchez del Rio

Dear family and friends,

Yesterday I received an early birthday present: Pope Francis has approved the canonization of Blessed José Sánchez del Río, a 14 year-old Mexican martyr. Soon we can call him “Saint José”.

Now I’ve written one book in my life, “Blessed José”, and it was about this very same 14 year-old. So how was it that José and I got started… let me think… oh yeah!

It was 6^th grade, and I was 12. A little seminarian was substitute-teaching our religion class. He told us the story of a 14 year-old boy who had run off to join an army fighting for religious freedom. Captured and offered his freedom in exchange for denying his faith on numerous occasions, the boy refused, and in the end he was brutally tortured and martyred.

Hearing that story in all its detail lit off fireworks in the heart of a certain little boy. “If a 14 year old can go and do that, then I can do something for God!” I remember thinking. After school that day, my mom instantly noticed something was different about me and she took me on a date to get the truth out of me. I poured out my story to her over spaghetti and meatballs, and I know she pondered much on what I told her. Months later, inspired in great part by Blessed José, I entered a school for boys who want to be priests, and even more amazing yet, my parents let me!

Now I have always loved reading lives of the saints – especially book-length stories where you really get to become friendsgood friends with the saint. But when I looked for a good book about José, there was nothing available in English. In Spanish I could only find short snippets or dry bios.

my book!

Years later, I felt it my duty to Blessed José to tell his story in a way that would inspire young people like he has always inspired me. So I spent about 7 years researching, then 3 years writing, (mostly during siesta time while studying philosophy and theology in Rome) finally coming up with my homage to this boy martyr. It’s called “Blessed José” and is available in print and ebook here.

  

signing books

It was partially in hope of advancing Blessed José’s being named “Saint” that I wrote my book. But he needed a miracle to his name for that.

Last year I heard about a possible miracle. In 2008, a 3 month-old baby girl named Ximena, from Sahuyao, José’s hometown, was brought to the hospital and diagnosed with pulmonary tuberculosis. Her condition worsened and the doctors told her parents she was already brain-dead and had hours to live. That night, her parents joined with others to pray to Blessed José to intercede with a miracle. They prayed from 10pm to 4am. The doctor says that precisely at 4am, the little girl’s condition improved dramatically and only got better from then on. When asked later whether she thought Blessed José had intervened, the doctor said, “I don’t know about that. The only thing I know is that someone intervened, and this girl whom we thought would die, didn’t die. The most interesting thing is that with this girl, there are no complications, whereas children that manage to survive this always do very poorly.” Ximena is now a healthy seven year-old. Her miracle was all Pope Francis needed to clear the way for “Saint José Sánchez del Río”.

I still love reading the lives of the saints. They show us, in a way that no theory or idea can, that loving God and being totally transformed by His love is really possible. “Perfect Joy” may seem unattainable, until you learn about Saint Phillip Neri. “Charity” is a nice idea, until we see someone like Mother Theresa of Calcutta literally incarnate it. And “Courage”, at least for me, was only theory until I heard the story of Blessed José.

May his story, and the stories of all the saints, inspire you to be the saint you can be!

Father Kevin

Bless-the-Baby-Jesus

blessing baby Jesus figurines after mass yesterday

Dear family and friends,

Yesterday was our Bless-the-Baby-Jesus mass for the preschool. At the end of mass, all the children came up to the front of the Church and got ready to bless their baby Jesus figurines individually. It was then that we heard a CRASH! - one little boy had dropped his porcelain baby Jesus on the floor! He immediately burst into tears and ran to his mom.

book i used for the blessing

The funny thing was that I had just used the prayer of blessing from a children’s book called “Bambinelli Sunday: a Christmas Blessing”, which is all about a little boy who drops his own baby Jesus figurine before he can bring it to Rome to be blessed by the Pope. And even more helpful, some friends of mine had just given me my own baby Jesus figurine, a little wooden one, which I was able to loan to my forlorn little friend. Once he had quieted down, we read him the story and he managed to smile.

my little wooden Baby Jesus

Everything ended well, and who knows, maybe some super glue will make his baby Jesus come to life again!

Tomorrow I head to Rome with 26 pilgrims for our annual Family Pilgrimage. Can’t wait! Some of the highlights will be mass December 6^th at the chapel of San Pellegrino in Vaticano, oldest church in Vatican City and the site of my first mass as a priest. I wrote about a powerful experience I had there here: http://www.cblstones.com/2014/12/remembering-year-ago-today.html .

 

after mass with my fellow seminarians in the chapel of San Pellegrino

We will have mass the next day at the tomb of Saint Pope John Paul II. I have always wanted to celebrate mass there, I owe so much to him! Usually you have to reserve his altar months in advance, but I sent an email the other day and they had a slot open exactly when we wanted to come. God is good!

The Jubilee year of Mercy will start December 8^th, and we will be there with Pope Francis. It will be the beginning of a whole year where we can celebrate in an extra-special way the mercy of God our Father.

There’s a lot more, you can follow our itinerary here: http://romepilgrimage.weebly.com/

I also wanted to let you know my own needs, in case you feel called to help. Would you be willing to support my ministry? I receive a part-time stipend ($12,000), which pays for a little over half of my yearly expenses. Healthcare, transportation, clothes, food, and other supplies cost me about $22,000 a year. Would you please ask Jesus what he would have you do to support my mission as a priest and missionary? You can donate, pray, or even get something – like handkerchiefs – for me off my wishlist!

My Amazon wishlist is: https://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/1LMTSLHHX9BN8/ref=cm_sw_su_w

You can make a donation to my religious community here in Cincinnati via our website http://www.ohiolc.com/support-us.html , or send a check to

LC Pastoral Services

8162 Chestershire Drive

Cincinnati, OH 45241

You and your loved ones will be in my prayers this Advent, and especially as I visit the holy places in Rome and Assisi!

May God bless you abundantly!!!!

Father Kevin

standing on the shoulders of giants

Dear family and friends,

Yesterday I visited my great Aunt, my grandmother’s sister. My grandmother passed away years ago, and I loved her dearly, so it was quite a treat for me to be able to see her little sister.

For a long time I’ve been wondering where my calling came from. I mean, certainly God can call anyone He wants, whenever He wants. But I believe the great graces God gives us in life come often as a result of the goodness of others, especially our own families. The good in us isn’t due to our good decisions alone, it’s also due to theirs.

 

My sister Monica

I’m a priest, and my sister is a Franciscan Sister. Those are two little miracles right there, so I’d always wondered where they came from. My grandmother’s second cousin, Sister Marguerite Marie, was a cloistered Visitation nun in Annecy, France for over 60 years. I went to visit her once and was amazed by her goodness and grace.

Sister Marguerite Marie

But it was my great Aunt yesterday who filled in one of the great missing links. We were talking about her father, my great grandfather. She told me how he was a medic in the first World War, stationed in France. While on guard duty one night, peering through the fog, he caught sight of a figure moving about. My grandfather shouted “halt!” But the person paid no attention. Now my grandfather was the type who never had the heart to shoot any living thing – that was why he was the medic. So he went closer and realized that the figure in the night was a nun. She was bent over the soldiers’ garbage heap, scooping out the coffee grinds of the day. She was going to reuse them at her convent. It was then that my grandfather realized the sisters were starving.

my great grandfather

Going back to the camp, he filled his arms – he had huge arms – with the extra bread from the soldiers. He brought it to the sister and gave it all to her. From then on, as long as he was stationed there, he would bring the bread and place it behind a statue by the convent. When it came time for his unit to move on, he left a note to tell the sister. The last time he went to leave bread, she had left a rosary as a gift for him.

my great aunt

Later on, when everyone in his unit was getting wounded or worse, they were stationed by Domrémy, France – Joan of Arc’s hometown. He went to the parish Church one day and prayed to Saint Joan, promising that if he made it back alive, he would name his first daughter after her. That daughter was Joan, my grandmother.

Bernard of Clairvaux said that we are “Standing on the shoulders of giants”. I certainly am: my parents, my grandparents, my great grandparents, Saint Joan, and certainly so many others whose names I’ll only know in heaven. My vocation, my priesthood, is such a gift, but it is not my own.

Makes my heart swell with gratitude. A thanksgiving, not just for the gifts of food and plenty, but even more a gratitude for the gift of those who’ve gone before us, and those who surround us, our families and friends.

Hoping you have a wonderful Thanksgiving,

Father Kevin

Big Mac

Big Mac in his element

Dear Family and Friends,

I never thought something so small could make so many people smile. Let me explain.

My friend raises dogs - long-haired daschunds. I went over to visit her and her family one Sunday afternoon and she showed me a litter of puppies.

Now there were five pups in this litter, 4 girls and one boy. As I stooped down to look at them, all the pups scooted away except one. He let me pick him up and hold him without fussing. “That’s Big Mac” my friend said, “He’s the boy.”

Dognapping!

The funny thing is, “Big Mac” was my nickname back in High School. I was a little bigger than most of the guys, and my last name is McKenzie, so somebody thought that up and it stuck.

Little Big Mac and big Big Mac got along quite well from day one, to say the least.

So it was that a few weeks ago, I “dognapped” Big Mac for a day. I couldn’t help it! He was so adorable! He gave no complaints, just wanted to sit in my lap all the way home.

Big Mac as a little pup

I took him for a walk, but, well, walks aren’t his thing. His short little legs can’t move fast at all and then his walk is more a zig zag than a line, so it was all I could do to avoid stepping on him about every three steps.

Walking back inside, my old backpack called to me from the corner. It was Big Mac-sized. The little daschund let me slip him inside backwards. Just his head stuck out, and the backpack was a perfect fit.

Happy doggy

I slung him on my shoulders and jumped on a bike. He just smiled and stuck his head out, now by my right ear, now by my left.

We went to the park. I go to the park quite often. It’s where I’m writing this story right now. When I go for a jog there, some people say hi as you pass them, some might even wave… but with Big Mac in my backpack, everything changed.

Before I even got there two people struck up conversations with me. At the park, people waved and laughed. Mothers pointed him out to their children, “Look at the doggy!” Everyone smiled. Everyone. Dog owners stopped to chat, as did several others. Some wanted to pet, “that adorable dog” as they called him. Big Mac was a star!

And I was flabbergasted. All Big Mac had done was, well, nothing. He had let me put him in my backpack, and then he just smiled. And he spread so much joy! It was a totally different bike ride, I’ll tell you that much!

Big Mac at Prayer

There is much more to love about Big Mac. I went to the little chapel in our house and knelt down to pray, and in he came and put his little paws up on a kneeler too, like he knew exactly what he was doing! Then I went to celebrate mass, and he sat by my feet the whole time. Praying, I suppose!

Big Mac made friends with everyone. And he really didn’t do much. Reminds me of the kind of person that pleases God most, the childlike. What a lesson such a little dog can teach us! In many ways, we please God more by who we are than by what we accomplish. Instead of the harsh judge who at times we make Him out to be, perhaps we should let Him be the gentle and loving father, “Abba” as Jesus calls Him.

Hoping you are enjoying these last days of fall,

Father Kevin

cookies and cana

I

the wonder-cookies

Dear family and friends,

I love chocolate chip cookies - could eat them every meal. I love them so much in fact, that recently I learned how to make them from scratch. Now I can have them on demand, whenever I want. And they come out good too - not quite as good as my mom's- but still quite acceptable.

So my heart went out to the family I was visiting. Their mom had just had a big operation and couldn't do any cooking on her own. I had stopped by to visit, and stayed for dinner – a friend had brought the meal. But there was no dessert! They were out of cookies! And to make matters worse, they have three high school-aged boys! It was like the wedding at Cana, but this time Mary was saying, "They have no cookies!"

So I swung into high gear. Mom helped me find the chocolate chips. Then there was the flour, eggs, salt, baking soda... vanilla extract... oh yeah, and butter! In no time, the cookies were in the oven and not only all three boys, but even mom was scraping finger-fulls of cookie dough from the mixing bowl.

It sure was hard walking out of that house, leaving behind those chocolate chip cookies.

Back home, ours was a cookie-less household. I resigned myself to the fact, and went to the chapel to pray. On my way, the door bell rang. It was about 9pm. Who could this be?

It turned out that one of our neighbors had thought it would be nice to bring us a plate of - no, I am not making this up - chocolate chip cookies! I thanked her profusely, and headed into the kitchen. Pouring myself a glass of milk, I dug in. She must have added some sort of secret ingredient, for these cookies were a-mazing. Really. They were still warm, had the perfect amount of crispiness, and were light-years ahead of anything I could have ever made.

She didn't know it, but she had been Jesus for me that night. And Jesus had been so good, too good. He had taken my jars of water - my cookies, and transformed them. Transformed them into something ever so much better than wine - chocolate chip cookies!!!!!

Have a cookie and a glass of milk, it will do you good!!!!

God bless,

Father Kevin

Cookies I baked yesterday

graves and graces

bike in cemetery just after fixing

Dear Family and Friends,

I was coming back from a long bike ride the other day when my gears got stuck. Jammed. Bad.

It was the hill that did it - the bike path crossed over a little stream then up a hill and across a cemetery. Shifting gears too quickly as I went up the hill, the chain got stuck in between a sprocket and the wheel. I stopped and  leaned over and tried to wrench it free with a stick - but to no avail. Greasy hands are not my favorite, but I had to give it a go. Still, even yanking on the chain with all my might only made it wedge itself in more.

So I flipped the bike over. I was frustrated, very frustrated. I had planned my ride with just enough time to make it home, shower up, and then head over to some friends for lunch. But it didn't look like that was going to happen. This was the worst bicycle problem I'd ever had!

tunnel on the way home

"God, how could you do this to me?!?!" flashed through my head. Of all days, of all places!

It was my own ridiculousness that made me laugh. "God didn't break your bike, you did!" And it was true. I had shifted the gears, I had made the mistake. God had nothing to do with that.

And hey, what's a broken bike?

I looked around me at the graves. 1899, 1903, 1834. "What would they think of this spectacle in their graveyard?" I wondered.

Then I set to work on the bike in earnest. Undoing the bolt on the rear wheel, pieces started falling everywhere onto the grass. The bolt itself saved the day. It doubled as a lever that worked to pry the chain links out, one by one.

After the bike was back together, I surveyed the scene again. Took a picture. Realized the whole thing had taken no more than ten minutes, that I wasn't late, and that I had learned a great lesson in patience and humility.

In the face of eternity, a feisty bike chain isn't really all that important, and definitely not something to get bent out of shape over. I'm sure the souls there in the cemetery - souls full of all kinds of life experience - had a good laugh at me.

Hope you are enjoying these quiet first weeks of August. I am!

God bless you all,

Father Kevin

five fish for five priests

my last cast

Dear family and friends,

Not even a bite.

We had been fishing all afternoon - three of us priests - and we had caught nothing. Two other priests had been setting up our cookout, waiting for us to bring in our catch. We were on vacation together at Yellowstone Park, having a wonderful time, but just one little fish would have made it so much more wonderful.

 

sunset over Yellowstone Lake

The weather was gorgeous - sunny skies, perfect temperatures, just enough breeze to keep the bugs away.   The air was sweet with the butterscotch scent of the Ponderosa pines. Huge cumulus clouds blazed picture-perfect purple as the sun set over the lake.

One little fish - that was all I asked of the Lord. I had been thinking of Him and how he helped Peter make his miraculous catch. I didn't need a hundred and fifty-three, just one. And maybe a few more so that all five of us could have something to eat for dinner.

 

full moon over Bridge Bay

It was already 8pm, and the light was fading fast. I gave one last cast, hoping for the best. As I reeled in the last little bit of line and pulled my lure from the lake, I thought to myself, "Well, I'm ok with not catching anything, the beauty here is enough." A group of about eight loons had appeared, leaving large wakes in the water. The moon - full, or almost full - cast an undulating mirror image of itself in the lake. A few sleepy stars had already begun peeking out their heads from the gathering darkness.

So I headed for the picnic table and the other priests. "That's strange," I thought. "Who's that guy wearing a fishing vest?" An old man stood by our picnic table, chatting with one of the priests. As I leaned my rod against a tree, something on the picnic table caught my eye. There were five large trout laid out next to each other!

 

the miraculous trout

This man, Norberto, had seen the priests setting up the fire, and had offered his catch to us. He had no idea we had been fishing for so long without catching anything. "My wife doesn't like fish," was his only explanation.

There were five of us, and he had given us five trout.

Now if I remember correctly, in the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Jesus made five loaves and two fishes feed more than five thousand people. In a sense, He had just worked a greater miracle for us. From no fish, he had given us each one. Five fish. For five priests. From a day of catching nothing.

Once he discovered that we were five priests, Norberto hung around with us through most of our dinner. He had brought a lot of joy into our lives that day by giving us his fish, and perhaps we brightened his day with our conversation.

 

grilling the trout

 

As I savored the last few bites of that delicious, charcoal-grilled trout, I thanked God for once more showing me and my companions how much He loves us. It sure was easy to get down after about the hundredth unsuccessful cast, but God just wanted to show us that He's in charge and He is a better fisherman than we are.

Isn't that the lesson God is often trying to teach us through all our worryings? We are so little and can do so little on our own, but He can do everything. He can - loves to - work through what seem to us to be the most impossible of situations. Through it all, He's patiently waiting for the moment when we will patiently wait on Him, and really trust Him with all our heart.

Just the fact that I can go to Yellowstone and spend time on vacation I consider a tremendous gift from God. For Him to show His love through little miracles like the five miraculous fishes – well, it just makes me wonder what gift He has in store tomorrow. He always does.

May God bless you, and I hope you can go on vacation sometime soon!

Father Kevin