when our children love Jesus more than we do

Dear family and friends,

As a priest you are welcomed into the homes of so many families, and each has incredible stories, the kind that never make it to the nightly news.

One dad told me of how his family had just moved from the city to the country. Instead of small city blocks, there were huge mile by-mile country blocks. Shortly after they had settled in, one of his daughters, a fourteen-year-old, asked her father if she could go for a bike ride “around the block”. He said that after she had been gone 30 minutes he got a bit worried, but figured it was a long distance to travel. After 45 minutes, he was really worried. When she appeared at the end of their gravel drive after over an hour had passed, he was fuming. “Where have you been?” he demanded, ready to explode. “Oh, I saw the eucharistic adoration chapel at the parish, and so I stopped in to spend some time with our Lord,” she replied. The dad told me he felt like a hot air balloon deflating in just seconds. “What could I say?” he told me.

Yes, what could he say? He’s really blessed to have such a wonderful daughter!

Another dad told of coming home one evening from work and finding his favorite painting of Jesus – made by a friend just for him – covered in smudges and smears. He lined his three daughters up, “This painting is mine. Who did this to it?”  he demanded. His youngest daughter took a step backwards and slowly raised her hand. “I did it dad,” she said sheepishly. “Why?” he asked, pleading. “I was just kissing Jesus because I love him.” The dad said he almost melted on the spot. “I realized that my daughter loves Jesus more than I do!”

Wow!

Reminds me of the Gospel of Matthew: “Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” All of us complicated adults had better start that turning and becoming!

I go on retreat tonight with 25 other priests, and will be praying for you, please say a prayer for all of us!

May God bless you

Father Kevin

   

PS – the rest of the story is: the first daughter now takes bike rides without her father worrying, and the painting was quickly restored by the original artist – to better-than-before condition!

Merry Christmas!

Dear Family and Friends,

As a little boy, one of my favorite moments of the year was getting up early on Christmas morning, trying to get mom and dad out of bed so we could open presents.

As a priest, one of my favorite moments of the year is getting up early on Christmas morning, not to try to get mom and dad up, nor to open presents, but to celebrate one of the three masses of Christmas, the “Mass at Dawn”. I got up early this morning and went by myself to the chapel. It was a candlelight service until the rising sun lit the little altar with its glow. There weren’t any presents wrapped with bows, but there was one present, the present, baby Jesus himself coming down to earth in my hands. Just Him and me – life doesn’t get any better than that!

The Mass at Dawn is also known as the Mass of the shepherds since the Gospel you read is the story of the shepherds from Luke 2. I’ll leave you with a little Christmas present - a poem I wrote about one of the shepherds:

The Shepherd's Christmas

I cursed that eve the night watch fell to me,

For cold it was and dark the fields around.

On such a night fell wolves were bound to be,

And so I watched, until I heard the sound

Of harps and flutes and myriad voices telling

A tale that rocked me to my very bone.

A King was born, a story plainly spelling

That life was new, that we do not watch alone.

So to the cave I brought myself and flock,

And blessed those simple walls of barren rock,

And kissed his tiny, holy baby feet,

And he blessed me, and then he went to sleep.

I prayed for all of you during mass this morning, have a Blessed Christmas!

Father Kevin

remembering a year ago today

the Chapel of San Pellegrino in Vaticano

Dear Family and Friends,

I can’t help but remember a year ago today – my first mass at the chapel of San Pellegrino in the Vatican.

And remember what lead up to it, starting a year before  – on December 14^th, 2012.  I had been searching for a long time for the right place to do my first mass. At the same time, I had been doubting, for several reasons, whether I would even make it to ordination. That morning I was taking care of the family of one of my friends, Father Michael Moriarty, and had left them in a nice Roman cafe and was heading to my university to attend some Theology classes. I like to do an hour of silent meditation every morning, but hadn’t had a chance yet.

Walking down Via del Pellegrino through the Vatican, an open door caught my eye. I had walked down the same street countless times in my four years in Rome, but had never noticed the small medieval chapel nestled between larger Roman Palazzos. Peeking inside, there was no one in sight. I don’t know what moved me, but I made my decision, “Forget class. I’m going to do my prayer here.” I knelt down toward the front of the chapel. Multi-colored light streamed into the small space from large stained glass windows.

And there, in the chapel of San Pellegrino, I received a tremendous grace, a light – I don’t know what to call it – but I knew then and there that yes, I would be ordained a priest, and that I would celebrate my first mass in that very chapel. It was a certainty that I couldn’t doubt, somehow. I was confirmed in my path unlike ever before. Light, strength, grace… they all came flooding in. As I left the chapel at the end of my prayer, I realized that it was exactly a year to the day before my ordination as a priest.

Fast forward six months to June 2013. Now ordained a deacon, I was about to leave Rome after five unforgettable years in the Eternal City. Last item on my to-do list? Reserve the Chapel of San Pellegrino for my first mass, of course. I headed over early one morning, and sure enough, the door was open. I stepped inside and was greeted by the sight of scaffolding and the sound of heavy machinery. Apparently, the chapel was under renovation. And try as I might, I couldn’t find out who was in charge of the chapel or when the renovation would be finished. So I wrote down a telephone number and headed off to my new assignment in Cincinnati.

Two months before ordination, I tried the number, but got no answer. Several times I called, and always, no one answered. People asked me more and more, “where will your first mass be?” “The Chapel of San Pellegrino, I think,” would be my reply, and the “I think” got stronger and stronger as time went on.

“The renovation can’t last 6 months” I told myself. But when I arrived to Rome and headed over to the chapel, I was greeted yet again by the same old noise and the scaffolding. This time I was able to talk to the foreman. His news was disheartening: he had no idea when the renovation would be finished. It seemed like my first mass would not, could not be at San Pellegrino.

my mom and dad waiting for mass in the same pew I prayed in

Still, I wasn’t about to give up. I asked and asked and asked around the Vatican until I got the name and number of the priest in charge of the chapel. Two nights before I was to go on my pre-ordination 8-day silent retreat, I managed to get through to him. He turned out to be the head of the Vatican Publishing House, Don Sergio. I explained my situation to him and my desire to celebrate my first mass at his chapel. I remember his words “Well, the chapel is still under renovation… but let me check my calendar… Yes, I have to celebrate Vespers in the chapel on Monday the 16^th, so the renovations will have to be finished by Saturday the 14^th. You’ll be the first one to celebrate mass in the newly renovated chapel of San Pellegrino.”

celebrating mass for the first time with Father Gregory, an old friend, making sure I didn't mess up too bad

Wow. God sure had come through. December 15^th, 2013 dawned and I found myself celebrating my first mass in the Chapel of San Pellegrino surrounded by family and friends. The little chapel resonated with the sound of the organ and the voices of all. It was Gaudete Sunday, one of the only two days of the year when the priest can wear rose-colored vestments. I had worried beforehand that I wouldn’t have the right color, or that there wouldn’t be anyone to play the organ, or that there wouldn’t be anyone to be altar server…. All of those things were taken care of without my doing anything. I had wanted a chapel with kneelers and heating - a rare find in Rome, and San Pellegrino had both. Two of my sisters sang a beautiful song at the offertory. My mom did the first reading. Everything turned out far better than I could ever have arranged it.

after mass with my family

with my brother Legionary priests and seminarians

with my Italian friends

Last Friday, I was walking by the chapel again for the first time since my mass there. The door was closed this time, so I took a closer look at the painting on the front of the chapel. (See picture) It’s of San Pellegrino (“Saint Pilgrim”), bishop and martyr, to whom the chapel is dedicated. Below him stands an angel holding a scroll. It reads, “Nulla mihi patria nisi Christus Nec Nomen Alind Quam Christianus” “I have no fatherland but Christ, nor name except Christian” I had never seen that before. But it could be the motto of us all, all of us pilgrims who walk the face of this earth knowing that it is not our true home. We keep our eyes set on heaven, our true homeland, and on our Lord Jesus, who will welcome us there. He gives us glimpses of what heaven will be like so that we don’t lose heart when nothing seems to be going right.

close up of the painting on the outside of the chapel

I glimpsed heaven that day of my prayer, and that day of my first mass. And I can’t help but offer to God a prayer of gratitude as I think back on those blessed moments.

May He be with you and bless you,

Father Kevin

the class of '99

The Class of '99 - Fathers Peter Mullan, Jason Huynh, Frederick Keiser, Michael Mitchell, Yours truly, and Mark Thelen at the ordination of Father Michael

Dear Family and Friends,

I am in Rome and loving it. Today we had mass with Pope Francis, my first time as a priest. It was beautiful.

I’m here for a very special ceremony tomorrow – the ordination of 35 new priests. Many of them are old friends, so it is good to be here.

One of them has been with me since 1998. Right now he is Deacon Peter Mullan. After the Ordination Mass tomorrow morning, he will be Father Peter, the last of the six members of my graduating class in 1999 from Immaculate Conception Apostolic School in Center Harbor New Hampshire to become a priest.

The six of us have been through a lot together, and even though we live in four different countries now we try to keep in touch. Father Michael Mitchell, from Pennsylvania, was ordained in 2011 and is now directing regularly humanitarian relief missions to Haiti. Father Jason Huynh and Father Mark Thelen were ordained in 2012. Father Jason helps in a minor seminary, Sacred Heart Apostolic School in Rolling Prairie, Indiana. Father Mark is doing youth ministry in Barcelona, Spain, much of it apparently on the Camino of Santiago! Father Frederick Keiser and I were ordained last year in 2013. Father Frederick does youth work in Chile, as I do in Ohio.

Father Peter is in Mexico where he too helps in youth ministry.

It’s such a gift to see your old friends take the final steps! I love being a priest, and it is such a wonderful gift to be one. Sunday is my one year anniversary, hurray!!!

Please say a prayer for all of the guys who will be ordained tomorrow, especially so they can get a good sleep before the big day tomorrow!

God bless you,

Father Kevin

swapping hats with the Pope!

swapping hats with the pope - I'm on the far right

Dear Family and Friends,

I swapped hats with the pope today! Yes! Browsing through some liturgical goods stores here in Rome yesterday, I found one that sold white zucchetos - papal hats.

I got one and brought it to the Wednesday audience today, held it out to the pope as he exited, and lo and behold he stopped his car, told the guard to get my hat, took his hat off, and put on the one I had brought. It was only for a moment, then he put his own back on and gave mine back to the guard to give to me. Wow! I'm telling you, he is one extremely kind man!

Tomorrow we’re off to visit Assisi, I will pray for you all at the tomb of Saint Francis. What with swapping hats with the Pope and all, I’d say we’ve been quite blessed this pilgrimage!

May God bless you,

Father Kevin

PS: The Pope's talk today was all about the recent Synod on the Family and what actually happened. To make a long story short, the Pope said it was a moment for bishops from all over the world to freely voice their opinions about Church teaching on marriage and the family. And he stated emphatically that "no intervention challenged the fundamental truths of the Sacrament of Marriage: indissolubility, unity, fidelity, and openness to life."

first mass to now

my community of priests in Cincinnati - Father John, Father Matthew, yours truly, Father Daniel, and Father James

Dear Family and Friends,

There’s an old piece of advice given to priests: “Celebrate this mass as if it were your first mass, as if it were your last mass, as if it were your only mass.”

Thinking back to my first mass almost a year ago, I can say I certainly was filled with fervor. But it sure took a lot of faith - faith to believe that the host actually became Jesus in my hands.

Let me explain.

Before - when the priest was up there on the altar and I was in the pews – it had been easy to believe.

But you’re the one celebrating mass, you know that you’re just little old you, and that the day before you couldn’t have done the least bit of what you’re doing today. You think, “Wow Lord, you can even use someone like me to work a miracle this big?”

That’s the funny thing. I had thought it would be the opposite. I had imagined I’d have lots of fervor and faith at my first mass, and then from there on out it would be a battle to keep from getting distracted and falling into routine.

Certainly, even in these first months I’ve found it’s easy to become distracted or lose fervor – just the same as before when I was in the pews and not at the altar. But all in all, my awe and love for the mass has just grown. It’s like I discover something new every day. It could be the beautiful wording of the preface of martyrs, or the prayer the priest quietly prays before communion, or when it finally dawns on you that countless angels and saints are present at each mass, even when you’re alone. It could be grasping what saying “this is my body” really means, or just realizing how tremendously good God is to have left us himself in the Eucharist.

What a gift to have been a priest these 11 months! Originally I only asked God for one day as a priest, enough to celebrate one mass. So every day after that has just been a bonus.

Yes, we priests do need to celebrate every mass as if it were our first, as if it were our last, as if it were our only mass. And if God gives us the grace to say another, what a gift!

May He bless you, and have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Father Kevin

PS- I’ll be heading to Rome in early December on pilgrimage. We’ll be there for my one year anniversary as a priest. If you have any intentions you’d like me to pray for while I’m there, send them my way!

fly fishing

Dear family and friends,

There always was something magical about watching my brother Dan when he'd go fly fishing. But I never had a chance to learn, until this past summer, when providence plopped me at the northwestern tip of Yellowstone National Park.

But the outfitters charged $450 for a lesson! We didn’t have that type of money. There was Wal-Mart though. And YouTube.

$15 bought a rod, $10 a reel, $13 the line, $7 some flies, and $15 waders. $60 -  not bad, all in all.

Starting in the morning, it took about two hours to get the line and knots and fly assembled correctly, then three more hours of watching videos and practicing casting. By 3pm or so I figured I would give it a go in the real world.

Two priest friends dropped me off on the Gallatin River.

The first thing I caught was myself. Snagged the hook in my shirt. My dad used to joke about the “pre-tangled” rod he once bought. But fly fishing seemed like the kind of fishing where you had “self-tangling” line!

Taught by YouTube, I didn’t know if my casting was correct or not. But that didn’t matter. The ice-cold water rushed about my legs. (and through the holes in my waders.) Giant mountain peaks reared their green-mantled heads on either side of the twisting river valley. The setting sun glinted golden on the flowing water. Along the banks and in the water beneath my feet glistened polished rocks of every color of the rainbow. Tall grasses swayed and rustled in the fields on either side. The wind blew – at times serenely and at times in gusts – down the valley. “Heavenly” is the only word I can find to describe fly fishing there, whether I was doing things right or not.

I caught nothing. One fly disappeared in the stream, so I tied another to my line. Its little hook caught on my shirt and in my waders time after time.

Along came the priests who had dropped me off. “Would you want to try another part of the river,” they asked. I was having plenty of fun where I was, but thought there could be no harm in trying somewhere else. So we jumped in the car again, headed south, and this time they dropped me at Specimen Creek, a little brook that spilled into the Gallatin river. The creek was hard-going. Trees hung over both banks. At one point, my line got snagged 15-feet up a tree hanging over the creek. I had to climb the tree, jump out onto the limb, and pull it down with my body weight until the precious fly was safely dislodged.

As I stepped into the river again at the end of the creek, there were five minutes left until our rendezvous time. I pulled out my camera. “If I’m not going to catch anything, at least I want proof that I did go fly fishing,” I said to myself.

And so the camera started rolling. I put on a show, casting my very best, trying to set the fly ever-so-gently on the water in imitation of a real bug.

Then I saw a small silver thing jumping in the water. It was a fish. In disbelief, I realized that it was attached to my line! I reeled the little thing in as fast as I could. It wriggled and jumped and tried with all its might to escape. And escape it almost did, jumping from my hands several times.

But at last I got a hold of it. The little 8-inch rainbow trout eyed me with suspicion. I eyed him with exultation. My fishing trip had not been a complete failure!

Figuring that he had the greater part of his life ahead of him, I let my little friend go in the river, and headed happily back to the road.

The next day I went fly fishing in the same river, to the north. Sure enough, on one of my last casts another little silver thing started jumping out of the water. It was another rainbow trout, this time a 10-incher, just big enough for lunch. Never before has fish tasted so good. Tender, juicy, sweet, fall-off-the-bone goodness – he was all that and more.

God sure was loving me, inexperienced fly fisherman that I am. Only he could have made rainbow trout, and that jaw-dropping beauty, and the tremendous joy that filled my heart.

May He bless you,

Father Kevin