A Biblical Timeline

• 1800-1600 B.C.E  :  Abraham, Isaac, Jacob
• 1280 :  Moses and the Exodus
• 1250-1200 :  Entrance into the Land
• 1200 – 1020 :  The Judges
• 1020 – 1000: King Saul
• 1000 – 961 : King David
• 961 – 922:  King Solomon (First Temple is Built)
• 922 : Israel Splits and Northern Kingdom of Israel is established under King Jeroboam
• 722 : Kingdom of Israel falls to Assyrian Empire
• 715-687:  Hezekiah (good)
• 687-642: Manasseh (bad)
• 640-609:  Josiah (good – finds book of the Law)
• 605: Babylonia takes over Israel
• 597: Prominent citizens exiled to Babylon
• 587: Jerusalem and the Temple are destroyed
• 582: Another deportation of citizens
• 539: Persian King Cyrus conquers Babylonians and allows exiles to return to their homeland
• 520-515: Second Temple Built
• 445: Nehemiah comes to Judah as governor
• 458,428, or 398: Ezra comes to Judah with Torah
• 333:  Alexander the Great’s first important victory over the Persians
• After Alexander’s death, empire split between Ptolemies and Seleucids
• 300-200:  Ptolemaic control of Judah
• 200:  Seleucids take Judah from Ptolemies
• 175:  Antiochus IV ascends Seleucid throne and Hellenistic reform begins in Jerusalem (Antiochus Ephiphanes)
• 167: Antiouchus Epiphanes begins persecution of Jews – Maccabean Revolt begins
• 164: Antiochus dies and Maccabees take Jersualemt and the temple and rededicate it
• 165-161: Judah Maccabee
• 134-104: John Hyrcanus I (conquers the Idumeans south of Judah, has the men forcibly circumcised)
• 63-40:  Hyrcanus II (high priest but not King)
• 63: Roman general Pompey takes over Judah (One of Pompey’s soldiers is an Idumean named Antipater)
• 40:  Antipater’s son, Herod, becomes King of Israel
• 6 – 4 B.C.E – Jesus is born
• 4 B.C.E – Herod the Great dies (kingdom divided among sons Archelaus, Herod Antipas, and Phillip
• 6 C.E – Archelaus thrown out; Romans replace him with a full time Governor
• 27 C.E – Jesus Dies
• 70 C.E. – Second Temple destroyed by Rome, Jerusalem burned

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Would You Rather Be Right Or Effective?

I originally had a you tube clip from a  movie called Without Limits  but the clip was taken down.

The clip showed a conversation between Oregon track coach Bill Bowerman and his famous middle distance runner Steve Prefontaine. 

So, you will have to take my word for it that the clip I wanted you to watch is pure awesomeness.  In it, Bill Bowerman is criticizing Pre for his strategy of always trying to lead all of his races from start to finish.  The way Bowerman figures it, if Pre would just run a little slower at the beginning (and not go out so hard and fast at the beginning) that his overall time would actually be better and that it would be easier for Pre to win races.

But Pre sees it differently and it reminds me of something I’ve heard Doctor Phil say before.

Sometimes Dr. Phil will look right at someone and say “Do you want to be right or do you want to be effective?”  Sometimes we are so concerned with winning and argument or proving that our way of thinking is correct that we miss the whole point of what we are trying to accomplish.  Who cares if the way you see a situation is really correct and your wife’s way is technically wrong.  If there is something that you could do which makes everything work better in your relationship, then who cares.  Really.

And this advice is really great advice, most of the time.  It essentially is Bill Bowerman’s advice to Pre, that to be effective is to win races with the lowest times.  Bowerman is telling Pre to abandon his usual strategy of front running in races and Pre will actually win more races with lower times.

And yet? Pre doesn’t see it that way.  This is Pre’s response from the movie.

“I don’t want to win unless I know I’ve done my best and the only way I  know to do that is to run out front and flat out till I have nothing left.”

To Pre there is only one way to run a race, all out.   In Pre’s head, to run a race any other way is cowardly.  He calls it ‘stealing a race’.

Again, I said that Dr. Phil’s advice is almost always the correct advice.  Almost.  Every once in a while, something else creeps in the equation, especially for men, something called Honor.

And believe it or not, I actually see something very beautiful about Pre’s point of view.  What he essentially is saying is that to him, the only Honorable way of running a race is from the front the whole way.   I love it.  You may not, but I do.  I think there are all sorts of Honorable ways of handling yourself in sports and in life that aren’t always effective, in the eyes of the world.

Who cares.  Every once in a while (certainly not most of the time), but every once in a while, doing things for Honor is actually more important than being effective!

So the question is this.  What are the areas of your life, where you need to spend more time and energy worrying about being effective and less about being right?

And where are those few areas where it actually is more important to be right, to do something because of the principle of the thing, to stiffen your back, bolt out your chest, and do something for something that’s hard to define but is very real.  Its a man’s own gift to himself.  Its Honor.

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Dealing With the Hunger for God

In his book “Jesus of Nazareth” Pope Benedict XVI writes the following when talking about a motif known as bread and circuses.

‘The idea is that after bread has been provided, a spectacle has to be offered, too. Since merely bodily satisfaction is obviously not enough for man, so this interpretation goes, those who refuse to let God have anything to do with the world and with man are forced to provide the titillation of exciting stimuli, the thrill of which replaces religious awe and drives it away”

And then on the following page, the Pope writes this:

“The arrogance that would make God an object and impose our laboratory conditions upon him is incapable of finding him.  For it already implies that we deny God as God by placing ourselves above him, by discarding the whole dimension of love, of interior listening; by no longer acknowledging as real anything but what we can experimentally test and grasp.”

Near the beginning of his wonderful book, the Pope presents two powerful reflections.  The first deals with the fact that most people have lost the sense of God in the world, a sense of religious awe, and instead replace this with “the titillation of exciting stimuli”.  And in the second reflection, Pope Benedict throws out the idea that people have largely given up the practice of interior listening.

These two ideas are closely related.  All people are searching, searching for ultimate meaning, searching for God.  And yes, God is found in nature and in others, no doubt about it.  But, in a special way, God is also found in silence, in interior listening.  In interior listening, and in the love of God and others that is the fruit of interior listening, people find God and find true happiness.  And yet, interior listening isn’t practiced much these days.  And the result is that people have a big void, a hunger for God and the things of God which is no longer getting quenched. 

And so what do all people try to do?  To quench that thirst for God of course.   They do so normally by creating and or searching for the “titillation of exciting stimuli”.  This titillation scratches the surface of our hunger for God, but that is it.  Some of us discover it more quickly than others, but the void is always there.  The deep hunger can only be replaced and filled up by God and the things of God.

I’ve got the deep Hunger for God and you’ve got the deep Hunger for God.  If you are like me and like many, then there is some way in which you are seeking the titillation of exciting stimuli to fill up your hunger; and you are doing this instead of seeking God in the silence of interior listening.

So right now, answer this question, in what ways are you trying to fill up your hunger for God with exciting stimuli?

Now that you’ve come up with at least one way that you do that, now what can you do this week, to stop relying on that excitement and at the same time, what can you do this week to bathe in silence, to do some majore interior listening.

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The Parable of the Talents

The Parable of the Talents (Mt 25:14-30) &

“To one he gave five talents: to another, two; to a third, one- to each according to his own ability”

“But the man who received one went off and dug a hole in the ground and buried his master’s money”

“His master said to him in reply, ‘You wicked lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I did not plant and gather where I did not scatter?”

“And throw this useless servant into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.”

The Parable of the Ten Gold Coins (Lk 19:11-27)

“Now as for those enemies of mine who did not want me as their king, bring them here and slay them before me.”

 

A teacher gave me a great piece of wisdom regarding the parables one day.  He said that parables are not the same as fables.  Fables have clear cut and easy to understand lessons.  Parables, not so much.  When people walked away from one of Jesus’ parables, they wouldn’t be thinking, what a nice clear cut lesson for us today.  Rather, they would walk away thinking “What the hell was he talking about”.  Or as my teacher said it another way “the parables of Jesus are queer, hard to understand stories, that get people to think”

I keep that lesson close to me whenever I hear the Gospel at Mass about the Parable of the Talents (or its sister story in Luke, the Parable of the Ten Gold Coins)

When I heard Priests preach about the parable of talents, this is what they normally say.  “God has given each one of us gifts.  To some he gives great gifts.  To some he gives small gifts.  All we can control is what we do with his gifts.  That’s how God will judge us.”

That is universally, 99.9% of the time the lesson that is drawn from this Gospel.  It’s a really good lesson and strikes a particular nerve with our good American Protestant work ethic.  In fact, I would say that this Gospel is the archetypical American gospel.  This is the gospel that Americans like to hear in Church. This is the Gospel that Americans want to hear.  If Berkshire Hathaway were to read a gospel at its annual shareholder’s meeting, this would be it.  Its very much “Work hard if you want something, if not, its your own damn fault”.  In fact I would be shocked if this gospel wasn’t carved on some building somewhere on Wall Street.  Because, its even better than “Work hard if you want something”.  This gospel is all about, “invest if you want something”.  And not just “invest” but “invest in a high yield aggressive stock portfolio”.  Amen brother.  In fact, as a strategy to get more Americans to come back to Church, Pastors should find a way to sneak this Gospel into the Christmas or Easter liturgies.

And even though on face value, the lesson of “use your talents wisely” and “don’t squander what God has given you” is a good bit of homespun wisdom, I am not so sure that it really is the lesson of those two gospels. 

So, for a second, let’s imagine we are in a crowd listening to Jesus.  Who are we?  Well, we are some of the 99% of the people in Israel who are poor.  We are poor,  we don’t own land, we don’t have our own king, and much of the very little that we do own is taken every year by the tax collectors.  We know some rich people.  But they are not good people.  The rich people are rich on the backs of us poor people.  They didn’t work hard for their wealth.  They killed for it.  The stole it.  The betrayed for it.  And now these very few rich people own most of the land and most of the wealth.  These rich people don’t spread seed, don’t grow plants, don’t harvest plants.  We poor people do that for them.  And we remain poor and they remain rich.  We are not free.

In other words, the people in the crowds that Jesus was teaching were very, very, very different from 21^st century Americans.  In America, wealth is often a sign of hard work, discipline, and virtue.  In American, poverty is often a sign of laziness, addiction, and criminal behavior.   But in 1^st Century Palestine, the roles were in many ways reversed.  In 1^st century Palestine, the good people were the poor and the bad people were the rich.   I am not asking you to believe this.  I am telling you this was the case.

So to a crowd of poor people, Jesus tells a story about a master who goes on a journey and trusts his possessions to his servants.  We all know it.  He gave one servant five talents and this servant went out and made five more talents.  He gave one servant two talents and he went out and earned another two.  Upon learning this, the Master told each of these servants “Well done My good and faithful servant.  Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities. Come, share your master’s joy.”

But one servant only received one talent and this is what he said to the Rich man.  “Master, I knew you were a demanding person, harvesting where you did not plant and gathering where you did not scatter; so out of fear I went off and buried your talent in the ground.  Here it is back.”  His master said to him in reply, “You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I did not plant and gather where I did not scatter?” He then takes the talent from the servant and gives it to the one with ten and then says “For to everyone who has, more will be given and he will grow rich; but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. And throw this useless servant into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.

Remember, poor people were poor.  They didn’t have anything.  Everyday, their day was consumed with getting through the day.  There was no such thing as “Wealth building”.  And so the Master is telling the servant something that he knows all too well.  The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.  And the servants who play along with the Rich? 

What I find most fascinating is what the Master admits about himself.  “So you knew that I harvest where I did not plant and gather where I did not scatter?”  Does that sound like the kind of virtuous rich man you know of?  No it does not.  This is not a man who says, “so you know about my story of how I picked my self up by my bootstraps and spent many years building my business”.  Nope, this is a  guy whose wealth is built on the backs of others, and he admits it.  And frankly, he seems a little incredulous that this servant who knows this would have the nerve to disappoint him.

And what does the master do in the end?  He throws the useless servant into the darkness.  The end of Luke’s version of the story is even more viscious.  This is what the master says at the end of Luke’s story. “Now as for thos enemies of mine who did not want me as their king, bring them here and slay them before me.”

Brutal.  Horrible.  And not what many of us think about when we think about Jesus, the peaceful donkey riding Messiah.

So, if you were a poor person in the crowd, listening to the story, who is the hero of the story?  For Americans today, the hero of the story is always that really industrious servant who made five more talents for his master.  But for the poor person of 1^st century Palestine, the person who Jesus WAS talking to, who was his hero?  The last servant, of course.  The servant who stood up to that Bastard of a master.  You know the one who harvests where he does not plant and gathers where he does not scatter, that one.  The 1% of the population who continues to be rich largely because they cooperate with the Roman occupation of Israel.  The Rich people who cooperate with the Roman tax collectors.  The rich people, who are largely irreligious, not nearly as faithful to the Torah as the poor.  The rich people, who are largely seen by the poor as not being good Jews.    This last servant who stood up to the Rich man and refused to make him any more money.  He didn’t steal from him.  He just stood up to him in a quiet sort of defiance.  And for that he was visciously punished.  That would have been the hero of the story that day.

Or maybe not. But at the very least, as the people walked away from Jesus that day, they would have talked about the Parable of the Talents.  Some may have argued that they needed to make good use of their gifts that God has given them, others may have argued that they needed to stand up to injustice and fight for peace and love.  And you know, maybe they both would have been right.  And maybe that was the point all along.

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Saint Peters and Fr. Damien Cook

Yesterday was my Dad’s funeral at his parish, Saint Peters in downtown Omaha.  It was a wonderful day, a very fitting tribute to my father, John Kenney. 

If you haven’t heard about the work going on at Saint Peters, or have never attended church there, you need to check it out ( http://www.stpeterchurch.net/) .  This beautiful church was my father’s home for the last fifteen years for a reason.

Currently, the pastor is Fr. Damien Cook.  I was fortunate enough to know Fr. Cook in both grade school and high school and today he is one of the really great young priests that I am running into more and more these days. 

If you visit Saint Peter’s for liturgy, you will notice a few things.  The priests sing many parts of the mass that these days are often spoken.  Incense is used more than is normal these days.  And overall, there appears to be an attention to ceremony that may remind some older than I of what going to church in the old days may have looked like.  However, the ceremonial detail that has the most impact on me when I’m at Saint Peters is the use of the Communion rail for the reception of Holy Eucharist.   It seems simple, but that act of kneeling for a few moments and waiting for your turn to receive Communion seems to put me in a really good frame of mind and soul for reception of our Lord.

But what impresses me more than anything right at Saint Peters, is the work of Fr. Cook himself.  Every time that I have the privilege of attending one of his Masses, his Homilies always teach me something.  And yesterday, at my Father’s funeral was no exception.  As I told my wife last night, Fr. Cook does not waver from telling the truth, even when the truth can make folks a little uncomfortable.  And so yesterday, Fr. Cook said the obvious but truthful thing.  The thing that normally is not said by priests at funerals.  At least not these days.  Fr. Cook looked out and said that we don’t know where John Kenney is right now.  We don’t know if he is in Hell or Heaven or if he is experiencing Purgatory.  We have faith and we have hope, but we just don’t know.    Fr. Cook explained, according to our Catholic teaching, what it takes to be in Heaven, and he explained what Purgatory means, and so he took the opportunity to teach all of us, on this very important day.  These days, people are so scared of death, that people and priests often times find it easier to just say that folks are in a better place.  But Fr. Cook made the honest choice to tell us what all of us really know.  That we don’t know.  Not as comforting to some.  But I told my wife Teresa last night, that I think speaking the truth like that is actually the most comforting thing of all.  The night before, Fr. Cook talked about what a “good death” is.  Not the cessation of suffering.  Nor is it the passing quickly without knowing its coming.  Rather, Fr. Cook talked about a good death being one that we’ve had ample time to prepare for.   

If you want a Priest that speaks simple honest truths on a regular basis, with a good dose of beautiful liturgical ceremony as well, then please check out the fine work at Saint Peters in Omaha and Fr. Damien Cook (http://www.stpeterchurch.net/).

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Death, Heaven and Purgatory

My father, John Kenney, died yesterday morning.  He knew it was coming, he was prepared, and he went peacefully.  What a great blessing for a good man.  You can read more about my father in the previous post, “My Dad Paints A Fence”.

So what is my Dad experiencing right now?  That is the real question.  Our Catholic tradition has an answer.  Not all the specifics mind you, but an answer.

The Catholic answer starts with an assumption.  That after death, there are only two options.  To be with God or to not be with God.   While on the physical world, God’s presence is mediated to us throughout the creation that surrounds us.  Thus, even if we ourselves were somehow separated from God here on earth, its impossible to be completely separate from God’s presence since that presence is mediated to us every second of every day by the people, creatures, and matter that surrounds us.

But once we leave the world of matter, that all changes.  Catholics believe that once we die, there is only God.  And if one is not with God, then one is alone. Utterly completely alone.  Catholics believe that sin separates us from God but that Jesus has come with Good News.  That God understands we can’t not sin.  That God gets that we can’t do this on our own.  And so Jesus sets up a new equation.  “Be in a relationship with me” Jesus tells us.  “Follow me” He says.  “You see, I’m human..and well I lived I had a real relationship with all sorts of people who didn’t love me perfectly; exhibit A is my old friend Peter”.  And the really great news is this.  Jesus tells us that when we inevitably fail to love him, fail to follow him and fall into sin.  He asks us not to be perfect.  He asks us to be repentant.  And so, when we break our relationship to Jesus and break our relationship to God through sin, Jesus says that all we have to do is be repentant to restore our relationship with Jesus, with God.

And if we die in a state of repentance, then upon our death, we will be with God.  There is no other option.

My Dad saw death coming, he prepared his soul, he was repentant unto death.  He is with God right now.  He is in Heaven.

So what about Purgatory?  Many talk about Purgatory as an inbetween state.  A state of waiting in between Heaven and Hell.  Is it? Is it really?

Again, I don’t really know but my favorite reflection on the topic comes from our own Pope Benedict XVI, when he wrote the book “Eschatology” as Joseph Ratzinger.

And so right now, I will, without any attribution, summary my understanding of Ratzinger’s reflection on the topic.  If I do a lousy job, its all on me, not our wonderful Pope.

If a person has made the fundamental choice to be with Jesus, to follow Jesus and if that person is repentant, then upon their death, they are with God.  There is no other option.  However, their experience of God may be different than another persons.  What do we mean?   Upon death, Jesus will be fully present to the Christian.  Jesus will be loving the person, will be loving John Kenney, with everything that Jesus has.  However, the real question is, will the Christian; will John Kenney, be ready, be capable, of fully loving God back.

You see, the Catholic church believes that all sins can be forgiven by Jesus.  That Jesus and his grace are fully enough to make up for our sins and to restore our relationship with God.  However, at the same time, the Catholic church believes that sin does real damage to our selves, and to our souls.  To take an extreme example, lets say that somebody murdered another.  And that after the murder they had true sorrow and contrition.  Once that person attended Confession and repented, Jesus would forgive their sin and as long as they did their penance, the person’s relationship with God would be restored.  But it doesn’t mean that the person has been healed of whatever was wrong with them that led to them murdering someone.  That desire for vengeance, or that hatred or that habit; that doesn’t get erased.  Jesus could forgive somebody for getting obese, but the forgiveness doesn’t make the person skinny.  Catholics recognize that sin does real damage to the person and that it erodes our ability to properly love.

And so the Catholic idea of purgatory is this.  That purgatory is an in between state in the following sense.  That sin has so damaged a particular person, that they need to be made possible or capable of really loving Jesus back.  Or put another way.  After death, there is only God or no God.  If you are with God, you have won the primary battle.  But now the question becomes what level of communion will you enjoy with God.  There are those among the Christian faithful whose lives were so exemplary that upon their deaths, they truly were capable of loving Jesus back.  And so upon their death and upon entering into the full presence of Jesus, these Christians that we call Saints, are able to experience full communion with Jesus.

But many people, possibly my father John, must first undergo a process of being made really capable of loving Jesus back.  And what is it precisely that might get my father John ready to love Jesus back?  Catholics believe it is nothing other than the presence of Jesus himself.  His own presence, perfect and glorious in its love, is the fire that purges away the rest of our impurities.  it is the very presence of Jesus that right now, is probably getting his son John Kenney ready to enter into full communion with him.

We pray for John while he waits in the presence of our lord while not yet enjoying the fullness of communion with our Lord.  And we ask that John can pray for us so that we may follow Jesus, repent, and follow the examples of the Saints so that we might be people capable of loving Christ back.  Amen.

P.S.  A note about how Saints were able to prepare themselves to be capable of loving Jesus back; while on earth.  The answer, they spent time in the presence of Jesus.  There really is not shortcut here.  You have to spend the time with Jesus, in order for Jesus to do an extreme makeover soul addition on you.  Jesus is the one who does it.  We cooperate but its really all Jesus.  And for the Saints, either through time spent with Jesus or an intensity of experience with Jesus, their selves have been made ready to love.  If that hasn’t happened for you on earth, then it has to happen for you in Heaven.  Or put another way, for those who know me.  Assume for a second that I am currently following Jesus and in a state of repentance and that I die five minutes from now.  Who would you say is more capable of loving Christ like he deserves?  Me or Mother Theresa?  Right, Jesus would in affect need to spend some time in the Gym with me to get me ready and prepared to love him as He deserves….time that Mother Theresa has already put in while on earth.

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My Dad Paints A Fence

I wrote this post a few years ago for another blog.  Today, I repost it on my own blog because my father, John Kenney, is dying, and has only a few days to live.  Please pray for John Kenney

My Dad Paints A Fence
It started a couple of years ago when Father Cook received a bid to paint the black wrought iron fence that encircles the Church property. My Dad stepped in to save the Church some money. “If you buy the paint, I’ll do the work….but Father, it will take me a while.”
So when he can, my Dad grabs his cane, hobbles from his apartment and makes the three block journey to the Church that he loves. The Church that my Dad has given his heart and soul to over the last 15 years.

If you were to ask my dad, he would let you know with shocking honesty what a failure he has been in life. Had a drinking problem. Should of stayed in the army. Should have been more disciplined with his money. Should have been a better husband. Should have spent more time with his kids.
Maybe some of these things are true in and of themselves.  But, we are not our failures, and they certainly do not constitute the whole of a man who has reached his late seventies.  Further, the failures of my father’s life do not paint a full enough…an honest enough portrait of who this man really is.

The picture began to come into better focus for me about five years after my parents’ divorce, when my father invited me to come and watch him speak at a big Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.  I was nervous because my Dad was kind of a shy guy and I didn’t know how comfortable he would be speaking in front of a large group.
Boy was I wrong. He was incredible. He had the crowd in the palm of his hand. He told the story of his life and oh what a story it was. He told the story of his drinking, and wow…I couldn’t believe he was still alive. When it ended, I looked up to see the crowd of people swarming around my Dad thanking him for his testimony.

In the years since, I have learned about just how many men my dad has helpd in AA. Guys who for whatever reason, got off track. My Dad helped them….saved some lives. To these people my dad was a hero.

Had a relative come up to me once, wealthy guy, much more successful than my dad in so many ways. He took me aside, looked me in the eyes and told me that my Dad was his hero.

So over the years, I have picked up bits and pieces. My Dad was an imperfect man, sure I knew that, if for no other reason than he liked to tell me. But the generosity, the kindness, the support, the prayerfulness, the faith….these parts of my Dad’s life, have all trickled in through the years.
And the portrait that emerges might appear complex, but really its very simple. My Dad is a Man, with his share of Sins and Imperfections. But He is a Christian man, who has given himself into the hands of our Lord and asked for help.
Today, my Dad is an old Christian Man. Diabetic, bad liver, bad knees, bypass surgery survivor, cancer survivor. He uses his ninth life and his cane to visit his grandchildren, he keeps fighting for a few more years to spend with his family…with his sons.
But no matter what happens, nothing seems to erase my Dad’s own regrets…about his life. That grieves me, because I remember the people for whom my Dad is a hero and I remember the precious gifts that my Dad gave to me. First, he always let me know that I was loved unconditionally. Second, he taught me right from wrong clearly with no ambiguity. Lastly, he gave me the gift of faith.

And that’s a lot.
But sometimes, its seems that its not enough for him. So he continues to work out his own salvation with fear and trembling. And most days he picks up his cane, walks over to Church and clocks in.
This old man of the parish does what any able bodied young kid probably should be doing. But my dad does it. And you know why?
Because as he sits on his five gallon bucket and scrapes off rust and prepares a second coat, what my dad really does is pray and spend time with his Lord Jesus and his Mother Mary.
And so in the twilight of his life, alongside the black wrought iron of downtown Omaha, my Dad gives me his greatest gift….teaches me his biggest lesson. None of us are perfect…its not about perfect….its about Repentance.
So is my Dad a hero?

You bet.   And Why?
Because my Dad paints a fence.

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A Father Waits For His Son

       This is a story about the Great Gift that my Grandfather gave to my Dad.

The radiogram was short “Dad had a stroke, not expected to Live – Richard”

My dad read it outside his medic tent, a little before sunrise one October day in Korea in the year 1954. The message was from his older brother and within a few minutes my dad  was in front of the Sargeant Major.

“Kenney, go on leave, if you don’t you’ll always regret it.”

My Dad, Corporal John Kenney, was, at the time, a 21 year old Navy Corpman attached to the Marines near the Dimilitarized Zone in South Korea.  He was also the youngest boy of Dr. Bernard Kenney, a man who delivered thousands of babies, got paid in chickens and pies, and raised eight children in Dodge, Nebraska before moving for the big city of Omaha where his children could get a better education.

Corporal Kenney knew that the Sargeant Major was right, but that it would also take a minor miracle to get halfway around the world in time to see his Dad again…but he had to try. The Sargeant Major pulled a Marine Corp Uniform out of the closet, told Kenney to get out of his fatigues, and within a half hour John was in a jeep on his way to Kempo Air Strip just North of Seoul.

At Kempo, Corporal Kenney caught a ride on a Navy Mail Plane to the southernmost tip of Japan.  But his trip began to stall almost before it began when weather grounded air traffic in that part of Japan.  Within a few hours, my dad’s luck changed when a pilot motivated more by his exciting plans in Tokyo than common sense, decided to give it the old college try. He told whomever was listening that his C-47 trasnsport plane was taking off shortly and he had room for anybody who wanted to risk the rough weather.  So John jumped aboard, sat with his back against the outside wall of the plane, and squeezed in between two Navy pilots who showed the young Medic just how green they actually were were by promptly getting sick on the short flight up to Tokyo.

And in spite of the terrible weather, with a jolt and a screech the plane landed, and Kenney was on the ground looking for the next flight headed back to the States.  By the time John had found a flight going to California, an entire day had passed..and he doubted  he would make it home in time.

The thirty three hour flight from Tokyo to San Francisco took two stops to refuel.  The first was in Midway where Corporal Kenney watched in amazement as thousands of huge goonie birds swallowed up the plane as it found an airstrip that appeared to jump out of the deep black water and catch the plane by surprise.  The second stop was at Hickam field in Hawaii, where, as Kenney and others stretched their legs, a large rack of phones was rolled onto the runway.  “Anywhere in the world”, the Red Cross volunteer told them.  “Whatever calls you need to make.”

So John called St. Catherine’s Hospital in Omaha, reached his Dad’s room and spoke with his Mom.  His mom encouraged him to hurry as Dad did not have much time left and just in case, John better say his goodbyes now.  So she put the phone up to his ear, and thousands of miles away, on a moonlit runway in Hawaii, he said what he was sure were his last words to his Father.  John told his Dad the things that a boy needs to tell his father.  The things that are between a father and son.  Things we will never know.

The plane left Hawaii and made the last dash across the Pacific to San Francisco.  Once Stateside, John  had hoped to find a military flight to Omaha.  Or Kansas City.  Or something close.  But he was out of luck so he did the next best thing; he hopped a train.

And so after forty eight hours and two thousand miles of vineyards and mountains and potatoe fields and more mountains and ranch land and sandhills and corn farms,  Corporal John Kenney had finished the last stage of an unexpected journey that had taken him from a medic tent on the 38th parallel in Korea to his parent’s home at 38th Ave in Omaha, Nebraska.  And as he pulled his duffel out of the cab parked by the curb,John saw his older brothers Pat and Emmet rushing out of the house.

“Dad is slipping away, we need to hurry”, they said, as the three of them hopped into Pat’s old Hudson and drove the early morning streets of Omaha down to St. Catherine’s Hospital.

The three boys made their way through the hospital and when John finally reached the hallway outside his Dad’s room, there were nun’s everywhere, kneeling and praying the rosary. The hospital room was packed, with family, priests and religious…when John’s mom saw her son, she motioned for him to come over to his father’s bed.

John moved through the crowd to his Dad’s side, put his hand on his father’s hand and said the words that apparently, Doc Kenney was waiting to hear.

“Dad I made it Home.”

And within a minute…..he died.

Bernard Kenney had, at fifty seven, died relatively young….yet he packed a great deal of living into those years.  As a Doctor and Father he had given so much.

But for his youngest son John, he had saved his greatest gift for the end.  You see a dying man waited.    While Jesus and the Angels and Saints waited  for Doc Kenney, he had waited for his boy.  He held on to the very end….and when his youngest son John finally arrived, when he had said his last goodbye, Bernard drifted off to his own Father in Heaven.

Now Bernard, my Grandfather, waits again.  His youngest boy John isn’t so young anymore.  Nope, John is my dad and has twenty grandchildren of his own to chase around these days and at 76, who knows when it will be his time to go. I don’t know if my dad is scared of dying.  But I am not scared for him.  Because I know that the Grandfather I never met has been waiting for his son for a long time.

And when they meet again, I think I know what my Grandpa will say to his youngest boy.

“John, well done, I’m proud of you….now sit with me while we wait….for your youngest son….Daniel.”

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My Road Trip With the Kids

My wife turned me into a single dad last week as she traveled for work down to Kentucky.  By the weekend, it was time for me to get out of town, so I left the baby with Grandma and took the older five down to Kansas for a wedding road trip.

They had spent a little time with their aunt and uncle the previous night, so when I arrived on Friday morning to pick them up I was so incredibly happy to find out that not only had they gone to the county fair parade, but their Aunt had let them each have their own obscenely large bag of candy!

So we started our road trip in style, my five children nestled in the van with their heads stuck inside plastic bags of goodness.  And then 40 minutes into our trip, I looked into the rear view mirror and saw an uncomfortable look on my son Isaac’s face…..

And that’s when the trip got more exciting.  He threw up everywhere, I pulled the van onto the side of the road, cleaned him up, changed his clothes, cleaned the van up…oh joy.

I decided that he wasn’t really sick, just too much candy so we voyaged onward….and ten minutes later my youngest boy Daniel let out a blood curdling scream. 

I looked back and saw him holding an empty margarine container with the lid in his hand.  He was screaming because the toads that were in said container had jumped into his face when he unsuspectingly grabbed the container and yanked off the lid.

Apparently, while at their Aunt and Uncle’s house, the kids had found a couple of stoways for our trip.

So, I pulled the van over again, found the missing toads, packed them back up…..finally wised up and got rid of the candy and we resumed our trip.

And though the vomitting continued (yes all you moms he was really sick) and the toads continued to provide excitement, we finally made it to our wedding.  It was tons of fun, a great time….and a fun little road trip with my kids that I will never forget.

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Like Fishes in the Market

In my move from tumblr to wordpress, this post got left behind.  I republish it now, enjoy!

Back in high school, my Spanish teacher Senor Machado had a favorite saying. Whenever it was clear that we just weren’t getting something, he would laugh his jolly Cuban laugh and triumphantly exclaim……”Ahh, you are like fishes in the market. Your eyes are open but…you see Nothing!”

I sometimes feel like the “fishes in the market” through my own Christian journey. I was born and raised into a good Catholic Home, went to Catholic school from grade 1 through grade 18, have a Masters Degree in Theology from a Catholic University, and have taught Catholic Theology at Catholic Highschools. Gasp, makes me tired just thinking about how darn Catholic Smart I should be.

And yet…..I’m no better than the next guy. In fact, many times probably worse. To whom much is given much is expected, right? I have spent my life with my eyes wide open. I know what God expects of me. I know the minute I make a decision whether it was the right or wrong decision morally. And yet I often have made the wrong decision. To paraphrase St. Paul, I many times have done the evil that at some level I don’t want to do. Why? Why are my eyes so wide open, yet like the fishes in the market, I see nothing?

I think it comes down to trust. At some deep level I tend to not trust that God’s way of doing things is better than my way of doing things. Its like I am in the Garden, and a snake is telling me, “Surely you will not die”. I am convinced by that Snake, and begin to Doubt God. I doubt that he really wants me to be like Him. I doubt that God has given me all that I need to be happy. And so instead of trusting that God has really given me all that I need to be happy, I doubt God and I…..take. I take what I want, even though deep down I know it won’t lead to happiness. Arghhh! What a twisted mess I can be. Why do I make it so difficult? Dear God, I know a lot of things. But teach me to really believe these same things; and to trust that you really have given me all that I need to be happy.

And let my eyes be opened to this truth….so that my old Cuban schoolteacher, Senor Machado, would be proud!

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