On Your Inner Boo Radley

Posted on February 16, 2026 by richp45198

Today I learned that actor Robert Duvall died. Perhaps more than any other actor, his different roles aided my own spiritual journey. Mac Sledge from Tender Mercies helped me address suffering that doesn’t make sense. His role in True Confessions helped me address issues in my own relationship with my brother. And Augustus McRae of Lonesome Dove helped me in many ways. More than anything, he was a passionate man who accepted people as they were (with the noticeable exception of a bartender in San Antonio!)

But Boo Radley came to me with an important spiritual lesson early in my journey. This performance was early in Robert’s career but provided a character in image that has stayed with me on my journey for over 60 years.

As my personal homage to this great actor, I am reposting with revisions this piece.

My favorite book and movie are To Kill a Mockingbird. When I first read the book, when I finished I turned back to page 1 and read it again. The first time I saw the movie I went back the next night to see it again. The book and movie have greatly impacted my life.

As I noted in an earlier post, Atticus Finch gave me a role model for being a father. But I also am drawn to one other figure who appears infrequently but looms large throughout the story. That figure is Boo Radley.

Boo was a neighbor who, by and large, was a recluse, kept at home in part because of a violent incident. Boo would probably be diagnosed as schizophrenic nowadays. Yet Boo becomes attached to the Finch children and starts to give them small gifts — a school spelling medal, a pocket knife, a broken watch and chain and other little surprises the children would find in a knothole of a tree.

Being a recluse, however, Boo was someone of whom the children were both afraid and intrigued by. As their friend Dill says, “Wonder what he does in there? Wonder what he looks like?”, starting an effort to make Boo Radley come out. And come out he does in a powerful act of self-sacrifice.

Why am I drawn to Boo? I think in part because I have parts of me that I kept locked up and perhaps continue to keep locked up, mainly out of some sort of fear. Thus, for example in my own case, I kept creativity locked up out of fear of being criticized. Perhaps you have kept a part locked up as well. Out of fear, some of us keep locked up our capacity for loving. Boo did not!

I realize too that, especially in retirement, I have great potential to be reclusive. Perhaps I always did. After all, I learned some years ago that within the El Paso professional community I was viewed as reclusive.

We know that the Shadow part of our personality comes bearing a gift, just as Boo Radley did. But to receive that gift, we have to find a way to let our own Boo Radley come out. I don’t know that I have been successful in that endeavor.

Here then is the beautiful scene after Boo Radley comes out (And, yes, that is a very young Robert Duvall as Boo!)

Thank you Robert for your many ways of helping me on my own journey. RIP

Reflection: What is your inner Boo Radley like? Have you been able to let him/her out in some way?

 

 

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Heroes: The Four Immortal Chaplains

Posted on February 3, 2026 by richp45198

February 3 is set aside to honor the Four Chaplains. I wanted to repost this to celebrate their lives and sacrifice

The story of the four chaplains is not well known enough. True, they were honored on a postal stamp as well as at various religious sites. But, especially during a time when religion is rife with scandal, conflict, divisiveness and judgment of others, the story of the four chaplains stands as a beacon of hope and a reminder that, in the face of need, religious affiliation doesn’t matter.

George Fox was a World War I veteran yet when WWII broke out, he felt called to serve again, this time as a Methodist minister. On the USS Dorcester, he met collegues Alexander Goode, a Jewish rabbi, Clark Poling, a Dutch Reformed minister, and John Washington, a Catholic priest. The four men had become good friends and spent meals together, at times exploring each other’s religious traditions but often talking of home and family. All had enlisted as chaplains when World War II broke out.

The four men came together on the USS Dorchester, a transport carrying roughly 900 soldiers into battle. But beneath the waves lurked German U-boats intent on preventing soldiers from reaching the battle front. One such U-boat had the Dorchester in its sights.

While the four chaplains provided services specific to their religions, the daily needs of the soldiers were responded to by all chaplains, regardless of the religion of the soldier before him. Thus, one evening Fr. Washington aggressively confronted some soldiers giving one man a hard time because he was Jewish.

On a freezing North Atlantic night off the coast of Greenland the Dorchester was hit and began to sink. Chaos reigned. Of the 900 soldiers aboard, 2/3 would meet their death, the four chaplains among them.

Stories of the chaplains came to light among the survivors. One man recalled Chaplain Fox handing him a life saver, insisting he had another one. He didn’t. Another man recalled Rabbi Goode insisting that the man take his gloves before going overboard, the chaplain insisting that he had another pair. He didn’t. Still another soldier recalled Chaplain Washington insisting a young soldier climb down a rope to possible safety. After the young soldier left, Chaplain Washington did not climb down the rope himself but went to help others.

The enduring image of the four chaplains was shared by several soldiers who, froma safe distance, watched as the ship went under. Several saw the four chaplains together, arms linked, praying. Here is a painting of that image:

For me, the story of the four chaplains is an enduring testimony to the belief that all roads lead to God, that no one faith has it all right, and that in the face of tragedy religion becomes irrelevant. None of the chaplains asked a soldier “What’s your religion?’ before giving them a life jacket or gloves. Heroism can definitely be spiritual but, as with the four chaplains, heroism rises above the limitations of organized religion.

READING AND VIEWING: Two very good books on the four chaplains are No Greater Glory by Dan Kurzman and The Immortals by Stephen T. Collis. Collis’ book also includes the story of Charles Walter David Jr., an African American petty officer on one of the rescue ships who risked hypothermia rescuing soldiers from the freezing sea. A very good documentary can be found at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ewJp8HhYzA&t=7s

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Stories of Sacred Places

Posted on January 26, 2026 by richp45198

I firmly believe that some places are sacred. Imbued with the presence of God. Holy ground was not only offered to Moses on Mt. Sinai. It surrounds us if we only pay attention.

I have been blessed with time spent in many sacred places. Here I offer stories about a few of them. None of them are churches. All of them have elements of the mystical.

     A brief aside about mysticism. When we hear the word “mystic”, we tend to think of saints, and holy people. We tend to think of mystical experience as something reserved for them, not for the rest of us. It might help you to be more aware of mystical experience in your own life if you keep William James’ description in his classic work Varieties of Religious Experience. James identified four aspects of mystical experience: 1. They are ineffable. This means that they escape words. As Abraham Joshua Heschel said: “To become aware of the ineffable is to part company with words.” 2. They are noetic. These experiences hint at a deeper truth and sense of connection with God and God’s creation. 3. They are transient. I would love to hold onto the feelings I had in various sacred places. I can’t. 4. They are passive. As I learned in one story I’ll share with you, you can’t decide “Today I’ll have a mystical experience.”

Guadalupe Mountains National Park

About 90 miles east of El Paso along the road to the better-known Carlsbad Caverns is a National Park not known to many. The Guadalupe National Park is set in the desert, yet the mountains stretch up to the sky. It has long been a favorite spot for hiking with my family. One particularly beautiful trail is the Tejas Trail which climbs from the desert into the pines.

Prior to one particular hike with my son, I had what I consider to be mystical experiences. Often they involved encounters with wild animals such as deer or, in one case, a beautiful golden eagle. On this hike I was bound and determined to have a mystical experience. Nothing happened.

     As we prepared to descend from the mountains on the back side of the trail, I sat for a moment and realized I had not had my sought-after mystical experience. I gave up, accepting that it wasn’t meant to be that day. But then just after I gave up, I turned to one side and saw a deer staring at me. It was as if she was saying “Ok, now that you’ve given up trying to force it, you can have your mystical experience.” That deer and that day taught me that I can remain open to the mystical but I can’t get one on demand.

Santa Elena Canyon

In Suth Central Texas along the border with Mexico is the massive Big Bend National Park. It too highlights the desert but has the Rio Grande running through it. One hike that my wife and I undertook was into Santa Elena Canyon, a beautiful spot with the Rio Grande running through it between two countries.

     Towards the end of our hike, my wife and I were speechless because of the beauty. Then my wife said, “I feel like singing!” So we both stood there in the canyon singing “Amazing Grace.” As we finished my wife pointed. There were several hawks flying in a circle, singing their own song in response. In that moment I felt a deep connection to the birds, the canyon, and my wife.

Ballinskelligs, Ring of Kerry, Ireland

We have been blessed with two trips to Ireland. On one we undertook driving the Ring of Kerry, a scenic and popular drive along the Southwest coast of Ireland. On our first day we were to cover half the route and stay at a bed and breakfast in Ballinskelligs. The trip had an ominous start. I was still adjusting to driving on the left side of the road when I swerved to avoid an ongoing truck. I hit a sod hill close to the road and eventually stopped to check for damage. I saw that both tires on the left side of the car were going flat.

     Thankfully I had signed up for the Irish equivalent of AAA and so called for help, expecting a long wait. However, 20 minutes later a tow truck pulled up with Murphy’s Garage on the side. The driver loaded our car onto his vehicle and then asked us to hop in. I asked “Are you Mr. Murphy? And he said “I am. Ted’s me name. And you are?” I told him we were the Pattersons from El paso TX and he immediately sang the first line of the famous Marty Robbins song. He deposited us at a pub and was back in 30 minutes, our car all fixed. He asked, “Do you mind if I have me lunch?” and then regaled us with wonderful stories before getting us back on the road.

     The next morning I set out on a country road headed toward the ocean. I was accompanied by the owners’ dog Jack. We reached a beautiful beach that stretched far into the fog. It was untouched. Our footprints were the first that day.  I ran for a mile or so then turned back, enjoying with every step the sea breeze, the ocean spray and saltiness, the sun breaking through the fog, all the while Jack staying by my side. The beauty of that place gave me a strong connection with the beach, the ocean, the Creator of it all, and yes even Jack. I was sorry to leave that beach. I think perhaps so was Jack.

The Singing Birds

One last lesson in the mystical. For some years I would walk home from my office on Good Friday. This had become a meaningful time of meditation as well as a physical challenge over a distance of 10 miles. One Friday I began to reflect on the term “live in the now” It has been a popular expression but points to an important aspect of mystical experience – being open and paying attention. As I trudged along with these musings, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Hanging from a house’s eves were six cages with birds in them. The birds were singing. I stood for several minutes enjoying their song then moved on. It was a beautiful mystical moment that I almost missed because I was wrapped up in my own thoughts.

We don’t always have a sense of sacred place even when it is happening. Moses had to be told he was walking on sacred ground. Israel observed, after his potent spiritual experience, that God had been in that place and he didn’t know it. Abraham had been visited by angels and didn’t know it. Yet none of these holy men ignored the experience. Once they knew that God was present, they paid attention.

Reflection: What experiences of sacred place have you had?

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Stories of Baseball and Learning to be Enthused

Posted on January 8, 2026 by richp45198

     For some, baseball is a spiritual experience. If you remember Game 4 of the 2004 playoffs between the Yankees and the Redsox, you may remember pictures of Redsox fans in the stands clearly praying, especially in the bottom of the 9th with Dave Roberts on first base. You could almost hear their prayers: “I know he’s going to try to steal second base, Lord. Please PLEASE help him!” And there were plenty of Amens when Dave did indeed steal second, opening the way to eventual Redsox triumph.

     There is even a book titled Baseball As A Road to God in which the authors find parallels between baseball and the spiritual journey.

     I have been a baseball fan for most of my life. When I was a boy, I rooted for the Braves. I was especially a fan of Red Schoendienst but more on him later. In 1960 I also rooted for the Pirates, especially hoping that they would defeat the hated Yankees. I still replay Bill Mazeroski’s Series-winning homerun.

     I drifted away from baseball for a while but still took note of great events ranging from the Miracle Mets to the death of Roberto Clemente. Then in 1983 I got into recovery from addiction and baseball played an unexpected role.

       About being sober for a year, I was very grateful that alcohol was no longer a daily ritual. But my life felt tepid. Some loved ones have the gift of enthusiasm, a gift I lack. And so I realized that what was missing in my life was enthusiasm. In recovery circles there is a phrase “Fake it ‘til you make it.” I took that to heart. “I’ll fake being enthused” I thought. “But enthused about what?” I had just been in a production of the play On Golden Pond. At one point the main character bemoans the fate of his beloved Detroit Tigers. “That’s it” I thought. “I’ll be enthused about baseball!”

     But you can’t just be a fan of baseball. You have to root for a specific team. I knew it couldn’t be the Yankees nor was I drawn to either of the Pennsylvania teams. Then it came to me. When I was a boy I was a joyful recipient of an autographed baseball card of the Redsox’s Jimmy Piersall. My hometown of Scranton had a baseball farm team for the Redsox. And my Uncle Joe ad been an avid fan. So the Redsox it was. I bought a hat and began to read the sports page every evening, cursing if the Redsox lost, cheering if they won.

        Addiction recovery has a spiritual component to it and so my experiment with enthusiasm turned out to be spiritual. The word enthusiasm, after all, comes from the Greek and means “To be inspired or impressed by a god” or in my case –God.

 The exercise worked! My love of baseball became a part of my life, my wife’s life, my children’s lives and ultimately my Grandchildren’s’ lives. And I benefited spiritually by learning the spiritual path of enthusiasm.

          It was my love of baseball that brought me to Cooperstown to visit the sacred center for any baseball fan – the Baseball Hall of Fame. I travelled there while visiting with my parents. My mother was initially not going to go but then I told her “Mom, Red Schoendienst was voted into the Hall this year.” She changed her mind.

      In the late 50s Red was playing for the Braves. He missed much of one season because of battling tuberculosis. One night my mother and I were watching the Braves playing the Phillies. This game marked Red’s return to baseball, a fact that greatly impressed my mother. When she stood in front of Red’s plaque she said simply but with great affection “Good for Red!”

     It turns out my mother had remained a bit of a baseball fan. At one point I found her reading some of Nolan Ryan’s statistics. I was surprised since Nolan came along much later than Red. “You know Nolan Ryan?” I said. She looked over her glasses at me with a hint of irritation and said “Of course I know who Nolan Ryan is!”

     We had gone to Cooperstown in September when it would not be crowded. We had dinner then returned for a last visit to the Hall. There were only a handful of people there. Can you imagine? It felt like we had the Hall all to ourselves!

     Years late, as my mother was on her death bed, I read an earlier version of this story to her. She smiled and said, “To think that I almost didn’t go on that trip!”

     The next morning I took a run on the outskirts of Cooperstown. It was the kind of crisp September morning that brought memories of piles of leaves for jumping, the smell of burning leaves, and of course the World Series.

     As I ran, my mind was filled with baseball memories. Running home from school in time to see Maz’s homer. Going to Yankee Stadium to see my beloved Jimmy Piersall play and getting to witness Roger Maris hit #56 in his quest for 61. Taking each of my children to their first Major League games. But I also thought of Red. You see, I suffer from asthma. Two years previous to this run, it had almost killed me. So I knew what it was like to struggle for breathing, just as Red did when he battled TB.

     As I ran, I enjoyed the easy flow of air in my lungs. I imagined that Red too would have celebrated that awareness. For those of us who have struggled to breathe never again take it for granted. I believe Red and I were connected, knowing the joy of something as simple as breathing.

Reflection: How have you experienced the spiritual gift of enthusiasm?

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Christmas Stories

Posted on December 19, 2025 by richp45198

I am a big believer in story-telling. I was told once that in the El Paso community I was known as a psychologist who told stories. And indeed stories are a great way to communicate therapeutic notions. But some stories are just good stories. I hope you have a few good stories about Christmas. If you’ve heard mine before, please forgive me. But some good stories are worth repeating.

When I was young, I often served Mass at a local center for retired nuns. One Christmas while we served Mass and then enjoyed some cocoa and cookies served by the nuns, it had been snowing. As my friend Butch Mellody and I started home we began to cross the hockey field at the local girls’ college. The field was covered with snow and was untouched. That moment at about one in the morning, standing before great beauty, seemed sacred to me. It still does.

Another Christmas season I worked as a mailman. One day I entered an apartment house to deliver mail. I was cold and miserable. A man was standing there waiting for his mail and I expected the same complaint I had been receiving: “Why are you so late?” This man whispered something and I thought “Here it comes!” I said “I beg your pardon?” and in a moment frozen in time, he put a microphone to his throat and said in a staticky voice “Merry Christmas”. I realized he had throat cancer and yet he added “And a Happy New Year.” How trivial my complaints about the cold and the customers felt as I left him thumbing through his mail.

There is the story of my mother on her last Christmas. I had received word of her cancer and the decision against chemotherapy. So I went back East to visit with her one last time. It was a beautiful time. But on the day before I was leaving, one week before Christmas, I walked into her room and she said “What are you doing here?” A little off-guard, i said “Mom, I’m not leaving until tomorrow.” She said “Isn’t today Christmas?” And I said no. But then I realized what she was up to. “Mom, are you trying to stay alive through Christmas?” She said “Of course I am! I don’t want to spoil everyone’s Christmas!” Ad that’s exactly what she did She slipped into a coma Christmas evening and died three days later.

Unlike Ralphie from a Christmas story, I don’t have a Christmas gift story about something like a Red Ryder rifle. But I do have a story about a silly little Christmas tree with trinkets on it, the kind of trinkets that might come in a box on Cracker Jacks. There’s a whistle, a light bulb, a key, a frying egg, and a harmonica that works. When I was 3 or 4, I saw that tree in a store I guess. I really liked it but was told it was too expensive. And yet Christmas morning there it was! I still have it. I suppose it reminds me of the simple joy found in a gift worth very little money-wise but with great meaning to a little boy.

I also have been blessed with listening to many Christmas stories. Some were not always happy ones yet needed to be told. Soldiers away from family at Christmas. Anniversary dates of losses. Memories of troubled families. Yet these stories too were in the minds and hearts of those telling them and I was and am always grateful they could share them with me.

So I hope you have a Christmas story or two and hope you share them.

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The Long Thanksgiving Dinner 2025

Posted on December 1, 2025 by richp45198

Thanksgiving has come and gone but it is never too late to celebrate this greatest of holidays! It is a time to celebrate family. It is a time to remind ourselves of the need for ongoing gratitude, especially during these days when fear and anger seem prevalent.

In the past, I have written about Thornton Wilder’s beautiful one act play “The Long Christmas Dinner” in which the life cycle of a family is portrayed over an imagined dinner in which persons come in through a white birth curtain and leave through a black curtain.

For me, that table is set at Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. I can see generations gathered about that table. Many have gone through the Black Curtain, some quite suddenly, some way too young.

One of my sisters never even makes it to the table. She comes to the table and leaves immediately through the Black Curtain. My other sister sits for only a moment, then also leaves.

But I also see many loved ones who sat at that table many times. My parents and my brother are there. Although she is aged, my Mom leaves the table quickly while my father takes a long slow walk to the Black Curtain.

I see old Aunt Margaret, she who was in Paris when Lindbergh landed. She who saw Babe Ruth play baseball (“Clumsiest man I ever saw!”). She who, in her 90s, gave me the finest anti-war sentiment I ever heard as she shook her head and said “So many young men.”

There are my Uncle Gaddy and Aunt Peg, my surrogate grandparents. I never sat at the table with my grandmothers. They had walked through the Black Curtain before I walked through the white one.. My grandfathers were also gone by the time I was 7. So these two wonderful people filled a great void — Gaddy with his burly Irish accent, the smell of cigars about him and Peg, maker of the World’s Greatest Peanut Butter cookies.

Aunt Mary is there, she who was schizophrenic, carrying on a constant patter of self-talk or reading romance novels.

I see too my Uncle Joe and Aunt Kathleen. She was sophisticated and helped John F. Kennedy carry the vote in Rhode Island. He was a veteran of the South Pacific, down-to-earth, smoking a cigarette as he was dying of lung cancer. Among many things, he helped me love the Redsox.

I see my Aunt Dorothy, my father’s only sibling. She who never married and the day after she retired, quit drinking, packed up and moved to California to be closer to my brother, leaving behind a stunning example of courage.

And I see my wife and family. For they — my wife, my children, my grandchildren and my son- and daughters-in-law– are at the center of my gratitude.

And yet, as I gather with my family, I will pause to be grateful for the many wonderful people, friends and family alike, who have gathered at my Thanksgiving table in person or in spirit. As always, others who were present in the past have slowly or quickly left the table for the black curtain. Yet all who grace and have graced that table will be present. We will join hands in gratitude and in hope, remembering especially this year the words from Shawshank Redemption: “Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.”

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here is the great Perry Como. Even as he aged, his voice still was a blessing!

Perry Como Live – Bless This House

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Senses as a Gateway to God

Posted on November 12, 2025 by richp45198

The Catholicism of my youth was at odds with our bodies. We were usually reminded that our bodies are “temples of the Holy Spirit”, implying that our human desires had no place in that temple. Further, discussions of sin tended to emphasize sexual sins, putting us further odds with our bodies, especially as puberty arrived.

I remember feeling some joy and relief when I first saw the film Chariots of Fire. At one point, Eric Liddel is trying to explain his love of running to his sister. He says: “God made me for a purpose…..But He also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.”

God in the midst of pleasure? What a revolutionary moment for me!

As time passed, I began to recognize that some profound spiritual experiences did not happen in churches but rather in the midst of sensory experience. The notion “live in the now” became popular and, to some extent, trivialized. But I did see that “living in the now” required me to be in touch with my senses.

Some of my greatest spiritual experiences have been sensual. Seeing Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Hearing Andrea Bocelli in concert singing Nessum Dorma. The coolness and emptiness of a pristine beach near the Skelligs in Ireland as I ran.

But suppose that I can connect with the God of my understanding on a regular basis just by paying attention to my senses? What might that look like?

I first realized that, to experience my God through my senses, I have to pay attention. I remember once I was walking home on my Good Friday walk. I was trying to figure out the whole notion of living in the now. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted several bird cages hanging from a house roof. The birds were singing! I stopped and listened to their concert. God was in that moment and, for a change, I paid attention. All I had to do was to stop, watch, and listen.

To be open to my senses, however, means that I have to accept unpleasant sensations. The pain from a 20-stitch gash in my leg (which, by the way, resulted from not paying attention!) The smell of burning dumps back in my hometown. (My mother, always finding God throughout her day, used to comment that the Sulphur in the air caused beautiful sunsets). The taste of sour milk. The sight of an immigrant detention center. The sound of my loved ones crying. I can’t be open to the good experiences while avoiding the unpleasant ones. It’s a package deal. Light has no meaning without darkness.

And, yes, God is there in the midst of sexual union in a profound way.

In the play The Fantastiks the narrator says “Celebrate sensation!” Indeed we should celebrate sensation. It can become a beautiful form of prayer.

When I look back on the notion of our bodies as temples of the Holy Spirit, I recognize that I did desecrate the temple of my body when I smoked three packages of cigarettes or a six-pack of beer each day with more on weekends. I desecrated this temple when I did not take medication for asthma in a proper way. But through prayer and meditation of the body, I have learned to honor that temple.

Here then are some of the recent entries in my prayerbook of the senses:

The desert and sky on a recent hike in the Franklin Mountains

Hearing my daughter practice her French horn

Tasting my wife’s homemade cookies

Hugs on Becky and Ben’s recent visits home

The fresh smell after the rare rainstorm in El Paso

For me to connect with God through my senses, I must pay attention. Jacob’s words stand as a reminder: “God was in this place and I did not know it!” (Genesis 28:16)

Reflection: How do you experience the God of your understanding through your senses?

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Favorite Bible Passages

Posted on October 31, 2025 by richp45198

Last Sunday I was assigned to do the reading at Mass. It was from 2 Timothy and was a favorite passage of mine; however, the translation watered it down and so, when I read it, I did so with the phrasing I like. The passage has great meaning to me and I didn’t appreciate some translator watering it down.

That experience in turn got me to reflect on favorite Bible passages. I am about to finish reading the Bible again and continue to have all kinds of mixed reactions. Some parts make my heart soar. Other parts sadden me. Others get me thinking. And, yes, some parts are still crushingly boring. And, yes, the Bible isn’t the only book of wisdom that I read. For me, each time I read it I relate to the humanness of David and to the anger of Job. My heart soars with some of Isaiah’s poetry. I get a lump in my throat when I read of Jesus and Dismas.

Here is the passage I read last Sunday “I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.” (2Timothy 4:7) As a runner who has run a few marathons, I understand that faith at times requires endurance and that, as I ran the streets of New York City or Falmouth or DC, I fought with myself, being tempted to give up. This passage too calls to mind the faith of people like my mother and mother-in-law, women who maintained a deep faith in the face of deep tragedies.

“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10) This passage is the cornerstone of my efforts to meditate. As 12_steppers say, prayer is talking to God and meditation is listening. To listen, I have to quiet my mind, something I find quite challenging. Repeating this passage in rhythm with my breathing helps.

“They that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength. They will mount up with wings as eagles. They will run and not go weary. They will walk and not grow feint”. (Isaiah 40:31) Another running image! Inspired by the film Chariots of Fire this passage helps me negotiate the tricky calling to “let go and let God.” A stained glass plaque with this passage given to me by my son Ben is on my wall where I see it every day.

“I believe, Lord. Help me in my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24) A man seeking Jesus’ help with a dying son makes this honest admission and Jesus helps him. As a man who struggles with doubts, this gives me hope.

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child. I thought as a child. I reasoned as a child. When I became a man, I put away childish things.” (Mark 9:24) On two different occasions, I was advised that perhaps my faith needed to grow up. The nerve of that priest and that therapist! They were, of course, right. For my faith to grow up, I have had to face doubts. I have had to face the anger I sometimes hold toward God. I have had to base my religious journey on something other than guilt and fear.

“Teach us to number our days that we may have wisdom of heart” (Psalms 90:12) This passage reminds me not to take life for granted and to live with a heart of gratitude. The great temptation is to take our lives for granted and to assume we’ll be around a long time. This Psalm call us to challenge that assumption, not out of fear but out of appreciation.

“Today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43) These words of Jesus to Dismas as they both were dying on crosses continues to be a source of great hope to me. This story of Dismas, also known as the Good Thief, appears only in the Gospel of Luke. Dismas was at rock bottom yet reached out to Jesus with hope. Jesus did not turn him away. As a person in recovery, Dismas is my patron saint.

Other better known passages such as Psalm 23 and Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (I sure wish the politicians would at least read this!) have also helped me and challenged me. I am sure there are more passages waiting for me when I will need them.

I’ll close with this great scene from Chariots of Fire.

Reflections: Do you have any favorite Bible passages?

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Disputed Passages

Posted on October 21, 2025 by richp45198

Recently my son Ben posted this quote by Walt Whitman on his Linkdin page and invited readers to reflect on what they have learned on their “disputed passage”

“Have you learned lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned the great lessons of those who rejected you, and braced themselves against you? or who treated you with contempt, or disputed the passage with you?” — Walt Whitman

This is a topic many of us expend energy avoiding and indeed I don’t like thinking about people who have hurt and angered me, much less the messes I created myself. I also don’t like thinking about events in my life I regret. Zen Buddhists as well as Stoics would challenge us to recognize the potential lesson present in any negative event.

When someone hurts or offends you, you have a choice. You can try to minimize it (“Who cares what N. thinks about me?”) I tried this on many occasions such as when I heard another psychologist had been referring to me as “eccentric” or when a church official labelled me “an enemy of the Church.”.

We can also allow the hurt to fester into a resentment. Sometimes we are not even aware of how much resentment we carry. Once a friend sensed my issues with resentment and recommended this exercise:

“Imagine you are sitting on a dock watching a ship approaching. As the ship nears you realize you know people on the ship. As the ship docks and people disembark, you realize they are all people toward whom you hold a resentment.”

When he suggested this I thought “OK. I’ll do that. Probably there will be 3 or 4 people.” I decided to write down names of those getting off the boat. I quit writing after filling two columns on a legal pad. And there were still people getting off the boat!

We can do other things like retaliate, perhaps with harsh words or actions. Perhaps even with violence. We can also wallow in self-pity. As one man once told me “I am the opposite of King Midas. Everything I touch turns into shit!”

What Whitman’s words suggest, however, is that we also have the option of turning the hurt into a learning. We can approach these “disputed passages” as opportunities for growth. I may not have had control over the hurtful events but I do have control over my response.

This does not mean that we allow ourselves to be someone’s emotional punching bag so that we might learn something. For some hurts, the learning may be that I need stronger boundaries or even that I learn to walk away.

Sometimes, though, a disputed passage invites me to look at myself with a critical eye. As the 12 Step program says, when we point a finger at someone, the other fingers point at us. Thus we may need to ask ourselves “What role did I play in this event?” A word of caution, however. When it comes to matters of physical, sexual, and emotional abuse, too often the victim will blame themselves. The challenge of those disputed passages is for the victim to accept that he/she did nothing to bring on the attack.

In most of the disputed passages on my own list, I brought them on myself. The disputed passage (e.g., almost flunking out of graduate school), challenged me to take responsibility for my own behavior instead of blaming others.

Finally, some disputed passages just happen. They are not brought on by anyone. They just happen. Illness is an example. Some people, when faced with a diagnosis, become bitter, resentful, even angry with God. Others become depressed and withdrawn. But even then we are faced with the option of choosing how we will respond. I have been fortunate to have sat with persons facing life-threatening illnesses who taught me much about facing the ultimate disputed passage.

There is a Zen story about a man who injured his leg with an axe. As he tried to treat the wound, he became angry, blaming the maker of the axe, the quality of the wood he was chopping, berating himself for being stupid and so on. A Zen master came by and saw the wounded man and assisted him in binding the wound. The man began to vent his anger and blame. The Zen master told him that life had shot him with an arrow when he injured his leg. “But now you are shooting yourself with another arrow” by which he meant the bitterness and anger the man was feeling. The man may have had no control over being shot by the first arrow but had control over hot shooting the second one.

Whitman would agree with the Zen tale. Life being what it is, we are shot with arrows, disputed passages. But we take each arrow, each disputed passage, as an opportunity to grow.

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Fr. Mychal Judge: A 9/11 Remembrance

Posted on September 11, 2025 by richp45198

In recognition of the 24th anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy, I repost this tribute to Fr. Mychal Judge, a man who deserves to be recognized as a saint. At this point in my journey, I have a need to surround myself with people of solid faith. Some I such as my wife I know personally. Others i have encountered in writings or film. I remember hearing Fr. Judge’s name mentioned in a newscast on the night of 9/11 as having died that day. May his memory be a blessing to us all!

On Martyrs: Fr. Mychal Judge

Posted on July 16, 2012 by richp45198

Fr. Mychal Judge is best known to most of us for his courageous actions as a New York City Fire Department Chaplain. On 9/11, he sacrificed his life as he administered the Last Rites.

There is a famous picture of Father Mychal being carried away from the site of his death. But I selected the above picture because, as significant as was his death, his life was more than that last act of heroism. Much more.

Fr. Mychal was a Wounded Healer. He drew upon his own struggles to reach out to many long before 9/11.

First of all, he was a recovering alcoholic some 23 years clean and sober at the time of his death. He remained active in Alcoholics Anonymous and, through his own recovery, helped others find their way to sobriety.

Fr. Mychal was also gay, a Franciscan priest in a religious organization not known for its welcoming attitude toward gays. While he did not advertise his sexual identity, he worked tirelessly on behalf of gay rights. When gays were turned away by the Catholic Church, he continued to minister to members of Dignity, a support program for Catholic gays and lesbians. Even moreso, he tended to the spiritual needs of many New Yorkers suffering and dying from AIDS. He reached out to them in the days when people still believed AIDS was contagious.

For me Fr. Mychal has come to represent several themes. First of all, he is a brother in recovery, one more person whose example has helped me find my own way. Second, he stands as an example of what is best about the Catholic Church. He has helped me see that there are really two Catholic Churches out here. One is authoritarian and repressive. But there is a second Church that welcomes all gays and lesbians, immigrants, persons of all race and color, veterans. That Church often comes under attack such that these times for that Church are especially hard in these days when gays and lesbians are still not welcome and persons are censured for speaking out. This second Church is invisible but I belong to it and am proud of that membership.

Fr. Mychal was rightly loved and revered by the New York City Fire Department. His heroism, however, was present long before in he died amidst the ashes.

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