Month: February 2012

An unfortunate, but all too true fact of life is that we are often our least loving, least pleasant and least gracious selves to the ones we truly love the most.  We often have the “get out of jail free” card attitude with people we maybe shared a room with for ten years growing up, or share a bed with now.  Why in the world is that???  I know how terribly guilty I am of this at times.  I struggle constantly with biting my tongue with my parents.  My sisters and I can move from BFFs to enemies and back again in a matter of moments.  Some view these relationships as blessings.  It’s fortunate to have people we can be ourselves with and regardless of what we might say or do, they accept us, forgive us and take us back, even when we’re at our nastiest.

I think today of my friend, Bryan Schwegler, who died suddenly last August at the age 34 and today, would have turned 35.  Bryan was in the prime of his life at the time of his passing.  He was the biggest fan of food I have ever met and when we would dine together, would never skip dessert.  We shared most of our undergrad classes at Ursuline and I know without a doubt that I would not have made it through half of them without him in class to entertain me.  Bryan would put me into hysterics with the things that amused him – the Burger King (not the establishment itself, but the actual Burger King character with its giant head that scared the crap out of people in commercials); he couldn’t get over my use of the Nelly song “Hot in Herrre” for a project we did together in our very first class.  Bryan and his partner, Adam, (along with my friend, Natasha) were the very first dinner guests I had when I moved into my apartment two years ago.  And on our graduation day in 2010, Bryan and I shared breakfast at the Original Pancake House in Woodmere before heading to school for practice and mass.  At the ceremony, we stood separated only by a few students and gave each other many smiles.  I was happy our friendship continued after we left school.  We would try to see each other once a month with Bryan and Adam either cooking for me at their home or taking me to a restaurant Bryan would insist I HAD to try.  In July of last year, Bryan, Adam and me had dinner at Sweet Melissa’s and watched a Shakespeare in the Park production of “Othello” on the lawn of Lakewood Park before calling it a night.  A few weeks later, we made plans to get together on August 22 to have dinner on the patio at The Player’s Club in Lakewood.  I remember being in email with him confirming our plans and remarking how excited I was to see him – to learn more about his Swedish lessons in preparation for his upcoming trip to Sweden and hear more about his Masters classes at Ursuline.  On the morning of Friday, August 19, I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a post from Adam that read, “Bryan Schwegler passed away last night.”  Do you ever read something and have to read it over and over because you’re not convinced what you read was actually real?  Yeah, it was something like that… the worst was confirmed and on August 22, instead of having dinner with my friend, I went to his memorial service and walked away knowing I would never in this life see him, touch him, laugh with him, learn from him, or smile at him again.

Monday’s gospel spoke of how we treat each other.  How when we’re at our best, and treat others with our best, we are treating God with our best.  And how when we’re at our worst, we are treating God with our worst.  There is nothing I am more grateful for than knowing my last interactions with Bryan were positive ones.  That I know my friend died knowing he was loved by me.  What I hope for is that everyone I love knows the same.  And it’s my job to make sure they do.

I intended to write this morning about the homilies I heard on Friday and Sunday.  But at this moment, it’s hard to think about or write about anything other than what happened in Chardon this morning.  I don’t know about anyone else, but the thought that something so horrific could happen in a place so close to where I am is almost impossible to comprehend.  Columbine seems years and miles away from today.  I was 19 years old when Columbine occurred – long before the days of Facebook, Twitter or texting.  One thing I am grateful for is that so many kids carry cell phones now and were likely able to contact their families to let them know they were okay.  But there’s a double-edge sword in that as well.  For every parent that received an instant text or phone call, there were undoubtedly some who did not and were likely panicked.  There were exaggerated, inaccurate news accounts out there of what happened and who did it.  There were Twitter photos identifying the shooter that may have been incorrectly posted.  There is a rush in our society now.  A rush to find out, a rush to know and a rush to tell everyone what we think is the truth.

Is there a rush to pray?  I think so.  I saw many posts on Facebook talking about praying.  Praying for the victims – for their families – for the shooter.  Pray for the kids who never wondered or worried about being safe when they went to school.  Pray that their innocence might be returned to them.  Pray that evil can stop and love can spread.

Whatever you might pray for or to whom you might pray, it is never too late to start.  There is never a reason to believe that He is not listening to you.

As most of the free world knows, today is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of the season of Lent.  Lent means a lot of different things for people – for some, it’s a time of self-sacrifice.  Those I’ve talked to are giving up everything from chocolate to sweets to booze to sex.  For others, it’s an opportunity to do more for friends, family or strangers.  I’ve “celebrated” Lent in various ways throughout the years… I’ve given up drinking, candy and shopping.  I’ve donated more money to charity.  But last year, I embarked on what was likely the boldest Lenten promise I’ve ever made to myself or to God.  I challenged myself to attend mass – not every Sunday, but every day.  If memory serves, I believe I attended mass 25 of 40 days last year.  It was, to say the least, an eye-opening experience… I realized how little I actually pay attention when I’m in church.  I would leave church, walk to my car and be unable to recall any of the homily.  I realized I was on autopilot throughout the service – responding to prayers like a character in George Orwell’s 1984 or in that creepy Apple Super Bowl commercial from years ago.  I didn’t like this at all… I didn’t like that I was devoting myself to spending time with God and was using that time to determine who I was going to go out with on Friday night.  I used the experience to become more involved at the Cathedral in downtown Cleveland and became a Eucharistic Minister on Wednesday afternoons.  I then began reading there every other Friday in addition to my bi-monthly reading at my home parish in Mentor.

My parents raised four children in a Catholic home.  Church and PSR were mandatory.  But when we became adults, Mom and Dad never forced us to continue going to church or take part in Catholicism.  Of my siblings, I am arguably the most involved in my native religion.  My brother has chosen a different path of Christianity and is very involved with his church… my sisters don’t often attend mass.  Mass and the Church feel like home to me.  Do I love everything about Catholicism?  Absolutely not.  But in life, do we ever love everything about everything?  Can we name a time when our employer made a decision or rule that we didn’t agree with?  Likely, but I doubt many left their job because of it… can we remember when our significant other or friend did or said something against what we truly believe in?  Surely, but we may have not ended the relationship because of it.  So no – Catholicism is not perfect.  But the last time I checked, neither was I.

Today, I embark again on a journey of attending daily mass for the next 40 days.  And I’m planning to truly listen – soak in the messages – enjoy this time with God and allow the words I hear to follow me out of the building and into my every day life.