Unconditional Love

My earliest memory is of my grandmother, Cecelia Katherine Holmes, walking me home from my first day of kindergarten. Almost twenty years later, I had the honor of delivering the eulogy at her funeral. And today, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of her death, I share those words with you, that the grace she embodied might continue to live.

Who was Kay Holmes?

I could say all the usual things that you see in the obituaries, but she was so much more than that. At her very essence she was love. Her entire being, personality, mannerisms; everything resonated with love. And not just any love, but the kind of unconditional love that you rarely see.

Kay was the kind of person who made everyone feel like family. She lived it with her sisters. She instilled it in her children and grandchildren. She became part of her in-laws families, to the point that they considered her “Grandma” as much as we did. She gave it to her tenants and everyone else she came into contact with. She even talked about the announcers on the Home Shopping Channel like her kids.

That was the other remarkable thing about Kay, her ability for storytelling. She kept everyone connected, because whenever you talked to her, she would go on and on about everyone else in the family. She loved to tell you everything she could about what her kids and grandkids were doing. She loved to talk about all the people she had come into contact with that day.

But as much as she talked, she also loved to listen. She wouldn’t give advice, she’d just take her time and listen. She had a spirit so gentle, patient, and tolerant, that you felt safe with her. She could be your grandma one minute and your best friend the next.

I think one anecdote from the past few days sums up who Kay was. As the mortuary workers were about to take her out of the apartment, her canary, who had been completely silent up until then, broke out into this amazingly beautiful song. You can call it coincidence, animal instinct, or whatever you like, but we all know the truth. God sang to her and to us through that canary; praising her for a life well lived and telling us to be proud of all that she was and all that she gave. She was God’s unconditional love here on earth and she gave it every day of her life.

That was who Kay Holmes was.

And it is entirely fitting that she died on the Solemnity of All Saints.

I miss Grandma Kay, but I know that I will see her again someday. Until then, I strive to be a man of whom she will be proud; for that is the true definition of success.

Sister Koko

This Friday is the anniversary of the death of Hanabi-Ko, "Fireworks Child"; known to the world as Koko. Like most, her life was a mixture of both delight and pain. She expressed serious thoughts, on mortality and existence for example, as well as petty ones, such as lies or anger. She became infatuated with colleagues, and mourned a beloved pet. Koko was an attentive listener and a good friend. And yes, she was also a gorilla.

I have long been fascinated by the implications of Koko's story. Was she truly conscious? Could she love? Did she have a soul? Was she a glimpse into our past, or a harbinger of our family's expansion? Dr. Penny Patterson, the psychologist who taught and cared for her, once asked Koko, "Do gorillas know things that people don't?" How much wisdom is out there in the wild, awaiting our acceptance of its keepers as our equals?

Koko and her kin are evidence of the falsity of anthropocentrism. We humans are not the apex of creation or evolution. Our Parent has birthed countless sisters and brothers; and not just on one little rock in the universe. Abandon your fear, and open your hearts to this strange and wonderful reality. For as Dr. Patterson declared about gorillas, so it must be said of all created beings, "If there's anything sacred in us, it's in them, too."

E Pluribus Unum

Out of many, one. We Americans are called to be a sacred people, a manifestation of the family to which all humans belong. A heavy cross, for sure, but ours nonetheless.

I understand that it is hard to recognize such duty in the midst of these days of rage. We seem hell-bent on dividing one another into two camps: the children of light on one side, and the children of darkness on the other; or vice versa, depending on your point of view. In such an atmosphere, hatred and vengeance can feel righteous. But it is precisely now, when we appear most divided, that we must return to our sacred task. The truest way we can honor George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and all of their companions is to actively strive to become the people our Parent is calling us to be.

Let us begin by recalling the admonition of our Brother: love your enemies. Listen to the voices with whom you most differ; not just with your ears, but with your heart; and not to change your mind, but to understand the soul of that other. Why does he think this? Why does she feel that? The goal here is not to appreciate their perspective, but to genuinely see life through their eyes. It is about moving from enmity to sympathy to empathy, then allowing that vision to carry you onward to friendship and family.

This path, however, will not eradicate injustice. As long as we are human, our lusts and fears will spawn viruses of the heart and soul. And as long as our skin comes in a variety of shades, racism will be among them. We can never remove the viruses completely, but we can alleviate their symptoms. And to do that, we must come to know one another as friends, as family. Siblings can fight viciously, but they also have a way to navigate out of conflict, because the bonds of family cannot be permanently severed.

Now, nowhere in this post have I mentioned the state, for this is not their project. Human institutions will always be corrupt and abusive, for they cannot escape the arrogance and greed of their builders and keepers. Friendship can mitigate such failures, more soundly than the reforms or rebellions of the smart people and their smart ideas, but nothing can eliminate them. We are forever sinful and fallible, as are the works of our hands.

Fortunately, our cross does not belong to that category. Will you help carry it? If so, then let this be our cause: to see the other, every other, not as a threat, but as a sibling whose story we have yet to learn. An impossible task, for sure, but do not allow reality to hinder the attempt. This is about family, after all. And you never quit on family.

Ordinary Saints

My favorite part of the Easter Vigil liturgy is the singing of the Litany of the Saints. Sadly, due to the postponement of baptisms and confirmations, this melody was confined to my heart and soul this year. On the upside, adding some "unofficial" saints to the roster was much easier than normal. I have written elsewhere about my friend, Fr. Greg Coiro, and my cousin, Nicole Bidwell. And now, it is my duty and privilege to introduce you to a few other departed companions: Kevin and Donna Huckaby, and Roger Scoggins.

Donna hired me to teach religion at St. Francis High School, and became my mentor and friend. She was the epitome of what Catholic education should stand for: God and grace first, everything else second. Such a vision ruffled certain feathers, but also touched and transformed many lives. Donna loved us, students and staff alike, and strove each day to help us become the people whom God created us to be; most powerfully, by sharing the story of her son, Kevin, on the quarterly senior class retreats, known as Kairos.

Kevin developed a seizure disorder while still a toddler. Doctors predicted a terribly short lifespan, but he bested that by nearly fifty years. Donna would recount harrowing tales of hospital visits and dark nights of the soul, alongside joyful ones about a man whose mind never outgrew the unconditional love of a child. She spoke of the power of friendship and the necessity of forgiveness, especially of oneself; lessons that Kevin taught her over the decades. As an adult, he resided in group homes nearby to where my wife and I live, so we had the good fortune of spending time with him. He loved the Beach Boys, and Mary Poppins, and eating at IHOP. He couldn't talk or walk very well, but he sang gleefully and moved faster than you expected. And when Kevin smiled, you smiled back.

Eventually, however, illness and seizures got the upper hand, and death came for Kevin in October of 2018. Donna had already been struggling with dementia, but went downhill quickly after this and died last year, just after Christmas. I suppose her soul couldn't bear the separation. Several years ago, I took a photo of the two of them in the park, walking hand-in-hand. That is how I see them now: mother and son, together, forever.

In the intervening years, I left St. Francis, took time off to write, then found a support staff job at a public middle school, which is where I met my friend Roger.

Roger was the school's head custodian. The world might sniff at that job title, but no one who ever knew him would. He was the hardest worker on campus, bar none. That alone would merit respect, but he gave a lot more of himself than just time and energy. Like all such people, his generosity was often taken advantage of; but he refused to allow that to make him less kind or joyful. He shared his friendship abundantly and broadly, but had a special fondness for the "special needs" students, who returned his affection with gusto. Roger was a true gentle-man, strong and tough, yet unashamed of saying "I love you" to his friends; and unquestionably, one of the finest men I have had the honor to know. He died just a few weeks ago, appropriately enough, on Valentine's Day.

Now, don't get me wrong, these were not perfect people. Kevin could be moody, even to the point of violence in his later years. (Some of his caregivers said, jokingly or not, that he had finally entered adolescence!) And Donna was so focused on him that, by her own admission, she neglected her other children at various times. Which brings us to Roger, whose stubbornness kept him from addressing his health issues until it was too late. No, these were not perfect people. But they were good people, who loved their brothers and sisters, and did their very best to serve the One who is parent of us all.

And here's the best news: they are not alone. The key theme of Kairos was, "If you want to find God, don't look up, look around." An assertion that the Divine Presence lies within each one of us, ready to be shared with the world like living sacraments. Not all of us, of course, are willing to tap into such grace. There are some, however, who are unafraid to walk in friendship with Love and Love's Author. They rarely make the news. Nor are they mourned by millions. But they are the salt and sparkle of our world. And I give thanks for all of them, especially the ones whom I have been blessed to know.

My sisters and brothers, Nicole, Greg, Kevin, Donna, Roger, and all the ordinary saints who toil in anonymity for the sake of faith, hope, and love, pray for us!