Higgins Beach (my vacation, part 2)

It has been a while since my last blog post, but I wanted to continue the story of my vacation. It sets the context for what comes next. I'm back-dating this post to the time when it takes place. 

Part II: Higgins Beach

When I got the beach house I was greeted at the door by my good friend Mike and his 3-year old daughter Hannah. Mike and I could tell she wasn't too sure about this stranger who was showing up close to her bedtime. Mike explained that I was "daddy's friend" named Bishop Thomas. She, of course, needed to test this relationship, so she held out her toy bunny rabbit to me. Naturally, I gave the bunny a hug, but as I went to give it back to her she corrected me: "He needs a kiss, too!" So I gave the toy a peck on the nose, and she was happy. Little did I know that this would be the start of a lovely friendship. Hannah, in short, just *loved* Bishop Thomas. She wanted to sit next to me at meals, and regularly wanted me to read her stories. Her two older sisters were also present in the house, as well as kids from other visiting families. It was really nice to be part of the family, and happily the kids were able to keep themselves pretty well entertained. I should add that Mike's parents were also there, and were absolutely great hosts (with amazing food!)

Mike and Ellie were kind to offer me the use of the attic bedroom, which was just lovely. I felt like I had a personal retreat centre in the middle of a family home, with a view overlooking the beach and, further on, the ocean. Sunday morning we had mass at a nearby parish, and then I got busy doing... nothing. Well, not quite. Personal prayer was a big part of this time off. In addition to the Liturgy of the Hours I went on prayer walks along the beach and through the neighbourhood, rosary beads in hand. I also made it for mass at the local parish each day, where the pastor and his assistant (and indeed, all the people I met) were warm in their welcome. 

A lovely family I got to know, with a connection to Montreal!

Spiritual reading was also a big part of my time. Some months before I had read the Dialogue of Saint Catherine of Siena, but it was a library copy so I wasn't to mark it up with pencil and write notes in the margin like I usually do to really appropriate a book and its contents. Since then, however, I had bought my own copy, and my goal was simply to re-read it and see what I might get out of it a second time. I have to say, I was not disappointed. Wow, this woman was true genius of the spiritual life, tackling deep issues like heaven, hell, joy, and pain. It is not an easy read, not because the language is tough, but because it is so deep. 

I was looking forward to a week of this, reading, praying, and relaxing in the company of good friends. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Tuesday night (Aug 22), three days after arriving, I got a message from my brother Chris, so I gave him a call. It was among the worst news possible: he had just been diagnosed that day with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), otherwise known as Lou Gehrig's disease. We spoke a bit, and then I hung up the phone, wondering what I should do next.

Family day in Ottawa with new cousins

My family on my mother's side is on the larger side, and unfortunately that means there has been some loss of contact between some of us. What a joy it was, then, to meet up two cousins, Genevieve and Shayne, children of my (late) uncle Winfred. I've only gotten a chance to get to know Genevieve in the past couple of years, but despite her living on the other side of North America social media lets us all keep in touch. As for Shayne, we first ever connected through Facebook, and today was my chance to meet him for the first time, believe it or not. 

It's funny, you know -- we could all just be strangers to each other, but the power of family just opens doors to conversation and sharing life. It was awesome to see them both, and I look forward to connecting again soon.

Connecting with family at Aunt Louise's funeral

I was in Ottawa today (June 23) for the funeral of my aunt Louise (celebrated this morning). While a sad occasion it was good to connect with family. My cousins Paul and Patrick were there, as well as their extended family, such as little Ava, a most recent addition (she is my first cousin twice removed).

My mother, brother and sister were also there, along with my brother's oldest daughter Chloe, and my sister's three kids (including Brigid and Paxton, below).

Paxton was especially adorable. I don't get to see him as much as I would like, so sometimes he plays strange with me, but not today. I sat down and he came over and plunked himself down right next to me. No special reason, he just wanted to be close. Again, adorable.

Learning about conscience, part 1: Saint Thomas More

I was a kid in a time before video on demand services like Netflix. Heck, it was before PVRs and even VCRs. We had one TV in the house, and if you wanted to know what was going on you consulted the newspaper or a print publication like TV Guide. Or, sometimes you'd be channel surfing and if you came across something you wanted to watch, you either just watched it or you let it go.

I don't remember exactly how old I was when A Man for All Seasons came on TV. It was probably between the ages of 7 and 10. It was an afternoon, and I'm pretty sure it was a Saturday. In those days, Saturday morning was a time for kids to watch cartoons, but at a certain point the kids shows stopped and the "grown up" shows took over. My recollection is that I had finished watching "my" shows, and my dad had come downstairs to watch "his show". But as I was getting up to go, my dad invited me to stay and watch the movie with him. I wasn't too sure -- I generally found "grown up" shows boring. But my dad said, "This movie is about someone you are named after." Really? Wow! So I couldn't refuse.

For those who do not know A Man for All Seasons, it is the story of Sir Thomas More (later known as Saint Thomas More). He was the good friend of King Henry VIII, and at one point was Chancellor of England. This was in the 16th century, when the Protestant Reformation was in full swing on the Continent. At one point Henry had himself declared the head of the Church in England, and communion disintegrated between himself and the Pope. Sir Thomas More could not accept to go down that path, and he eventually lost everything, including his life.

At my age, I did not understand all that was going on in the story. It was set in another century, the dialogue was a fairly advanced form of English, and I knew very little about the Protestant Reformation except that some kids in our neighbourhood were "protestants" which meant they went to a different church than us. But my dad explained things as needed, and my focus anyway was mainly on the main character who had the same name as me.

The story of Saint Thomas More left a deep impression on me, leaving me perplexed and even disturbed. My father asked me what I thought about the story, and I remember asking him the same question.

"I've always admired Thomas More," my father explained. "For me, he is a model of what it means to follow your conscience."

"Conscience? What's that?" I asked.

My dad did not answer the question directly. Instead of saying what it was, he said what it meant. "To live by your conscience means to always act according to the truth. That's what Thomas More did."

I changed the focus of my questioning. "But why did Sir Thomas go all the way to being killed?"

"He didn't want to die," my father explained. "If you noticed, Thomas was trying to avoid falling into the danger set before him. He didn't go looking for trouble, in fact he did his best to get out of it, but when in the end they backed him into a corner and said he had to deny his commitment or else, he refused to do so."

"That's what conscience means," he continued. "To live by your conscience means you have to have courage. Anybody can find excuses to avoid challenges and suffering, but sometimes there are things we have to be willing to sacrifice for. For example, if someone ever made me have to choose between my life and yours, or my life and the life of your mother, or brother, or sister, I'd choose to die rather than let you die. At least I hope I would, I hope I'd have the courage to do that."

Now that got my attention. My dad didn't know it, but he was teaching me about the difference between courage and daring. People will sometimes do something dangerous on a dare, but real courage is not just about daring. It is about daring to do the right thing, even if it costs you.

This, of course, raised other questions in my mind. After all, if following your conscience could have such high stakes, you had better be pretty sure of what the right thing is. After all, there is no point suffering for the wrong thing!

My father confirmed as much. "To follow your conscience takes courage, but you also have to use your brain," he said. "You have to always be willing to seek the truth and stick with it. But it also takes humility, because no one can ever know the whole truth all at once. You have to be willing to admit you don't know everything, and to be willing to ask questions. It helps to be part of a community that is committed to finding the truth and living it. That's what the Church is for."

Getting back to my story, I remember asking my dad if all this conscience stuff was really worth it. Remember, I was a kid and peer pressure was a fact of life. If joining with my friends was the path of least resistance, why not just do that, at least in the normal course of life? My father reminded me that, in the film, Sir Thomas had a conversation with his good friend the Duke of Norfolk, who had tried to persuade Thomas to take a false oath "for fellowship". Thomas replied, "And when we die, and you are sent to heaven for doing your conscience, and I am sent to hell for not doing mine, will you come with me, for fellowship?"

I looked at my father and said that this argument did not sound fair. God was going to punish us for not following our conscience? Is that the ultimate reason why we should seek the truth and be willing to suffer for it -- because we are afraid of God?

With great patience, and with (I believe) some delight in the fact that I was pushing the issue so far, he replied that, in fact, having a strong conscience, one that was anchored in truth and had the courage to live it, was actually the source of one of the greatest assets a personality can have: inner freedom. Saint Thomas, in his struggle, showed himself to be more free than the King himself, even when he was locked up in the Tower of London.

We need that inner freedom, my father explained, to be able to live according to the ultimate law: the law of love. I had heard of this law before, during the Bible readings and sermons and church, such as in the expression "love your neighbour". That law doesn't say we have to like our neighbour, but that we do have to love him. We have to even love our enemies. But, as my father explained, how can we do that unless we have the inner freedom to do so? Real love cannot be forced, it must be free. Having a strong conscience makes us free inside, the kind of freedom that Saint Thomas had to declare that he was "the King's faithful servant, but God's first".

"That's why we wind up in Hell if we disobey our conscience," my father explained. "We can't live real love with out. And God is love, Heaven is love. It's not that God will punish us if we don't follow our conscience, it's that conscience is our guide to Heaven, to being with God. And while God sometimes grants people visions or speaks words to them, it's in our conscience that God ordinarily impresses himself up on. If our conscience isn't clear, we can't have a real relationship with Him."

This conversation had a lasting effect upon me, even until today. For example, as I've gotten older I've come to realise this conversation was the start of my passion for ecumenical and inter-faith dialogue (heck, even dialogue with sincere atheists). I like speaking with people who have convictions and try and live by them. Our convictions may differ, but if those convictions are sincere it means the other person is willing to have them tested in the name of a higher principle, i.e. the principle that The Truth is more important than "this or that" truth. As I would learn later, this perspective would eventually come in handy when I started to have my own "crisis of faith" -- that that is a story for another time.

RIP to my aunt Louise Turner (nee Dowd)

I got a message from my cousin Paul that his mother Louise (my aunt) passed away. Condolences to her two sons, their spouses, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was predeceased by her husband Bruce a little under a year ago.

My siblings and I remember her kindness during many a visit to her home when I was young. She was suffering from dementia in recent years, so we kept those memories for her. Now she is with the Lord. May she rest in peace.

UPDATE: Here is her obituary.

A look back at 2016

2016 was a big year for me in many ways, so rather than just send Christmas cards like I usually do I thought of sending an end-of-year letter instead. I’ve always appreciated getting news from others, and I’m hoping this letter will be meaningful for you.

First, an important piece of context. In July of 2015 our family got word that my father had been diagnosed with an untreatable form of pancreatic cancer. We did not expect him to last very long, but to our surprise and delight Papa was still with us for Christmas and New Year’s, and was doing very well. It was a good start to the year.

Towards the end of January I was blessed to be able to take a trip to Barbados to visit different sets of friends who have winter homes there. I was originally going to stay in a parish, but a mix up in the timing actually brought an even better opportunity: Bishop Jason Gordon very generously let me stay at his home right near Saint Patrick Cathedral (and a five minute walk from the beach!) I went to be able to get some sun, but I came back with new and renewed friendships. It was truly a blessed time.

The first few months of 2016 brought to a close an initiative I began five years ago: the extended pastoral visitation of our parishes. Three parishes remained, and so I got a chance to spend time at Saint Patrick’s (January), Saint Malachy’s (February), and Ascension of our Lord (April). Those five years of visits were very helpful in my ministry, and frankly were a tremendous blessing for me as I got to see first hand the living dynamism of our christian communities.

Ash Wednesday brought us into Lent, during which I had the chance to preach a three-day Lenten mission at Saint Edmund of Canterbury parish. As the Church throughout the world was engaged in the Year of Mercy declared by Pope Francis, each evening’s theme looked at some aspect of the mercy God shows us in his love. Evening #1 explored the theme of mercy in the Bible, evening #2 was on the works of mercy in the world, and evening #3 was about living reconciliation – not just the sacrament, but the reality of reconciliation in our life. After each presentation I answered questions from the crowd. It was great to be in teaching mode.

Lent led to Holy Week, and soon it was Easter. My father was visibly weakening, but was still with us both in body and in spirit. Our family gathered with joy for Easter dinner, but within a couple of weeks we were gathering again as he took a turn for the worse. Papa died in his sleep on April 9, sometime in the early morning. Saint Maurice parish in Ottawa (Nepean) was absolutely packed for his funeral on April 14. It was an explosion of grace, and while there was sadness there was also a lot of joy. We buried Papa next next day in the family plot at Notre Dame cemetery in Ottawa in a small ceremony attended by family and friends. Despite our sadness, a silver lining soon emerged: my sister announced that she was pregnant with her 3rd child, and was due on Christmas day! Given the timing, it meant that the first person from our family to know would have been my father, from his point of view in Heaven.

On the pastoral front, the post-Easter season saw the launch of our first-ever diocese-wide Alpha course (April 3). I had been to London, England the previous year to get to know the leadership of the Alpha movement, and we were now ready to offer the course to the English-speaking sector of Montreal. The course gathered people from across Montreal, Laval, and beyond. It was our hope that this session of the course would let people learn the skills to bring it back to their parishes. I am so grateful to the team that put everything together – one day the Lord will let them know how transformative their labour really was for others.

April 26, 2016, was the inaugural general meeting of members for Catholic Action Montreal, a new charity launched with the blessing of Archbishop Christian Lépine to gather the energies of our people to produce practical works of charity. I was elected to the new Board of Directors, with the shared mission to set the vision for the new charity. Exciting times!

May was a very busy month. The many celebrations of confirmation keep bishops occupied after Easter, and 2016 was no exception. I was in Toronto on May 10-11 for the annual dialogue between the Catholic and Orthodox bishops, and it was good to connect again with these men that I’ve been blessed to get to know these past few years. I flew to Strasbourg, France, in the last week of May for a session of exams in canon law. I’m happy to report that I passed, meaning that I completed all the requirements of year 2 of my program. Of course, it did take me 6 years to do it, and even with that I was only 2/3 of the way to completion… but more on that later.

June brought other ministry initiatives. On June 7, Catholic Christian Outreach (CCO) launched its new presence in Montreal, working in conjunction with the Catholic chaplain of Concordia University. I flew to Halifax for the first-ever Divine Renovation conference June 13-14, where I had a chance to speak as part of a panel and where I got a chance to connect with a Montreal priest who was completing a 6-month internship to be able to bring the Divine Renovation approach back home with him. I got back just in time to be one of the principal co-consecrators for Bishop-elect Alain Faubert, who became a new auxiliary bishop for Montreal on the evening on June 15. June 25 saw the kickoff of a new camping season at Camp Kinkora, and I was blessed with the chance to say mass for the staff of the camp as it started the season with new management. Finally, I was in Philadelphia June 29 and 30 for the Catholic Leadership Roundtable annual meeting, where I had a chance to be interviewed for my take on the link between managerial practices and church culture. Philadelphia also brought a nice surprise, in that to my delight the Petit chanteurs de Mont Royal were in town for some concerts.

And then, July. And vacation. And probably one of the best spiritual retreats I’ve ever had. The Jesuits have a house in Guelph, Ontario, and that’s where I followed the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius for eight days. Honestly, those days were a balm on my soul. I was really pooped, and all that work meant that I hadn’t really had the time to properly grieve the loss of my father. Those days in Guelph gave me a chance to rest, to recuperate, and to reconnect with the Lord. I am grateful beyond words to those who made it all happen.

I got back to Montreal in August and found myself facing a choice. Archbishop Lépine had asked Bishop Faubert and myself to each become a Vicar General for the archdiocese. This meant that I would have to leave my role as Episcopal Vicar to the English-speaking faithful, a calling that had brought me great joy over the past five years (admittedly with a few challenges too). Archbishop Lépine and I had discussed this change prior to the July vacation, so it was one of the questions I brought with my on my retreat. I began my new role on September 1, 2016.

The honeymoon, such as it was, didn’t last long. The next day (September 2) I got a call from my sister Miriam. Through her tears she informed me that she was already in labour – at only 23.5 weeks, perilously close to the edge of viability for the baby. The pains subsided shortly after, but the threat of a severely premature birth hung over us. I headed to Ottawa as soon as I could, and while I was visiting Miriam on Monday, September 5, the labour pains began again. Little baby Temperance was born that day, weighing only 1.5 pounds (680 grams). She was rushed to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) of the Ottawa General Hospital, where she would spend the next several months learning to breathe, to eat, and generally to be a baby. It was a stressful time, especially for my sister and her family. Still, people rallied to help them. A meal train began to take care of the cooking for a while, and a GoFundMe campaign was launched which raised over $10,000 to help them with expenses. Some of the neighbourhood kids even did a lemonade stand fundraiser to help do their part. I am eternally grateful to all those who offered prayers and material support for Temperance and her family.

While that drama was unfolding in Ottawa, my work as a bishop kept up its usual crazy September pace. I am the Bishop-promoter of the Apostleship of the Sea for Canada, a ministry which took a new step forward when we both hosted a gathering for port chaplains at the beginning in September as well as a special lunch for bishops with port chaplains during the plenary meeting of the Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops in Cornwall at the end of the month. I also preached a 4-day mission in the middle of September at my parish of Our Lady of Fatima, and finally I headed to Strasbourg, France, once again to start the third (and final) academic year of my degree in canon law. I’ll be honest, as I was boarding the plane for Paris I wondered if I needed my head examined, because this third year would involve one trip of a week’s duration per month until March (i.e. seven times!). Still, this was another thing I had prayed about during my summer retreat, and I really felt that God wanted me to do this – so off I went.

October brought with it a wonderful grace to which Our Lady of Fatima parish had been working for several months: the celebration of the dedication of our parish church on Thursday, October 13, the 99th anniversary of the Miracle of the Sun at Fatima. The Sunday after, October 16, the parish celebrated the living stones that make up the community by hosting an intercultural day, showcasing the many nations and cultures that make up the parish. It was amazing, and as I boarded the plane that evening to France for trip two of seven, I did so with real joy in my heart. Not long after returning from France seven days later, I was headed to the airport again, this time to speak alongside my good friend Glenn Smith at a conference in New York City run by an Evangelical think-tank dedicated to urban missionary work. It’s rare that a Catholic bishop gets a chance to address a couple of thousand evangelical pastors, and I was truly honoured to have the chance. It was also my first-ever chance to see the Big Apple, and staying at a hotel right near Times Square added something special to the experience.

The month of November brought with it a truly extraordinary experience: Montreal’s second Parish Vitality Conference (November 10-12). With access to workshops, speakers, and a rally gathering our movements and associations, 250+ attendees explored how we can transform our love for our parishes into practical movement forward for their growth and vitality. Just a few days before, Father Ray Lafontaine was announced as my successor for the pastoral leadership of the English-speaking Catholics of our Archdiocese, and so the conference served as a good occasion to “pass the torch”. I congratulate the team who did such amazing work on the conference – I am so proud of you.

The fact of no longer having two jobs meant, of course, that now I could bring greater focus to my role as Vicar General for economic and administrative affairs. And there was plenty of work to do! My 3-5 year action plan was approved, giving the green light to how we would organize things in the months ahead. I worked on drafts of new policies for human resources and document control, with other implementation plans to follow. And I had two more week-long trips to France, one toward the end of the November and another three weeks later, in December. There was never a dull moment, including a chance to present to a parliamentary commission in Quebec City (December 7, my 15th anniversary of priesthood) and to connect with the Department of Canadian Heritage in Ottawa, where I met Minister Mélanie Joly (December 8).

All that administrative stuff began to die down as Christmas approached, and it was with a deep sense of satisfaction that I joined my parishioners in prayer for the masses of the Christmas weekend. I made it to Ottawa on December 27, to spend the few remaining days of the year with family. People asked me what I was planning on doing for that time, and I answered, “I’m going to hold Temperance in my arms. I have no other plans for the rest.” And so I did, a moment that was definitely a highlight of the whole year. Little Temperance, you will recall, was originally due on December 25, and holding her was my best Christmas present ever.

Like I said, 2016 was a big year, and a tough one. Lots more could have been said. I want to thank all those who supported me and my family with their friendship, prayers, and patience. 2017 already promises to also be a big year as well, so stay tuned!

The story of Temperance: she's home!

My niece Temperance was born on September 5, 2016 (Labour Day), but at only 24 weeks (and weighing only 680 grams). Given her extreme prematurity she has been in the hospital for weeks, including in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). That all changed on December 3, when she finally made it home. Woo hoo!

My sister writes:

So far things are going well! It's sooo nice to have her home and not having to run off to the hospital everyday. We're so in love. Her older siblings love her too. Paxton will come to you asking "Hold it? Hold it?" Lol. Brigid been drawing pictures of our family and writing the number 5 on them. Temperance is such a blessing to us all.

I want to thank all those who have been such a blessing to our family. You've prayed, you've babysat, you've cooked meals, you've helped financially...In short, you've been the Body of Christ in action. It has been a wonder to be part of it.

I've not yet had a chance to see her since she's been home, but I will be in Ottawa between Christmas and New Years. I'm looking forward to holding her in my arms.

The story of Temperance (Thanksgiving update)

My niece Temperance was born on September 5, 2016 (Labour Day), but at only 24 weeks (and weighing only 680 grams). Given her extreme prematurity she has been in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) ever since. Still, I got a chance to visit with her last October 10 (Canadian Thanksgiving), on her 5th week birthday. I thought I'd offer an update.

First of all, let me say THANK YOU to the legions of people who offered prayers for Temperance. We all felt we were being lifted up to the Lord.

I would also like to say thank you to the great many people who helped with the meal train and GoFundMe campaigns that helped my sister Miriam and her husband Michael be available to care for Temperance and her older sister Brigid (4 years old) and older brother Paxton (2 years old this week). To give you a sense of how wide-reaching that support was, some of the neighbourhood kids actually put up a lemonade stand to make a few dollars to help out. It's things like that which make you realise that it really is the thought that counts.

As for the baby, Temperance is doing very well. This doesn't mean there haven't been a few moments of concern along the way. By definition very premature babies are underdeveloped in significant ways. Her immune system is weaker, for example, meaning that any infection can be very dangerous. At one point Temperance had to be started on antibiotics because the nurses found she had a pimple. It might not sound like much to us as adults, but for a baby weighing less than 2 pounds it's a big deal.

Happily Temperance's blood work came back OK (i.e. no infection), but there have been other concerns. Again, premature babies like her are not really supposed to be breathing air yet. Sometimes her little diaphragm gets tired, and so she takes a break. Apparently premature babies often have this kind of "spell". Of course, taking a break from breathing is a real problem, and that's where all the monitoring in the NICU comes in handy. Happily it doesn't take much to get her breathing again -- believe it or not, she just needs to be touched. As you can see from the photo, she also gets the help from a CPAP, although lately she's been able to go for a few hours just with oxygen prongs.

One piece of really good news is that Temper's digestive system is working well. She has been gaining weight: 995 grams when I saw her last, and by now probably a kilogram. My brother-in-law wrote a Facebook post recently sharing how happy we was to change his daughter's diaper. Normally this is not the most pleasant of parenting duties, but with Temperance every poop is a blessing.

Oh, and about that nickname. Normally someone named Temperance is called "Tempie" for short, but this little one is apparently quite feisty. She kicks and punches and makes sure to let the nurses know when she is unhappy, so they told my sister that "Temper" was a good name. Again, good news! We want her to be ready to take on the world.

Brigid and Paxton have drawn pictures for their little sister, and recently Paxton kept saying his sister's name so Michael brought him to the hospital to visit. His words? "Temperance mine!" One thing's for sure, she's got a family ready to welcome her and love her.

Again, thank you to all of you for your prayers and support. It's like you've been an extended part of our family for us, and it is deeply appreciated. Assuming things continue to go well Temperance should be out of hospital in time for Christmas, and it will be the best present we've ever received.

God bless all of you!

The story of Temperance

Not long after my father died in April, my sister Miriam announced to the family that she was with child once again. The baby was to be due, believe it or not, on Christmas Day. Based on the dates, Miriam would have only very recently become pregnant. Although my father did not know it before he died, he was already a grandfather once again, and personally I found it to be a consolation to know that he, from heaven, would have been the first of our family to see his new grandchild growing secretly in the womb.

Although the pregnancy seemed to be proceeding normally, things changed on Friday, September 2. While preparing for a special mass at the diocesan seminary, I got an urgent text message from my sister. I phoned immediately, and discovered the terrible truth: she was in labour, at only 23.5 weeks. My poor sister was sobbing on the phone, sobbing through a contraction, as her words poured out her love and her fears for her baby. She just asked for prayers, and then had to hang up. I got to the seminary somewhat discombobulated. I even forgot my homily at home and had to preach it from memory. The good news was that I had been working on it for weeks, and I knew my subject. My topic was HOPE, and on that evening, I discovered in a very personal way a whole new layer to the meaning of the word.

Did I pray? Oh yes, yes I did. In particular, I turned to my dad. "Papa," I prayed, "your daughter and your grandchild are in trouble. Get on it." Not the most elegant prayer, I know, but none of us were in an elegant mood, for sure.

My mother was in Germany attending my cousin Daniel's wedding. I had the job of reaching her to give her the news. I rustled up my best German to leave a voice message on my aunt's answering machine (it was 3 am there by that point), and the next morning I gave my mother more detailed news when she called back. While she was originally scheduled to only come back of September 12 she booked a new flight within hours. We would expect her on September 5 (Labour Day).

It is, of course, impossible to say what prayers from whom made the difference, but the next news I got from my sister was that her contractions were in abeyance! No one knew how long this situation might last -- hours, days, weeks -- but in the meantime my sister had been transferred by ambulance to a hospital better equipped to  deal with a premature birth. The doctors had also given her medication to spur the development of the baby's lungs and nervous system. We were told those meds would require 72 hours to work, so from Friday evening we needed at least until Monday evening.

Because my sister's water had broken part of the risk to the baby was also the danger of infection. My sister was taking a "ton" of antibiotics as a preventive measure, and at first we tended to keep away so as to not unwittingly bring in some bug. Despite not going to Ottawa immediately, however, I cancelled every appointment I had the weekend, so that I could leave at a moment's notice should it become necessary.

While it is difficult to say, I also had to warn my Archbishop and colleagues at the diocese that I might be gone for a bit longer. The doctors had warned us that the baby's chances of survival at this stage were only 50-50. I don't like to think about it, but a funeral was a real possibility. I got on my dad's case even more, and also brought Mother Teresa into the picture. My sister had met her years ago in India, and had brought back small medals that Mother Teresa had kissed and offered for the members of our family. Her canonization that weekend made me think of asking for her intercession as well. The prayer went something like this: "Mother Teresa, you once met my sister years ago in the chapel in your house in Calcutta. You prayed side by side. Please help her and the baby."

Monday finally came. I headed to the airport in Ottawa to pick up my mother, and after she had a chance to freshen up we went on to the hospital, getting there at about 4:30 pm Sunday afternoon. My sister's husband and other two children were there, as well as her midwife. Shortly after our arrival she started feeling off, and pretty soon the contractions were coming again. There was no stopping them this time. The kids went off to visit their aunt (my brother-in-law's sister), and Miriam was moved to the birthing unit. There wasn't even any time for painkillers: Temperance Miriam Browning was born at 6:33 pm, weighing a mere 680 grams (about 1.5 pounds).

Temperance was, of course, rushed to the neonatal intensive care unit (aka NICU). She was intubated and attached with sensors and placed in an incubator. The nurse told us that she was showing many signs of vitality, like kicking and punching the air. She even had her first bowel movement not long after birth, as babies are meant to do. I'll confess, I don't normally get excited about other people's poo, but in this case you bet I did.

Our family knows that we have been lifted up on a cloud of prayers, especially Miriam and Temperance, and for this we are grateful. Many messages of support have come in by email, Facebook, and text message, and I treasure them all. I'm glad to report that Temperance has been doing well. She is fragile, of course, and there may be rocky days ahead. Still, she is now able to breathe normal air with the help of a CPAP, and the staff at the NICU are doing everything they can on the level of medicine to support her. We know she is in expert and caring hands.

Still, there are ongoing needs, and not just of a medical nature. Miriam and Michael will understandably need to be at the hospital quite a bit, but this will put a strain on their family life, especially as they have two other small children (Brigid and Paxton) to care for. There will also be a financial strain: because Michael is self-employed as a therapist, he cannot simply take paternity leave. To put it simply, if he doesn't work, the family does not eat, does not pay for gas, and does not cover the mortgage.

The goods news is that people are rallying to help. People are babysitting the older siblings when necessary. A meal train was also started to help cover that part of domestic life. Finally, a GoFundMe fundraising campaign was started by friends of Miriam and Michael to take some of the financial stress off them and allow both parents to see their baby as much as they can. If you'd like to help, here are two important links you can use:

Meal train organization (for those in Ottawa)

Financial contribution on GoFundMe (for anyone)

Finally, please keep praying! We've already seen miracles. We just need a few more. Thank you for lifting us up. Stay tuned to this website for more news as it (and baby Temperance) develops!

Visit to the Laurentians

I had a chance to head up north today. Stop #1 was Camp Kinkora, where my awesome niece Alex is participating in Visions camp for the week. Stop #2 was supper with my dad's cousin John and his wife Gail, who have a home in Sainte-Agathe. His daughter Katie (my second cousin) was about to head back to her home in Toronto, so I had the chance to join a small group for her goodbye supper. Turns out she is quite the artist, feel free to check out her website: katiefgorman.com

My dad the ham

For those of us who are so entranced with the modern means of communication, we should acknowledge that there are those who went before us with the same desire to reach out over great distances. While the hobby has been in decline in recent years, for decades amateur radio (a.k.a. "ham radio") was the Internet of its day. My dad was a ham operator, and so I guess I got the bug from him.

Our first family home was a small house in Pierrefonds, Quebec. My dad had a workroom with all kinds of electronic equipment and tools, with pride of place given to the amateur radio receiver and transmitter. I can still see him sitting in front of it saying "CQ, CQ", the code informing the world that there was a ham ready to talk. His call sign at the time was VE2CS (a.k.a. "Victor-Echo-Two-Charlie-Sierra"), and he would introduce himself as "Oscar-Whiskey-Echo-November" to anyone he contacted. Part of the amateur radio tradition is that operators would send each other QSL cards, and I remember stacks of these from all over the world filed in different nooks and crannies of his radio shack. Perhaps some ham operators out there will find one of his QSL cards in their archives...

My father would also tune in to radio stations all over the world on shortwave, and I distinctly remember listening to Voice of America, Radio Moscow, and even Radio Vaticana while sitting in his radio shack. So much for being stuck listening to a few local stations! I remember our listening sessions sparking all kinds of interesting discussions between us about how to exercise critical thinking in the face of "new media", and that was in the 1970's!

I later learned that my father had been a ham for a long, long time. Even to this day, an amateur radio operator needs to get a license to operate, and he was so proud of the fact that he had managed to pass his license exam when he was only 15, i.e. back in 1936! I remember thinking "Wow, even kids can do this."

One day, my father got out some components and, following a mysterious-looking diagram, built a small crystal radio. I didn't see how it could work, given it had no battery or external power, but wouldn't you know that when I put that earpiece in my ear I could hear the radio signal coming in from a station nearby. It was the radio waves themselves that were being converted to electricity to produce the sound. Amazing! So I was hooked. We started building electronics projects using the old Radio Shack electronic project kits, and later he taught me how to use a soldering iron and follow circuit diagrams (I remember being proud of knowing how to read the coloured bands on a resistor). Dad always had plenty of resistors, capacitors, diodes and whatnot in that workroom, so I never had to go far to find what I needed. I even remember hooking up light emitting diodes (LEDs) and wondering if they'd ever have enough power one day to serve as some sort of flashlight...who knew!

I remember one component in particular that caught my attention: the relay. This was a fascinating item, because (as my dad taught me) it could be used to create simple logic gates and implement Boolean algebra in a real system. (Sorry, did I geek out there?) Anyway, trust me, this is more interesting and important than you might think because these principles are still at the very root of modern digital electronics. Modern chips use transistors, not relays, but I remember reading a short story as a kid, in which Isaac Asimov described a massive supercomputer called Multivac working to the "clicking of relays".

This discovery of the principles of computing eventually led to my own interests diverging from those of my dad. Remember how I was building those electronic kits? Well, a new one caught my eye: the ZX81, which could be purchased in kit form and assembled at home. The only problem was that I didn't have the money to get one. So I started saving my pennies, which in the end I wound up using for something even better.

More to come!

Book 

Poverty and providence

I grew up in a typical middle-class family. While I weren't surrounded by luxury, I do not remember lacking anything. Of course, that didn't mean I always appreciated what I had. I suppose that is the negative side of being a child blessed with a general sense of material security — you risk taking things for granted, not out of ill-will, but simply out of inexperience.

Still, this did not meant that I didn't know poverty existed. I remember seeing images of extreme poverty on television — families experiencing famine in some distant country, for example, who were on display as part of some telethon to raise money for a charity. Of course, the producers of these telethons would put up the most pitiful scenes, such as of hungry mothers trying to tend to their malnourished children. I was very disturbed by such images, and I remember asking my father about them. My naive question was direct and to the point:

"Why do they have so many children if they can't feed them?" I asked. It seemed to me to be a basic element of parental responsibility.

"Well," my father replied, "they probably had those children at a time when there was enough food. It is only after that the problems began. But you know, Tom, there is enough food in the world to feed everyone. The problem isn't growing it. The problem is sharing it, and getting it to everyone."

My father's answer shed a completely new light on the situation. I suddenly realised that poverty was a deeply moral question, and that it wasn't just a moral question for those who were poor. Somehow, everyone was involved, whatever their wealth or poverty. It was a question of solidarity.

I had a chance to experience in a practical way through an activity organized at a local parish sometime later. It was called a "poor man's supper". I had been to such an event before. They were normally fundraising dinners, in which the participants paid for tickets as for a typical fundraising dinner, but for which the meal was very simple (usually not much more than soup). The goal was to be in solidarity with the poor, not only through the donation of money, but also in what we ate. In the case of this parish, however, there was an additional twist. Once we were seated, an explanation was given regarding what would happen next. Each participant would turn over their plate to see what kind of meal they would get. Most participants were going to get the usual simple meal, but two at each table were to be exceptions: one participant was to only receive water and a bit of bread, while the other would get a sumptuous feast. The goal was to sensitize us to the way food was actually distributed in the world — most got something, while some got almost nothing, and a few were able to eat like kings.

One thing was for sure: in my little kid brain (and little kids are always hungry), I really didn't want to get the non-meal. I remember being quite nervous about it, in fact. As it turned out, however, I ended up with the sumptuous feast! At first I ate with relish — after all, it wasn't as if it was my fault that I got lucky in my choice of seat. Still, as the meal progressed I couldn't help but think that something was wrong with this scenario.

I'd like to claim that I immediately started to share my meal with others, but to be honest I don't remember if I did or not. However, I do remember reflecting on the experience afterwards, putting it in a bigger context. "How is it," I wondered, "that I was born in Canada, in a place of plenty, when I could have just as easily been born someplace else, such as the place shown in the television program, where people lived in desperate poverty?"

In other words, was it just luck, like it had been with the plate?

Or was it a sign of God's providence?

And if it was providence, what responsibility did that mean for me to share what I had with others?

Heavy thoughts for a little kid, but looking back I know now that these were the first stirrings of a sense of social justice and solidarity within me.

The power of reconciliation

One of the "rites of passage" of a Catholic child is making his or her first confession. For those unfamiliar with confession in the Catholic tradition, the practice is that the penitent confesses his or her sins to a priest, who offers some counsel as well as a penance which the penitent must accomplish (usually a prayer or an act of devotion or charity of some kind). It is generally held that it is unlikely that a child has sufficient moral awareness before the age of 6 or 7 to commit a real sin (and even then, it is unlikely to be very grave). Still, we all know that kids have at least started, by that point, to have some sense of moral action, and so it is normal that young Catholics start to be educated about this sacrament of forgiveness of sins.

I remember when I was first being taught about sin and reconciliation. Like lots of kids, I wasn't too sure how to know when something was a sin and when it wasn't. My father gave me the following advice: "For something to be a sin, you have to know it is wrong, you have to have chosen to do it, and you have to have done it."

We then talked about those criteria. The following conversation isn't an actual verbatim account, but it generally summarizes the conversation we had that day.

"So if I didn't know it was wrong, and I did it, it isn't a sin?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "But that doesn't change the fact that it was wrong, and so probably hurt somebody. We have a responsibility to learn what is right and what is wrong, so as to be good people."

"And if I did it by accident, and not by choice, it isn't a sin?" I continued.

"Correct," to replied. "But that is only true for true accidents, and not something that happens because of negligence. Also, even if we do something bad by accident, we are responsible to help set things right."

"And what do you mean by 'You have to have done it'?" I asked further.

My father replied, "I mean that sometimes we feel a temptation to do sins, and we can feel bad that we have those temptations. Still, a temptation is not a sin. When you go to confession to the priest, you can talk about your temptations with him if you want, and maybe he can help you deal with them. But you should not feel guilty about them like you would for actual sins you've done."

With this information, I felt I was getting pretty ready for my first confession. I had been taught that God loved me and wanted for forgive me for any bad things I had done, and that now I had a much better sense of what "sin" actually was (and so I knew what things I was supposed to say). Still, I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. I trusted the priests I knew — they had always been very kind to me — but did I really need to tell them about my bad acts? Couldn't we just forget them, pretending like they had never happened?

As it turned out, something occurred during that time of preparation that changed my perspective on this sacrament forever.

At a certain point in that period of preparation — I don't remember exactly when — an adult I looked up to hurt my feelings. I don't remember what it was about, all I remember was the deep sadness I was feeling. Even worse than the hurt, mind you, was the alienation: when someone we look up to and love hurts us, it can make us feel terribly alone. That lonesomeness can even be worse than the original pain.

A few hours after the hurtful incident in question, the same adult came to see me. I had no idea what to expect. In gentle tones, he told me he had thought about the incident, and that he felt badly. He then came right out and apologized. He had done wrong, he admitted it, he promised not to do it again, and he wanted to make amends.

I was in awe.

I was partly in awe of this adult, who was making this offer to a little kid. As a child I had often felt others' love and care, but this was the first time I had ever felt so respected.

But I was also in awe of the moment itself. I knew something extraordinarily special was happening. I remember thinking to myself, "God must be like this somehow."

And so, we were reconciled. Truly reconciled. Again, I don't even remember what the actual hurtful incident was, but I do remember the sadness and pain of alienation being replaced by the joy of genuine reconciliation.

I should add that I was now completely sold on the actual sacrament of reconciliation itself. That adult had examined his conscience, seen he had done wrong, admitted it to another, promised not to repeat it, and offered to make amends. I figured that if an adult had been willing to respect a little kid enough to ask for forgiveness, I as a little kid should be willing to do the same with God. If confession was the means — and the steps the adult had lived sounded a lot like what I had been taught about going to confession — then so be it.

It went beyond this, though. It wasn't just that I was now comfortable with another element of my Catholic duty. No, I wanted to go to confession. We had heard the story of the Prodigal Son as part of our preparation for this sacrament during our catechism classes. I remember being struck by the joy of the father when his errant son came home. I had no trouble believing that part of the story at all. I could imagine the pain of separation each one must have felt when the son left, but I could also understand very well the joy of their reconciliation.

That's what confession was about, I reasoned. It wasn't about rehashing our sins, it was about bringing joy to God and letting him bring an end to our own spiritual isolation.

I don't remember who the priest was for my first experience of the sacrament. I have no idea what I said in my first confession, and given I was only a kid I doubt it was anything all that terrible. But I do remember knowing how holy a moment it was that I was living.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that this sacrament can be called by different names, but my favourite title, even to this day, is the "sacrament of reconciliation".

My earliest understanding of God

I grew up in a practicing Catholic family. I was baptised as an infant, learned my prayers at an early age, and was brought to mass by my parents. While I don't ever recall it being at all overbearing, I also can't recall a time when religion wasn't part of our family experience. Simply put, God, prayer and Church were just there, as part of our lives. It felt very natural.

Still, I do recall when I put forward what may have been my first real question about God. I know I was at most five years old. We were sitting at the supper table, and out of the blue I asked, "Where is God?"

My father replied, very simply, "God is everywhere."

I pressed on a bit. "Really? Is God here in this room with us right now?"

"Yes, he is," my father said.

I remember holding up some solid physical object, and asking, "Is he in this?"

"Yes," he repeated, and with a bit of a smile as I seem to recall. But he didn't stop there, adding, "But more important than that, he wants to live inside of you. He wants to live inside all of us."

For a young child, that last statement was big news. I remember that my questions in that conversation stopped at that point, not because I understood, but because I needed to think about what I'd just been told.

The question, in my little kid brain, was simple: how could God be everywhere, and yet at the same time be inside of us in a special way?

I don't quite recall how long it took, but a few days later I came up with an answer. Simply put, I thought about air. Air is all around us. Since it is invisible, most of the time we don't notice it unless it is acting upon us (as with a breeze, or the wind), but that didn't make it any less real. Finally, the most important air was the air we breathe in — the air inside us that gives us life.

Again, in my little kid brain, my question now had an answer: God was like air. I knew he wasn't actually the air, but that he was like air: invisible, all around us, but able to be inside us in a special way, especially to give us life.

Now it may sound funny, but this insight actually had an effect on my early prayer life. Up until then, prayers were things I said. After this, though, I started to sometimes do a kind of childlike praying where I would think about my breathing as I was doing it, and pretending that I was feeling God being around me and inside me. I won't pretend that I was particularly disciplined in this form of prayer, and I don't claim that "intentional breathing" is necessarily spiritual, but I do know that this practice was important for me. God was around me, God was inside me, and imagining God as I breathed helped me be aware of the presence of God.