Grandpapa and the Fonz

At the supper table yesterday, I asked my granddaughter Katherine if she would bring me a glass of water. While she was heading towards the kitchen to do so, Victor, her little brother, lifted his empty glass and said, “What about me?” Katherine replied, “Grandpapa is a guest, and we serve guests, but you can get water yourself.”

Later, as the conversation turned to designs on tee-shirts. Victor got creative and exclaimed, “Wouldn’t it be great to have a whole lot of kids wearing the same design on their sweater. It could be grandpapa holding up his thumbs like the Fonz and the caption could read, “J’aime grandpapa!”    

My granddaughter Katherine got to know her great grandfather Ernest before he passed away a few years ago. She called him “grandpapa great”. Listening to my grandchildren last night, I thought to myself, “I may not be able to claim the title “grandpapa (the) great” but being treated royally as a guest of honor by my grandchildren and being considered worthy by them of featuring prominently along with a pantheon of superheroes and celebrities on tee-shirts was certainly honor (and joy) enough for me.      

Réchauffer les coeurs

Moins 22°C en ce moment – moins 28°C si l’on tient compte du facteur vent. En bon canadien, « Y fa fret! » Je ne peux pas m’empêcher de penser à ceux pour qui la chaleur n’est pas un acquis. Il y a, évidemment, les sans-abris. Il y a aussi les pauvres qui doivent choisir entre augmenter leur facture de chauffage ou acheter de la nourriture. Récemment, un octogénaire qui vit sur une maigre pension dans un appartement mal isolé contre le froid, me disait qu’il n’avait pas mis le chauffage depuis quatre ans. Il faut que la société tout entière soit « fret » - un froid qui rend insensible à la souffrance des autres - pour que des personnes vivent dans ce genre de situations année après année. Dans ces personnes si souvent laissées pour compte, le froid ne doit pas atteindre que le corps; l’indifférence des autres doit les pénétrer jusqu’au cœur.

Je pense aussi aux personnes malades et isolées qui n’ont personne qui vienne à leur rencontre pour leur réchauffer le cœur par leur présence. Quand Jésus m’invite à visiter ces personnes, il me demande de leur apporter un feu qui éclaire leur vie et réchauffe leur cœur.

Il y a deux façons de faire cela. Je peux venir à elles en portant une chandelle allumée. Elle n’éclaire pas beaucoup et ne dégage pas beaucoup de lumière mais cette petite flamme n’est pas négligeable. Elle me permet de voir et de reconnaître dans la personne que je visite un frère ou une sœur qui a besoin de ma présence et de ma compassion. Pour la personne visitée, la nuit et le froid perdent alors un peu de leur mordant. Il y a une autre façon de faire. Je peux être comme une bûche déposée dans un feu de foyer qui se laisse lentement consumer pour devenir elle-même feu. La chaleur et la lumière qui se dégage alors est infiniment plus grande que celle de ma petite bougie.

Quand Jésus nous invite à le visiter dans les malades et les personnes âgées, il nous invite aussi à progressivement passer de l’un à l’autre : prendre de plus en plus conscience que la petite flamme de ma chandelle ne suffit pas; ce qui est nécessaire pour vaincre le froid et les ténèbres est un brasier que seul Dieu peut allumer et nourrir. Il nous faut laisser le feu de l’amour de Dieu nous consumer pour devenir un avec le brasier qui est le seul à suffire.  

Rainbow in Heaven

Saint Peter was at his desk when I lined up to wait for my turn to be processed to enter Heaven. The lineup was long, but things moved along quite swiftly. At first, I was a bit leery of the people in the lineup. I kept my distance from the one in front of me – the reglementary 2 meters – and checked to make sure the one behind did the same. I didn’t want to catch COVID just as I was arriving at my destination. I certainly wanted to leave all of that stuff behind. I relaxed when I saw that everyone was diligently following sanitary prescriptions.

The crew at the Pearly Gates was very efficient and in no time at all, I was standing in front of Saint Peter. He welcomed me with a warm smile and said, “Glad you made it Gilles. I was expecting you.” He opened the big book on his desk and, with his finger, scrolled down the list of names on the pages reading out loud, “Caldwell, Campo, Cannon, Capello…” He finally found what he was looking for, “Côté… Gilles Côté. There you are.” I looked down and saw that my name was indeed there, properly punctuated with the correct accents in their proper places.

In the column to the right of my name were instructions I could not quite make out. Saint Peter read them silently, and when he had finished doing so, he pressed a button on his desk. As soon as he did, the Pearly Gates started moving at an incredible speed and when it stopped, I could see a beautiful door right in front of me. It was painted a wonderful shade of blue, the type of blue that always made me feel happy and peaceful inside whenever I saw it. Saint Peter pointed to the door and said, “That’s your door.” As I contemplated it, I knew I was in the right place. No other colour would have been suitable for the door giving access to Paradise.

As I started walking towards the blue door, I noticed that there were other doors lined up on either side of it as far as the eye could see in both directions. Some of the doors were also blue, but of a different hue than mine. Many were not blue at all. I could see yellows, browns, reds, purples, greens and even colours I did not recognize and could not name.

I turned to Peter with a puzzled look on my face. He knew what was on my mind and said, “Those other doors are for the other arrivals today.” “My goodness!” I replied, “I didn’t know so many people did not make it into Heaven!” I was convinced that a door of a different colour than mine, and certainly not the kaki door that was next to it, could give access to Heaven. All of those doors had to lead, I was certain of it, to less desirable places.

Again, Saint Peter read my mind and explained, “Every arrival expects the door to Heaven to be painted a certain colour. So we oblige them and have their door painted the colour they fantasize. Once they are inside, we bring them to the garden in the middle of Paradise and let them contemplate the rainbow that arches over it. Eventually, they come to understand that the Light is a communion of an infinity of colours.  

Questions

I once had a conversation with a parent when I was teaching religious ed. I remember sharing with him that I felt it was important to teach students how to ask questions about their faith. His response was blunt and unequivocal: “You are not there to teach them how to ask questions, but to give them the answers.” In other words, according to him, my task was to transmit a set of beliefs, those held by the Magisterium of the Church. He had grown up, as I have, with the equivalent of the Baltimore Catechism in which questions were only used as a pretext to provide the “right” answers. I suspect that, in his mind, asking questions was potentially detrimental to faith because it left the door open to doubts. I knew that gentleman well and never questioned the fact that he had a deep faith. I was, however, taken aback by his reaction.

When I was in grade school, I was required to learn several questions and answers in “Le petit catéchisme” which was the Québec version of the Baltimore Catechism. Each school day, I would read the assigned questions and answers twice and, because I had a good memory, I could then recite them verbatim when I got to class. By the end of the day, I had forgotten both the questions and answers. They were quite meaningless to me. I recall that my main motivation for memorizing them was to avoid being rapped on the fingers by the ruler the teachers used to “reinforce” her lessons.

I was recently reading a book that mentioned the frequency with which Jesus asked questions in the Gospels – 183 according to the author. He also noted that Jesus gave his own answer to only three of these questions. As for the remainder, he let those he was talking to wrestle with their own answers. In other words, for Jesus, the questions were far more important than the answers. Questions must burrow deep within a person’s heart before meaningful answers can emerge. Jesus would have been in trouble often in my primary school classes since he seemed to have had only half of the assignments ready most of the time.

I think that if I were to teach religious ed now, I would make it a point to ask my students each week to come back the following week with their own answers to a different one of Jesus’ 183 questions. What wonderful discoveries they could then make about themselves and their faith!   

Super Grandpapa

Grandparents must be creative to earn their place in a pantheon of marvelous legendary superheroes equipped with a panoply of special powers that can attract and astonish young imaginations.

Last week – on January 6th to be specific – Diane and I decided to have a little adventure with Catherine and Victor before school started the following Monday. Because of the prevailing pandemic restrictions, our options were quite limited. We settled for a car ride and a stroll across the Adàwe Crossing and in the park at the end of Somerset East. The Rideau River was not yet completely frozen over and there were still quite a few seagulls and several ducks swimming in the water.

I was acutely conscious of the fact that this little adventure was not as exciting as watching or reading about superheroes who could fly at incredible speed, leap over tall buildings, morph into amazing shapes, manipulate space, time, energy… I figured I needed to enhance the outing with something that I knew they both enjoyed enormously. I bought a box of ice cream Drumsticks for them to bring home. I told them they would have to ask their dad if they could have one for dessert after lunch that day. Disappointed, they reminded me that dessert was never on the menu at lunchtime. My plan to enhance my superhero status was in jeopardy. I needed to come up with a means of salvaging it. I told them, “Drumsticks are such special treats that they deserve recognition. I, therefore, declare that today is International Drumstick Day!” I assume that Kent, their dad who diligently prepares their lunch most days, could not deny his children the privilege of celebrating the first-ever International Drumstick Day and made an exception to the no-dessert at lunchtime rule.

Add a reminder in your calendar on January 6th, 2023, and don’t forget to celebrate International ice cream Drumstick Day!

Faces of Jesus

 I remember one edition of the Time magasine that featured a mosaic made up of various depictions of the face of Jesus. I have always wondered why people pictured him in so many diverse ways and how the image they have of his face influences their relationship with him.

Below are some of those depictions gathered on the Internet. Which one is yours?

Snuggling

 “…the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of God.” Ezekiel 1,1

Ezekiel uttered these words almost 2600 years ago. On New Year’s Day 2022, I also saw the heavens open, if only but a crack. Before you conclude that Gilles has finally lost his mind and is in desperate need of psychiatric treatment, let me explain what I mean.

We were having turkey dinner at my daughter’s place. Seating arrangements for our regular meals there are well established. My son-in-law is directly in front of me and Victor, my grandson, is always on my right side. Victor had just finished eating his supper when, without a word, he stood up from his chair and headed over to the other side of the table towards his dad. Still without a word, he gently put his head on his father’s shoulder and snuggled into the crook of his neck. He rested there peacefully for a few seconds. His meal had filled his stomach, but he was still hungering for something else: a small portion of fatherly love.

I found the scene deeply moving and it has stayed with me all through this week. I could not help but think of another occasion when the heavens opened and a voice said, “This is my son whom I love…” I felt as if I had had the privilege of a sneak preview into heaven, where one day I will be able to satisfy my deepest hunger, rest my head on my Heavenly Father’s shoulder, snuggle there peacefully and know beyond a doubt that I am loved.