Happy Birthday Eileen Janaro!

My dear wife, we grow older, but indeed we are full of years, somehow, even with all the care and toil and pain. We move forward together, and hope grows stronger. We do not know what lies ahead, and we do not doubt that new sorrows will come along with new and deeper joys, but we are learning about how God's persistence and the patience of His goodness turn even our weaknesses into the strong soil of fresh and surprising growth.

Happy Birthday, Mrs. Janaro. I love you with all my heart!

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We all had fun celebrating Eileen's birthday on March 5, which felt even more like a little holiday in the midst of Lent thanks to the strongest snowstorm of the season. It gave us at least eight inches of snow and kept us, once again, all together and snug in the house with something to celebrate. Snow fell throughout the day.

Here's the house and surroundings getting pelted with snow.

Pine hangs with snowy fruit. The road is around here... somewhere!

Among many things, there was plenty of home cooking. The highlight of the day was the birthday cake that Agnese baked. It was a pound cake with honey liquor and a pineapple sauce. Oh gosh, it was so delicious!

Teresa brings in the glowing cake.

That is a slice with pineapple sauce, and it tasted even better than it looks.

Thank you, Lord, for all Your blessings. Grant that Eileen and I will have many more happy years. And bless all her many labors that make our home everything that it is.

Thank you Jesus, for everything.

My Oldest Daughter Turns Sixteen

December 21 was Agnese Janaro's 16th birthday. She is a beautiful and very talented young lady, with a big, big heart. I'm so grateful for her and I love her so much.

Many saw these pictures on social media posts, but I'll post them here for the sake of her grandparents if nothing else.

I made a virtual photo frame with pictures of Agnese as a baby, a toddler, and current:


And she made this amazing cake. She conceived it, designed it, baked it from scratch, and put it all together. The figures are from a Lord of the Rings collection. Behind Bilbo Baggins's round green door is dark chocolate cake which was moist and delicious.

THE CAKE:

Amazing cake, amazing kid. She's a beautiful child with a great soul. Happy Birthday Agnese!

The Brothers Janaro

Left: Walter and John Janaro (with Santa), around 1967. Right: At Dean's Steakhouse, around 2013. People say we have
the same facial expressions in these two pictures. I think they may be right! But we definitely have different hairstyles. :)

Happy Birthday to my older brother, Walter Janaro!

I'm sure he doesn't want to appear on this blog, but I'm also sure that my two biggest and most faithful readers (our parents!) would enjoy these two photographs that span most of the years of our lives. And indeed it has been a special blessing that, for the great majority of those years, we've lived near each other.

Reading with Jojo and Teresa

These day's he's known around our house as "Uncle Walter," and he belongs so much to our family that it's hard to imagine our life without him. I know that it is a real grace to have a brother who is a person of faith, who is close to me and who more than gets along with Eileen and the family. He is my only sibling, and his personality is very different from mine in many ways, although we also have much in common too. The strongest bond between us, however, is our faith in Jesus and our commitment to Him in the life of the Church.

My brother has always been a man with an amazing capacity for friendship. For many years, he has been a mentor for college students (he is the registrar at Christendom College), and also for high school kids in his CCD class, and for all sorts of people who pass through this little part of the world -- friends of friends, family members of students, neighbors, people from the parish, and from many other places.

This genial and loyal man has a great memory and a great heart for all the people he has known. College alumni have grown up and sent their kids to school, knowing that Walter would be there to make them feel at home. Walter has never married, but I think he finds himself called to play the special role that he plays in the lives of so many other people.

He has been a great friend to me, always a source of help, a voice for common sense, a loving brother. Thank God for him. Ad Multos Annos!

Confession: Encountering The Mercy of Jesus

I finally had the chance to go to confession, fulfilling the desire I had last week on my birthday (see post dated January 4). I am 50 years old. I made my first confession when I was 7 years old. A lot of confessions. A lot of mercy.

It is a wonder, really. Here is the same Jesus who said to the paralytic, "your sins are forgiven." Now this same Person says this surprising and seemingly impossible thing to me two thousand years later, through the ministry of a priest.

It is a sacrament, a mystery of God's love that happens at a specific time and a specific place; a gift of grace that I receive in a historical way, from Jesus through a man who extends the priesthood of Jesus and His saving love through all space and time so that He reaches me and my particular sins. His healing reaches down to all my ingratitude and forgetfulness, which I try to express to Him in a particular way, with particular words.

It is an encounter between my fragile conscience and the Infinite Mercy of God.

I try to go to confession every month. But not because I think I have broken my relationship with God by grave sin every month. I don't have to go every month. So what's the point of my going to regular confession?

First of all, I hardly trust in my own assessment of my soul, however honest and thorough it may be. "But who can detect all his errors? From hidden faults acquit me. From presumption restrain your servant and let it not rule me. Then shall I be blameless, clean from grave sin" (Psalm 19[B]:12-13). Wretched man that I am. I throw myself upon the mercy of God! In this sacrament, however, we are not required to produce an impossible self-analysis. We are called upon to accuse ourselves as best we can, and trust in the merciful love of Jesus.

Of course, trials and temptations abound, and I know that I am as capable as Peter (or Judas) of betraying Jesus. "He that thinks himself to stand, let him take heed lest he fall" (1 Corinthians 10:12).  I beg that the Lord sustain me in His mercy. I pray that He give me the grace to be faithful to Him.

With trust in the mercy of Jesus, I make my monthly confession. It is what is sometimes called a "devotional" confession. I think it is important to emphasize the value of this sacrament not only to restore the life of grace when lost through serious sin, but also for those who are walking with Christ, and living the life of grace. Such persons are far from "coherent" in their Christian lives. They need the grace of this sacrament to heal and strengthen them against falling away from Him, to preserve them from becoming lukewarm, and just to let Jesus go to work on all the weird stuff that still distracts and preoccupies their lives.

I love regular confession. I know that it is such a blessing to take out of myself and give to Jesus the stubborn mistakes, the childish impatience, the petty irritations, the mediocre vanity, the laziness, the nippy little rash judgments, misperceptions, and self-satisfaction that constitute 99% of my daily life.

Its true that I don't have to confess any of these things. They're not grave sins. But there's not a whole lot of positive stuff going on with my actions either. I still live mostly for myself, afraid to go beyond my own limits. God has given Himself to me, but where is my love? Why is it so small?

So much of me still sleeps in superficial preoccupations. God's life in me is hidden away, buried, constrained by all this nonsense. I am alive in Christ, but wounded. Even when I want to walk, I limp badly.

If there is anything -- anything at all -- that has real value in my life, it comes from the grace of Jesus. He really does act and renew my particular life, in such a way that it is clear to me that I must never let go of Him. But consider what He still has to work with:

Add all my misshapen semi-habits to aspire to do God's will, to be true, good and beautiful, along with some not-so-good character flaws, a quirky personality, a mind always thinking all over the place, some poetic insight and some skill for turning a phrase, a life experience with rough patches, an empathetic disposition, vast gaps of emotional immaturity, and of course a neurologically dysfunctional brain, other health problems, disability, insomnia, and just the ordinary "weight" the human condition. And I can't even begin to understand all the stuff that is going on in the "subconscious" (or whatever it is), that vast murky underworld beneath my awareness. What we have here in John Janaro is a big mess! 

And I judge other people? Its preposterous. We really have to love people. That doesn't mean we ignore when they are being self-destructive and destructive of others. It means we see them with love. Even when we know what's true and real, we don't know all that's going on inside that other person. I gather from my own experience that the inner world of every human being is basically pretty freaky. Jesus needs our love to touch deep places in the lives of others that we will never understand. If we are given some of that bread that is the Word of God, and we see someone hungry, we share it, not by bending down and offering a few crumbs, but by being with them, and sharing both the gift and our common poverty. If they turn away from us, we still have to stay -- as best we can -- and share their suffering.

For we are all poor, poor, poor human beings. Whatever our circumstances, we all have hearts made for God. We are poor and hungry and invested with a desire that refuses to die even when it turns to desperation. We are wounded and, somewhere in the midst of all our freakiness, we are longing for healing.

I am a poor Christian. How can I be a witness? Certainly not by pointing to myself and saying, "look how great I am." But Someone Else has come into my life and awakened an unconquerable hope that my poverty might be transformed into humility and love. I don't know how this will reach its fulfillment, but this hope engenders trust in Him, moment by moment, and I begin to find healing. This is something that can become visible in my poor world.

Back to the sacrament of Reconciliation: Here is a sacrament that nourishes hope in a poor man. Here is a sacrament where I can encounter the healing Christ. He wants His love to fill my whole life. This healing and transformation of my self is a slow process, but still God wants to accomplish it. In this sacrament, He offers healing and strength, as a gift that comes forth, in a specific yet ineffable manner, from the glorified life of Christ that remains concretely present in the world -- in my world. It is something real. It is a gift of His love. It is a sacrament.

Here is where I bring my poverty, because I am a poor Christian full of hope. Here I find the promise of God's mercy, the redeeming grace of Jesus, the outpouring of the Spirit, and a real step on the path of communion with Him and with my brothers and sisters in the Church, and every person that shares the path of life with me. I pray that I might rejoice again and again in this gift, this mercy, so that the joy of His life will grow in me, and become more visible and worthwhile to the others who live in "my world."

My 50th Birthday: Surprised by Gratitude

Some "dead soldiers" (and some still living) from my 50th birthday party.
Looks like seltzer was popular. Of the food there is not a crumb left!

January 2, 2013 has come and gone. I more than survived it. It was an occasion of joy and gratitude.

My beloved Eileen put together a simple and intimate party with just my brother and a few friends: people who have been walking the road with me for more than 30 years. There was food and conversation, sharing of memories and expression of hopes. The kids were with us too. It was a happy time.

We had beer and wine, but as crafted beverages, taken in very modest quantities. This is how old folks party. This is how we roll.

I enjoyed a quiet time all day, but the beginning made a deep impression in me. It was a specially blessed time, a "birthday gift" I suppose, and it was a surprise. Remembering Christ is always a surprise.

I got up early in the morning, rubbed my eyes and vegetated for a few minutes (like every other morning), and then remembered the existence of God. So I started to pray, and I was drawn to thank God for my life. I felt as if I didn't have a heart big enough to contain the gratitude that spilled out.

I went to the church early for Mass, said the morning prayer of the Hours, and then -- hoping there would be confession after Mass -- found myself making a pretty thorough examination of conscience. It seemed to unfold naturally and peacefully before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, without any mischief-making by the OCD gremlins in my brain. The gremlins had the day off. Instead I was drawn to a lucid gaze on this, and that, and this, and that, and it was with sorrow that I saw -- in all my circumstances -- selfishness, grasping, and pride nipping away at so many earnest and good aspirations and efforts, and defining so many others.

Yet Jesus and His mercy were there, and so I was not beating up on myself (as I am so often tempted to do). I was repenting, and placing before God my "desire for the desire" to recognize Him and love Him well, and offering everything...even the pride. Take me, Jesus, in all this mess; love me especially in those places in my heart where I don't even know I need You.

"God resists the proud" -- I know this is true, Jesus, but I'm begging You to take me with all my pride because I don't know what to do with it. Make me humble and true. It will take a miracle, but I come to You as the blind man did, begging You to give me my sight, with faith that You -- and only You -- can work this miracle in me. And I also know that even with my repeated forgetfulness and failure, the miracle is still happening. Jesus I trust in You.

It turned out there were no confessions after Mass that day. I can still go this weekend or next week, and the superabundance of His healing mercy will be given, even if I don't "feel" it then. He will complete what He has begun.

But at the moment I felt disappointed. Things weren't proceeding according to the "script" of the penitential pilgrim on his 50th birthday (oh good grief!). I was tempted to be frustrated. Its so easy to take what God gives us and turn it into a project. But oh well. There was still Jesus in the Eucharist.

Jesus in the Eucharist, really present. Jesus!

The Eucharist is the way that Jesus "takes" us and changes us. We are afflicted by those "daily sins"--the fact that they are not grave sins does not mean we should ignore them. They damage us, distort us, and render our witness opaque. They wound and cripple us; how can we recover and grow? The sacraments are remedies that heal.

The Sacraments! Jesus in the Eucharist, always with us, giving Himself to us. Thank you, Lord!

Jesus in the sacrament of Reconciliation. We bring our fractured selves and He floods us with mercy. He restores the grace of God lost by grave sin; indeed there is no sin that is too great for His mercy.

And there is strength in this mercy that shapes the heart, that renews us and draws us beyond the daily faults that hinder (even if they do not break) our relationship with Jesus. These are the sins that we acknowledge at Mass: "I have greatly sinned...through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault." We need to let Him draw us close to His heart. Confession is not a burden. It is a blessing. Bring your troubled, anxious hearts to the fountain of mercy and healing. Go to Confession! Just go. Make it part of your life!

Its a tremendous thing to realize, suddenly, that we don't have to "do" this alone. Jesus is here for us. That's what the sacraments mean. We don't have to conjure up an imaginary Jesus in our minds so that we can "feel" His forgiveness and His strength. Jesus is here. He acts. He gets involved with our lives and makes things happen.

I'm 50 years old. I've had all kinds of thoughts about the challenges of this venerable age (see the previous post). But in the Eucharist I was given gratitude; I had a taste of the thanksgiving that is so much more than a polite acknowledgement, the thanksgiving that wells up in the center of life, with the awareness that I exist as a gift, in the image of God. And that Eternal Love is calling me to His embrace, in moments and gestures and words. I am not defined by my faults and limits (although, so often, it seems that way). The meaning of my life is this gentle calling, and the grace and mercy it contains.

Its not a one way relationship that I construct. In the Eucharist He gives Himself to me. If I allow Him to work in me, He will open my soul, and create in me the capacity to love Him. It is a love and a life that He gives to me.

The Eucharist. Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, for everything.

Here Comes Another ZERO!

I know, its coming up. The "milestone" day.

January 2, 2013.

Of course I've been thinking about it. Its an odd situation for me. I'm still very much a kid at heart. Indeed, I am "like a child" but not so much in the way Jesus had in mind. There is Christian joy and hope in me. I can't deny that; its a gift from Him. But there is also a lot of emotional immaturity. A lot of plain foolishness. Yes, its a mixed bag, again.

"Master, you gave me ten talents. I was so afraid that I buried five of them right away. But then I saw the other guys going to invest in the bank, and I followed them. I invested three. Then I took the other two and went shopping...." (see the parable in Matthew 25:14-30).

Age is also a funny thing for a college professor who has spent his life among young students, younger teachers getting started, experienced colleagues who are his own age, and the older generation of still very active teachers and scholars. The learning experience builds bonds of friendship between generations. In the pursuit of truth, goodness, and beauty, we are all children. The "fountain of youth" is wonder.

Then, for me, "middle age" has been twisted all around by the fluctuations of my health. I feel much, much better right now than I have in the past. I have been down to the dark places of the earth, and have been brought back up. My aspirations have been simplified. I am grateful for the amazing gift of being alive.

I am alive, outwardly and inwardly. Thank God!

I must accept that I have constraints and limits, but this is helping me to focus on engaging what is in front of me right now, risking the capacities and the talents that I do have to respond to the real vocation of life in the present moment.

I also know that there is weakness. There is failure. I must not let it discourage me. I must trust in the mercy of God, and receive His forgiveness. Then I must begin again when necessary, repair what has been broken, and always keep struggling to do the good and to build up what is good.

And we are all in this present moment together. It challenges us to help one another, to understand one another, to forgive one another, and to give ourselves. Give. Dear Jesus, please heal me and free me, please enable me to love!

I know its just stumbling, in the end. My life expresses itself in the gestures of a hungry man begging for food; and even more than food, begging for truth and meaning, begging for goodness and beauty, begging for love.

And I shall keep stumbling and begging, because I can see the merciful Father running toward me with His arms held open.