52 Masses

The church pictured below is Sacred Heart in Mound City, Kansas. I will be appearing there at 7 p.m. tomorrow to discuss the book and my trip for the parishioners, as well as others from Linn County, Kansas.

The origins of my appearance there date back to the National Eucharistic Congress last summer. While waiting in a food truck line between the convention center and Lucas Oil Stadium, I was blessed to meet Cecilia Clay, a Mound City resident.

We chatted while we waited, then found a wall to sit on to share lunch. Along the way, I told her about the book, which she wanted a copy of. A few weeks later, she told me the parish would love to have me out to speak, and that I could stay in the rectory as a guest of Father Clayton. Tomorrow, I’m taking her up on it, as work is taking me out to Missouri and I can hoof it the rest of the way on my own.

So, if you happen to be in Southeast Kansas tomorrow, please feel free to join me at Sacred Heart.

I have another talk scheduled in a few weeks. I’ll provide more details on that as the event draws nearer.

And as a reminder, if your parish or organization is looking for a guest speaker, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I love the opportunity to share my experiences.

Saturday marked the second all-parish retreat at St. John the Evangelist, welcoming our neighbors from St. Gabriel and St. Michael (soon we’ll be known as the St. Carlo Acutis Family of Parishes) to join us at the Rooted Series for a morning and early afternoon of prayer and reflection.

This year’s presentation went in an entirely new, but still fascinating, direction, as Dr. Ashley Theuring from Xavier University led a discussion of trauma – its definitions, effects and the responses to it. She did so by comparing it to the crucifixion, empty tomb and resurrection of the risen Lord, perfectly timed with the start of Lent this week.

I was asked by Deacon Michael Montgomery, our parish’s director of adult faith formation, to lead a small group discussion, a first for me. Thanks to active participation from each thoughtful and considerate member of our nine-person group, my maiden attempt seemed to go off without the conversation causing major psychological injuries or detouring into blasphemy. As you can see, I set the bar relatively low.

Thanks again to Dr. Theuring and all the folks from the parish who made this thought- and empathy-provoking event possible.

I’m not going to lie. I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited for the Lenten season than I am this year. And, based on attendance at Ash Wednesday Mass at St. John the Evangelist a few hours ago, I don’t think I’m alone.

Lent has begun. Rejoice.

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This is probably only meaningful to me, but yesterday marked an interesting milestone. I attended Mass in Phoenix, which marked the last state for me to attend a Roman Catholic liturgy.

As book readers might remember, my trip to Phoenix included attending Holy Qurbana at Holy Family Church. Holy Family is a Syro-Malabar Church, one of two Eastern Churches I visited during the 14-month stretch. The other was Divine Liturgy at the Melkite Church in Atlanta. Since I’ve attended other Masses in Atlanta since then, on work trips and a family vacation to Savannah, Arizona remained the last state to go to a Roman Catholic Mass.

I almost didn’t make it. Using the invaluable but imperfect Catholic Mass Times website, I discovered St. Catherine of Siena parish was near where I was staying and offered a convenient daily Mass. But when I pulled up, the parking lot was empty, even though the sign out front indicated I was in the right place at the right time.

Fortunately, a kindly man pulled up beside me and asked if I was going to Mass. I said that was my hope, and he informed me that daily Mass had been moved a few blocks south of there to St. John Bosco. He had seen me from the road and decided to pull in and check to see if I was lost. So I followed him a few blocks where I joined other folks from this traditional, bilingual parish for Mass.

Thanks Fernando.

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One of the most satisfying things about actually making the trip, rather than just working from home through phone calls and emails, was the unexpected surprises that only came from being there in person.

One such example was St. Benedict the Moor, the sister parish to St. Augustine Cathedral in the Florida city of the same name. Before I left for the Sunshine State, the secretary at St. Augustine asked me if I was also going to attend Mass at St. Benedict the Moor, which I wasn’t familiar with beforehand. But what a blessing it was to discover it.

St. Benedict the Moor was the historically black parish in the city, a sad reality for all Catholic churches in the pre-Civil Rights South. But it was also a significant location in that battle for equality. One day after civil rights leaders left St. Augustine after a lengthy campaign there, one marked by violent opposition, President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act into law.

While in St. Augustine, Martin Luther King Jr., who we honor today, was housed by a parishioner from St. Benedict the Moor. Another giant from the Civil Rights movement, Ralph Abernath, stayed at the home of a wonderful friend I met during my visit to St. Augustine, Donna Hughes.