Month: November 2023

In the Catholic Tradition, the end of the liturgical year is marked by the Solemnity of the Lord Jesus Christ, Ruler of the Universe (once called “Christ the King.”). The gospel reading for this past Sunday was Matthew’s account of the end of the world, in which the Christ returns in glory and stands in judgement of humanity. (Matthew 25:31-46). For myself, this gospel reading of the Last Judgement fully illustrates the last command of Jesus to the apostles, prior to his crucifixion, “Love one another as I have loved you (John 15:12).”

Those who are saved and go to heaven are those whose lives are marked with love and compassion for those who are suffering. They feed the hungry. They give water to those who thirst. They provide shelter for the homeless, They clothe the naked. They care for those who are ill. They welcome the stranger (refugee and immigrant). They visit those who are imprisoned. They are told that because they acted out in love and compassion to those who are suffering, they acted out in love and compassion to Christ.

Conversely, those who are not saved and sentence for eternity to hell are those whose lives are marked with self-indulgence, who ignore or refuse to assist those who are suffering. These are people who choose to be devoid of all compassion and warmth toward others. They allow the hungry to starve. They allow those who are thirsty to die of thirst. They allow the homeless no shelter. They allow the naked to freeze to death. They refuse to provide medical care to those who are ill. They abhor and scorn the stranger, the immigrant, and the refugee. They let those who are imprisoned to rot in their prison cells. They are told because they lacked compassion and love for the suffering, they have separated themselves from Christ forever.

OUR SERVING OTHERS MUST BE AUTHENTIC NOT SELF-SERVING

However, there is one qualification in our service to those in need. St. Paul reminds us this service cannot be self-serving. The intention behind our service to others is not to boast of what we are doing, or to advance our standing in our own individual religious and community ghettos. Our service must be sincere and authentic.

Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians, teaches this point very clearly. “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing (1 Corinthians 13:1-3).”

The Last Judgement reading from Matthew’s gospel is probably the most powerful gospel passage in all four gospels. It reminds us that religious observance is not just isolated to a prayer and attending religious services on the weekend. Rather, the degree of people’s faith and religious observance is measured by God in how they work to ease the burdens of others. Those who act in compassion and love to those who are suffering.

BE DOERS OF THE GOSPEL

This message is not isolated to just the gospels. James, in his letter, reminds us that we must be doers of the gospel. “But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like (James 1:22-24). James continues in the second chapter, ”What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith. (James 2:14-18).”

In the first letter of John, the same message is proclaimed. “Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action. And by this we will know that we are from the truth and will reassure our hearts before him (1 John 4: 18-19).”

JUST SMELLS AND BELLS ARE NOT ENOUGH TO GET TO HEAVEN

There are those, clergy and laity alike, who pride themselves on their religious rituals attendance and prayer life, what I use to call “smells and bells” Catholics (the use of incense and ringing of bells at Mass), and think that is enough. They try to buy their way into heaven through religious indulgences. Yet, they turn away in disgust from the homeless, ignore the neighbor who lives in domestic violence. They look down upon those who may be different from them, whose religious observance, whose religious practice, whose religion or culture is different from theirs. They condemn those in the LGBTQ+ community and anyone who is “different” from them.

For those who believe that just attending church and saying their prayers is enough, the very first chapter of the prophet Isaiah has an extremely stern warning.

“What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls, or of lambs, or of goats. When you come to appear before me, who asked this from your hand? Trample my courts no more; bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and sabbath and calling of convocation— I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity. Your new moons and your appointed festivals my soul hates; they have become a burden to me, I am weary of bearing them. When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” (Isaiah 1:11-17)

This requires us to look at others and the all of creation with a different set of eyes.

SEEING IN A NEW WAY CHRIST REVEALED ALL AROUND US

In Richard Rohr’s book, The Universal Christ, he approaches the incarnation of Christ in the manner of St Francis of Assisi. Francis of Assisi believed and taught that the first incarnation of Christ was in the creation of the world. As the Prologue of John’s gospel tells us, all things created are created through the Logos, the Christ. In other words, the presence of Christ is embedded, imprinted in every rock, water, air, molecule and atom that makes up all of creation. Christ is incarnated first in that which Christ created. The second incarnation of Christ is in the human person of Jesus of Nazareth, whose birth we celebrate on December 25^th. In the life of Jesus, Christ was merged into humanity so that the Christ could fully reveal who God is to humanity. The third incarnation of Christ was into the community of faith that was created on Pentecost, that which we call “the Church”. Obviously, given the behavior of those in the Church over the centuries, this is a work, or incarnation, in progress.

The way in which I make sense of this abstract concept is through the use of abstract concepts in sacramental theology.

In the parlance of Catholic sacramental theology, what happens at the consecration is that the Holy Spirit, through the priest, reveals the real presence of the Christ in the bread and the wine. The real presence of Christ was already there, but through the power of the Holy Spirit, we fully see and experience that real sacramental presence of the Christ, the source of all things created in the universe. It makes sense that this revelation of the real presence does not go away, following the consecration. We often talk about how we cannot “unsee” something we have seen. So it is for me with the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

In the gospel today, Jesus is telling us is to see the real presence of the Christ in the person who is hungry, who is thirsty, who is naked, who is homeless, who is the stranger, the refugee, the immigrant, who is ill, and who is imprisoned. All of us carry within us the real presence of the Christ through whom we were created. The divine DNA of the Christ is embedded in us, is imprinted on every cell of our bodies, and imprinted on our very souls.

When we see, with a new set of eyes, the real presence of the Christ in all people, especially those who are most in need, we can no longer “unsee” that real presence. The Christ imprinted upon our own souls must respond in love to the real presence of Christ in those who are suffering.

Let our prayer for the upcoming new liturgical year be for our eyes to behold the real presence of the Christ in those around us, especially those most in need. When we respond in love to the Christ in all people, we begin to live far more fully the command of Jesus “To love one another as I have loved you.”

Some of what I posted on Facebook this past Monday, November 13, which is my Dad’s feast day, I repost here with additional stories, photos, and music which I composed for my Dad over the years. Living in a head/chest cold induced fog prevented me from doing this earlier.

Today, is the feast day of my Dad, Walter Wagner. He is the greatest man I have ever known. Extremely intelligent, he was also extremely humble. He never sought to be first, but always served others first. He did not seek great honors or prestige, though many honored him. He created important math formulas still used in the railroad industry today to determine the stopping distance of a train that are accurate to + or – five feet, especially important in cases when a train has struck a vehicle on the train tracks. Though he copyrighted these formulas, he never made a dime from them, attributing them all to the Holy Spirit who was the real author of those formulas to be used for the common good of all humanity. Incredibly honest, living a life of service to all, especially to my Mom, myself and my siblings, Dad rarely thought about himself.

Dad is the second child of Polish immigrants to the United States. His father, Andrew Wojnar, immigrated from Poland when he was 16 years old, having enough money to travel in the steerage of a ship. His mom, Katherine, immigrated to the United States at, I believe, the age of three years with her family. The marriage between my paternal grandparents was, as was the custom at the time, arranged between my grandfather and my great-grandfather.

They initially lived in Harrisburg, PA, but later, my grandfather built the brick home in which they lived on top of a hill (we would call it a mountain in Minnesota) in Turtle Creek, PA. The house overlooked a valley and the Westinghouse Air Brake Factory at which my grandfather worked, and later, my Dad worked. In order to make ends meet, my grandmother would walk down the hill to scrub the floors of the bars in Turtle Creek after closing. Dad would often go down and help her so that she could get home earlier. While in high school, Dad would set up pins at the local bowling alley. He always kept a bowling pin at the ready to kill the cat size rats that use to gather back around the pins. He said when a bowling ball would hit a particular spot in the alley, the rats would go scurrying.

Dad was a star fullback on the high school football team, good enough to be offered a semester tuition at Ohio Northern University. However, he worked alongside his father at the Air Brake factory for three years after graduating from high school to earn enough money to pay for the second semester of college. He initially wanted to be a doctor, but found his niche in mechanical engineering. He played one semester of football at Ohio Northern, but thought the coach had no concern for the safety of his fellow teammates. He was an excellent baseball player and for the remainder of his years at Ohio Northern was the catcher for the baseball team. Catchers mitts back then, are not the mitts of today, so after many games he would have to ice his left hand to get the swelling down. The fingers of his right hand were sprained so often that he was not able to straighten some of the fingers out. To earn extra money on the weekends, he would help do chores for a local farmer, we knew as Pop Cronbaugh.

Pop was a faithful, church going Methodist. At that time, there was a lot of animosity between the different Christian denominations still living the horrific wars from the Reformation. Contrary to that inter-religious hate were Pop and Dad, who had great respect for one another and for their respective religious faith traditions. Pop would pick Dad up on a Friday night, Dad would work all day Saturday for Pop doing whatever chores needed to be done. Pop would drive Dad to Mass on Sunday mornings and then go to his own Church services. He would pick Dad up from Mass, they would go back to the farm, and a wonderful meal and then Pop would drive Dad back to Ohio Northern.

Dad graduated from Ohio Northern with a degree in mechanical engineering. However, the hurdle he had to get over at that time, was extreme religious prejudice in American industry toward Catholics. Many Catholics, especially Polish Catholics, would never get jobs like being a mechanical engineer in American industry because of their religious. There was a prejudice against Polish immigrants in Pennsylvania at that time, which made matters all the more difficult for Dad to get a mechanical engineering job. My grandfather Andrew had a solution for my Dad. He said to Dad in Polish, “Don’t be a damn fool. Change your last name to sound more Protestant and German.” So Dad has his last name legally changed from Wojnar to Wagner. I don’t think corporate knew he was Catholic until 1960 when it was published in the St Paul Pioneer Press that Dad and Mom were head of the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine in the Archdiocese of St Paul and Minneapolis. They were great friends of Father Raymond Lucker, who would later be bishop of the New Ulm Diocese.

When World War II began, like many men, Dad tried to enlist in the armed forces. He was rejected because of his eyesight. However, as a mechanical engineer, the Coast Guard and Navy used his expertise as a civilian mechanical engineer in testing mine sweepers in the harbors on the East Coast. Dad was also active in the Civil Defense Corps.

Following the war, through the matchmaking schemes of mutual friends, Dad and Mom met. By this time, Dad had been transferred to the Chicago office of Westinghouse Air Brake, so it was a long distanced courtship. He knew she was his soul mate. It would write her constantly from Chicago, sending her little poems from time to time. It was when he wrote in a letter that he had gone to Mass on some particular Marian feast day, that Mom knew for sure that he would be her husband. Mom’s faith was very special to her.

Since both her mom and her dad had died, Mom’s parish priest, Father Conglin, on a promise to Mom’s dad, took it upon himself to screen potential husbands for my Mom. Dad passed the stern scrutiny of Father Conglin, and so they married on June 11, 1949. Of course, Mom had to pass the scrutiny of my paternal grandmother, Katherine. She knew that Mom was the one, because he brought Mom home to meet his parents. Dad never brought dates home to meet his parents.

With Dad working in Chicago, Mom and Dad relocated to an apartment on South Shore Drive in Chicago following their wedding. Soon, Mom was pregnant with my brother, Bill. It was a very tough birth at which my Mom nearly died giving birth to Bill. Dad never left the hospital, spending a great deal of time in the hospital chapel praying for both his wife and his unborn son. Bill was born, and Mom recovered from the birth.

Two years later, I was born. I have very distinct memories as an infant coming home to the apartment on South Shore Drive. I remember a number of people gathering in the Burress’ apartment below my folks, and being passed around from adult to adult. I was not very pleased about it all, especially when I was passed to Harold Buress, who reeked of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Mom came to my rescue and calmed me down. As a small child, I got to know Harold Burress very well. He was a very kind and gentle man. I guess that I just could not stand the smell of cigarettes and stale beer (come to think of it, I still don’t like the smells of either to this day).

One other infant memory was my Dad getting up and lulling me back to sleep in the middle of the night. As he softly patted me on the back, he would hum this little melody over and over and over again. I remember that little two measure motif, and made it into a song for Dad. Dad also loved to Polka, so I composed it into a dance called a Galop, the predecessor of the Polka in memory of my Dad.

The picture above was rather prophetic. What I lacked in mathematical ability I excelled at in music. In the second grade I started to learn how to play the piano. It was the one thing I loved to do. Dad was there at all the piano recitals, and when I started to play French Horn, he was there for all the band concerts. He supported me pursuing a degree in music, whether it seemed like a good career move or not (my guidance counselor in high school tried his very most to talk me out of pursuing music). Dad loved to listen to me and my sister, Mary Ruth, play piano.

It was during the days that I had the wonderful opportunity to accompany Dad on one of his business trips in the Northern part of Minnesota. Dad’s company provided air brakes for the trains bringing iron ore to the docks in Duluth and Silver Bay. It was on this trip that I witnessed the respect Dad showed those he served. In the morning, we met with the President of a railroad company, enjoyed lunch with him, and in the afternoon, Dad took off his business suit, put on coveralls and crawled under trains with mechanics maintaining the trains. He treated everyone from the president of the company to the mechanics covered in grease and dirt with the same dignity and respect.

For the first two years of college, one of the most major music classes I had was Music theory. In that class we not only analyzed music scores, but we were also required to compose music. The song, below, is one of the very first songs I composed back in 1970. I composed it and gave it to my Dad as a present on his birthday.

Upon meeting Ruthie, the only thing on my bucket list for life was to marry Ruthie. Composing music as a living quickly went away. Dreams of living in an unheated garret, dying from consumption, and my music finally being recognized as genius was something only reserved for a Puccini opera. As a result, I started to take classes in education so I graduated with a teaching degree. This added another semester on to college, so instead of graduating in June, I graduated in December. And two weeks after graduation, Ruthie and I were married at St Bridget of Sweden Catholic Church in Lindstrom, Minnesota.

Ruthie and I got married on December 27th so the church was bedecked in Christmas decorations. I composed a special song for our wedding, and arranged all the rest of the music for the wedding. Dad was in the front row recording the music of the wedding on a cassette recorder. Over the years, the cassette of music from our wedding was lost. I lost the original score for the song I composed, but I never forgot the melody. In 2016, I recomposed the song just for piano.

As always, Dad was always there if Ruthie and I needed him. Both Ruthie’s and my family gave us a place to live when we were homeless. They assisted us to cover closing fees on our house. Babysat the kids when Ruthie was giving birth to Meg and Beth. In fact, I remember Dad watching Andy, Luke, and Meg when Ruthie gave birth to Beth. Dad liked very strong coffee. To stretch our food budget, I had a habit of making weaker coffee. I remember making some in the morning for Dad, and after taking a sip, he said, “Just what is this piss? Let me make us some real coffee.” Then he made coffee so strong you could stand a fork up in it.

How can a son ever give back to a parent for everything the parent has done for them? I remember asking Dad what he wanted as a gift on his birthday. His answer was always, “Good kids.”

There was one time I deeply disappointed my Dad. He made me promise that I would not start smoking until I was 21 years old. I agreed. Through weakness, peer pressure, a work environment in which everyone smoked, I started smoking. Dad caught me smoking and the look of disappointment on his face almost crushed me. All he said was that I betrayed his trust in me. I would have far rather him hitting me with a baseball bat than saying that to me. The next day I begged him to forgive me and I promised I would, from that time forward, be true to my word. He did forgave me and I made sure never to ever disappointment him every again.

So again, what do you give somebody like my Mom and Dad who sacrificed so much for me? All I could do was compose a song to express my gratitude. I composed this song for my Mom and Dad, initially as a Psalm setting for them, but later I turned that psalm setting into a piano song.

I think one of the greatest sorrows in Dad’s life was the death of my sister, Mary Ruth, in 1997. At the age of 16 years, Mary began to have trouble with her health. Doctors struggled to figure out what it was ailing her. There were plenty of misdiagnoses until they discovered she suffered from Crohn’s disease. There was not treatment for Crohn’s at that time, except to surgically remove parts of the small intestine that were diseased. Up to the time when Mary died at the age of 42 years, she had countless surgeries. Since the disease prevented her from digesting the food she ate, she had to find nourishment through hyperalimentation, essentially broken down food fed through a catheter. Dad would prepare the equipment every night, prepare the bags of food every night and ready to assist my sister whenever she had a need. We all spent long hours in surgery waiting rooms, sometimes six hours, as they did surgery on Mary. But Dad often stayed with Mary all the way through the night to be present to her whenever she would awaken. I think a part of Dad died when Mary died. Mom and Dad, Ruthie, Meg, Beth, Luke and I were there with her at her death. I remember him mentioning that when she took her last breath, the pain on her face was replaced by a smile. I thought of Dad at that moment when I composed this song.

The well-being of others was always more important to Dad. Is it any wonder that all the relatives would talk to Dad when they sought out wisdom? He was the seat of wisdom in our family. When I think of myself in comparison to Dad, the quote of John the Baptist in John’s Gospel comes to mind. When John was asked his relationship with Jesus, John responded that he was not even worthy to tie the laces on Jesus’ sandals. I have struggled my whole life through to live the values that Dad lived so fully. As I have recounted a number of times, when I was sitting next to Dad’s lifeless body, I thought the Wisdom figure of the family had died, and that torch was passed to me. Followed by the thought, “If people come to me for wisdom, they are shit out of luck.” Years later, I was extremely moved by words Dad spoken to my cousin, Kathy. He told her, “Bob is a copy of me.” In spite of what I might think of myself, Dad apparently believed I am his copy.

When Dad died, I preached his funeral, as I did my sister’s funeral, my Mom’s funeral, and my brother’s funeral. It was my last act of love for these important people who loved and shaped me. There is a beautiful poem written by Edwina Gately that I think best describes Dad’s passing from this life to the fullness of God’s love in Heaven.

It is time to go.
I can smell it.
Breathe it
Touch it.
And something in me
Trembles.
I will not cry.
Only sit bewildered.
Brave and helpless
That it is time.
Time to go.
Time to step out
Of the world
I shaped and watched
Become.
Time to let go
Of the status and
The admiration.
Time to go.
To turn my back
On a life that throbs
With my vigor
And a spirit
That soared
Through my tears.
Time to go
From all I am
To all I have
Not yet become.
“Letting Go” From Edwina Gateley, There Was No Path So I Trod One (1996, 2013)

I always thought the best song that could describe my Dad and his life of service to others would have to be heroic in song and in structure. As I was composing songs for the song cycle, Songs of the Servant, I composed this song Fantasia in B Major as that song.

While I miss my Dad greatly, I don’t miss him because he has never left me. I haven’t visited his grave site in years, not out of disrespect or laziness, but because my Dad remains by my side as much as he did when he was alive in a body. So Happy Feast Day, Dad! You will always remain the greatest man I have ever known.

If any of the music in this blog interests you, you can find all the songs I have composed on YouTube (costs you not a cent), on streaming services like Pandora etc and for sale on Amazon Music and iTunes. The music is found under the name Robert Charles Wagner (It’s a classical music thing).

This past September 24th, I was ordained to the permanent diaconate for 29 years. Man, 29 years! Myself and Dick Pashby are the remaining members of those ordained 29 years ago.

So much as changed from those early days of diaconal formation, both in the Church, in diaconal formation, and personally. Much of the change not good and, in my opinion very regressive and repressive, however, ministry to the “Greek widows and orphans,” has not changed and is as necessary as ever. As Fr Steve Adrian taught so succinctly to my class the first day of classes, “We don’t need any more male bodies in the sanctuaries of the Catholic Church. There are far too many as it is. The sanctuary of the deacon is not in a church building. It is at the gas station, in grocery stores, in the workplace, on the streets with people who are in need. These places are the sacred spaces for deacons.” The truth of deacons personifying Christ as Servant to those most in need is only more paramount today. We don’t need deacons running around in clerical dress. We need deacons who are one with the people they serve, dressed as the people whom they serve, and present to the people they served.

For our ordination, I composed a choral hymn for the ordination Mass, and a song for each deacon couple of my class. What follows are the songs I composed for them.

My class came from all different walks of life. We all varied in age, levels of education, and occupation. We were from the various communities, urban, rural, small town, and suburban that comprised the Archdiocese. Our varied backgrounds was a wonderful composite of those we would serve in our parishes and communities. We were all equal and united in serving those we encountered in our parishes and in our communities. We each had our own unique set of gifts that we shared with those we served.

I spent all free time I had during the summer months prior to ordination in composing these songs. In contrast to much of the later music I have composed, these songs are relatively short in length. You will notice that while I composed music for the 9 men and 8 women pictured, I didn’t compose one for Ruthie and I. I address that toward the end of this blog.

ABBA, YESHUA, RUAH

I composed this four part hymn for my ordination class. Abba is Aramaic for Father. Yeshua is Aramaic for Jesus. And, Ruah is Hebrew for Spirit. The hymn is Trinitarian and the text I wrote a summary of much about which we were taught over the three years of diaconal formation.

Abba, Abba
May we be dwellings of your holy love,
The love which you grace all below, above.
May we be dwellings of your holy peace,
The peace for which all souls thirst and seek.
You loved so much that you sent your Son,
Only in you can we live as one.
Dwell in us, Abba, so that all may feel,
The touch of your love, and your peace-filled will.

Yeshua, Yeshua
May we be servants of your Eternal Word,
Servants of your compassionate Word.
O may we seek you among the very least,
Inviting all to the Abba’s feast.
You loved so much that you gave your life.
You conquered our death so that we may rise
O loving Jesus, may our bodies be
Your living body for all to see.

Ruah, Ruah
O Holy Spirit, come and make us whole,
Enflame our hearts, our minds, our souls.
Inspire our actions, our fears relieve
So we may give to others what we received.
Vessel of hope on our world outpoured,
Your healing breath our lives restore.
Infuse our lives now with your holy gifts
So in you, source of love, we may always live.
Abba, Yeshua, Ruah.

I began writing the text for the song early in June, composed the melody, and scored the song for choir and organ the rest of the month. I presented it to my class and they approved the song. The music director for our ordination Mass was Dan Westmoreland, in my opinion, the finest music director in the Archdiocese. The choir was comprised of singers of all our parish choirs. In one huge rehearsal, Dan put together the wonderful music chosen for the ordination Mass. The recording above was from that ordination Mass. I dedicated the hymn to Trish Flannigan, who at that time was the executive secretary for diaconal formation and the deacon community. My class always thought of Trish as a member of our diaconal class.

Years later, I composed an instrumental version of the song for piano.

BY AND ELLEN RUDOLPHI

This was one of the first piano songs I composed. By and Ellen were good friends. I remember Ellen being treated for cancer during formation. She had some very tough bouts of chemo during that time, and we all hoped she would be alive when we were ordained. Surpise, surprise, she outlived many of my diaconal class. She beat cancer and essentially died having lived a long and loving life. By died on February 3, 2013, and Ellen died September 2, 2020.

JOHN MANGAN

John was the only bachelor in our class. I learned from John that was when he was in the Navy, and was on one of the naval ships in the naval blockade of Cuba during the Cuban Missile Crises, the closest we had gotten to World War III. John had aspired to be a priest, but circumstances in life prevented that from happening. He ministered to many of the Veterans at the State Veterans Home in South Minneapolis. As he got older, he joined those he served as a resident of the Home and died there on March 13, 2017.

TOM AND LUCILLE COLEMAN

Tom and Lucille were very down to earth people. They were very hardworking people, devoted to each other, to their family and to their parish. The death of their only daughter was a heavy burden they carried. When eventually they moved to a nursing home, they roomed together. Tom died on January 1 and Lucille died on January 29.

TOM AND MARGE SEMLAK

Tom and Marge lived around Lake Elmo, a suburb to the east of St Paul. They both worked at 3M. One of their daughters was a hair stylist which meant that they both were always well coiffed. Like all the couples in our class, they were extremely devoted to one another and equally devoted to their service to Pius X parish. Tom passed away on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, December 8, 2015, and Marge died on February 1, 2018.

DICK AND SANDY PASHBY

Dick and Sandy lived in Cottage Grove, a southeast suburb of St Paul. I think of all my classmates, Dick was the healthiest of all of us. He was very physically active. Sandy worked for a company that leased both living and business spaces. One of their sons, was a music major and a jazz saxophonist. Dick was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor, but his treatment seems to have managed the tumor. The last time I saw Dick and Sandy was at the funeral of Tom Semlak. Dick was vested as a deacon and in a wheelchair. We use to exchange Christmas cards every year. I haven’t heard from them in a couple of years.

BILL AND MARY BECKFELD

I believe that the one couple that Ruth and I were very close to was Bill and Mary. Both were very spiritual, progressive, and opinionated, just like me. Initially, Bill was very involved with those who were developmentally challenged. One of their sons had been developmentally disabled and died early in life. Their youngest son, Joe, came out as Gay, at which point Bill and Mary got involved in ministry to the LGBTQ+ community. Sadly, Joe later died from HIV.

Bill was a bit of bull in a China Shop. Mary use to regale us with stories about Bill. I believe he is still a wanted man by the Lord Mayor of London for damage done to a rental car while he was doing business there. He, apparently, had difficulty driving on the left side of the road, and returned the car minus all four doors. This was just one of many stories about Bill. He and Mary both spoke their minds. There was no pretense about either of them. Bill was the first person from my class to die after ordination. He died suddenly on February 27, 2001. We were all in shock by his death. Mary is still alive and I think living with one of her kids. The last time I saw Mary was at Marge Semlak’s funeral. Ruthie saw her at the wake of her oldest son, Tom. Bill requested that I play the song I composed for them at his first Mass. It was a great honor to do so.

DOMINIC AND HELEN EHRMANTRAUT

Dom and Helen were such a wonderful couple. I think they had twelve kids. They were both incredibly spiritual people but were also grounded in reality. Dom was such a gentle, kind, man. He is one of those deacons who would bend over backward to assist people. One of his specialties was a homemade distillery of cherry brandy, very tasty and powerful. Dom worked for the Star Tribune and later was an entrepeneur. Helen died on May 27, 2005. Ruthie and I were not aware of her death until long afterward. We both felt badly that we were not at her funeral. Dominic died on March 9, 2017. His kids told me that in his last year, his kindness and gentleness never left him even in dementia. I think the song I composed for them fit the kind of people they were, loving and gentle.

JERRY AND BARB CIRESI

Ruthie and I were close to Jerry and Barb. Both Ruthie and Barb were RNs and they both worked full time night shifts. Jerry was a successful lawyer and I guess he and I shared a similar cynical attitude toward institutions, whether they are legal or religious. As my good friend, Fr Kevin Clinton has pointed out, when you work a long time in the Church, you discover that there are 8 not 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit. The 8th gift is sarcasm. Both Barb and Jerry were strongly opinionated and forthright in speaking their minds. Jerry was deeply in love and devoted to his wife, Barb. He was a hardship for him when, in her dementia, she did not recognize him anymore. Barb died on December 31, 2018. Because Jerry was also a chaplain for the St Paul Police Department, many of those who belonged to the St Paul Police Department and Ramsey County Sheriff Department were present at Barb’s funeral. I made sure I was present at her funeral, too, and be a support for Jerry. The year following was hard for Jerry. Jerry was a big fan of Shania Twain, and one of the big things on his bucket list was to go to one of her concerts. His boys saw to it that Jerry was outfitted in Western gear and attended one of her shows. Jerry died on November 22, 2020. Because we were still under the pandemic lockdown, and vaccines were still being developed for Covid, I was unable to be at his funeral.

DR DOLORE ROCKERS OSF

I had a number of powerful professors in diaconal formation. When I was asked by the Archbishop which one had the greatest impact on my life, I instantly told the Archbishop, Dr. Dolore Rockers OSF. A psychiatrist and a religious sister, Dolore, in her Human Growth and Relations class was the one who formed me the most as a deacon. She taught me how to 1) listen and upon doing that 2) taught me how to communicate with others. Ruthie and I recorded 20 minute conversations on all sorts of topics to hand in to Dolore to evaluate my progress in communication. As a psychiatrist, she knew how what “buttons to push” to get me and all the other males in the class to effectively listen and communicate. She could be tough as nails with us. I remember Bill Beckfeld tried to take her on and she brought him to his knees. Bill, from that moment on, was her undying, big defender. What Dolore did not reveal to us during class was her own vulnerability. That was something she revealed at the close of that year. My class had such great respect and love for her, we considered her, as we did Trish Flannigan, a member of our class. The song, abover, for Dolore, I composed for her a year later as she took time off to take care and minister to her dying mother.

BOB AND RUTH WAGNER

So where is my song for Ruthie and I? I didn’t compose one for us. I was so busy that summer, composing music for everybody else that I didn’t have time to compose a song for Ruthie and I. As for Ruthie, I have composed over ten songs for her since we dated way back in high school. As for me, I prefer to compose music for others. But were I to choose songs for Ruthie and I, it would be these two songs.

This song I composed for Ruthie as a gift on her birthday. It is in my favorite meter 5/4 time. I think it reflects the beauty that radiates from her to everyone she meets.

As for me, I would choose this song.

Lux Aeterna for the Conversion of Human Hearts is so in tune with the ministry of the deacon, to care for those broken and forgotten by society and religion. In loving service to those who are broken, the world finds healing little by little. This tune exudes hope that this healing of human hearts and the world is just around the corner if only we obey what Jesus taught us, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

I hope you have enjoyed these musical memories of a very transformative day in the life of Ruthie and I 29 years ago.