Barney Frankl

Barney, My Love's brother, died last Monday, August 15, after more than a year of fighting cancer.  His funeral, which was celebrated last Friday, August 19, was a wonderful testimony to his generous and loving life.  It was my great privilege to share the following reflections about Barney during the funeral liturgy.

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Bernard Urban Frankl.  Barney.  Young Barney or Little Barney to distinguish him from Big Barney, his Uncle.  Ringman.  Ringman Barn.

He went by many different handles throughout his life.  What words or names do you think of when you think of Barney?  When I ponder about him and his life, I come up with two words:  Grateful Connector. 

Barney focused his energies on connecting with people no matter where he was.  He would call all of us on our birthdays or anniversaries.  When he was driving his truck across the country, if he knew of a high school classmate living in a certain locale that he was passing through, he would call them up to connect with them, even if he hadn't talked with them for thirty or forty years.  He connected with distant relatives in Virginia, in California, in Texas, in New York.  No one was a stranger, only a new friend with whom he could connect.

We've all heard the story of the woman whom he found at a truck stop with a wound on her foot.  She was in dire need of medical attention, but had no one to look after her.  Barney transported her to the hospital, paid for her treatment, and left money there for her care.  A true Good Samaritan.

I heard Barney say one time:  "It doesn't take a lot of brains to be an over-the-road truck driver.  And there certainly isn't a great deal of satisfaction in it.  So I have decided that it is my goal each day to make one person smile, to make one person's day better."  So, when he would enter a restaurant or truck stop cafe, he would look around to see which waitress was having a bad day.  Then he would sit at her table and try to cheer her up.  The first thing he would notice when she came to the table was the size of her ring finger.  Then he would proceed to fold a dollar bill into a ring the exact size to fit her.  When he presented her with the ring, inevitably it brought a smile to her face.  If all the people to whom Barney had given a ring over the years were to be here today, I venture to say that we could not begin to fit them into this church.

Barney has two sisters:  Annette and Janella.  He would tell each of them that she was his favorite sister.  And he was right.  Because Barney had the wonderful gift of making each person that he was with feel like they were the most important person in the world, his favorite person.  I know that I am his favorite brother-in-law.  And so is Jim.

All this Barney did with an attitude of gratitude.  He lived with a grateful heart.  His example throughout life was a constant reminder to all of us that while we have no control over the hand that life deals us, we do have control over how we play that hand.  Barney played the hand dealt to him with joy and gratitude, never complaining but always rejoicing in his blessings.  Those of us fortunate enough to have been around him during his last months of life experienced a man continually thanking God for the opportunity to have his family around him as together they prepared for his death.

Barney did not die a millionaire.  But he did die a wealthy man.  For he was rich in the relationships that were the fruit of his life of connecting.  Those relationships he takes with him while at the same time remaining connected in all our hearts.

Now he is reconnecting with his dad, Gerald, his brother, Mike, his in-laws, Bruce and Evelyn, and all the other relatives and friends that have gone before him.  Now he is Barney the Reconnector.

I look forward to the day that Barney can reconnect me to Gerald, Mike, even to my own Dad and my brother Jim.  I am sure that when that day comes, I will still be his favorite.

Michael Jackson?

All of the muss, fuss, fanfare and hoopla of the last two weeks following the death of Michael Jackson has me scratching my head and wondering, "Are we really that crazy as a society?" I mean, have we really strayed so far afield that this person has come to epitomize our values, our hopes, our dreams and our goals?

That he was a success as an entertainer no one would argue. That he introduced some new elements of dance and singing into the pop scene are without question.

Whether he was a success as a human being can certainly be called into question. His predilection for children, especially young boys is not something to be idolized or imitated. I mean, Mothers, would you want him to babysit your small children? The fact that he either settled charges out of court, or was not found guilty does not alter the perception of his secret behaviors. Then there is his seeming discomfort with his own racial identity. His attempts to blur or dull his "blackness" seem to indicate a person who would rather be someone else. This does not seem to be an individual to be held up for emulation.

Yet, the overwhelming adulation and gushing from both ordinary people and media types call for pause and questioning on all our parts. What does this say about our society? About us as a people? Is this the best we can do when holding someone up as a model for others, especially our young people?

I remember when Elvis Presley died in 1977. There was a woman in her 70's who was cleaning and cooking in the rectory where I was living. She was in tears for almost a week because "the King is dead". I thought it was strange at that time; I still think it strange as I look back upon it. Even though there have been many "sightings" of Elvis since that time, he has never come back. I suspect that the same thing will happen with Michael Jackson.

Maybe I am just "out of touch" with the real world!?! Or maybe I just cannot forget that Jesus is the only one who said that He would come back again. Maybe I keep remembering what Jesus said to Satan when he tempted Jesus following His 40-day fast in the desert: "Scripture has it: 'You shall do homage to the Lord your God; him alone shall you adore.'" (Matt 5:10) Somehow I think the world will move on, the sun will rise again tomorrow and music will play in the hearts of all people. Michael has died. May he rest in peace.

Triduum Pattern

These are my favorite days of the whole faith year: Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, or, as they are more properly known, Feast of the Lord's Supper, Celebration of the Passion and Death of the Lord, and the Easter Vigil. In actuality, they are three parts of one reality, and are called the Triduum, or the Three Days.

When I was a child, Lent would end for us at noon on Holy Saturday. We would have been doing our Lenten penance for six weeks, that is, giving up candy. All those sweets would be piled up in a box. Then at noon on Holy Saturday, we would pig out, making up for all the "suffering" we had endured during the previous month and a half. It was at that point that the true suffering would begin as we over-indulged in the mountain of sugar we had denied ourselves.

Now, Lent ends with the beginning of the celebration of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday. At that point we focus on the re-presentation of the Suffering, Dying and Rising of Jesus by moving through the three day faith celebration, culminating in the hope, joy and triumph of Easter.

I guess the reason these days are so special for me is that they illustrate so powerfully and graphically the CYCLE of LIFE. This is the paradigm for interpreting my own experience, my own Sacred History. As I look back, I see the pattern repeated: suffering, dying, rising, suffering, dying, rising, over and over again. New life, new hope, new beginnings only come about out of the ashes and agony of the dying process.

With that realization, and the opportunity to celebrate in the midst of a faith community, I feel more hopeful, more joyful, more positive about whatever the future may bring. After all, if God could raise up Jesus after his suffering and death, God can surely bring me through my death experience to a new life. What an awesome God we have!

Pickled Herring

A jar of pickled herring sits in our refrigerator, waiting to be enjoyed. Those little morsels are wonderful on a cracker or corn chip while sipping on a glass of wine. A relaxing happy hour while watching the news with My Love.

But I can't relish those pickled herring without recalling my Father, who died in 1971. At the beginning of each Lenten season, he would get a jar of pickled herring squares. He would munch on those herring pieces throughout the Lenten season, until finally Easter would arrive about the time that the bottom of the jar was reached. To this day, I don't know if he actually enjoyed the pickled herring, or if it was one of the penances that he took upon himself for that penitential season. This is one of the mysteries of my youth that remain with me today.

My Father remains for me a pillar of strength and faith. He was quiet, not easily riled, and always willing to help anyone in need. His largeness of heart reached out and touched many people, as was evidenced by the fact that his funeral was the largest one ever in our parish church. For me, his life is best summarized in his favorite prayer, the "Serenity Prayer".

"Lord, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The Courage to change the things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference."

He was not one who was afraid to become involved, especially in his Church. My memory of him includes him actively engaged as one of the men who counted the collection after the Sunday Masses, going with one of his trucks to help haul things around the church property that needed to be transported, ushering in church, and many other occasions of service. If there was a need that he could meet, he was there.

I don't recall him ever getting angry. He seemed to be able to accept life as it came at him, and to accept people the way they presented themselves. Truly he seemed to have the wisdom to know the difference.

One night, a month or two after he had died very unexpectedly in September, 1971, I had a dream in which my Father came to me. I began to argue with him, saying that he was not supposed to be there because he was dead. But he said that he was only there to tell me that everything was OK. There was nothing to be concerned about. That was so typical of him, and I found it to be very reassuring.

However I was unable to ask him about the pickled herring and his reason for eating it during Lent. That is just one of the questions that will have to wait until I meet him again after I die.

"Here I Am And Nowhere Else"

This past weekend, My Love and I traveled to Omaha to visit with Marilyn, a member of our morning Bible Study from Idaho, who has been visiting her daughter and family. What a tremendous gift it was to spend time together, to share meals, fun and relaxation.

But the highlight of the weekend was the attendance on Friday evening at the lecture by Mark Gilbert and the ensuing visit to his art exhibit entitled "Here I Am and Nowhere Else" at the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts on Saturday. Mark Gilbert is a Scottish artist who has worked with the Medical Center at the University of Nebraska-Omaha to complete a collection of sketches, paintings, woodcuts and other pieces, many life-size, of people dealing with illness, dying, healing and birth. This intersection of medicine and art has been an attempt to humanize the struggle that people find themselves in when living through circumstances that very often can be dehumanizing as well as discouraging and disheartening for both patients and their caregivers.

For me, it was a deeply touching and profoundly moving experience. As I viewed the various sketches and paintings, I came to several realizations. First of all, life is very, very fragile. The line between health and sickness can be crossed very suddenly at any age. Life can be turned upside down in a moment, and the best laid plans can be thrown aside with no forewarning. This certainly is a reminder of Who is in Charge of our lives at all times -- and it isn't me!

Secondly, the line between patient and caregiver is very often blurred. We are all caregivers at various times in our lives for others. We are also all in need of care from time to time. Sometimes these two callings overlap at the same time, or even in the same relationship. This is especially difficult for me because I find it much easier to give than to receive. This is partly true because when I am giving, when I am in the role of caregiver, I can at least feel like I am more in control than when I am on the passive, receiving end.

The third insight was the resiliency of people. The paintings and sketches of both patients and caregivers manifested the indomitable spirit that shined through in even the most seemingly hopeless situations. People confronted with terminal illnesses who refused to give up, refused to become their illness, but instead maintained their personhood, their personalities and their perspectives. This strength of spirit was evident in children, young adults and elderly people. In each case, they seemed to rise to the occasion presented by their illness, and even if they died as a result of it, they rose above it, conquered it and survived.

I have come away from this weekend with a greater desire to live life in its fullness each day, and day by day because we never know what tomorrow can bring. If I live life to the fullest today, and each day, then I will never have regrets at some future date. I also will not be plagued with worries about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself.

Finally, I find a need to be more gentle with others. Every person that I meet each day is also walking this tightrope between sickness and health, caregiver and patient, victim and survivor. Each one is somewhere on the spectrum of life-death whether he/she realizes it or not. By being more sensitive and gentle, I can afford them the opportunity of engaging their own humanity and living more fully their own journey.

What a blessing and a gift this past weekend has been! To cut through all the "stuff" of everyday life and get to the basics of life and death makes each moment more precious, and each person more valuable. Would that I could remain in this consciousness each day.

Relationships Are Forever

Through the years I have been in many positions of leadership where I was responsible for building something. As a pastor I worked to build a Christian community in the parishes I served; as an educator I tried to build a community of learning and growth in the schools I was a part of; as a nursing home administrator I labored to create a caring family among the staff in order to serve the residents and their families. All of this was a labor of love, and one which was very gratifying at the time in spite of the obstacles that were a part of the picture.

However, what I found to be very difficult was that so often, when I left the scene and moved on to another field of service, my successor(s) would undo much of what I felt I had accomplished. They would bring their own leadership styles, insights, judgments and plans to the situation which led many times to, what seemed to me, tearing down much of the good that I had accomplished. This was very frustrating for me for a long time.

Then, after a while, I came to realize that from each situation I had come away with unique and treasured relationships which no one but I could destroy. These connections to special people transcended any locale, any distance, any occupation or preoccupation that we were involved in. These friendships were God-given, God-blessed, and were untouchable by those who came after me. These relationships are timeless and will endure forever.

One of those special people who came across my path was Fr Darrell Rupiper, OMI. My Love and I had the good fortune to meet him when he came to our parish in Pharr, Texas, several years ago for a mission/retreat on respecting the earth as God's gift to us. He was truly a man of God who spoke the truth both in season and out. He graced our home on two occasions and we shared faith, food and refreshments as we enjoyed one another's company.

Fr Darrell died February 10 and we rejoice that he is now sharing in the Great Gathering of Friends and Family that awaits us all. You can see some of his own reflections on his journey through illness, and pictures by going to his last web page on CaringBridge.org. He will be missed by many, but he is still connected to all of us whose lives he touched. Relationships are forever.

Therefore, in the last few years, I have focused more energy on building relationships, rather than completing projects. Projects will come and go, but the relationships will endure into the next life. Only the hearts that I have touched, and those that I have let touch mine will survive the power of death. Only relationships last forever.