Knights of Columbus May Newsletter

A guest post by my husband, Deacon Rex Pilger

Called to Serve

Fellow Knights,

My precious wife, Rita, was invited to write the monthly letter to St. Joan of Arc (SJA) parishioners who are shut-ins or in nursing homes. I liked it so much that I asked Rita to allow it to be shared with SJA Knights and their ladies. Enjoy!

Deacon Rex

Greetings in the love of our Lord, Jesus Christ! I take great delight in getting to visit with you

 this month through this letter.

As we continue celebrating this Easter season we can ponder the love and joy we are witnesses in sharing with our beloved Lord. He is alive and He is with us! We do believe. It is through this belief, that we know our sufferings on earth are only temporary as the promise of new life is truth promised and proven to us.

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Looking out my window I delight in the spring blossoms on the trees and the tulips starting to bloom. It is again, that new hope, tangible at my own front door, reminding me that Jesus Christ has risen and is with us. No matter what darkness we have endured or fears we have, our Lord has shown us that we too shall come through it. He has walked the path before us and shows us the way.

A favorite scripture of mine always brings hope. It is from the Song of Songs and it's a poetic portrayal of praise of the mutual love of the Lord and his people. In Chapter 2, verses 10 to 13 we read:

My lover speaks; he says to me,

"Arise my beloved, my beautiful one, and come!

For see, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth,

the time of pruning the vines has come,

and the song of the dove is heard in our land.

The fig tree puts forth its figs,

and the vines, in bloom, give forth fragrance.

Arise my beloved, my beautiful one, and come!"

During the most holy season of the Church year, we have the wonderful opportunity to turn our eyes to the Mother of Jesus who stood by him in his pain, suffering and new life. Jesus gave his Mother to us from the cross (John, chapter 19:25-27) and she is our Mother too. Her love and intercession for us is always with us. We are not orphan children of God but rather under the warm protective mantle of a Mother most holy. No matter where we are in our life journey, we have a welcoming Mother to comfort and care for us as she did for her son, Jesus. 

Our beautiful and humble Blessed Virgin Mary is honored this month of May along with our

own mothers. Our lives are given to each of us by the nurturing care of a woman, who became a Mother. This is the most blessed honor to have a participation in the creation of new souls and lives given to earth by God our Father. Mothers come in all sizes, shapes, attitudes and personalities but each has accepted the gift of new life, their own Annunciation of saying "yes" to motherhood. Motherhood is under such attack in this day and age. Let us offer extra prayers this month for the many women who refuse motherhood and for the many women who say "yes" to bringing forth new life. It is spring time, let us rejoice in the season!

Rita Mary Pilger

Merry Christmas 2012

Wishing you a blessed Christmas Season!

Mary's First Communion

Milestones are a part of everyone's life. The memorable markers of growth, passage and change bring a sense of nostalgia to young and old alike.

Things like white lace, rosaries, veils, family parties, cakes and pictures are all part of the ritual surrounding a 1st Communion. Twenty-one years ago our daughter celebrated her First Communion and it came with a story I'll always remember.

I was delighted and excited to be the parent of a 2nd grader that would soon be receiving Our Lord in Holy Communion for the first time. As I talked with Mary Rose about this big event in her life, I recalled how thrilled I was many years before to present her for baptism into the Catholic Church when she was only six weeks old. On her Baptism day she wore a pretty white dress with a miraculous medal on a chain around her baby neck. I felt I was presenting her to the Lord and asking for his special blessing upon her. Now 7 years later I was again bringing her to the Lord and this time letting her walk up to the Lord herself and welcome Him into her life.

As part of the preparation, I asked Mary Rose how she'd like to dress for her special day. I wondered if she wanted to wear a veil, or flowers in her hair and what kind of dress did she want us to buy. I so fondly remember these same discussions surrounding my First Communion so I was not prepared for Mary Rose's response that she "hated dresses" and wouldn't wear one. A sudden panic did arise in me and some horror at what the alternative might be in my little girl's mind. I had visions of white stretch pants and a big T-shirt, certainly not my idea of appropriate attire. I'm pleased to say I stayed outwardly calm though and planned carefully my next move.

I pulled out pictures of Mary Rose's big sister, Beth's First Communion, also, the dress and veil for "hands on"discussion. I explained that all girls dress up special for this day.

A few weeks went by and I dared not discuss "dresses." I only hoped that Mary Rose would come around to the idea.

Finally it was time to go shopping for First Communion clothes. I had decided by this time that probably simplicity in style was the safest way to go. However, once again Mom was thrown off balance. Mary Rose picked out the laciest, most ruffled, gorgeous dress I had ever seen and a veil to go along with it. I was ecstatic.

Professional First Communion pictures were being taken at church a month before First Communion so we had the opportunity for dress rehearsal. On picture day I curled Mary Rose's hair (first time ever) and She wore a pearl, rosary bracelet and dotted Swiss tights with white patent leather shoes. Mary Rose was transformed into the most delicate, angelic, gorgeous little girl I had ever set eyes on.

Picture taking only took about five minutes, so I decided to take my little treasure and show her off to one of my co-workers. Philly, Daddy Rex and I stood beaming with pride at this beautiful little daughter of ours as I made the introductions. Philly, Rex and I raved over this little girl standing quietly before us and then with all eyes focused on Mary Rose, Philly stooped over and asked Mary Rose "how do you feel all dressed up so pretty?" Out of that little bitty mouth came the two single words "like hell." I think the shocked gasps of her parents could have been heard up and down the hallways and the looks on our faces could have won a Pulitzer Prize.  Philly, the professional counselor that she is, recovered the quickest and proceeded to ask Mary Rose "what does it feel like to feel like hell?" Mary Rose took the edge of her lacy dress and swirled it gracefully in the air explaining that she didn't like dresses.

By this time, Mom and Dad were starting to rally from the shock and it was becoming extraordinarily funny as to how perfectly Mary Rose had expressed herself. I was delighted that Mary Rose felt so free to express her feelings and at the same time accept the lace and ruffles associated with this milestone.

Once in the car I asked Rex how he felt when she said "that". He replied that he was shocked and mortified. I was thinking, isn't that what happens to parents sometimes along the journey?

Mary is now a lovely, married mother of two adorable little girls. Mary wore a gorgeous white gown and veil for her wedding. She looked as beautiful and angelic as she did on First Communion picture day those many years ago. 

The Day I Gave My Husband Away

Like most teenage girls, I often dreamed of my ideal man.  He would be loving, patient, kind and considerate.   We would marry and his undying love would care for me and whatever children we had.  But this guy was not just the man of my dreams.  He was the man of my prayers.  Every day, I stopped in the convent Chapel and prayed that the Lord would send me just such a man.

On September 8, 1973, I walked down the aisle and said “I do” to Rex, the man of my hopes and prayers. As the years went by, Rex proved to be exactly everything I had requested.  We had five children.  With each baby, it seemed that our love deepened for each other and for God. 

Together, we volunteered for various ministries in our parish and diocese.  Slowly, the feeling grew within us both, that Rex was called to be a permanent deacon, to serve in an official capacity as an assistant shepherd of our church’s flock.   While attending the ordination of a neighbor, during Mass, Rex and I looked over at each other.  No words were necessary.  At that moment, we both knew for certain that Rex was being called.  Silently, we simply nodded at one another.

Although only the man is ordained to the office of deacon, spouses participate in the formation classes.  It was during this time of preparation when I came to realize that this was not just one more way in which Rex would volunteer for our parish.  It was a commitment beyond any he had ever previously made.  Rex had to agree not to remarry in the event of my death. He would have a flock to help shepherd.   Rex’s pact with God would not just be  between the two of them either.  I had to give away my husband.  For the first time in our married life, I'd be alone in the pew with our children. 

Rex and I  had always  attended Mass as a family, sitting together and praying together. My husband and I sat side by side as we believed this was an unspoken symbol of our union in Christ.  Our children knew that we were inseparable and even they didn't sit between us!   It’s what I had envisioned as a young girl so many years before when I prayed for a good husband.

Now, there would be many Sundays, holidays and major feasts days where I would have full responsibility of the five children in the pew with me. With three boys and two girls getting through one Mass alone would be a challenge.  Looking ahead to a long future as the lone adult in our pew, was intimidating.  Our youngest would be one year old when Daddy was ordained. The other children were all in their formative years between the ages of three and twelve.  The whole group together was like a bouquet of helium filled balloons that wanted to flitter away.  I wish I could brag that the children sat as quiet, little angels during Masses but my crowd's personalities just didn't fit that description.  Keeping order in the pew and not providing huge distractions to those around us was something Rex had always been there to help with.  Taking on this daunting task alone was one of the toughest things I'd have to adjust to as the wife of a deacon.

As part of our preparation for ordination, we had occasional interviews in front of the diaconate board. These interviews were meant for further discernment about whether we'd be ready for ordination. One of these important interviews happened to come on our wedding anniversary date. At first, I did not think anything of the coincidence but after the interview, I was hit by the immense significance. During the interview, I was asked how I felt about Rex’s ordination. The Holy Spirit illuminated my thoughts as I responded.

"In high school I had prayed for the Lord to send me a wonderful man,” I explained. “He heard my prayer and answered it. Now, I am being asked to give Rex back to the Lord in service of His people. How can I say no?”

It has been twenty-four years since I willingly gave Rex back to our Lord when he was ordained a permanent deacon. I still remember the joy flowing through me like a fountain.  Over the years, I've missed Rex sitting next to me, especially at our children's special events such as First Communion and Confirmation.  Even on ordinary Sundays, I sometimes wished for Rex's help with the children during Mass.  One memorable Sunday I took the baby to the back of the church since he was being rather fussy.  Before long, I heard the patter of little patent-leather shoes coming down the aisle. There was his teary-eyed three-year-old sister who missed us.  Next around the corner appeared the smiling face of my seven-year-old child, coming to see if I needed anything.  After a few minutes my ten-year-old son came to see what was going on.  Finally, the oldest, our twelve-year-old daughter, showed up thinking maybe I needed her help. It felt as though my bouquet of helium balloons was let loose in the church.   With everyone accounted for, I rounded the children up and trekked back to the empty pew. We made quite a procession.

The years have since passed and the children are grown. Our youngest son was an usher and sacristan so eventually he wasn't in the pew with me anymore. However, I know that my husband, Rex, is a very gifted man and that the love he shows me and our children is not just for our family. The small sacrifice of sitting in a pew alone I've accepted so that others may be blessed by the Lord through my precious spouse. I rejoice in having such a wonderful gift I can lovingly share with others.

This story is published in Amazing Grace for Families 

Easter Vigil and the Lady Who Fell Down

A few years ago the Easter Vigil mass was an extra special event as my future daughter in law was becoming Catholic. It had been a long time dream for her and her excitement spilled out on our whole family.

Since my husband, Rex, was one of the Deacons participating in the mass we had arrived early at the church. 

A few families were already there claiming the coveted front rows and aisle seats.  Another lady was standing in the sanctuary handing out the candles for the congregation as they arrived.  I knew the church would be filling up fast so I took my unlit candle and scanned the darkened church to see where I might find a row for our family.

As I entered the church, I decided to head off to the left side where there were some seats available and the third row was still empty.  Glancing that way, I was briefly distracted. Suddenly, without warning,  there was a large "splat"  that drew my attention.  There on the floor  was sprawled a sweet middle aged lady.  Her legs were splayed through her lovely floral skirt, her silvery high heels kicked off in various directions, her designer glasses across the aisle and her cocktail purse all but dumped on the floor. 

I don't know how long she was there but three men came running to her aid out of nowhere.  They bent down and asked "are you alright"?? I looked at them and said "I'm fine and I didn't even break my candle".

They helped me up and I gathered my shoes as one of the men handed me my glasses.  I stooped over to pick up my scattered shoes and said "I think I'll just go over here (to the pew) and regroup". In the pew, I put on both shoes, my glasses, rearranged my purse and straightened up my skewed clothing.  With great humility and any pride squelched, I pulled up what dignity remained and slowly stood up. I quickly looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed the Deacon's wife falling flat on her face in her Easter finery!  Only one lady that I recognized was looking my way so I was hopeful that this event was quickly forgotten.

As I gracefully glided into my chosen pew, third row from the front, I was surprised to see the lights in the church come on.  Usually everything stays dark until the Easter candle is processed in.  I was grateful that lights were now on as it would help others to see their way into the church. 

Mass was lovely as was the reception following.  Back at home, late that night, I queried my husband if he had heard about the lady that had fallen down in church.  He said that an usher came back and said something about it and that the light should probably be turned on. I asked Rex if he heard anything about who the lady was that had fallen down.  To my great relief he hadn't heard so I felt safe that I hadn't become the talk of the sacristy that night! 

Dressed in Blue for the Blessed Mother

When my three-year -old son needed surgery, I was worried how to take care of his older sister and nursing baby brother, and still give all my attention to Paul. After considering all options it was decided that my husband would take Paul for his surgery while I stayed home with the other two children. This decision broke my heart, as I wanted to be at my son’s side to love and care for him, even though it was called "minor" surgery by his pediatric physician.

The day before the surgery I had an idea. I dressed Paul in a “Blessed Mother” blue shirt

and took him over to the chapel of our parish church. We knelt in front of the Blessed Sacrament in the Tabernacle, and I silently presented him to our Mother Mary. I asked her to be with Paul just as I would want to be there with him. I asked her to hold his hand and take care of him in every way I would have done. I told no one what I had done, not even Paul.

Early the next morning, Paul and his dad headed off to the hospital. I stayed home, lit a blessed candle and started my hours of praying for my beloved little son. Later in the afternoon, Paul and his dad returned home. I was quick to hold Paul and be reassured that he was well. As I cuddled him I told him I so much wanted to be with him but since I couldn't  I asked the Blessed Mother to be with him. To my great surprise Paul said, “I know”. Stunned, I asked him to explain. He said “Daddy held my hand, the nurse held my hand, and the Blessed Mother held my hand”.

A few years later, while in first grade at our large parish school, Paul was chosen to place the ringlet of flowers on the statue of the Blessed Mother at May Crowning. I still smile because I know she continues to watch over him even now as a thirty-plus year-old adult.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for us sinners,

now and at the hour of our death. Amen

Whisper in Church

As a wife of a permanent deacon and a mom of five children, I have grown accustomed to expecting the unexpected. However, I never can anticipate what will happen concerning my family, even in Church. A few years ago my husband was in full-time ministry in a Colorado mountain parish. It was a unique experience living in a parish house next door to the Church. Our five children knew their way through every crack and crevice of the Church and parish hall. While my husband was working in the parish office or out ministering to the parishioners, one of our sons took care of mowing the churchyard grass or shoveling and snow blowing the overnight snowfall for the early daily Mass attendees. We were definitely a visible presence in the small town and parish.

One Sunday at Mass I was very surprised when during the homily the pastor pulled out my son’s T-shirt with a message on it. Unknown to me he had borrowed it after seeing my son wearing it. Our pastor thought it would be a great prop for his homily that day.

Another time while one son and his friend were holding tall candle sticks during the Stations of the Cross, they got the hysterical giggles. The candles they were holding bounced around and I could only think of hot wax dripping everywhere.  The other mother and I tried to signal our boys to settle down but it was a lost cause. What’s a mother to do when such laughter is contagious?

With everyday being a new experience, I shouldn't have been surprised one particular Mass. It was a lovely spring Sunday and the doors of the Church were wide open. The blooming spring air was a welcome relief after a long, snowy winter. Mass was well underway when suddenly our Pastor stopped and started walking down the center aisle of the church. To my embarrassment, he stooped over and picked up our sweet, quiet, precious dog, Whisper (we named her that because she rarely barked). Unknown to us, Whisper had her secret ways of getting out of the little parish house and on this particular day, she came straight over to attend Mass with us. Our pastor welcomed her with open arms and greeted her as one of God’s little creatures. Our family still remembers this interruption at Mass and laughs over the mixed embarrassment and delight of seeing our dog in church. This faithful little pal isn't with us anymore, but she is a part of our Catholic family history whose memory continues to bring laughter into our lives.

My Call to be a Eucharistic Minister

While living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, our Catholic parish had put out their annual sign up invitation for new Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion. Eagerly I put an X in the box and waited to be called. Sadly, over the next year my call never came. I was certain I had a calling to this ministry, and I didn't understand why I wasn't notified. I pondered my calling each Sunday. Every time the communion ministers went forward I felt a yearning to be participating. I  knew in my heart this is what I was to do. 

The next time  stewardship Sunday came around, I talked to my parish priest. I thought maybe there was a reason I hadn't been called. Father reassured me saying I must have fallen through the cracks and to please sign up again. So I signed up again. The desire in my heart was to bring the Sacred Body of the Lord to the sick and homebound. I was too shy to serve at Mass, so my plan was to quietly serve without being seen at our large parish's Sunday Mass. Part of my hesitation was the awareness of my limp because of continuing hip problems from birth. I was very self conscious and wanted to stay unnoticed.

When the long-awaited call for EM training finally came, I was both thrilled and terrified. I had been told I could only go to the homebound if I also served at Sunday Mass. Our parish sent forth the Eucharistic Ministers directly from Mass to the homebound as a sign of the parish’s care and concern. My desire to serve was so strong that I knew I had to overcome this fearful obstacle of serving at Mass.

My first day of serving as an Extraordinary Minister finally arrived after a year of waiting and anticipating. As the Eucharistic Prayer was being said I could feel my heart beating faster. I thought about all my fears and concerns . I could start coughing or trip or do something wrong. I prayed that I would be able to follow thorough with this blessed calling without my imagined fears. Finally it was time to approach the Table of the Lord.

Standing around the altar at the Breaking of the Bread, I blinked my eyes. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Across the altar I saw a smiling Jesus. In my heart I felt Him tell me, “see, you made it”. I marveled at how I could look right through my image of Jesus and see the Church wall through Him. A little later I was even more amazed when I realized He had appeared to me at the corner of the altar where there was a large drop off.  I thought He wasn't even touching the floor. 

As I held the ciborium giving out Holy Communion, I had to occasionally stop and look down at my feet. I felt I was floating three feet off the ground. The experience is forever etched in my memory. I spent many years as a Eucharistic Minister, serving at Mass and bringing Communion to the homebound. I was even able to give my son, Paul, his First Communion. What a wonderful blessing for a Mother. Another of my very favorite times was volunteering at the Pastoral Care department at the Catholic hospital bringing communion to the patients. The faith I saw in the patients and their families remains a strong witness to me even today. I treasure the years I was able to be a Eucharistic Minister. 

Driving the Nuns

I grew up in the days when nuns wore habits and traveled in pairs. As a young girl, I became particularly knowledgeable about nuns because my great aunt, Sr. Mary David, was a Religious Sister of Mercy. Every holiday or on Sundays since I was a wee tot we would visit the convent . The nuns knew me very well. Over the years observing the nuns I acquired the unspoken insight that the nuns didn't drive. The nuns relied on generous souls to transport them. I never understood how these carpools were arranged, but I did know one result was an unexpected drop-in visit at our home on Saturday mornings.

On these Saturday mornings I might be found lounging around the house, with my radio on, teen magazines spread around the floor, and my hair in rollers. Suddenly  my mom or sister would shriek, “the nuns are here." Somehow my aunt and a travelling companion had found someone to drive them for a drop-in visit at our house on a weekend morning.  I knew at the first darkening of the door step, my aunt would declare, “I want to see Rita’s room." With the one minute warning from when the car was spotted in the driveway until the nuns reached the door, I would dash around my room frantically pulling up the bed covers, sliding extraneous clutter under the bed, opening the shades, turning off the radio, and flash a final, panicked glance around the room for any tell-tale hints of inappropriate belongings (like misplaced underwear). My reward was Sister’s announcement, “your room looks good." Then the nuns were happy to sit and visit awhile.

A few years later I became better aware of how life in the convent was arranged, especially when a ride was needed. I was a budding new driver myself. My parents let me have the family’s second car for special events. This car was a classic 1955 Pontiac. One Saturday morning Sr. Mary David called, asked for me, and directed that I was to pick her up at the convent at 1:00 p.m. I was to drive her to the hospital to visit the sick. My teenage thoughts were, “What if I had other plans?” Fortunately, I knew better than to question the request. Obediently, I promptly arrived at the convent  as the chauffeur-of-the-day. Immediately my aunt and another nun came out the front door and climbed into the back seat of the car.  I really felt  like a chauffeur then, as  my teenage friends would at least sit in front when I drove them.

I knew my driving privileges with Mom and Dad were on the line with this driving trip. A report of my driving abilities would be a future topic of conversation among my parents, my grandma and Sr. Mary David. With the two sisters visible in my rear view mirror, I turned every corner carefully so as not to shift them around in the back seat. I stopped slowly at every stop light and pressed gently upon the accelerator so as not to go too fast. My hands gripped the wheel of the car until my knuckles were white. Finally, with the nuns safely deposited at the curb of the hospital’s front entrance, I exhaled a huge sigh of relief. Suddenly Sister turned around and leaning into the car from the curb, said “be here to pick us up at 3:00 p.m.” Which I did, of course, with great efficiency.

My reward for chauffeuring the nuns came later that week when the report filtered through the grapevine that “Rita was a good driver and didn’t scare the nuns with her driving”. 

Things have changed now. Many sisters dress like the rest of us; they drive their own cars and vans and live in apartments. I treasure the memories of my insight into the mysterious life of the Religious Sisters of Mercy. My own children have never known the white-knuckle fear of transporting God’s holy ladies!

Confession and Catholic Children

I’m beginning to believe that raising Catholic children, including teaching them and assisting them in participation in all the sacraments, is a very underappreciated part of parenthood. My husband and I have taken teaching the Catholic faith to our five children very seriously. We have overseen our five children being baptized, receiving the Sacraments of Reconciliation and Eucharist. Each has been confirmed and all five have had Catholic weddings. Even with all our efforts, sometimes things are still out of our control. This became obvious to me one evening at a parish communal penance service (with individual Sacrament of Reconciliation) when our three youngest children were still young enough to need our guidance. 

Before the service, we discussed whether each person wanted to go "face-to-face" or "anonymously". My husband chose the former, the rest of the family took the latter. As we got in long lines, my husband went to another part of the church. I whispered to each of the children to make sure they were familiar with “the little box” since most of their experiences had been face-to-face confession with a priest. As each took their turn, I noticed my daughter came out all too soon. The person on the other side should have exited first, and she hadn’t come out yet. After inquiry, I discovered that my daughter had thought she had been forgotten and gave up and came out when she talked and no one answered.

Eventually, with the three children finished with their confessions and kneeling in a pew, it was my turn in the confessional. While kneeling in the dark, I suddenly heard a ruckus in the pew right outside my door. I knew that was exactly the pew where my children were. As the noise got louder and louder, and I was still waiting, I wondered if I should open the door and shake my finger at the children and tell them to settle down and be quiet. Before I could go into action, the sliding door in the confessional opened and it was my turn to confess my sins. After absolution, as I went out the door I noticed that at least my children had enough sense to remove themselves from Church for whatever the reason of the noise. I set out to find them. They hadn’t gone far as they were each anxious to tell me their story. The oldest of the three, Andrew, then fifteen, had started the problem when he asked little eight-year-old brother, Matthew, if he had gotten his candy from the priest in the confessional. Andrew explained that there was a little hole that Father pushes candy through. Of course, Matthew, didn’t get his candy and had no idea that he was just being teased.

Their sister, Mary, then twelve, agreed with the tall tale. Andrew and Mary even told Matthew what kind of candy they got from Father. I now understood the ruckus was from Mathew's tears and frustration. Knowing him he was also attempting to grab the phantom candy from his sibling's hands and pockets. Now as a mother, I had to suppress a grin at the ingenuity and creative story that had been spun, but my biggest concern was whether I should I send all three back through the confession line for their behavior. After all, we weren‘t even out of Church yet. It took some talking to convince Matthew that his older siblings were just teasing and that no one received any candy in the confessional. I came home that night frustrated and maybe a lttle embarrassed knowing they provided plenty of entertainment for the people waiting in line. I wondered what’s a parent to do? Finally I decided to send an email to a priest friend. I explained to him that I thought as a priest he should know what Catholic parents go through in trying to raise a child Catholic. He wrote back in capital letters that my efforts have been duly noted in heaven’s book. What a relief to know my efforts as a Catholic parent do count. I got credit for trying.