Some humor in these corona virus times

I love the animal memes that are circulating on FB these days. Here are a couple of them that are hysterical.

For those who oppose vaccines

Pastoral message of March 29th from the President of Fordham University

This is another pastoral letter I have received from Father McShane, and as promised, I am posting it here, for comfort and inspiration. 

Dear Members of the Fordham Community, Peace of Christ. During my visits to the University Church, I have found myself irresistibly drawn to pray before stained glass windows in the east transept. I can and do stand before it for long periods of time, frequently with tears in my eyes. Understand that I have passed and looked at that window hundreds of times in the course of the twenty-three years that I have been at Fordham. And I have never had a particularly emotional reaction to it. In fact, if the truth were told, I would have to confess that my eyes--dry or otherwise--were never really drawn to it. At all. Of course, if you asked me, I could have told you who was depicted in the window. If you asked me if there was anything else interesting about it, I would probably have told you that the artist who created the window had cleverly inserted a Rembrandt Christ into the background. But I was never drawn to it. I was never drawn into it. Never. I'd walk past it without emotion. But not now. As I said, these days I can't get away from it. It draws me in with great force. And it speaks to me. You might ask what could possibly move me to tears before that window. Good question. Bear with me. The window captures a very innocent moment, the moment at which St. Aloysius Gonzaga received his First Communion from St. Charles Borromeo, the Archbishop of Milan (and a great saint in his own right). Innocent enough. But there is a story behind the young man in the window. Aloysius Gonzaga. Gonzaga. If people hear that name these days, they would most probably tell you that it brings to mind the famously successful basketball program at the Jesuit university in Spokane that bears that name. Nothing more. But there is far more to the man in the window than his connection to that perennially strong basketball team from Washington State.   Aloysius was the eldest son of the Marquis of Castiglione. Therefore, to say that he was a child of privilege would be an understatement. A vast understatement. A budding princeling, Aloysius spent his early life among the courtiers of the noble houses of Renaissance Italy (those hotbeds of ambition, corruption, intrigue and power), with a few side trips to the Hapsburg courts of Spain and Austria. Although he was destined to inherit his father's title and live a life of privilege, his head was not turned by what he saw in those settings. Far from it. In fact, he was deeply troubled by the venality and corruption he encountered in them and decided at an early age to enter the newly-founded Society of Jesus. His father was furious. Aloysius stood his ground. He renounced his titles and his inheritance and left behind him the life his father wanted for him. After he entered the Jesuits, he pursued his studies at the Roman College, where St. Robert Bellarmine was his spiritual director. When a plague broke out in Rome, like many of his young Jesuit confreres, he worked in the city's hospitals, ministering to its victims. When his superiors (for fear of incurring his father's wrath) forbade him to continue his work, he pleaded with them to allow him to continue. They relented, but with a catch. They told him that he could only work in a hospital that did not serve contagious patients. He accepted the assignment on the spot. In the course of his service, however, he cared for a patient who had, in fact, been infected with the plague and was himself infected. He died shortly thereafter.   His brethren recognized his holiness. They recognized his heroism. They recognized his goodness. They were also astounded by the magnitude of the sacrifices he had made: giving up the life of a courtier to live a life of simplicity, and giving up his life to serve the suffering. (His old spiritual director, Robert Bellarmine, a saint, a scholar, and a cardinal, was so impressed by Aloysius that he asked to be buried at his feet.) Throughout his life and in the manner of his death, then, Aloysius was a "sign of contradiction" (or a living oxymoron): he was a humble noble. Or was he all the more fascinating because he redefined nobility in terms of service? I leave it to you to draw your own conclusions.   For myself, when I go to the University Church these days, I am drawn to St. Al's window. I stand there transfixed. And these words from the Book of Sirach ring in my ears and rumble through my heart: "Let us now praise famous men and women . . . those who gave counsel by their understanding, leaders in their deliberations and learning, wise in their instruction. And ... the men and women of mercy, whose righteous deeds have not been forgotten. Their posterity will continue forever, and their glory will not be blotted out. People will declare their wisdom and the congregation will proclaim their praise." And then I think immediately of the St. Al's in our midst. I think of the men and women on the front lines in the titanic battle with COVID-19 in which the whole world is caught up. I think of the doctors, nurses, EMS workers and counsellors. I think of the parents who have put their lives on hold to watch over their children. I think of the people who labor to keep the nation and the world running. And I am rendered speechless. Absolutely speechless. I find myself inspired just thinking about them. And grateful. Speechless, inspired and grateful. All at once.   Of course, I suspect that I am not alone. I suspect that, like me, you too recognize their goodness, their heroism, and their holiness. Indeed, I suspect that, like me, you recognize their saintliness. And, I suspect that, like myself, you are ennobled by seeing and knowing them, and deeply grateful that they have, through their work shown us the holy nobility that comes from service, especially service of the poor and the most vulnerable.   And so, my dear friends, I wonder if you would mind if I asked a favor of you: could you look at their faces of these latter-day St. Al's as their stories are told not in the artistry of stained glass, but on the television news reports that we all watch with rapt attention every day. Look at them intently. As you peer into their eyes, pray for them. Pray for them. And, because this would both please them and affirm the nobility of what they are doing, pray also for those whom they are serving so selflessly during this time of trial. Be assured of my prayers for you and all whom you love as I stand before St. Al's window and contemplate the epitaph frequently used to summarize his life and the call that we have all received: Natus ad Altiora, "Born for Higher Things." For we have all been called to Higher Things. Like noble service.   Prayers and blessings,   Joseph M McShane, S.J.

Pastoral messages from the President of Fordham University

As an alumnus of Fordham University (Rose Hill Campus in the Bronx, NY), I receive emails from the President of the university, and recently, started receiving pastoral letters from him to all Fordham alumni. But also to the world at large, because his words help a lot of people. I will be posting Father Joseph McShane's pastoral letters from time to time. I find them to be comforting and inspiring in these coronavirus times. 

A Pastoral Message from Father McShane | Sunday, March 22, 2020

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By Bob Howe on March 22, 2020 University News

Dear Members of the Fordham Community,

Peace of Christ.

On the night of 11 October 1962, the day on which the Second Vatican Council began, a large (and unexpected) group of pilgrims made their way to St. Peter’s Square and gathered under Pope John XXIII’s window. Although he was caught completely by surprise by their appearance, “Good Pope John” opened his window and delivered what is now referred to as his “moonlight address,” a sort-of homily that many think was the most remarkable speech he gave in the course of his historic pontificate.

For reasons that I hope will become clear, I have found myself haunted, consoled and enriched by it as I have prayed my way through the past week. “Haunted, consoled and enriched.” Words to conjure with, to be sure. I certainly conjure with them, and they stir up strong feelings in my heart. I hope that you will find Pope John’s words to be as consoling as I do. I also hope that they will enrich you. Of course, it will take time to see if they haunt you as they have haunted me.

Looking down at the friendly crowd that filled the Square, Pope John said, “Dear sons and daughters, I feel your voices! Mine is just one lone voice, but it sums up the voice of the whole world. And here, in fact, all the world is represented tonight. We ask for a great day of peace. My own person counts for nothing—it’s a brother who speaks to you, but all together, (we) give honor to the impressions of this night, which are always our feelings, which now we express before heaven and earth: faith, hope, love, love of God, all aided along the way in the Lord’s holy peace for the work of the good. And so, let us continue to love each other, to look out for each other along the way: to welcome whoever comes close to us, and set aside whatever difficulty it might bring. When you head home, find your children. Hug and kiss your children. And when you find them with tears to dry, give them a good word. Give anyone who suffers a word of comfort. And then, all together, may we always come alive—whether to sing, to breathe, or to cry, but always full of trust in Christ, who helps us and hears us, let us continue along our path.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m no John XXIII. Far from it. He’s a saint and I’m a deeply flawed guy in a Roman collar. And yet, all week his encounter with the pilgrims under his window has framed my prayer, and his words have become more and more the substance of my prayer (and my charge) for you. Although you have not appeared under my window, you have crowded into my heart. When I close my eyes in prayer, I see you. I see you in the settings in which I have encountered you: in the plaza and elevators at Lincoln Center; on Edwards Parade and along the pathways at Rose Hill; at Convocation and at the Faculty Senate; in the cafeterias on both campuses; in the carpenter’s shop; at games and gatherings; the offices where you labor for us; at dances and awards events; and at Spring Preview and Opening Day. I see your faces. I hear your voices and accents. You crowd in on me from every side. And, as was the case in Saint Peter’s Square so many years ago, you bring the whole world to Fordham. And you fill my heart with pride.

If the truth were told, I miss you. Terribly. Achingly. But this is not about me. It’s about you. I know your goodness and generosity. Therefore, I ask you to put your generosity of heart to good use in a world that is deeply wounded at the moment. Take to heart the words of Good Pope John. No. I take that back. Let your actions be guided, inspired and driven by his words. If you do, you will be God’s missionaries to the world He loves with His whole heart, especially at this very difficult time in the history of the human family: “Continue to love each other, to look out for each other along the way, to welcome whoever comes close…when you go home, hug and kiss your children (and your parents and siblings)…And when you find them with tears to dry, give them a good word. Give anyone who suffers a word of comfort. And then, all together, may we always come alive — whether to sing, to breathe or to cry, but always full of faith in God who helps us and hears us, let us continue along our path.” May you be consoled, enriched, energized and, yes, haunted by this charge.

And so, my dear brothers and sisters, although I miss you, as we enter into a new and challenging phase of our nation’s response to the present crisis, I entrust the worlds in which you live to your care. It matters not if you are a believer or non-believer, may your homes be places of blessing for all of you. May you find solace and joy there. May you be enriched by the memories that have hallowed them over the years. Cherish your families there. May you discover God’s sustaining presence there. And may your encounters with the God of all consolation make you ever more what you are meant to be (and what I have come to know you are): lights shining forth in a world in need of comfort, hope and love.

Prayers and blessings,

Joseph M. McShane, S.J.

My office was never mine to begin with

My husband has had his own office at work for as long as I can remember—twenty-five years or more. I have never officially ‘had my own office’; it has happened that for short periods, I have not shared an office with anyone, but for as long as I can remember, I have shared my two-person work office. I have no complaints, actually. I’ve met some wonderful people who have been officemates and who have become friends. I’ve been lucky in that sense. I can’t imagine what it must be like to share an office with someone with whom you do not get along and who makes your daily life a living hell. People who are loud, arrogant, aggressive, nosy, or who don’t understand the definition of personal boundaries. People who invade your personal space when they talk AT you. Such people do not understand the definition of discussion or conversation, only what their ego-laden brains tell them is important. And of course, we all know that for those people, they are the most important people in the world. Everything of importance happens according to their timetable. It would be hell on earth to share an office with these types of people.

So I have no problem whatsoever working at home. My husband goes to his office and self-isolates there. I stay at home working and self-isolate here during these coronavirus times. This is the beginning of my third week at home full-time. The amount of work is tapering off gradually as people understand that we’re in this for the long haul. Perhaps until the end of April. So they’re stretching out the projects, which is a good idea. We’ll see what the health authorities have to say about when it will be deemed safe to go back to work. In any case, I’ve adjusted to being at home full-time. I’m a structured person, and I live my life as though I was still going to my workplace each day—get up at the same time, shower, eat breakfast, drink my coffee, and get started on my workday. I am thankful for the fact that I CAN do this. I am grateful for my job, that I am still being paid a salary, because many people in private industry have been laid off temporarily. Our leaders trust us to get our work done at home instead of goofing off. It’s a matter of trust and it’s good to know that they trust us. Grateful is the operative word. Work is getting done, even though there is less of it. I don’t mind; it gives me time to reflect and to create new strategies for future research projects. We don’t always have that time when things are at their busiest.

Reflections on the corona virus situation during lockdown in Norway

A lot can happen in a week, and a lot can happen overnight. We don't really consider how quickly our lives can change, until change is forced upon us. The corona virus that originated in China has managed to change the world as we know it in one fell swoop. A pandemic has been declared by the World Health Organization. China and Italy are dealing with unprecedented and overwhelming healthcare crises, as will other countries shortly; there are shortages of necessary medical equipment and corona virus tests. Global stock markets are rising and falling violently each day, and many people have already lost a lot of money. Businesses risk bankruptcy, especially those in the airline and travel industries. Small businesses will also suffer--cafes, restaurants, hair salons/barber shops, independent bookstores, you name it. People in all countries are hoarding paper products (especially toilet paper), soap products, pasta, rice, flour, and sugar. If you're reading this, please don't hoard--it's selfish and stupid, and only creates problems down the road. In Norway, we are in lockdown (https://www.newsinenglish.no/2020/03/12/norway-shuts-down-to-control-corona/ ), which means that churches have closed their doors, masses are cancelled, sports and cultural events are cancelled, schools are closed, and workers have been laid off temporarily or told to work from home. I fall into the latter group; I work at a hospital in a pathology department that has to continue functioning in order to deal with the other groups of sick people who need diagnoses in order to start treatments, e.g. cancer patients. Their lives depend upon those diagnoses. So those of us who are not doctors or nurses or clinical lab personnel are not required at work, because our presence only increases the risk of infecting the healthcare workers who need to be there. It's not a problem for me. I can work from home; most of my work is administrative at this point anyway, and can be done on my computer. I support this effort, even as I know that some people in positions like mine, do not. I've been working at home one or two days a week for what seems like forever, and I enjoy it, but that's because I am a structured person and one who does not need a lot of social interaction with colleagues.

Current estimates say that the pandemic will be at its height during the summer season, from May through August. We will see. I had already booked my flights to NY in anticipation of my longed-for annual NY vacation in August, but bought cancellation insurance this year just in case--thinking ahead. Because if the pandemic continues, I will not be allowed to travel to NY at that time, since all airports here in Europe and in the USA will be closed to international flights. I will miss not being able to travel to NY, but I understand and accept the outcome if that is to be the case. There is nothing I can do about it in any case. It's very weird, the whole thing. It's hard to describe how it feels. I guess one would have to talk to an ordinary Italian person experiencing complete lockdown, to find out how they cope with not being able to do much of anything at the present time.

We will end up longing for our previous way of life, but I don't think our way of life can ever return to what was. Our parents knew what it was like to live through WWII--they remembered the rationing, the fear, the loss of loved ones, the overall suffering. We will talk about the 2020 pandemic in much the same way--the year when the world as we know it came to a screeching halt, when globalism in its current form died, when the power of the European Union (EU) was suddenly wrested from them and returned to the countries who should rightfully have the power to decide for themselves how things are going to be in their own countries. I haven't heard many commentaries from the EU about what is going on; surprising considering how much power they have wielded over the years, even over countries that are not members of the union. I think all European countries have now understood that they have to protect their own people first against this pandemic. That is not selfish, that is smart.

Please follow the advice given to you by healthcare professionals; wash your hands, work at home if you can, practice social distancing, don't hoard, and don't plan huge parties or gatherings at this time. It's possible to rebook weddings, trips, concerts, etc. for a future time. It's possible to think ahead and to plan accordingly. It's not life as usual anymore. And if you cannot adopt these ways of doing things freely by choice, then the government will eventually ensure that you do so by forcing you to do so. Which is more preferable?

Go figure (as in, you can never predict how people will react in a crisis situation)

Ok, I just couldn't resist. I'm trying to keep a balanced view on the whole corona virus situation. On the one hand, you have those who panic and run out to the stores to hoard food and of all things, toilet paper. Hence this cartoon...….On the other hand, you have the voices of reason who encourage people to stay calm and to carry on--in other words, do so in order to get through what appears to be a crisis. We'll see what develops. If we don't take the virus seriously, we could risk overwhelmed healthcare systems like what we've seen in China and Italy. If we overreact, we will be criticized for it afterward. It's hard to be a leader or politician in times of crisis. You realize that they are only human, and that they are doing the best they can. We should try not to criticize then, at least during this period that is ahead of us.

These are strange times

These are strange times, apocalyptic times (that's sometimes how it feels to me). Climate change, weird weather, extreme weather, bee death, relentless forest fires in Australia, and now the corona virus (I'm waiting for the spread of a zombie virus). I keep telling my husband that I'll know what to do if the zombie apocalypse arrives; after all, I've watched almost eight seasons of The Walking Dead. And I did learn something--that we humans are our own worst enemy, in terms of how we will treat each other, especially if a longer-term pandemic does become the reality concerning the corona virus. But people are afraid and I understand that. As of today, the number of confirmed infected persons in Norway is 56, but there are many people who are quarantined, waiting for symptoms to develop (or not) after exposure to infected people. I work in the healthcare profession, at a hospital where the contagion began at the eye department with a doctor who had recently come home from vacation in northern Italy. Unfortunate circumstances led to some of his co-workers being infected, and also that over four hundred patients had to be contacted because they had been in for consultations during the several days it took to confirm that the doctor was indeed infected with the virus. Information and status updates are one thing; containment is another discussion entirely.
I'm not sure what to make of it all. I take precautions--washing my hands, sneezing into my elbow, working at home when I can, but the scientist in me tells me that it will be very hard to contain the virus. It will spread. Whether or not it will lead to fatalities is another question. I hope not. I understand the difficult (nearly impossible) job that hospital leaders face. Should they tell all employees to stay home? They cannot, because they need their staff to take care of sick patients and to perform scheduled operations and tests. Patients could die of non-virus-related causes if they don't get the care they need. There is a risk associated with all decisions. For example, potentially-infected people can be quarantined, but can you police them day and night? Can you ensure that they won't go outside their homes to shop, walk the dog, etc.? And who will be doing the policing? Can you quarantine whole families? After all, if one person is quarantined, he or she will come into contact with family members, unless he or she is shunned by family members. I'm not sure how it all can work according to plan. The human factor has to be factored in--the factor that says that a sick or infected person will be cared for by his or her family members. How do you avoid that? Time will tell how all of this will develop. But we have already seen the effects of 'pandemic' thinking on global economies and the stock market. It's hard to predict how long all of this will last. We can hope that it will be over fairly soon. The question will be what have we learned from this experience. One can hope that it will help us to prepare better for the next eventuality.