Grace Unfolding in Our Lives

For ten days in the month of February 1957 I was confined to the infirmary bed at the Divine Word Seminary, Techny, Illinois. I wrenched my right knee playing basketball and it was hugely swollen. The brother infirmarian was worried about a blood clot so he confined me to bed and gave me blood thinner. After the swelling subsided I was released.

At the time a deadline for producing a theological paper was staring me in the face. What I came up with was a life-changing paper, for in the process of writing it I made the final decision that I would be leaving the seminary in the pursuit of giving equal time to the study of science as I had given to theology. (This paper is published in "Quantum Religion", 2nd book of the Second Enlightenment Trilogy) The prevailing sense that somehow science and religion are in conflict with each bothered me so much that I decided I needed to do something about it. My life commitment has been a quest for the reconciliation of science and religion.

It is fifty years later and I am at peace that I have made an honest and credible accounting of my life in the pursuit of the reconciliation of science and religion. Sylvester L. Steffen

"Grace unfolding"- yes thats the story of my life. Being of hard head and stubborn mind at times, God is still able to penetrate this shell with His loving grace. In 1979, I was living with my pregnant wife in Denver. I can still remember the exhilariation of the delivery- I was going to be a PaPa! But not all ws well, My daughter was born with a severe heart defect that required a temporary surgery to save her life until she was six months old and could face a more daunting surgery. I had been knocked off center yet I kept thinking I knew everything was going to be ok- I was strong. When surgery time came, there were complications, she died twice on us and was brought back. There was resultant brain damage that caused learning dificulties and cortical blindness. But she was alive. All the plans I had made with my wife now changed, I was no longer the same person. My daughter is 27 now and still struggles to be accepted in our world. God has placed in her the spiritual heart of a lion. Through the years there have been more surgeries, each time reminding us of the temporal nature of life and the things in it we hold important. My plans and direction in life have changed as a result of having a daughter with medical problems and learning difficulties. 8 years ago we adopted a child who needed a good family and lots of patience. She also has special needs. As I think back on the difficult lessons taught through my daughter's health problems, one thing stands clear- this temporal world and its ways are not the ways of God. There are broken hurting people all around us who need us to be "His hands extended". Through our Daughter, God has given us a way to re-priortize our life and to try to make each moment count- our time here is short and we need to make the best of it. St. Francis really puts it best when he said" Preach always and if necessary use words".

When my family move from Detroit to Montana, our local parish priest was a polish holocaust survivor. He had spent three years in Dachau avoiding execution on three different occasions, twice by other people taking his place in line, and once because darkness intervened. He was an incredible human being and a very close friend of John Paul. He even arranged for John Paul to visit our parish just before he was elected pontiff.

Fr. Gluczek stroked out over the changes introduced by Vatican II. He truly felt the Church which had helped him survive in Dachau, had lost it's moorings. We were a good year behind the rest of the diocese in implementing mandatory changes. In the meantime I went off to college and took a huge theology load. I became an ardent supporter of Vatican II. I didn't realize how ardent until I came home for Thanksgiving dinner.

My polish mother always had Fr. Gluczek over to the ranch for thanksgiving dinner. This time the conversation turned to theology and the changed rubrics of the Mass. Father G. and I got into it big time. No one else at the table spoke. My mother was giving me her "you are dead look." My father was desparately trying to change the subject to no avail. Father and I kept going at each other through the meal, dessert, coffee, wine, the entire night.

At one point he referred to my college as a 'nest of devil theologians.' To which I retorted better these devils, than the Medici and Borgia devils. We both cracked up.

When he left, knowing my mother was about to disown me, he told her to make sure I came next year. This had been the first time in years he had had a discussion with someone who challenged his thinking, and maybe Vatican II wasn't so bad if it engaged the minds of our best youth. Then he turned to me and said, "I hope you still go to confession. You obviously need it."

The following years never got that intense, but we still had great conversation. And so it is with great thanks for his presence in my life I say, "Where ever you are now Msgr. G. I hope it's beyond your wildest dreams and that you sit in your rightful place at the side of Jesus."

What a great story, L2L! It brings up so many thoughts..how lucky I was to have a Dad who patiently coached me in hitting a baseball...the scratchy feeling of that crabgrass on young feet, which I had long forgotten, and that terror of the first plunge off the high dive. I will never forget the look on the boys' faces when I got off a football kick that soared the length of the playground before I had to run inside for Gregorian Chant practice with Sister Jeanne La Salle. (It was so casually done, too.) Never did replicate that feat. Thanks for reminding me of so many splendid memories, along with the picture of the small boy's persistence and risk-taking "where there be dragons". Nice thoughts as I wait out this momentous night. Whoops! here comes another winner...

We Must Not Confuse What Is Essential In The Church With That Which Is Mutable, No Matter How Ancient It May Be

This is the main effect of the characteristic that makes America great, namely, risk taking. After awhile you develop a sense of humor about it, or at least a thicker skin. C.S. Lewis addresses this in, ' The Great Divorce ' , a tentativeness about getting on the bus to heaven. As a child I hated the prospect of stepping on the crabgrass in bare feet to play in the sprinkler and swimming pool out in the yard. I got over it quickly, but the initiation was daunting. Later on, my younger sisters put me to shame by fearlessly launching themselves off of the high dive platform at the public pool. I had consigned this activity to the realm of folly. The drama I put myself through to finally salvage my pride there was epic in proportion. Once achieved though, the sense of accomplishment was exhilarating.

As an eager but marginal athlete, confrontations with the gifted can be profound. In the Little League, getting into the batter's box with the prospect of facing a pitcher who is recognized as having potential for greater things and whose growth hormones have been far busier than yours provides for a David and Goliath moment. The experience of not even coming close to touching a few fireball offerings is instructively humbling. Getting hit by a few of them even more so. Persistence pays off though. I kept practicing my batting technique by emulating my favorite local professional hero. During one night game, my team generously tolerating my services, I came to bat with my lackluster reputation intact. I sized up the pitcher as less intimidating than some, but still a challenging presence. He offered up a low inside pitch that played to my strength, being a pull hitter, when indeed I did make contact. The result shocked me and him. It went straight out of the park, and out of sight in the dark, down the third base line. It was a high arcing shot too. It resounded in me with the great blows of legend. It turned out to be several feet foul as it travelled, and I don't recall the out come of my turn at bat. However, the point was made, that I was not one to be trifled with, or taken for granted anymore. The conspicuous silence from my dugout was testament to that as well.

We Must Not Confuse What Is Essential In The Church With That Which Is Mutable, No Matter How Ancient It May Be