Living disciples

Today is Saint Andrew's day. In the early hours of the day, I spent some time with the Office of Readings, and the recitation of Morning Prayer. The scriptures particular to this day are appropriately reassuring and challenging at the same time.

The first Office of the day today includes a citation from 1 Cor 1:18-2:5 which always causes me to wonder ... but then again that's not a bad thing. This wisdom of the cross that far surpasses the wisdom of the world leaves us mortals wondering at times. Those of us who have discovered a glimpse of this truth know somehow that we're on the right path, but every now and then, the apparent wisdom of the world crowds in and the result is that I for one end up sympathizing with the first hearers of Paul's communication to the Church at Corinth.

Wisdom in the 'ordinary' sense of the word can apply to those who operate in the confines of this world. That's true, but it leaves one sadly inept if we try to apply the same principles of logic to the case of God and the divine ways that appear so different.

The second part of today's reflection, an excerpt taken from one of Saint John Chrysostom's sermons, tries to shed some light on the proper understanding of this scripture passage.

After Andrew had stayed with Jesus and had learned much from him, he did not keep this treasure to himself, but hastened to share it with his brother. Notice what Andrew said to him: We have found the Messiah, that is to say, the Christ. Notice how his words reveal what he has learned in so short a time. They show the power of the master who has convinced them of this truth. They reveal the zeal and concern of men preoccupied with this question from the very beginning. Andrew’s words reveal a soul waiting with the utmost longing for the coming of the Messiah, looking forward to his appearing from heaven, rejoicing when he does appear, and hastening to announce so great an event to others. To support one another in the things of the spirit is the true sign of good will between brothers, of loving kinship and sincere affection.

Notice, too, how, even from the beginning, Peter is docile and receptive in spirit. He hastens to Jesus without delay. He brought him to Jesus, says the evangelist. But Peter must not be condemned for his readiness to accept Andrew’s word without much weighing of it. It is probable that his brother had given him, and many others, a careful account of the event; the evangelists, in the interest of brevity, regularly summarise a lengthy narrative. Saint John does not say that Peter believed immediately, but that he brought him to Jesus. Andrew was to hand him over to Jesus, to learn everything for himself. There was also another disciple resent, and he hastened with them for the same purpose.

When John the Baptist said: This is the Lamb, and he baptizes in the Spirit, he left the deeper understanding of these things to be received from Christ. All the more so would Andrew act in the same way, since he did not think himself able to give a complete explanation. He brought his brother to the very source of light, and Peter was so joyful and eager that he would not delay even for a moment.

The treasure that had been discovered when the disciples found Jesus, and discovered that the truth he spoke resonated within their hearts, burned to be proclaimed to brothers and friends alike. In the same way, the truth that we discover about Jesus, and about his call for all of us to follow in his footsteps should excite the same response on our part.

These reflections are particularly helpful especially if the human heart has grown cautious and lukewarm or dare we say complacent. If as a result of this day's prayer and action, we experience a renewed excitement about the invitation to discipleship, or are renewed in our resolve to follow in His footsteps, then perhaps the Spirit is indeed hard at work, and we would do well to listen.

Baby time

By the end of the day today, I was gathered with members of the family for a meal and for some cherished together time. This was the first time that many of them got to meet Ayla, so it was no surprise that she was willingly passed from hand to hand, adored by aunts, uncles and cousins alike. Since there are other little ones expected on this side of the family, little Ayla, who hit the two-week milestone just a few days ago, was doing her part to stir up the excitement and adoration levels among the adults who had not held a baby for ... too many years to count.

This little angel does not make a sound (yet) unless she's hungry, so it isn't difficult to decipher her intentions. Either she's asleep or she's awake. If she's awake, she's either content or not. If she's not content, she's hungry, and that's easy to tend to.

Needless to say, cousins also took turns feeding her tonight ... a bit at a time, making sure to intersperse the feedings with the suitable burping procedures. Once she's fed, changed and content, she simply wants to be cuddled, and there's lots of that to go around.

Oh, I'm planning to stick around for a day or two, so there will be ample time for uncle to get his fix of baby time ... but there can never be too much of that.

Prepare

The Church begins the Season of Advent today. This is a four-week period of immediate preparation for the celebration of Christmas.

The first week of Advent gives us a chance to remember the promise of God, that even when life gets unpredictable, and signs and portents relate causes for worry and concern, the promise of our God stands. This is indeed a comforting image for those who would otherwise cower beneath the pressures of life.

This weekend's homily might also help to set the tone.

There is a text version available for those who would rather read, and there is also a podcast version for those who would like to hear it the way it was spoken at last night's anticipitory Mass, the first of the Advent season.

Let's be people of hope this Advent, calling others to imitate our joy and to celebrate the birth of the One who changed everything.

A heart full of love

I was still in high school, or perhaps in the beginning years of my undergraduate studies when Father Bernard Burns arrived in Sault Ste. Marie, having been named pastor of Precious Blood Cathedral in that city.

For the past quarter of a century, he has remained there, until just the past few weeks. On November 1, he celebrated his final Mass at Precious Blood, but until then, he remained faithful to the call to serve those who knocked at his door. He responded to phone calls at all times of the day and night, and quickly hastened to bedsides or to whatever other situations should present themselves.

Many times, the topic of retirement was mentioned (after all he was well past the 'regular' age of retirement among us), but he would never pay it much heed. He preferred to continue forging ahead, and truly couldn't fathom the possibility of being retired.

On Thursday evening of this week, while at a retirement function hosted in his honour, he collapsed and had to be taken to hospital, where he later died of what is believed to be either an embolysm or an anurysm. Many have already begun to speak their tributes for his faithfulness.

Funeral arrangements have been finalized as of late last night. The Mass of the Resurrection will be celebrated at Precious Blood Cathedral on Wednesday, December 2, beginning at 11:00 am.

Remembering Peter

The church is quiet now, but then again, that's the way he preferred it I think.

He has set foot in this place for the last time, his quiet voice is silent now. Where once he would be quick to jump at any opportunity to be of service to others, he can now rest from his labours. Untold numbers of others can each recount their stories of encounters lived, moments when he seemed to materialize just when there was some unfinished business and no one to finish it.

For some, he was nameless, just the person who served a meal to others who would not otherwise eat that day. For others, he was a trusted friend, one who could be trusted to always be there with a word of encouragement or a simple greeting.

For those who frequent the walls of this place, he was a fixture, always present and willing to undertake the most menial of tasks, never seeking his own agrandisement but always looking out for someone else who needed to find their way.

Once, he too knew what it was like to be a stranger in a foreign land. He'd arrived here from his native Holland, not understanding the language, not knowing too much about what he needed to do or what was expected of him. Yet, he never shirked his responsibility, to find his way in life, to gratefully accept employment and to devote himself entirely if quietly to making his mark on society.

The church is quiet now, his apartment is vacant now, his car will soon be sold, his family, still far away, now grieves his loos, his friends give thanks and pray, grateful for all he has accomplished, and hope that we can emulate even a bit of his goodness, inviting others to discover the depth of love that is our inheritance in faith.

Memorial in Mumbai

There was a memorial today in Mumbai (India). It was one year ago today that the horrific bombings took place, taking the lives of some, and injuring others ... in short, instilling terror in the hearts of many.

News reports today tell the story of a country that is trying very hard to convince visitors and locals alike that things are up and running, in short, better than they ever have been. Visitors to hotels across the country must now pass inspections, including passing through metal detectors on the way in and out of the doors of the establishments. Any bags and packages which are being brought in must be subjected to a search and possibly a wand detector test. Baggage that arrives must also be scanned to ensure that it is 'safe'.

All this is being done in order to convince tourists and locals alike that all is well, that safety is a priority and that things are back to normal, but 'situation normal' must be defined in a country where there are more than 1 billion people, only 30% of whom are literate, and where there are more than 35 births per minute! Is it even possible for the authorities to guarantee that all things are well, that terrorism is under control and that life is back to normal?

More moves afoot

A bit closer to home ... we received the most recent list of clergy appointments today via the normal channels. With paper in hand, having been belched from the fax machine, and still hot off the presses, the information is also freshly added to the Diocesan website.

Included in this round of appointments:

• the pastor of Saint Jerome's parish, located in Sault Ste. Marie, is moving down the street to take up residence and responsibility for the operation of the Cathedral of the Precious Blood, his predecessor having retired from active ministry last month at age 81;
• the pastor of Saint Gregory's parish, also located in Sault Ste. Marie, will move to the other side of the city to assume pastoral responsibility for Saint Jerome's; and
• the pastor of Our Lady of Sorrows (Sturgeon Falls) and Holy Spirit (Garden Village) will move back home to Sault Ste. Marie to take his post as pastor of Saint Gregory's parish.

All these most-recently published moves are scheduled to take effect after the New Year, effectively giving those affected some time to say their goodbyes, and to celebrate Christmas with the parishioners they have grown to know (and love) in the past number of years.

Word on the street in Sault Ste. Marie is already very positive.

News about clergy

Hi gang. Been catching up on some zzzz's over these past few days, but slowly getting back to the land of the living. In the meanwhile, I've come across a recently-released letter written by the Secretary of the Congregation for Clergy and addressed to priests the world over. The subject of the letter is living the promise of obedience that all priests take on the day of our ordination. Here, for your perusal is the text which was translated and printed on ZENIT today:

"Do you promise filial respect and obedience to me and my successors?"(Pontificale Romanum. De Ordinatione Episcopi, presbyterorum et diaconorum, Edition typica (Typis Polyglotis Vaticanis 1990))
From the Vatican, Nov. 18, 2009

Dear Brothers in the Priesthood,
Even if they are not bound by a Solemn Vow of obedience, ordinands profess a "promise" of "filial respect and obedience" to their own Ordinary and his Successors. If the theological standing of a Vow and a promise is different, the total and definitive moral obligation is identical, and likewise identical is the offering of one's will to the will of Another: to the Divine will, mediated through the Church.

In a time such as ours, marked as it is by relativism and democraticism, by various forms of autonomous individualism and libertinism, such a promise of obedience appears ever more incomprehensible to the prevailing mindset. It is not rare for it to be conceived as a diminution of dignity and human freedom, as perseverance in obsolete forms, typical of a society incapable of authentic emancipation.

We who live authentic obedience know well that this is not the case. Obedience in the Church is never contrary to the dignity and respect of the person, nor must it ever be understood as an abandonment of responsibility or as a surrender. The Rite utilizes a fundamental adjective for the right understanding of such a promise; it defines obedience only after mentioning "respect", and this with the adjective "filial".

Now the term "son", in every language, is a relative name, which implies, specifically, the relationship of a father and a son. It is in this context that the obedience we have promised must be understood. It is a context in which the father is called to truly be a father, and the son to recognize his own sonship and the beauty of the fatherhood that has been given to him. As happens in the law of nature, no one chooses his own father, nor does one choose one’s own sons. Therefore, we are all called, fathers and sons, to have a supernatural regard for one another, one of great reciprocal clemency and respect, that is to say the capacity to look at the other keeping always in mind the good Teacher who has brought him into being, and who always, ultimately, moulds him. Respect is, by definition, simply this: to look at someone while keeping Another in mind!

It is only in the context of "filial respect" that an authentic obedience is possible, one which is not only formal, a mere execution of orders, but one which is ardent, complete, attentive, which can really bring forth the fruits of conversion and of "new life" in him who lives it.

The promise is to the Ordinary at the time of ordination and to his "Successors", since the Church always draws back from an excessive personalism: She has at heart the person, but not the subjectivism that detracts from the power and the beauty, both historical and theological, which characterize the Institution of obedience. The Spirit resides also in the institution, since it is of divine origin. The institution is charismatic, of its very nature, and thus to be freely bound by it in time (the Successors) means to "remain in the truth", to persevere in Him, present and operative in his living body, the Church, in the beauty of the continuity of time, of ages, which joins us enduringly to Christ and to his Apostles.

Let us ask of the Handmaid of the Lord, the obedient one par excellence, of her who, even in weariness, sang her "Behold, do with me according to your Word", the grace of a filial obedience, entire, joyful, and ready; an obedience which frees us from being the protagonists of our own selves and which can show the world that it is truly possible to give all to Christ and to be men fully real and authentic.

Mauro Piacenza
Titular Archbishop of Vittoriana
Secretary

During the Year for Priests, the Congregation for Clergy is busy pumping out all kinds of material meant for the deepening of priests' identity and appreciation of the gift which as been entrusted to our care ... for the good of the priests themselves, and for the people of God who we are called to serve.

Planning for the future

Hours before the news about the new shepherd for the Diocese of Antigonish was made public across the pond, information was released to the press about plans that are being put into place in this diocese for the future.

To be sure, there has been much discussion over the past number of years about the most efficient use for our resources, and the need for us to continue being attentive to the needs of those who look to us for guidance and comfort, especially at some of the most difficult moments of life.

The press release, issued yesterday has already found its way into some of the local media (as is to be expected), and other information, including a letter which the Bishop has addressed to the people of the diocese which is to be inserted into parish bulletins this weekend and a backgrounder document which is intended to provide some details about why this reorganization of diocesan resources is being undertaken.

Word on the street this morning is that there is already much ado about this news. Discussions will take place in the coming days, weeks and months around kitchen tables, in parish halls and in various other locations. Many will find this to be a less than pleasant experience, but hopefully those of us who are in a postion to soothe the passage will do our very best to be attentive to the needs of those who most need to be cared for though the realities that lie ahead.

Stay tuned for more on this subject as it unfolds. In the meanwhile, prayers please for all those who must face the possibility of waving goodbye to a present reality in order to pave the way for the necessities of the future.

News for Antigonish

On September 26 of this year, His Excellency Raymond Lahey, then Bishop of Antigonish, submitted his resignation from the pastoral governance of that diocese.

Days after his resignation was accepted, news hit the press which has left not only the bishop without a diocese, but the priests and people of Antignish questioning and wondering. The healing there is not over yet, but as of today, the Holy Father has named a new bishop to head that diocese, in the person of none other than Brian Dunn, a native of Saint John's, NF who first served as a priest of the Diocese of Saint George's (NF) and who has most recently served as Auxiliary Bishop of Sault Ste. Marie.

Given the fact that he was only ordained a bishop just over a year ago, this appointment represents a great vote of confidence in his ability. What lies ahead for him will not be easy, but with the support and prayer of all of us, and with his many and varied talents and gifts at hand, he will doubtless give all he can to restore confidence and to lead the people of Antigonish to grow in their faith and love of God and one another.

Ad moltos annos!

Ayla

One of the most striking scenes experienced during the past ten days occurred on the banks of a man-made lake not far from the city of Jaipur. We were stopped for a photo op overlooking the Lake Palace (no we didn't check in).

Like most other stops along the roadways in India, it didn't take long for someone to show up, trying to peddle something. In this case, we were greeted by a little boy who couldn't have been more than about 7 years old. In his native tongue, he explained to our tour guide that he wanted to wave the scrap of cloth he was holding while showing us some magic tricks. At such a tender age, he had already begun the fine art of begging, of finding ingenious ways of earning money. Was he put up to this by his parents who saw him as a way to earn money? Had he been orphaned or abandoned and needed to earn money in order to eat that day?

Our guide explained that in far too many cases, children who could and should be in school (the cost of education up to the age of 14 is covered by government in India) are instead exploited by their parents, who count on their vulnerability to touch the heart strings of the tourists. Eventually, once these children get a taste for money and see how much they can actually 'earn' from begging and selling trinkets, they themselves become trapped and education is more and more neglected ... to their own peril.

Half way round the world, another miracle was unfolding.

Last Friday, November 13, at 3:19 pm local time in Toronto a little girl was born. Ever since the first news broke that she was on her way, the excitement has been building and finally the day had arrived. Thankfully, everyone (mother, baby and other adoring family members) are just fine.

Ayla Veeda is a beautiful child, who has already brought exceding joy to her parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts. Together we thank God for her safe delivery and will continue to shower her with all the love we can ... and more. Infants and children are innocent and precious. As I first heard the news of her birth, and later as I got a few moments to spend with her, to hold her, to cherish her, the furthest thing from my mind was the image of a child on the banks of a far-off lake, forced to perform magic tricks for money.

Perhaps we are powerless to intervene in the cases of children so far away who fall prey to the vices of their parents and others who neglect the opportunity to educate their children, for whatever reason, but those of us who have the opportunity to influence the lives of children should truly count ourselves among the most highly favored for we are entrusted with the gift of life, which should always be guarded and protected, celebrated and loved, fed and enriched.

Are we there yet?

It seems like a virtual eternity since last I sat at a keyboard. When I last penned an entry for this log, it was early morning on Tuesday in Jaipur, and now I find myself in the pre-dawn hours of Thursday morning, and I'm back in Canada ... but I must back up in order to truly reflect even a bit of the experience of these past days.

Namaskar.

With this one-word greeting which can equally be pronounced Namaste or Namasta depending on which region of India you are in, one welcomes or bids farewell to friends and strangers alike. So it was that we bid farewell to the staff of yet another temporary abode, the last in a string of places where we laid our heads, sometimes for only one night, and sometimes for more than a week. Taking time to greet even the cooks in the dining rooms, the staff at the reception desks and even the regally dressed individual who first greeted us at the door of the hotel (such finesse is de rigueur in the hotel industry I think) one of our number made sure not to forget even the least of those who helped to make our stay so unforgettable.

To this individual's biological clock, the next hours were to be part of one very long day, even though the time span covered the equivalent of probably more than two days.

First the return trip to Delhi (a six-hour ride through the relative verdure of the pasturelands and farmlands of rural Northern India and eventually back into the constant cacaphony of life in that nation's capital as we made our way to the airport. Arriving at Indira Ghandi International (or ICI as was written on all the highway directional signs), we then struck camp in the designated waiting lounge, located outside of the airport complex proper, since we were not permitted to enter until three hours in advance of our flight. Considering that some of us were there a full 11 hours ahead of time, this was going to be quite the wait, but wait we must.

It's amazing what one encounters when thrust into a situation where there is nothing but time. Some manage to get some work done, others dream and reflect on the experience that has been lived, and still others choose to just watch as the ebb and flow of life that is people in the same boat come and go for minutes or hours. Conversations continue and time passes until finally the little group that arrived in that place after a four-day sojourn in the Golden Triangle must finally part company.

Others too graced our company during the hours of waiting, including a young gentleman (he said his name was David), who has obviously travelled much more than we in these parts. According to him, there are some 45-50 births in India every minute, and 40-45 traffic accidents as well. Thankfully, we did not experience any of these (at least not involving us) during our stay. David also told us that there are major problems because of the disparity between the rich and the poor, tha that there are major challenges because vast amounts of India's population die from dysentery and cholora. This has truly been an eye-opening experience.

We breathed a sigh of relief as we finally entered the airport proper, and began the long journey home. There was still lots of adventure to unfold: two international flights, each of 8 hours in length as well as a domestic flight which would bring us to our final destination, and the corresponding waiting periods in Delhi, Frankfurt and Toronto, but we were on our way.

Now that the travel is complete, we are finally back home. Our bodies will take a few days to catch up, and our minds will take even more time to process all that we have experienced. Our souls too will eventually process all that has been, and give thanks for all that is. While the pace of life will press in on us before very long (if indeed it hasn't already) this odessy has definitely left its impressions. Making time to identify them, to appreciate them, and to allow them to take root in us is the task that now lies ahead.

What to do?

All through the past ten days or so, we have been experiencing hospitality Indian style. Others we spoke with before our arrival told us stories about the people we would meet, about the foods we would try, and in general, tried to prepare us for this experience of a lifetime.

Conversations have taken place in minivans, around various tables, and in other places. We have certainly been marked by the poverty we have seen, the crowds we have experienced, and the fables and tales of glories and riches of days of yore.

Yet the question remains ... what can be done about the millions who earn only 20 rupies a day (the average income for people in India, equivalent to about 50 cents)? Perhaps the most sage response is found in a line from Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the captain of the star ship Enterprise. One of the repeating themes in the Star Trek series is a reminder that when the crew encounters an alien species and knows that they need help, they want to do all they can to make things right, but the prime directive does not allow them to interfere to the extent that they would possibly change the course of history.

We too must respect a prime directive. We can do what we can to help in small ways, but the truth of the matter is that when all is said and done, the world's second most populous nation must make its way, building on the strengths it possesses and recognizing the areas in which it is challenged to grow.

Visitors who are made aware of the plights of individuals here can perhaps help in small ways, but we should never try to impose a value system or a way of life that is ours, for this might be detrimental in the long run.

In the city of the Maharaja

Unlike our other stops on the Indian subcontinent, Jaipur was not ruled by Akbar or any of his family. Instead, the Maharaja of Rajastan is top dog here. The royal family still lives here, in the City Palace, but once inhabited the famous Amber Fort so it was to this place that we headed at the beginning of the day today.

Touring the Amber Fort (pronounced Amer) includes an elephant ride as we ascend the hilly terrain toward the fortification that lies atop. It's not the most smooth affair to ride an elephant, but they are gentle beasts who perform their duties with grace, usually between the hours of 8:30 and 11:00 am local time each day. The visit to the Fort lasts the better part of three hours, beginning when we step out of our hired van and immediately begin the battle of running through the gathered youngsters, each of which wants to sell us a trinket or two. Such battles have become de rigueur these days, and we're getting increasingly toughened skins (which is a definite asset in cases such as these).

The outlined tour also included a photo stop near the Lake Palace (built in the middle of a man-made lake) and another brief pause outside the Palace of Winds. All these properties are legally part of the posession of the Maharaja and his family. They form some of the major sights which attract tourists to this city which only sees an average of about 26 cm of rain per year.

Because of the lack of water, the land around Jaipur is not very favorable for the growing of crops. Instead the industry in this city of 3+ million inhabitants revolves around the sale of textiles, rugs and hand crafts. What visit to this oasis would be complete then without a visit to at least some of these artisans, to see demonstrations and to be tempted by the wares they offer for sale. That, after all, is their hope ... that we would take it all home with us, and leave our money behind.

Our guide also permitted us to stop and visit one of the two local Roman Catholic churches, administered by Jesuit priests. This stop was brief, but we did have a chance to meet one of the Brothers who is stationed there. In these parts, the Church is still very much involved in education, and so we were told that this parish has a school (located right next door) which has an enrollment of some 3,500 students (co-ed) from Kindergarten (or equivalent) up to and including all levels of high school. This is very important, since the average literacy rate in all of India is only about 30-40 percent, and many children get caught up in the rat race of selling trinkets to tourists, and begging so that they can provide money for their families, a practice which does not permit them to complete the education which in truth would do them so much more good.

As the day ends, and the evening becons, the little cruising vessel which holds the five of our party is coming in to dock for the night. Someone commented yesterday that we are not unlike the fabled seven passengers who set sail for a three-hour tour and then got shipwrecked. We ourselves are not shipwrecked, but we certainly have enjoyed this mini adventure, filled with history, and with an abundance of moments to share fraternity, to learn from one another, and to appreciate all that we have and are.

Descendents return

As it turns out, one of our company is descended from the great Gengis Kahn, the Mongolian warrior who is so well known in the history of these parts. In fact, in honour of this descendence, we have nicknamed her the 'terror of the universe' (which is not truly a refection of who she is, but at least puts fear into the hearts of those who would cross her from time to time.

This alliance is particularly interesting given the fact that we are visiting in the land of Indian Rajs and Maharaji. Perhaps if we traced the blood lines back with enough care and accuracy, we might even discover that these are her ancestral homelands, and that she still has right of succession ... or maybe not. In any case, dreams are cheap and hope springs eternal.

Agra - Jaipur

Today was the day.

Early in the morning (8:00 am start, said the guide), we were off and running. Destination, the famous Taj Mahal, one of the wonders of the world, and the only such building to be erected solely for love. The sun was still burning off the ever-present mist as we arrived, but during our visit (which only lasted about an hour) most of the mist had cleared, revealing the beauty of white marble contrasted with the red sandstone which is so common in these parts. Many elements of Mogul architecture, including the marble lace which surrounds the actual tombs of Emperor Jihan and his beloved, and the inlaid precious stones which adorn the outer walls of the Taj make this a true engineering wonder.

Getting to and from the Taj involves great fortitude for the traveller must encounter the hoards of beggars, who want to sell all manner of trinkets and souveniers. In the words of our guide, "Prepare yourself to do battle" even before you exit the bus. If this was the worst of our worries, then we had nothing to worry about.

Leaving the Taj, our driver next set his sights on the settlement of Fatapur Sikri, a historical city created by Akbar, the Mugal emperor (1570-1585). Once again our guide regailed us not only with the details of the site, its development and its history but also with just the right amount of humor to make it all quite enjoyable indeed.

Fatapur Sikri is located 40 km west of Agra and on the road toward Jaipur, our next stop. Along the way, I noticed that the driver stopped the bus, just before passing under a train bridge. He appeared to be watching as a train passed above, and did not budge until it had almost completed its passage. I wondered why ... perhaps supersitition, perhaps somehow he was conscious of the train derailment which took place between Agra and Jaipur just a few days ago (we saw the wreckage en route today).

I've written previously in this week about the famous tuktuks (the yellow-topped taxi cabs which are all pervasive throughout Delhi). Well, we encountered what had to be the longest line of tuktuks all awaiting their turn to get refueled (with natural gas) that I've ever encountered. It's a good thing they burn clean fuel because I couldn't imagine what the skies would look like otherwise.

Other interesting sights today:

• water buffalo. Apparently India gets 70 percent of its milk from these creatures, and not from cows (which are sacred in the Hindu religion)
• very efficient mass transportation. It is the habit among the people of the place to jam as many people as possible into the smallest of cars. It's not uncommon to see 8-10 people in a tuktuk racing down the road ... variety is the spice of life
• toll booths dot the major highways in India. Most of them have booths where automobiles are expected to stop and pay their requisite deposits, but some of them have obviously been abandoned for far longer than they would care to admit.

Lots more to recount, but so little time to do it. Stay tuned for news about the mogul princess who is in our midst! Just imagine how lucky we are ... but that's a story for another entry.

A royal road

Very early in the morning we were already on the road. Five of us huddled in a minivan had set off to battle the Delhi morning traffic. Destination ... Agra, the one-time capital of the Mugal Empire, and the first leg of our mini pilgrimage.

Now that the official parts of our Indian adventure are complete, delegates to the IMVC can finally begin to relax ... or can they. Before we even left the hotel, one of our number had to bid farewell to all the staff with whom he had become accustomed over these past days. He has managed to make some friends among them, and I'm sure they will miss his smiling face and contageous personality now that we are no longer there.

All our stops complete, we finally were en route, inching our way through the morning traffic. Actually, the traffic seems to be overwhelming no matter what time of day (in the Delhi area), so we anticipated some reprieve once we had left the city limits. This was not to be though. To be sure, the country roads are not AS congested as the city streets are, but it seems that there is no shortage of activity, even in the most 'rural' areas of the royal road that leads from Delhi to Agra.
Smog and traffic aside, we were entertained today by a variety of other sites, including the huts which lay somewhat inconspicuously along the road. Upon closer inspection, we discovered that these structures, which might very well serve as dwellings for some of the multitude were constructed out of dried cow dung patties and thatched roofs.

At one point on the road, our driver pulled over, stopped the vehicle and informed us (in barely understandable English) that he would have to leave us for a moment in order to pay taxes or tolls, and then promptly left us (in company of his co-captain) to face the ever-present barage of humanity who knock at the windows of vehicles which happen to stop for some reason on the road.

For the first time during this trip, we recognized monkeys (perhaps the famous family of Jaipur macacs) which were tethered and led to the side of the vehicle. One of our number automatically began filming the spectacle, and stopped only when the primate's keeper began an incessant knocking at the window, accompanied with the repeated phrase, 'Monkey picture money ... Monkey picture money ...'. Of course we will not let him forget this oversight, and I'm sure that we have all learned quickly to keep cameras at bay when surrounded with such crowds.

Our journey on the royal road finally brought us to the city of Agra, sometime around 3:00 pm local time. Then we had to navigate the streets of this city, looking for the hotel where we are currently spending the night. Along the way, there was the usual spectacle of life, this time accented not only with bovine and canine accompaniments, but elephants, camels and donkeys as well.

Checked in for the night, we had to feed and water (in order not to collapse) and then it was off for a very hastened visit to the famous Agra Fort. This is an impressive structure to be sure, much larger and more grandiose than its smaller cousin the Delhi Red Fort (spoken of in a previous post).

The sightseeing continues tomorrow. If all goes well, we will visit the famous Taj Mahal in the early morning and then move on toward Jaipur. There we are scheduled to spend two nights before returning to Delhi, just in time for our return flights.

To think that we must pay entrance fees to do official sightseeing while there are more than enough sights to see all around us, if we have the eyes to see the abundance of life, complete with its blessings and challenges, right in front of our own eyes. None of us knows if we will ever be back to this part of the world, so in the meanwhile, we're soaking it all in.

Many religions all in one place

Apparently, India has a long-established reputation for welcoming various faith traditions and for finding a place where all can practice their faith in relative peace. This reputation has apparently been threatened of late by terrorist activity and the result is apparent in the security that surrounds all the major hotels and places of worship today.

Every taxi, car and other mode of transportation that seeks to enter the grounds of one of the hotels in this city must first be scrutinized by 'security guards', before the barricades are removed, permitting entrance. One source has ventured to explain that this is actually done for the benefit of the general population in order to show them that 'we are doing something to guarantee their safety'. Whether or not it actually makes a difference is perhaps another story, one which this traveller does not find himself in a position to speculate about.

India's religious tolerance was made abundantly clear today as some of us found time to visit first a Muslim house of prayer, then the Bah'ai Lotus Temple and finally Sacred Heart Roman Catholic Cathedral. Combined with our earlier visits this week to various Hindu ashrams, it was the perfect completion to a wonderful week filled with all kinds of adventures.

The official program for the Conference drew to a close today and some of the delegates and their entourages have already departed. Over the next few days, others will also find their way to the airport, and still others will employ other means of transportation to leave the city we have called 'home' for the past week or so.

Some of us will take away physical treasures and reminders of our stay here, and others will take away abundances of paperwork distributed during the myriad presentations that were made in sessions throughout the Conference. All of us will take with us the memories of friendships old and new, of sights seen (and some we think we saw but weren't too sure because of the ever-present smog), and of a people who are deeply marked by the ravages of over-population and abject poverty. Middle class living is still somewhat of a novelty in this city. The vast majority of the population are either staggeringly rich or destitute in their poverty.

Seeing the faces of adults who must try on a daily basis to eek out a living, and of children who are forced to beg from visitors and other adults who they encounter, it is easy to understand why Blessed Theresa (of Calcutta) had such a love for these forgotten ones. One of my companions remarked today, 'It's the eyes that get to you' as you're sitting in a car and they start tapping on the windows, staring with eyes that speak of pain and of a hopelessness that I'm not sure isn't profoundly real.

A few days still remain before our flight departs and streaks westward. In the meanwhile, we're scheduled to leave Delhi tomorrow morning, and move on toward Agra, the site of the famous Taj Mahal, and Jaipur, famous for (among other things) an abundance of Macac monkies.

Come along for the ride.

Mist or fog?

On my first morning here in Delhi, I looked out the window and noticed that the skies were (shall we say) overcast. Not thinking about where I was (perhaps I was too groggy at the time), I thought of course that we were in for some rain.

Four days have passed since that first morning, and with the exception of a VERY brief period of about 5 minutes sometime this afternoon, I don't think we've seen the sun once! Instead, the skies have continuously been overcast, although there hasn't been any moisture falling from the skies (OK, just a little sprinkle yesterday, but it was gone in just a few moments, and was barely enough to have dampened the pavement).

Instead, the overcast skies have actually been accompanied by an ever-increasing amount of what one of the locals referred to as mist. In actuality, I'm more convinced that it's a thick layer of smog that blankets the air in this city (and some other overpopulated areas of the world). This curtain of polution mixes with smoke from wood and cow-dung fires, which seem to be the only source of heat and cooking fuel for the abundant squatters who are found throughout Delhi.

We are told that the taxis and rickshaws have been converted to natural gas, instead of petrol, which has helped to clear up the problem to a great extent, but when there are so many people involved (Delhi boasts a population of some 10 million), it's difficult if not impossible to clear up such an issue without lots of patience and hard work.

If this amount of polution is any reflection of the state of affairs in other major cities such as Rio de Janeiro, San Francisco, Hong Kong, Beijing and others, no wonder we are being warned about the dangers of not caring for the environment. All the more reason why those of us who see blue skies on a regular basis should pause to give thanks.

Blog

As this week has progressed, there have been a number of occasions when my companions and I have been tempted to seek out a mobile computer device so that we could write immediate reports about some of the successes, failures and challenges we are encountering.

In short, each one of these experiences generates a response from someone, and it usually gets vocalized as 'Blog!'.

Take for example the trip from the hotel to the banquet last night. You may have noticed that I've been writing lots about traffic these days, but in truth that's because we tend to spend inordinate amounts of time in various transportation modes, getting from point A to point B. The sheer volume of traffic makes for all kinds of experiences, especially for those of us who are used to a (shall we say) slower pace of life.

So, we were en route last evening and found ourselves in a jam - a traffic jam. I've described before, the unwritten rules about traffic patterns here in Delhi, so imagine a road that has four lanes painted, and which is actually handling six lanes of cars, vans and trucks. Now add another supposed lane that's dedicated to bycycles and pedestrians, take away the sunlight and you have a good idea about what we were facing at about 7:00 pm (local time) last night.

Then the traffic stopped. Reason: a vehicle which resembled a midget tanker had somehow been stalled in one of the inner lanes, and had to be moved. Normally, four people seem to materialize whenever a car is disabled in this fashion, and quickly move it over to the side of the road (which in itself is no mean feat of ingenuity), but a larger vehicle is more difficult to maneuver so it needed to stay put for the moment.

Before long, there was an emergency vehicle (perhaps Delhi's answer to the local police force) which had somehow managed to make its way up to the scene of the problem. Trying to move traffic around this obstacle is not easy because cars don't move quickly by reason of the volume around them, and because there just is no room to move in general. Add to the complication, the fact that there were two other cars which had somehow managed to park themselves perpendicular to the rest of the traffic (how this happened is still a mystery), and needed to somehow make their way into the constant stream of metal, glass and humanity. This of course involved an engineering feat which included human beings directing traffic, cars, trucks and other vehicles all somehow managing to give way, and more than the usual amount of car horns blaring.

Car horns seem to be used here a whole lot more than they are back home, and particularly in this city, they are used in a much more agressive manner. It's almost as though the person sitting in the car wants to scream at everyone around him, so he lays on the horn and just keeps moving.

I wonder whether the abundance of usage of the car horn somehow accounts for the apparently decreased incidence of road rage (!?)

Eventually (I think it took the better part of forty minutes) we managed to be set free from the traffic disturbance. I'm still not sure whether the culprit (that miniature tanker or whatever it was) has yet been moved out of harm's way, but we did get to our destination (and back home afterward) without any other such disturbance. Another day well lived.

We've been told that although Delhi is the largest city in India, if we consider the outlying areas, it surrenders this honour to Bombay, and if the ultimate in a fast-paced life is your speed, then look to Calcutta for the fix of your life.

Sightseeing in Delhi

As if yesterday's encounter with the OCVSI wasn't enough, today was yet another example of what happens when people specialize in the practice of complicating otherwise simple things.

We were told to be present for the beginning of today's tour at 8:00 am (or so we thought). The appointed hour arrived and departed, and yet there were only a handful of people gathered in the designated meeting place. In the end it took another hour and a half to find all the people. This was a process all the more complicated by the fact that we had to travel from one hotel to another in search of all those who had expressed their interest in today's events (and paid their fees).

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that although I had been careful to leave my hotel sufficiently early, and to arrive at the other hotel (where the rest of the Conference is taking place) ahead of the previously-appointed hour, the bus picking up patrons actually made its way right back to the very place where I had begun this adventure. If I had known this, a whole lot of frustration might have been avoided, but then again, that's life here in Delhi.

Today's tour took us to the famous Red Fort, the tomb of the second Mugol emperor who once ruled these parts, and a very brief stop outside the Qutb Minar monument. In each case, the tour guide was more than willing to share some historical perspective (more information than some of us needed, but well appreciated by others).

We made it back to the hotel just in time to change and get on another set of buses in order to be taken to the site of tonight's celebratory banquet and yet another taste of some Indian fusion music courtesy of a band called Advaita. Properly fed and watered in the true Indian fashion, we are now ready for yet another day. Each of us will find ourselves doing some sightseeing tomorrow at some point, and I'm sure there will be more adventures to recount. Stay tuned.

Getting registered

Ok, let's try to describe a bit of what we had to endure yesterday when we arrived at the organizing and registration area. I'm not an official delegate for this conference. That's left for the wise ones (from all parts of the world) who specialize in the intricacies of Mining Engineering. This is after all the Ninth International Mine Ventilation Congress. My knowledge of this particular discipline, I must admit, is rather limited, but that doesn't bar me from taking part in some of the activities, as long as I register for them.

We arrived at registration and found a room where there were at least ten people all eager to help us. It wasn't long though before we noticed that all the 'helpers' were men. I'm not sure whether this is a reflection of some cultural reality in this part of the world (which might very well be the case) but I do know that this illustrious group looked very important.

As we approached the Events desk to inquire about registering for the Evening Cultural Events which were scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday evenings, and for the Partners' Program (sightseeing in Delhi for Thursday), we were unaware that we had actually been introduced to a very important part of the Office of Complicating Very Simple Things. Some people have worked in this office OCVST for a very long time, and may very well have been promoted to the position of Manager of Corporate Affairs.

Needless to say, it was more than a curious dance that unfolded as one man tried to communicate with another, a third chimed in with his advice, and yet a fourth was required in order to find the necessary documentation so that we could have written proof (just in case) that we had actually registered for the intended events, and paid the relevant fees.

The process of registering for these events, and paying the necessary fees should probably have taken just a few moments, but in the end, this was a complicated process that we endured for the better part of an hour.

Some of the friends with whom I am travelling know about this blog, and indeed as we encounter strange and particular happenings along the way, they tend to just look my way and we all exclaim, 'BLOG'. Oh, what would I do with a Blackberry? Imagine the reports that would arrive in cyberspace if I could produce these reflections on the spot!

As the evening drew near, we were taken courtesy of the organized buses to the location where a special cultural evening had been planned, including the music of the sitar and tabla, and the talents of one of India's most recognized dancers (whose name escapes me right now, since I don't have the documentation right in front of me). This was indeed a very informative experience, as the performers took time to explain some of the various steps and movements involved in the dance. When the time arrived for the instrumental portion, the music lulled us to complacency, a wonderful gift that we all received prior to sharing a banquet that had been prepared for us.

Music to feed the soul and the body. Indian culture has perfected both, and we are the happy benefactors of their hard work, at least for the next couple of days.

On the fly

Morning all (or evening as the case might be).

The absence of my usual descriptions over the past few hours are only due to the fact that we've been having too many adventures that take us into hours that we don't usually spend in activity. Yesterday started out at a relatively relaxed pace. Not having to attend the conference meetings gives me a different perspective on the way things are taking place.

Today though is another story. We (the 'partners') are off for a day of sightseeing in Delhi, and that means that I don't have much time to paint the pictures for you at the moment. However, I must remember to describe events from yesterday: the Office of Complicating Very Simple Affairs that was the registration centre, the usual foray into the chaos that is everyday traffic in Delhi, and the culmination of the day: a cultral evening including performances including dance and music on the famous sitar.

Can't wait to tell you all about it.

Out on the town, part 2

As if the roads are not adventure enough, we did manage to find our way into one or two other special places today.

First stop on the mini pilgrimage, Qutb Minar, site of the worlds tallest brick minaret in India, a veritable work of art which was built between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. The surrounding structure is an impressive specimen of advanced architectural endeavor which is made all the more impressive when one considers that in the time this project was undertaken, there were nowhere near the modern conveniences, techniques and tools that we have at our disposal today.

Surrounding the minaret are the ruins of what must have been quite the place. If only the walls of that structure could talk, they might just paint a picture of glories once lived and of throngs who have visited over the centuries. All that remains now are ruins, shades of what once was, including evidence of a moat surrounding the structure, dry now, but perhaps once teaming with flowing water, particularly poignant in a place such as this which sees so little precipitation except perhaps during the monsoon season.

Having paid our respects to this venerated site, we were herded back into the van and whisked off to a nearby indoor market specializing in Kasmir rugs and scarves. There we were treated to a lesson or two in the weaving process which is followed by the artisans, and then of course an array of vibrant colours and textures, woven in intricate patterns, rolled out one by one for our visual and tactile pleasure.

Getting out of that place was a challenge, but once complete, our next stop was an outdoor market specializing in Kashmir scarves and other textiles. In this market setting, there definitely was no shortage of variety in colours, sizes and shapes. This was a bargain hunters Mecca, but buyer beware because the otherwise polite shopkeepers could be more than a bit persistent in enticing passers by to sample their wares, all the while hoping to unload some of their stock and take precious funds back to waiting family members in the Kashmir valley.

Lest we should think for a moment that there wasn't enough spice in today's adventure, our last stop on this tour took us to the Swaminarayan Akshardham, which we are told was built over the period of five years from start to finish, completed only two years ago. This imposing structure covers a vast expanse of property (100 acres in size) and is extremely well guarded. Visitors must leave all manner of hand luggage behind and even undergo a metal detector before they are admitted to the inner sanctuary. A place of peace, a sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of daily life in Delhi, this magnificent akshardham, constructed in tribute to Bhagwan Swaminarayan (1781-1830 CE). No expense has been spared in creating this place of meditation and followers flock there to present their prayers, and to bask in its peaceful surroundings.

Then it was back to the fracass of the afternoon rush hour as we made our way back to the various hotels we're calling home for this week. It's been a full day, and a bit of evening rest and relaxation is in order. Some of us will have official duties tomorrow as the Tenth Annual International Mine Ventilation Congress gets underway. This is indeed the motivating factor for our presence here on the subcontinent. The rest of us, who have accompanied our friends will have our own things to do, places to go, and people to see. More on that score later.

Out on the town, part 1

Earlier this year, a few friends and I visited Varadero (Cuba) for a week. During our stay, we discovered a relatively new addition to the scene. In addition to the buses and other modes of transportation that dot the peninsula, there are now bright orange cocoa taxis. On the outside, they resemble large lemons, but closer inspection shows that they are actually a version of a souped up golf cart.

Well that was then ... and this is now. Welcome to the land of rickshaws, both the traditional type, drawn by a wallah and the motorized variety, I suppose driven by a wallah. Close inspection reveals enough space in the back seat for a maximum of two persons, depending on physiology and a whole host of other characteristics, and a metre, not unlike any other officially sanctioned taxi might contain. Passengers in these motorized creations, along with the driver, are for all intents and purposes still in the open air, since there are no doors on these vehicles, although they do have a windshield (unlike their Cuban cousins).

On the roads of Delhi, the modern rickshaw resembles a kind of beetle that speeds along from place to place (if it is at all possible to speed in traffic that is so congested). During daylight hours, and even in some of the night-time ones, most roads in this cosmopolitan hub appear to be more than just a bit congested. Modes of transportation include the rickshaw (both the hand-pulled and the motorized varieties), but also a multitude of cars (most of them are considerably smaller in size than their counterparts in Canada might be), vans, trucks ... motorcycles, humans, cows, goats, dogs and even the odd wild boar and her expanding family.

Into this cacophony we thrust ourselves today. Our sanctuary was a rented van, complete with chauffeur who ferried us along these avenues while we relaxed in the relative comfort of air conditioned lux and closed windows which revealed a world that is anything but familiar to most of us.

Moving on the broad avenues and byways appears uncomplicated, but driving is best left to the locals, for what appears to the untrained eye to be a three-laned highway can magically be transformed into a four-, five- or even six-laned thoroughfare with little or no warning. Intersections can be relatively menacing since they hold the potential for merging of two or three more lanes of traffic into the already congested main thoroughfares, and if by chance an unwitting passenger should find him or herself sitting in a car which has stopped at a traffic light, or been bidden to stop by a police officer, there is a very real possibility that a poor beggar might appear at the window and begin knocking, or even consign this task to a child in arms.

At the height of rush hour, one would wonder as to the safety of an emergency vehicle if it were to appear, but as a rule, there are relatively few incidents which might require such intervention. Having said so, we did encounter a tow truck (Indian style). It consisted of one car, tied to another and making its way through the unceasing flow of traffic, across multiple lanes and merging with traffic on roads that seemed to materialize from places unknown, all with just a jute strip to hold them together. Yes, there was a driver in the second car, perhaps to make sure that he or she kept up with the samaritan who was towing its neighbour to safety, or perhaps just to make sure that the two cars did not collide in the process.

Caring for the flock

While I am on the other side of the world, enjoying the sights and sounds of a new land, life continues back home and in other parts of the world. Thanks to technological advances (such as this), it's possible to keep up to date even from half a world away.

I've been conscious all through the day about a family back home who are celebrating a funeral today. This was not an unexpected happening for their son, husband and father, but it is nonetheless a very sad time. I spoke with them before I left, and reassured them that all the details were taken care of and that there would indeed be someone to care for them in my absence. I hope that it brought them some measure of comfort. Knowing that the experience I lived with my family last week was indeed a deeply spiritual and faith-filled moment, I can only hope and pray that this family too discovers the consolation of the Lord who accompanies us all at moments such as these.

And speaking of pastoral concern, the anticipated publication of the newest Apostolic Constitution Angilcanorum Coetibus was published today in Rome. Not only did the Vatican Press Office announce the publication of this Constitution which provides the essential norms which will govern the erection and the life of Personal Ordinariates for those Anglican faithful who wish to enter, either corporately or individually, into full communion with the Catholic Church; they also issued

• an official Press Release
• Complementary Norms to accompany the Apostolic Constitution, and
• a commentary on the significance of this Constitution for the life of those Anglican faithful and ministers who choose to enter into full communion with the Roman Catholic Church.

With the publication of this Apostolic Constituion, as it says in the Introduction, the Holy Father Benedict XVI – Supreme Pastor of the Church and, by mandate of Christ, guarantor of the unity of the episcopate and of the universal communion of all the Churches – has shown his fatherly care for those Anglican faithful (lay, clerics and members of Institutes of Consecrated life and of Societies of Apostolic Life) who have repeatedly petitioned the Holy See to be received into full Catholic Communion.

It will take a while to read through all this text, and a bit longer to grasp the intricacies contained therein. One thing is sure: there's more than enough fodder here for discussion among discerning hearts and minds. Anyone up for the challenge?

Coexistence

We who live in affluent places during affluent times have perhaps heard of the poverty which is a reality in places far away from us, but not many of us have had the opportunity to experience it up close. Still more rare are those who choose of their own accord to leave the comfort of home and willingly plunge themselves into the squalor that is the norm for so many in our world.

It's easy to hide behind all kinds of excuses. One actually can train the mind to shut out such poverty, believing rather that there is some kind of psychological game afoot, but in this place, a different tune is being played.

There are those, even here, who have all that they can possibly want, and more. There are those, even here, who are part of the ever-expanding middle class, but there are still those (and there are lots of these) who remain trapped in the rhelm of the forgotten, the outcasts, the unmentionables.

Poverty, true poverty, lives side by side with utter affluence in this land. Only mere feet from the manicured lawns and fountains that decorate the grounds of some of the lux accommodations for travellers, there are shanty towns where people live 'neath corrigated steel roofs, in shacks which are made of bricks if they are lucky, or tents which hang precariously on poles for those who must. Yet I wonder whether even some of these would say that they are happy, having discovered the secret to true happiness, the kind that realizes the minimal worth of physical possessions when compared with the true blessing of friendship and loyalty. If one has discovered this secret, 'things' tend to take care of themselves, but if one neglects this lesson, there can never be enough 'things' to satisfy the longing of the soul.

It's easy for an outsider to reflect on the lessons that can be learned from the apparent dualities that society imposes, but no doubt there are other realities, other circumstances, other truths that created this reality, that enforce it even now, that make the dream of equality for all a very slow and at times painful process.

Perhaps the true lesson here is the discovery that we make about ourselves when we're confronted with the truth of wealth (in whatever form it comes), and dare to allow our souls to be touched by those who speak, sometimes with no words, bt always with their hearts.

Respect

Many formal religions have very defined value systems. In some cases, those who follow a particular path choose whether they adhere to the rules in a strict fashion or not, but in other cases, there are strict consequences for taking things in your own hands.

One of the things that Hindus and Catholics have in common is a high regard for the gift of life, but the former may outrank the latter when it comes to the degree of strictness with which they observe this particular rule.

India is a place of many cultures and many religions. At least on the surface, it seems that Hindus, Muslims and Christians live in relative harmony (in this particular part of the world. Not far away, in the country of Pakistan, the picture is markedly different, but from what I hear, India is at least tolerant and at most welcoming to many varied nationalities and several very different and differing religious and value systems.

Coming from another part of the world, it does not surprise me to see traffic competing for space on the highways here, but traffic patterns are very unique in this part of the world. Transport trucks, vans, and cars compete with rickshaws, auto-rickshaws and pedestrians for space on the roadways. Nowhere is this more visble than at some of the intersections where it seems that not two but three or four roads intersect and traffic (which struggles at the best of time to follow the one-car-one-lane rule) intermingles in a dance that somehow results with rare incidence of accident, while mezmerizing the visitor as he is caught up in the dance that unfolds before his eyes.

Oh, there's yet another chorus that plays in this symphony too. Among the various modes of transport, both mechanical and otherwise, these streets are also home to cows, wild boar, dogs, cats and even monkeys (all considered to be sacred and deserving of their moment in the sun) competing for their own slice of the pie.

All this makes for a dizzying pace, and it's absolutely amazing that there are no accidents (at least it doesn't seem so). How does this happen, and better, how is it that the drivers and others who are caught up in this walz don't ever seem to lose their cool? Answer: it all comes down to respect.

One Hindu will greet another, not with a handshake but with a bow while clasping his or her hands in front of the chest. This simple act is meant as one of reverence as one soul greets another, as one person greets another, as one being demonstrates profound respect for another who shares the path of life.

Things you don't see every day

As I waited for the staff to clean my hotel room, I took advantage of the moment to do some exploring. Life here is very different (in ways I'm sure I still don't fully appreciate) and so a moment or so spent people watching can be very revealing.

Outside the window at the end of the corridor there is evidence that this hotel, new enough in it's existence here, will not be alone for long. There is a constant hum of construction equipment and there are signs of buildings taking shape all around us. What now appears only as a pile of rubble will soon be another place for weary travellers to crash.

Look a bit closer, and see the young man, impeccably dressed, who is stooping in the garden, shears in hand, manicuring the lawn without the aid of a lawnmower. One or two blades at a time, it seems as though he is giving the grass a haircut. He is not alone; there is another who quietly passes by, with a broom or is it a dust mop in hand. He's dusting the marble ledges which define the borders of the patio. I wonder whether this is not a futile effort though, consdering the construction and dust that is everywhere, and the polution which is so present in the air that there seems to be a contant smog permeating almost every facet of the environment.

No task seems too menial, and yet I am sure that there is more here than meets the eye. The discerning traveller knows that there are any number of employees here, each having his or her own task to complete. Whether they are managers with responsibility for overseeing the entire project, or part of the sanitation staff whose primary responsibility is to keep the glass doors gleaming, when you live in a country that has so many people, the workforce seems to be endless, and the tasks to be completed can be attended to with pride and deliberate care, no matter how menial.

Breakfast is served

The sun seemed to come up much too early today. Thankfully the drapes are heavy and keep most of the light from disturbing my slumber, but the quiet of the early morning has been shattered by the undulating traffic and the ever-present car horns (something they seem to use with much more frequency in these parts than we at home would ever become accustomed to).

Conscious of the fact that breakfast is being served only until 10:00 am, I reluctantly tear myself from the comfort of slumber and splash some water on my face before getting dressed and stumbling down to the restaurant area. The wait staff are pleasant. Smiles and greetings are comforting even as they seem a bit out of place for the body that still wonders what time of day it is.

Breakfast is an adventure to be lived, savored and enjoyed. I find a bottle of lime water (something amazingly refreshing and possibly particular to the subcontinent), and a small plate of fresh fruit. In addition to the prepared fruit (pineapple and papaya, as well as fresh oranges for the taking) there are also bowls of corn kernels and cucumber slices (of course with the smaller bowls of condiments not far away).

Sipping on a cappucino and enjoying this first taste of food for the day, I am slowly waking up and watching as the parade of persons passes before my still-bleary eyes. There is a group to my right who are chattering in Italian. As I introduce myself, I discover that they are a group of vision care specialists who are here in Delhi to begin a two-week stint of mission work. They will travel today to an outpost southwest of here (two hours by plane), where they will then meet with those who are in need of corrective lenses, and who cannot afford to pay for them. They have brought a store of stock with them (of the second-hand variety) and will do their best to match the stock with those who need them.

There is more and more life in the restaurant as I venture back to the buffet, curious to see how they do eggs and bacon in this part of the world. Yes, there are omlettes and waffles (what buffet wouldn't) but there is also an array of local cuisine: allou (a simple potato curry), small flatbreads (homemade of course), crisp fritters which taste of split-pea flour and geerah (cumin), and all manner of sweet breads. I want to taste them all, but I must content myself with choosing wisely. After all, my body is still waking up to the fact that we're not in Kansas any longer, and that this adventure is just beginning.

Hug the land of my birth

One of my collegues, who is actually back home, asked me to greet his country of birth as I set foot on the Indian sub-continent. Well, it was just after 12:30 midnight (local time) when we touched down at Indira Ghandi International Airport. I'm not sure, but I think it actually took longer for us to taxi into the terminal than it took to empty the plane of people.

As we were approaching Delhi, there was a curious mixture of excitement at the thought of visiting this city of 10 million inhabitants, and anxiety at the prospect of getting into a taxi without my companions in the middle of the night. I know that this seems absurd, but it's at least worth a moment's reflection because after all, this is a foreign land and one never knows what to expect.

India requires a traveller's visa from every person who arrives from some other international port. Thankfully, the required documentation was already in place (and had been verified by personnel at the Toronto airport before we actually left Canadian soil). The preparations for this voyage also made me aware of the fact that the Indian officials would require a declaration about the newest menace to hit various parts of the world - the H1N1 Influenza. Along with the customary landing form, airline personnel distributed an H1N1 declaration which each passenger had to complete before the completion of the flight.

Arriving in the customs hall, the first stop was a wicket (placed off to the side) where the attendants all bore masks, and processed our H1N1 declarations without even looking at us. In some places, one might be tempted to wonder at the welcome we were being accorded, but the fun had only begun. Stage 2 was of course the presentation of the customs declaration, yet another opportunity for wordless interaction as the anonymous passenger met the unknown official. Papers were examined, passports were stamped, and we were on our way, without the slightest of salams.

One of the blessings of the day was that all our luggage did indeed reach its destination, without any delay or other incident save a bit of a wait. For this we are thankful because at that hour of the day, and being travel weary, the last thing one needs is to have to face the hassle of identifying lost luggage.

Passing through the last of the inspection stations in the airport, we soon found ourselves in the reception hall. Having paid only the slightest bit of attention to the foreign exchange booth inside the airport, we were now greeted by what seemed to be an endless line of taxi attendants, each waiting for a passenger and holding a sign with a name attached. Thus began the hunt for those who were awaiting our arrival, a task which was accomplished with relative ease.

One of the tourist books I've been reading lately says that newcomers to India should never try to drive in this city. Situation normal, as the saying goes. The 30 minute taxi ride to the hotel last night was proof positive of this piece of advice. The driver was amazingly candid and welcoming as we chatted about all manner of things. I learned that he lives in Delhi only part of the year, and goes 'home' to the area around Jaipur for the remainder, and I appreciated his agility at handling the traffic, which he assured me was light at 1:30 am compared to what it would be during daylight hours.

Hospitality seems to be the order of the day. Having arrived at the hotel, and procured my room key, it wasn't long before I was showered and had tumbled into the waiting bed.

Did I remember to hug the country as I arrived?

Making it easy

It's amazing the things you see and the lessons you learn about people and about behaviour if you have the eyes to see it, and the ears to observe it.

Polite Canadians seem to spend vast amounts of energy telling one another that we value privacy, and perhaps this is the reason why at least some of us tend to keep to ourselves when we find ourselves in a crowd of strangers. Not so for one of my travel companions; he has an amazing ability to cross the cultural boundaries and to put even the most harried and stressed service provider at ease. The result, he tends to get places with an agility that is not afforded any but the most daring.

Whether it is the hostess who greets us in the lounge and takes away the dishes left behind after our snack, or the agent who is trying her best to get a full plane load of people onboard before the pilot fires up the engines, they all have their jobs to do, and my friend recognizes (as we all do) that these people are doing their very best to make us, the travellers, as comfortable as we can be.

When most of us would be content to wordlessly provide documents or ignore the presence of such service providers, my companion takes special care to address them all with a particular phrase (which is becoming ever more familiar to me as I spend more time in his presence). 'You are working so hard', he says, 'and you are doing a wonderful job'. This puts the hearer immediately at ease, a smile on her face, and permits an openness that results in magic being worked. With such simple words, doors are opened, and we are all the beneficiaries.

New appreciations

My original plan for the short layover in Toronto was to exit the airport, meet up with family and share a meal before continuing on for the transatlantic flight, but thanks to the delay in the first leg of the trip, we did not arrive in Toronto until 3:00 pm, sufficiently delayed as to cause us to annul the plan for lunch. This meant that I had to forego the opportunity of meeting up with family, but there was yet another adventure awaiting.

Conscious of time constraints and the demands of airport protocols, we chose to remain in the secure area while awaiting the departure for Zurich. Thankfully, my friends are frequent flyers who have also qualified for access to the special lounges which are set aside for travellers who must endure more than their fair share of airports. As a result, I was granted my very first visit to the Maple Leaf Lounges which are found at Lester B. Pearson International Airport. As with any new adventure, there was lots to discover and even more to explore. These little hives of activity are inconspicuous to the otherwise common traveller who can easily pass through the airport without any knowledge of such attention to service.

Two and a half hours of waiting absolutely flew by, and before we knew it, we had left the luxury of one lounge and walked smack into an absolute torrent of humanity, all in various manner of dress, most of which painted a foretaste of the adventure which will unfold in the next few days. Gone were the majority of western-styles of clothing, replaced rather by sari and flowing robes that speak these days more of those who are from the Middle East or perhaps from the Indian sub-continent.

People of all ages moved in a steady undulating stream toward the ticket counter, paying little or no heed to the invitations of the airline personnel to board the waiting aircraft by seat and row number. In the midst of the throng, there was a whisp of dark cloth which seemed to move between the people, making its way toward the ticket counters. As I looked closely, I discovered that there was indeed an aged woman beneath a vast expanse of cloth. Her body had been worn and twisted with age and who knows what kinds of experience.

As the lines snaked onto the waiting aircraft, the sights and sounds disappeared from the boarding lounge, leaving it in apparent peace and quiet, the hubub having been transformed into neat rows within the waiting jet. Thus began the second leg of this journey, an eight-hour overnight flight which has brought us to the city of Zurich.

It is Sunday morning, and all is quiet. We have managed to find the Business Lounge here as well, complete with a variety of pastries and chocolate (yes, the world-famous Swiss chocolate which one eats for breakfast, lunch and dinner in these parts) all waiting to bid us Wilkomen. Here we wait for the next leg of the trip. In a matter of hours, this brief stop in the midst of the Alps will be over, and we will once again be streaking across the skies. After yet another eight-hour flight, we will finally have reached our destination.

What awaits us there, only time will tell. It will be just after midnight on Monday morning by the time we greet the land of the Tomistic Christians, and the adventure will continue.

Meeting friends

The fun began while we were still in the car, on the way to the airport. Thanks to the miracle of text messaging, signals were sent from two separate vehicles to alert travel companions that we had begun our journey.

A second volly of messages signaled an unexpected stop along the way, to take on other passengers. In the end, this was fortuitous since the couple who last boarded the shuttle turned out to be originally from Northern India - the very location where our travels will take us in the coming day(s).

Stories of warm Northern Indian welcomes mingle with and easy flow of cameraderie and friendship which exhudes from our new-found companions. They are more than willing to share their advice, wisdom and well wishes with the pilgrims who are setting out on this journey.

Having been introduced to the mining ventilation specialist and his wife, our travel companions were finally introduced to the priest (or as they prefer to refer to me, as the preacher). Thanks to a delay in the departure of our first leg of travel, we turned out to have ample opportunities to share wisdom with these companions. In fact, as the first leg of the flight came to an end and we parted ways, they urged my friends to "take care of the preacher, and try not to fall asleep during his teachings". Falling asleep has never occurred while I have the microphone (at least not to my knowledge); besides, I keep my words of wisdom to a minimum so as not to bore the unfortunate listener, in hopes of enticing the odd passerby to thirst for more.

Going to the land of Saint Thomas

All the bags are finally packed ... and repacked. In just a short while, the journey will begin. This is a pilgrimage of sorts ... to the land where Saint Thomas preached the Word and spread the gospel to neophyte Christians as early as the first century A.D.

In actual fact, Saint Thomas settled in the Indian province of Kerela, located in the southern part of that country, and this pilgrimage will take us to the present-day capital, Delhi. The reason for this trip is business-related for some and pleasure-related for others. The author finds himself, happily, in the latter group.

Times such as these are a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation. Excitement at the prospect of seeing a land that one has never set eyes on before, and trepidation because all that has been read and learned about the second most populated country in the world says that we are in for an adventure of epic proportions.

Whatever comes, it will be part of the adventure, and after all, that is the stuff of holidays for the adventurous types who choose to travel half-way round the globe and back, all in the space of little more than a week. No wonder travellers of this ilk feel like disciples of Phillias Fogg.

Helping hands for Toronto

Ever since the transfer of then Toronto Auxiliary Bishop Richard Grecco to the Church of Charlottetown (and even perhaps before that date) there has been chatter about the prospects for the appointment of other Auxiliary Bishops to assist the Archbishop of that circumscription with the pastoral governance of his Archdiocese.

The answer to that debate was made public this morning in Rome. His Holiness has appointed two new Auxiliary Bishops to assist His Grace, Thomas Collins in his task of leading the Archdiocese of Toronto.

The two newly appointed Bishops-elect are:

• His Excellency, Vincent Nguyen, a priest of the Archdiocese of Toronto, born in 1966 in Vietnam, and ordained a priest on May 9, 1998. He holds a Bachelor of Applied Science in electrical engineering (University of Toronto) and a Master of Divinity (Saint Augustine's Seminary). Having completed the necessary course of study (Angelicum, Rome) for the Licentiate in Canon Law, he was serving (until today) as Chancellor and Moderator of the Curia in the offices of the Archdiocese of Toronto; and
• His Excellency, William Terrence McGrattan, a priest of the Diocese of London, born in London (Ontario) in 1956. Ordained a priest for the Diocese of London on May 2, 1987, he was accorded a Licentiate in Theology (Pontifical Gregorian University, Rome) in 1992. He has most recently been serving as the Rector of Saint Peter's Seminary (London) for the past 12 years.

Other dioceses in Canada which are currently awaiting the appointment of shepherds include Antigonish (NS), Saskatoon (SK) and Yarmouth (NS) although Antigonish has been confieded to the pastoral care of the Archbishop of Halifax who has also been acting as Apostolic Administrator of the Diocese of Yarmouth since October 18, 2007.

Happiness vs joy

'How is it that you manage to keep smiling?'

This question was posed tonight during a brief conversation, and I suppose I understand why. Over the past few days, my family and I have faced the death of a person who is very dear to us. This has not been an easy time for us, and yet, as I was conversing tonight, my partner in discussion noticed that I portrayed happiness.

Social scientists know that there is a difference between joy and happiness. Joy is an emotion which is experienced, much as sorrow, anger and fear are also felt. By contrast, happiness reflects a much deeper reality. One can be happy overall without necessarily experiencing joy. Even if a person is facing situations that may conjure fear or other threatening emotions, it is still possible to possess an inward happiness.

My family and I have been very intentional about how we have grieved the loss of my grandmother, including our careful choices to include all members of the family in some way or other in the rituals and movements involved in saying goodbye. Because we have lived the many steps involved in the funeral liturgy: standing vigil at the bedside even at the moment of death, gathering to recite a novena of rosaries beginning on the evening of her death and ending nine nights later, taking time to tell the stories of our remembrances during the visitation and in private family time, welcoming others who themselves wanted to share their condolences, celebrating the Mass of the Resurrection with concious and mindful participation, and accompanying her mortal remains until the time that they were placed in the ground, all the while keeping our eyes focused on the One who has given life, and who calls us to live with Him, we can now go on, not without moments of missing her, but trusting that all is well and that we now continue the work she began.

A wise woman once counselled me to always find time to 'come in for a landing'. By this she meant that I should never forget the importance of prayer and that I should always find time for touching base with God. Keeping this contact current helps to keep life in proper perspective. At times when we neglect this truth, we run the risk of losing the serenity which comes with knowing that all things are done not for our own glorification but in service to others and for the glory of God.

Come in for a landing every day. Find a moment to simply acknowledge God's presence, and to ask for his help. This might only take a moment, but will definitely make a momentous difference in the way the day plays out. Doing so helps us also to find the true reason for our happiiness, despite whatever else might come our way.

Oh, and by the way, today's edition of ZENIT includes a report on the weekly General Audience that took place today, during which His Holiness invited young people to imitate Saint Charles Boromeo, whose feast day we celebrate today, by allowing Christ to have some input in their daily schedule. Young or (ehem) more experienced as we are, these words of wisdom can apply to us all.

Workforce reduced

Last week, as the first of the H1N1 immunization clinics opened its doors across the country, there was a seemingly simultaneous increase in cases of people showing up in Emergency rooms across this land, all reporting various symptoms believed to be part of this potential pandemic.

News of at least one suspected case of H1N1 which was blamed for the death of a teenager caused additionally escalated levels of panic among parents and young children alike.

About ten days have now gone by and still there is a sense of urgency in the air, mixed with understandable concern for the well-being of children and those who are at risk. Policies and procedures for the distribution of the vaccine have, by necessity, had to be revised, and medical personnel are being challenged in ways they may not have anticipated.

There are reports of schools which are half full of students, the remainder being kept home by their parents out of a sense of concern that symptoms of colds and other challenges to the immune systems that we all could put innocent bystanders at risk.

Perhaps I should not therefore have been surprised to learn upon my return today that most of the staff members are experiencing various medical challenges including dibilitating colds and fatigue. Between motivated absenses for reasons other than sickness and the cases of people not being healthy, it's a wonder that anyone was here to respond to phone calls and visitors who knocked at the door over the last few days.

The truth of the matter is that this is probably going to be an accepted reality in many locales over the next days and weeks. Learning to live with this increased demand is therefore quickly becoming a top priority.

The consequence of this can take one of two directions. Either we can be proactive and take steps to protect ourselves and the people we love, or we can deny the possiblity that it will affect us personally, and possibly end up reacting to an 'unforeseen' development. Will those who are vaccinated eventually give thanks for the fact that we can access this preventative medication, or will those who choose to forego this measure of health find a reason to be thankful for their decision? Some are still unsure about whether they should avail themselves of this medication, but health professionals are encouraging all people to take the necessary steps to protect themselves.

Grains of wheat

Following is the text of the homily prepared for the Mass of the Resurrection which was celebrated this morning for Mary Evelyn (Lee) Man-Son-Hing.

***

'Unless a grain of wheat falls on the ground and dies, it remains only a single grain, but if it dies, it produces a rich harvest' (Jn 12:24)

On behalf of all our family members, I would like to thank all those who have come to celebrate this Mass with us today. Our thanks also are extended to all those who have visited with us, or sent their condolences in any way over these past days, and to those who are united with us in prayer as we commend our beloved mother, mother-in-law, grandmother and great-grandmother to the loving embrace of the Lord.

Mary Evelyn Ho Choi Lee began her earthly life in the city of Colon, Panama on April 4, 1920, and was baptized there, shortly after her birth. Her Catholic faith has always been at the centre of her life, a testament to the lessons about life and love that she most probably learned from her own mother.

Alphonsus Lee, granny's father died when she was only two years old, so she never really knew him. In contrast, we have been so richly blessed because we have had the privilege to know her, to be loved by her, and to learn from her for almost 90 years.

In 1941, she married Victor Vernon Man-Son-Hing, and for the next 56 years, they lived together, raised their children, and taught us all by their words and example, the most valuable lessons of life: the importance of family and of taking care of those in need, the value of humility and of generosity in all things.

Although he did not share her faith traditions, Grandpa never objected to her sharing the values of her faith with us. In fact, it is because of this lady that we have been given the treasure of our faith. As her parents had done before, granny nurtured each of her children and their offspring with love and attention, and was vigilant in teaching us all about faith and the importance of moral values.

Many years ago, I remember the day that granny took me, as a very young child, to Brickdam Cathedral for Mass on what must have been the feast of Saint Blaise. At some point during the liturgy, we knelt at the altar rail and someone (a priest I think) placed two very long lit candles around my throat. He uttered words which I did not understand at the time, but this simple gesture of faith has remained with me to this day.

Evelyn was always a gentle, kind and caring lady who was devoted to her husband and her family. She possessed an unfailing devotion to the Blessed Virgin. On at least one occasion, she welcomed the statue of the Madonna of Fatima, which happened to be traveling in Guyana, into her home, and gathered us all around it to pray the rosary. Throughout her life, she remained faithful to this simple prayer, and encouraged us all to develop our own devotion to the Mother of God.

'Anyone who loves his life will lose it; but anyone who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life' (Jn 12:25)

Whether during their years spent in Guyana, or after their arrival here in Canada, granny and grandpa always loved to have their family around them. Anyone who dropped in for a visit would be treated to at least some kind of refreshment, or whatever happened to find its way into the ever-present pots on the stove. The meals we shared so often were always welcome opportunities for telling the stories of our lives, and for weaving the invaluable relationships of love and support that are so important to life.

When they were no longer able to continue the practice of welcoming us into their own home for such occasions, this act of hospitality was taken up by their children, and so the torch has now been passed to the next generation, and to future generations. Ours is now the task of living faith for the benefit of others, loving them without conditions or limits, welcoming those who are particularly in need, and paying particular attention to those who suffer because society would rather cast them aside. Doing this with unfailing love is how she taught us to serve others, inspired herself by the formation she received at Saint Rose's High School in Guyana. She taught us all to give of ourselves without ever counting the cost, and trusting always that we too will one day be rewarded with the gift of eternal life.

'Do not grieve (for those who have died) ... like those who have no hope' (1 Thes 4:13)

Christian faith and Catholic tradition have always taught that all things are gifts from God. From the day of our birth, as we are welcomed into this world, and from the moment of our baptism, when we are welcomed into the Church, we are people of hope who live in trust and faith because Jesus has reassured us through his resurrection, that we too will one day live with God in heaven.

We come to this church today to pray with Evelyn, commending her to the loving embrace of God. This is a moment for which she has waited her whole life. It is a moment for which we all wait, and when it arrives, it is right that we should not grieve without hope because we know that she is now whole and smiling down on us, reunited with her beloved husband, her brother and her sister, and looking forward to the time when we will all be reunited in the Father's house.

In the meanwhile, we approach the altar of grace, to receive here the bread of life, a foretaste of the banquet of rich food with which we are fed. We know that while we live life here on earth, we are always in need of God's forgiveness, for none of us is perfect until we are perfected in death, so we count on the prayers and intercession of the saints, and the love and support of others with whom we walk the road of life, and prepare for the day when we will share the gift of eternal life.

Whether by chance or by providence, granny died just two days before the Solemnity of the All the Saints, and we have prepared for this liturgy while also observing the Memorial of All Souls. Today, the Church remembers and prays with Saint Martin de Porres, a Peruvian-born Dominican priest who spent his life caring for the poor and the needy. May these saints join with the Blessed Virgin in welcoming Evelyn now into the glory of heaven, and may they all look down on us with tender love, even as they intercede for us in the presence of Almighty God.