Third Sunday - Rejoice!

The Third Sunday of Advent is called Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is Latin for “Rejoice!”, and this is the Sunday we light the more festive rose candle.

Long periods of preparation can be draining. If you've ever prepared a field for a crop, or a house for painting, you know that preparatory work can be tedious and discouraging. Jobs like stripping paint aren't the “real” work, so aren't directly rewarding, but they have to be done if the final job is going to succeed.

It must have felt that way for the Israelites. They were promised a Redeemer, and as more prophecies came in a clearer picture of Him emerged. This wouldn't just be the Savior of Israel, this would be the Savior of the whole world! What a high and noble calling! But as the centuries dragged on, and the Jewish people suffered many setbacks, it probably got discouraging.

Advent can feel like that for us, too. It seems to be all about discipline and preparation, and can feel like it drags on and on (especially for children!) It's like spiritual paint-scraping: no fun at all, and just when you think you're making progress, you spot another patch that needs cleaning.

This is why the Church says to take a break. The Third Sunday of Advent reminds us to rejoice – to step back, relax, and refocus on the goal. Spiritual life isn't only about discipline and reform. Those things are necessary, but only as preparation for The Main Event: the redemption, joy, the full spiritual life that Christmas celebrates. The cheery rose candle brightens the array of somber purple. The halfway point is passed, and our vigil will soon be at an end.

From this point on, the burning rose candle will remind us that we've turned the corner and the goal is in sight. Like runners in a race coming within sight of the goal, let's not slow down, or stumble, or give up. Let's redouble our efforts – the very image used in Scripture several places, like Hebrews 12:1. Let's get even more serious about cleaning spiritual house in preparation for the Coming Lord.

The most significant way to do this is to accept the grace of the Sacrament of Confession. Don't pass up this opportunity for grace! Rejoice, your sins can be forgiven in Christ!

Second Sunday

Second Sunday of Advent – 6 December 2009 – The Centuries of Anticipation

Jesus once assured His disciples that “many kings and prophets longed to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear the things that you hear, and did not hear them.” (Luke 10:24) These words are as true for us as they were for the disciples. We can easily take the Sacraments, Scriptures, Church teachings, and our rich Catholic heritage for granted. We forget that for thousands of years all mankind, especially the Jews, anticipated and longed for the promised Redeemer.

Prophecies of the Messiah are found throughout the Old Testament. These are important for many reasons, such as reassuring us that God is in charge no matter how badly we humans stray from His way. Here are some of the Old Testament prophecies that spoke of Christ:

Toward the end of his life, Moses spoke of “a prophet” that would come after him, whom all Israel should obey (Deuteronomy 18:15-18). The prophet Nathan promised that King David would have a son whose throne would be established forever (2 Samuel 7:12-14). Both these prophecies were partially fulfilled by other prophets and kings descended from David, but only Jesus perfectly fulfilled them both.

As the time of Jesus' coming drew nearer, the prophetic “focus” became sharper. The Holy Spirit spoke extensively through the prophet Isaiah about the coming Messiah: that He would be born of a virgin (Is 7:14), that He would come from the line of David, walk in the power and wisdom of God's Spirit, and govern a worldwide Kingdom of Peace (Is 11:1-14), that He would destroy oppression (Is 16:5), that He would be called from His mother's womb to not only restore Israel but save all nations (Is 49:1-6), and that He would be abused and suffer to redeem mankind (Is 52:13 – 53:12).

Prophecies regarding the Messiah also came to Daniel, who saw a vision of one “like a Son of Man” being brought before the Father to receive everlasting worldwide dominion (Dan 7:13-14), and to Zechariah, who foresaw that the Messiah would come to His people riding a donkey (Zech 9:9-10) – symbolic of His humility and gentleness, and fulfilled on Palm Sunday. Zechariah was also told of One who would be known as The Branch, who would build the Temple and reign over Jerusalem (Zech 6:12-13). The last prophet of the Old Testament, Malachi, spoke of the Messenger of the Covenant who would come to His Temple to purify it, that true worship might be offered there (Mal 3:1).

These are but a few of the prophecies regarding the Messiah that can be found in the Old Testament. It is important to know them because they shed light on Jesus' mission, and further explain what He came to accomplish. They also make clear that human history has always been in God's control; a control that continues to this day.

This Advent, let us study these Scriptures, so we can grow to appreciate the gift that we have been given: Immanuel, the God who dwells in our midst. We do not have to wait and wonder, anticipating the far-off day when the Messiah would be revealed. He has been revealed – at Bethlehem, at Calvary, at the Empty Tomb, and in every Mass we attend. Truly kings and prophets long to see and hear what is freely given to us every week – let's appreciate it.

I wrote these myself - honest!

Of late, my life has been consumed by the effort of finding, purchasing, fixing up, and moving into a new house - all in the span of just over three months. This while trying to make a living (with the emphasis on "trying"), stay involved in my parish, and keep the Right to Life involvement going. Needless to say, this has left little spare time for sharing thoughts here, though there has been no lack of subject matter.

So I won't let this effort totally languish, I'm posting a few articles that I threw together for a series on Advent which we're running in our parish paper. Though these weren't originally written as blog posts, I did write them, so I hope they count as content until I can get back to a more dedicated effort.

First Sunday of Advent – 29 November 2009 – The (nearly) Forgotten Season

Advent is a season which is easily be forgotten in our modern culture. It has largely been eclipsed by the commercial “Christmas Season”, which seems to start earlier and earlier each year. While Christmas music is heard everywhere and television is flooded with Christmas specials, all we might notice at Mass is different colored vestments and a wreath with colored candles. Some of us may remember Advent wreaths at home, and perhaps even “giving up” things for Advent, but even those practices have largely faded.

Meanwhile, many are concerned with “putting Christ back in Christmas”. One way to do this is by observing Advent, particularly in homes trying to raise Catholic children. In the Church Calendar, the Christmas season follows Christmas (the “Twelve Days of Christmas” begins on December 25th and ends on January 6th, the Epiphany.) The four-week season leading up to Christmas is Advent, which has its own rites and focus. One way to “put Christ back in Christmas” is to put Advent back into our lives

Advent is a major season in the Christian calendar. In fact, the Church Year begins with Advent, making the First Sunday the liturgical “New Year's Day”. The focus of Advent is not as much fasting (more appropriate for Lent), but simplifying and refocusing. While penance and self-examination is part of this, the themes of Advent are solemn but joyous anticipation and preparation. This can be hard to do amidst the press and bustle of the commercial “Christmas Season”, but it is worth the effort!

We'll be running a series of articles throughout Advent to assist with this effort. Here are some practical hints for families seeking to more fully celebrate this holy season:

• Get a home Advent wreath. These come with four candles – three purple ones and one pink (rose). These can be lit during dinner or other family times – one additional candle for each week celebrated, with the pink one lit on the Third Sunday. This simple observance can help the whole family focus on this special season.
• Another classic devotional tool is the Advent calendar. These colorful pieces of art count down through the days of Advent (usually beginning on December 1), with little doors that open and provide Scripture passages for the day. Some versions even have a little treat for each day! These are especially helpful with young children, but the whole family can enjoy them.
• Simplify and focus your life by setting aside perhaps 15 minutes of television, Internet, or video game time to read Scripture and pray. Readings for each day are found in the bulletin – perhaps you could clip them out and use them all week.
• Attend a parish or neighborhood Bible Study. Most area parishes sponsor them.
• Do something “devotionally different” - perhaps a family Rosary or after-dinner Scripture reading, or have a brief family prayer time in the evening.
• Encourage everyone in the family to attend Confession at least once in Advent.

As a parish, let's try to make Advent 2009 a special time of preparing for the joy of Christmas!

A national conundrum

America is having its national nose rubbed in the issue that it never wants to look at for very long. The issue of publicly funding abortion is forcing the injustice and moral contradiction of the question back into the public conscience - and people are already starting to squirm.

So long as abortion was privately funded, it could remain under most people's radar. If people wanted to pay for one - well, that was their business. Tossing a bone to pro-lifers in the form of the Hyde Amendment that prohibited any Health & Human Services (i.e. welfare) funds being used for abortion was pretty safe: abortions for welfare recipients was a bit of a touchy topic anyway (though some states still fund abortions with their own Medicaid funds).

But now the spectre of getting Federal funds involved in health care payment at every level is once again forcing the issue. When flat-out asked, most Americans - even those who have no objection to the procedure - don't want public funds paying for abortion. But public funding for abortions has long been the Holy Grail of radical gender feminists like NOW, NARAL, and Planned Parenthood. After all, as the largest for-profit abortion provider in the nation, PP could make a lot of money billing taxpaying American citizens for killing unborn American citizens. Pro-abortion forces are not going to easily surrender their long-sought goal, but pro-life legislators such as Rep. Bart Stupak of Michigan and Sen. Ben Nelson of Nebraska have dug in their heels and refuse to violate their consciences by voting for public funding for abortion.

So the House and Senate face a Mexican standoff. Though the Stupak amendment made it through the House, knowledgeable observers of both sides say that advocates will not back down. Pro-abortion representatives who may have swallowed hard to vote for the health care funding bill with the Stupak amendment are determined to strip out that wording in conference. Pro-life legislators in both houses are determined to keep it in, or add equivalent wording to the Senate version. Without both parties on board, the bill can't pass.

Meanwhile, people are beginning to see through President Obama's smokescreen statements about how Federal law prohibits funding abortions. They're noticing that the Hyde Amendment was just that - an amendment, not a statute, that was tacked onto the HHS budget every year. There's no guarantee that it would continue to be tacked on - in fact, nobody was expecting the Pelosi House to do so. And it only applied to the HHS budget, which would not be the budget funding health care payments. (Of course, nobody knows what budget that would be, or where the money would come from, but that's another post.) And the proposed health funding reforms would reach far further than Medicaid payments. Also, Obama's on record as saying that paying for "reproductive health services" - industry code for abortion - is central to his plans for health care payments.

How this all plays out will be high drama. The longer it drags out, the more the media will be forced to talk about abortion - something they're very skilled at not doing. The more they talk, the more people will think. A man who doesn't want to look at the gross injustice of abortion can look the other way so long as it's "a personal choice". But when he is forced to pay for that "personal choice", he tends to look a bit harder. And perhaps this time he'll notice that abortion slaughters 1.2 million children each year. And maybe, just maybe, he'll ask his legislator to vote against funding that.

And maybe, just maybe, his conscience will move him to do a little bit more.

Seduced by illusion

Two interesting things happened recently. They seemed unrelated, but seem to me to share a common thread.

One was the selection of President Barack Obama as the recipient of the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize. There was much comment from many quarters on this, especially when someone put together that the nominations for the prize closed just two weeks after Obama's inauguration - far too brief a period in office for him to have done anything to warrant such an accolade.

The other thing was the results of a rather out-of-the way online contest sponsored by the online magazine AskMen.com, which is a digital phenomenon in the GQ/Esquire/Maxim mold (think Playboy lite). Apparently their annual online survey of "Most Influential Men" turned up an interesting result: the man in question was imaginary. That's right, according to those who voted in the poll, the most influential man was the character Don Draper of the television show Mad Men. This surprising result was so intriguing that Rabbi Yonason Goldson wrote a superb column for Jewish World Review that makes several excellent points far better than I could.

To me, the connection between the two events was obvious: in both cases, those making the selection had voted for appearance, not substance. That Don Draper didn't exist and had never done anything in the real world was irrelevant; the important point was that he appeared to be the kind of man that the voters wished to emulate. The same criteria influenced Obama's selection for the Peace Prize: at the time he was nominated, he'd done nothing but run a campaign (and had done a masterful job of it) - an event which is pure image in America's media-dominated culture. Even following the nomination announcement, the media was abuzz with commentary such as this column, which gushes about Obama's acceptance comments.

The gap here between image and substance is frightening. What is even more frightening is that few think it remarkable. Anyone who knows history is aware that a sharp intrusion of actual events can shred even the most artful and well-constructed image (just ask the builders of the Maginot Line). One has to wonder how a culture who elects illusory images as their leaders will respond when they are faced with an actual challenge - because it is at times like that that illusion will shred and evaporate.

Thinning out

This weekend I pulled a file folder from my drawer and threw most of the contents away. I kept only one sheet, which I signed and handed over to my son. The sheet was the title to an old car which we inherited and he was taking away to fix up and sell. The other papers were various records on the vehicle - repairs, transfers of ownership, registration, etc. (Yes, I'm one of those compulsive types who keeps those things, because from time to time they really come in handy.) Of course, it made sense to throw it all away now, because my son wouldn't need them, nor would whoever he sells the car to. But the act got me thinking about the fact that I'm probably going to be doing a lot of that over the upcoming months.

We've sold our house to the state and are currently within the 90-day window we're given to find another house. Moving is going to happen within the next couple of months, and when it does, I imagine we're going to be startled at just how deep our roots have sunk into this place we've inhabited for the past quarter century. Of course there'll be the emotional component, but I'm currently facing the simple physical challenge of clearing out every nook and cranny of this place. There will be a lot of dumping of things which at one time I thought were or might someday prove valuable (or I wouldn't have kept them).

That's going to be a challenge to my cautionary mentality. Some people relish throwing things out, but I'm not one of them. I'm not as bad as my late mother-in-law (who is in a class by herself), but I like holding onto things that may still have some value. But moving is going to make me face some hard realities about just how much value some things still have. I'll have to face facts like (for example) if I squirreled something away five years ago in the chance I might need it, and I haven't needed it at all in that time, I'll probably never need it.

I imagine there's some profound life lesson awaiting me as I sort through closets and throw out years accumulated things which I once thought might have value but time has proven do not. I may even post some of what I learn here. But right now, the prospect leaves me feeling drab and desolate. I'm not looking forward to this impending thinning of my life - which is a little odd. My patron is St. Francis - whose feast is today, incidentally - and though I chose him in an moment of adolescent indecision, his example has had a surprisingly strong impact on my life. I admired and sought to emulate his example of owning little in this world in order to focus on the next. As a family we've tried not to focus on accumulating material goods. We've lived in this old home which has served our needs (pretty much), driven cars until they stopped working, not sought to have the biggest or best or newest anything unless there was a practical justification. "Franciscan" well describes the way we've sought to live and raise our family. So perhaps the thinning out of our lives which we currently face is an opportunity to see how Franciscan I really am.

Of Grapes and other thoughts.

We're currently in the process of looking for a house. We've sold our current one to the state and have 90 days (now 80 and counting) to find a new place. All we've done is view some houses and submit a couple of bids. Currently we're waiting to hear back on a couple of them.

One of the houses we visited is a vacant foreclosure with a somewhat unkempt yard. Actually the state of the foliage around the back and side of the yard indicates that it was once tended, perhaps by longtime occupants, but has not been properly maintained in recent years - possibly by the immediately prior tenants, the ones who were evicted. None of the overgrowth was unreasonable, and we were delighted to find that some of it was concord grape vines. Somewhere in the house's history someone kept a small grape arbor, and the fruit on the untended vines was just ripening.

Since the house seemed suitable in other ways, we are currently bidding on it, and thus may end up buying it. But in the meantime, I was loath to see the grapes simply rot on the vine, so I went out to the vacant house and picked several pounds. While doing so, I noticed something about the bunches that I'd never seen before: a tremendous variation in the maturity of the grapes. Most of the bunches had everything from plump, sweet grapes of rich purple to tiny green bumps the size and shape of nonpareils. This struck me as odd - most grape bunches I'd seen in the store, and even on the vine at the local orchards, were of reasonably uniform maturity even if they varied in size.

This got me wondering about the vine. These were grapes from undressed vines - the arbor hadn't been tended for years, and the branches were twisting and sprawling all over the place. I'm just speculating, and I'd happily hear from someone who knows more about growing grapes, but I wondered if the irregularity of the grape maturity could be traced to the fact that they grew untended.

If this is true, it would illuminate another teaching of Jesus' that would make perfect sense to His immediate audience but be opaque to we non-agricultural moderns. I'm referring to His statement at the start of John 15: ""I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." I've always appreciated this passage as an encouragement not to be one of the branches that bears no fruit (i.e. good works), as well as an encouragement to persevere in times of difficulty (pruning). While both these understandings are good and appropriate, if I'm correct in my speculation about the kind of fruit borne by undressed vines, there would be yet another reason.

We all know that one of the struggles of following Christ is bearing fruit in all aspects of our lives. We all know people (perhaps ourselves) who might excel at one or two areas of discipleship but fail in others. You know - the man who might have a disciplined intellect and superb teaching ability but is emotionally immature and inconsistent, or the man who can be counted on to show up for every charitable work but can't be bothered to study Scripture or advance his understanding of God's truth. Might this inconsistency be like the fruit of untended vines, where you might pluck a bunch and only be able to use half the grapes because the others aren't suitable?

Again, I don't know if these phenomena are related, but if they are, the example of the vine dresser and the fruit would speak clearly to an audience familiar with agriculture. The intent of the pruning (trials of life) would be to produce not only more fruit (good works), but more consistent fruit. Saints and spiritual advisors have often spoken of the desirability of a consistent spiritual life - that one who is faithful in prayer should also be knowledgeable of God's ways, patient in demeanor, abundant in charitable deeds, and so forth. Could this consistency be the result of careful pruning by the Father, even as consistent clusters of grapes may be the result of well-dressed vines?

I'd love to know for certain, but I suspect there's a connection. I hope that makes me more patient the next time hardship or humiliation or struggle comes my way. I want to be a branch that bears consistent clusters of grapes, every one ripe in its time, succulent, and suitable for nourishment.

For the record, I picked several clusters and culled through them. About 1/3 of the grapes were unsuitable, but those that could be used were turned into a delicious batch of homemade grape jam. We'll enjoy the jam all autumn - but part of me can't help but think of the bunches that bore only one or two suitable grapes, and were judged unsuitable and cast into the garbage.

I don't want to be one of those bunches.

A shift in vision

I was driving along the lake shore road recently, and I found myself looking a bit enviously at the magnificent mansions people had erected along the lake. The towering brick homes communicated grandeur and stability; the well-appointed grounds bespoke tranquility and order. I sighed, perhaps with a bit of covetousness - I knew families who lived in some of those homes, and some of my kids had friends who lived in some of those them. I look at places like that as I drove past, but knew I'd never be able to provide a home like that for my family - they were well beyond anything I could afford.

But still, but still, it would be nice, my frantic imagination protested as I backed into the driveway of the old, weed-beset two-story that had been our home for 25 years. The siding was faded and the chimney was chipping and the front window was cracked. It was anything but a mansion, but it was what we'd been able to afford while raising our six children. With another sigh, I glanced back in the direction of the magnificent lake shore homes which contrasted so starkly with mine.

Then my vision blurred a bit, and my sight took on a new perspective. The miles seemed to drop away, and the intervening houses and trees stepped aside, and again I saw the houses along the lake as if I were standing just in front of them. But this time my eyes showed a different picture. Gone were the clean new bricks and grand picture windows; instead I saw leaning and tumbling piles of bricks shored up with broken and rotting timbers. Tattered curtains blew in and out through broken windows, and gaping holes yawned in poorly shingled roofs. In place of well-tended lawns there were patches of weeds amidst untended sand. Where polished oak doors had stood now splintered shards hung from broken hinges, and the garages were littered with debris.

Aghast, I looked back at my home. But standing there was no longer the simple house I expected; instead there stood a stone castle of six towers. The towers were anchored into solid bedrock, and stood high and strong, their stones solidly joined and well-mortared. The towers were connected by high walls also made of stone, so that each tower not only stood strong but supported, and was supported by, its brethren. The towers and walls were topped by strong battlements, and above them all fluttered a white banner. On the sides stood two other towers, joined to the structure by more walls, and those in turn were joined to other towers fading away into the distance.

Now, this was a mansion, I thought. Not something thrown together to please the eye or impress visitors, but a solid, lasting structure that would serve a purpose and last for generations, one that could be built upon and expanded in the years to come. I wondered what had happened to the houses along the lake, and why they had fallen so quickly.

Then my vision blurred again, and before me I again saw our simple home, and was content.

A very odd feeling

I'm not a big home handyman. Ellen doesn't keep a "Job Jar" of the type Blondie kept for Dagwood, and if I'm doing pick-up work, it's most likely to be on the keyboard rather than with wood boards.

Not that I can't do what's needed about the house (though I need to psych myself up for it at times) - I can plumb and drywall and nail and lay flooring if necessary. I might let the earliest signs of a problem slip for a while, but eventually a little voice in my head nags me with, "You can't let that go on!" So I'll eventually drag out the toolkit and reseat the toilet or nail down the loose boards or whatever, if for no other reason than I don't want the house deteriorating over the years. This custodial instinct was taught me by my dad, and though it isn't as strong in me as it was in him, it's still there.

Which is why that drip in the bathroom sink is annoying me so much.

You see, we're the last residents of our house, and we won't be residing here much longer. We've lived here for 24 years, raised our six children here, and will be moving out before Christmas, possibly before Thanksgiving. Our property lies within the footprint of a major public works project, so the state is buying up our home under eminent domain. It will eventually be demolished, along with every other home along our stretch of street. We received the state's offer earlier this month, signed the acceptance papers this week, and will be closing on the sale sometime in September. We'll have 90 days from the closing to move out, at which point the utilities will be shut off and the house will stand vacant until the bulldozers come to raze it.

This being the case, it makes no sense to do any long-term maintenance on the property. Sprucing anything up, or even patching something that's deteriorating, won't make a bit of difference to the state (much less the bulldozers.) We've known this for years, and haven't done any major improvements for years (which explains the state of our garage). But it's now at the point that even the most trivial of repairs aren't even worth it.

Like the bathroom faucet I mentioned. It's dripping again, and I know just how to fix it. The parts cost less than $3 at Home Depot, and it's ten minutes with screwdrivers and pliers. Nothing to it.

But it's not even worth burning the gas to drive to the store for the parts. In the brief amount of time we have left in the house, the amount of water that'll drip out that faucet is so trivial that it's not worth any effort to repair.

That's the odd feeling. That custodial instinct keeps yammering, "yes, but over time that problem will...", but my reason knows that "over time" doesn't matter in these unusual circumstances. Thus I find myself looking at the slowly dripping water, or the weeds in the yard, or the posts of the garage porch, and realizing that there's no point in doing anything about any of it. In a matter of weeks, the property will be vacant and shut down, the lawns mowed by state contractors. The state of the siding or the weeds in the driveway cracks won't matter to anyone.

In a way it's relieving not have to worry about these small matters, and I'm sure my custodial instinct will have plenty to work with once we move into whatever house we end up with. But for now, it's odd to be enduring this little contest between my subconscious and my reason.

I think I'll go shut the bathroom door.

Two important phrases

One of my daughters has a job abroad this summer as a nanny. With her kind and outgoing personality, not to mention lots of experience with nieces and nephews, she's a natural for child care.

But she's found out something interesting with her little charges, a seven year old boy and a three year old girl. Being children of a well-to-do family (the sort that can afford a foreign nanny for the summer), they've been raised with pretty much everything handed to them. My daughter, who is supposed to expose them to English, is finding that another vital part of her job is exposing them to the two critical phrases that make so much difference in human interaction:

Please and Thank You.

When I was young, my mother and father drilled into us the importance of saying “please” and “thank you” asking things of others. I always thought of it as good manners, and continued the habit with my own children. As soon as they were able to understand, requests had to be accompanied by “please”, and “thank you” was demanded whenever something was done for them. They learned, because they had no option – and now they are teaching those same manners to their children (or nieces and nephews, as the case may be.)

Perhaps it's the distance of grandparenting, but as I watch this habit of courtesy being inculcated into the next generation, I'm appreciating that this simple habit is more than just a social habit, a mannerly convention. I'm seeing that making these simple phrases part of our basic human interaction radically affects how we view and deal with others.

I've heard it said that we humans are at a sensory disadvantage when it comes to how we perceive the world. From our earliest days, our senses tell us that we're at the center of the universe. What we see, hear, feel, and so on gives us the impression that the world does revolve around us. Only what others tell us, how they treat us, and how we're taught to treat them, can disabuse us of that notion.

Learning to ask “please” is an important tool in that effort. When we use that phrase, we acknowledge the humanity of the other person. We're not treating them as a means to an end, but as an equal, of whom we are making a request. I think this is particularly important for children to learn toward parents, because parents actually are de facto slaves to their children when they are young and dependent. Even young children are not stupid, and can realize that those big people are pretty much at their beck and call. But when they get old enough to realize that they can exploit this, they can begin to learn that important phrase that forces them to realize that Mom & Dad – and everyone else – are to be treated with dignity.

Thanks are what we offer when we appreciate something that has been done for us. It is a simple expression of gratitude – but gratitude does not come naturally. Those under the illusion that the universe revolves around them do not express gratitude. Only those who have learned that it doesn't realize that grace is part of existence, and gifts should be appreciated. Interestingly, learning to express thanks cultivates the realization that the universe doesn't revolve around us. Learning thanks is not only an expression of maturity, but a path to it.

It is to my parent's credit that I was grown and out into the world before I learned what the phrase “treating someone like an object” even meant. I'd heard it, but it mystified me. I only came to understand it when I encountered people who did that. Oddly, those were the very people who so rarely said “please” and “thank you”.

I wonder if there was a connection?