Easter, 2017
I had never been to Virginia Tech.  I had no idea what a stunning 2600 acre parcel of Creation encompasses this noble and dignified campus.  With its considerable natural beauty, the landscape design is a strategic yet seemingly simple, masterpiece of living art.  Maples and dwarf conifers, great southern magnolias and bald cypresses, wisteria and octagonal beds of tulips, daffodils and other perennials fill the lush pristine areas of verdant green lawns.  
The buildings are also uniquely remarkable.  Built from locally quarried rock, appropriately named, “Hokey stone,” they evoke a statement of all that is southern:  grand, loyal, and ever-abiding.    All of the masoned edifices stand in reverent relationship to the one building which stands magnificently as the ‘mother’ of them all:  the castle-like Burress Hall.  To visit Virginia Tech, to stroll the campus, to sit in grace-filled meditation by Duck Pond, is truly a memorable spiritual event.
I would have had an incredible experience of this historic campus had I visited in October, or sometime in July, or any other time.   But my unexpected visit happened on Easter Sunday, April 16, 2017, the 10th anniversary of what is now called “the Virginia Tech massacre.”  On that day, a mentally deranged senior shot and killed 32 others, wounding another 17, and piercing the heart and soul of this peaceful campus, before killing himself.
“Life is a journey, not a destination.”  I remember a variant of this oft-quoted wisdom painted across the wall in Mrs. Barbara Reilly’s classroom at St. Mark’s High School.  It’s a simple enough statement, but one that takes years of ‘doing the journey' before one begins to fully appreciate its merit.  Now in my early sixties, I am beginning to “get it.”
This past year has been a remarkable journey for me.  Along the way, I have taken the time to stop and be still, to be completely, fully ‘Present’ to “where I Am right here, right now.”  And because I wasn’t simply “passing through,” the experiences of this sojourn have shaped me in ways that are now constitutive of who I am.  
I have 'found myself' in places as diverse as Redondo Beach, California, and Fort Smith, Arkansas.  I have heard the music of my youth driving along Ventura Highway, meditating in Ojai, and allowing 'the Guide' to take me home through those country roads in West Virginia.  I have celebrated Route 66, from Ohio to the Pacific Ocean.  So many glorious places: Alamosa, Colorado, Albuquerque, Taos, Ojo Caliente, Sandia Peak, Ciudad Juarez, the Rio Grande, the Monastery of Christ in the Desert, Belen, St. Meinrad Archabbey in southern Indiana, Subiaco Abbey in Arkansas, St. Gregory’s Abbey in Shawnee, Oklahoma, Beale Street, Elvis Presley Boulevard, and Calvary Cemetery in Memphis, Tennessee, Louisville, Kentucky, St. Louis, Missouri, Amarillo, Texas, Little Rock, the Great Smoky Mountains, the Blue Ridge Parkway, Washington, D.C., Baltimore, Maryland, Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, and Pike Creek Valley, Delaware.  And yes, on April 16, 2017…I found myself again, for the first time, at the sad and solemn campus of Virginia Tech.
I had been driving up Route 81 since early that morning, mindful that it was Easter Sunday and that ‘sunrise services’ were surely taking place throughout this part of southern Virginia.
Around 8:30 a.m. I turned on the radio.  NPR was reporting a story about the weekend events that were taking place at Virginia Tech, to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the tragedy that happened there.
I remember that day well.  I heard the news from my friend and colleague, Terre Taylor, the best science teacher and second best high school administrator I’ve ever known (sorry Terre, Gene will always be number one!).  Terre has a remarkable maturity, a grounded presence that can bring immediate resolution to the most extreme “drama” that teens can demonstrate.  
But on that day, Terre’s eyes were filled with tears.  “Did you hear about Virginia Tech?”  Terre’s heart would have been filled with empathy and care had the shootings happened on any campus, anywhere.  But Virginia Tech was her Alma Mater, along with St. Mark’s, the “nurturing mother” that shaped her from being a searching student to the awesome professional she has become.  This was personal.  This was “her” school, her campus, her people.  And because Terre holds such a precious place in my heart, by our soul's connection, VT is my people too.
There was no decision making process, I didn’t think about it at all.  Once I realized that seekers would be gathering that day at Virginia Tech, and aware that I was “somewhere” in Virginia, I asked my android companion, “Where is Virginia Tech?” and then, “How far am I from Virginia Tech?”  
“Coincidence” is a remarkable occasion of events that occur at the same time, apparently by mere chance.  “Synchronicity” is “coincidence” that has been boldly plopped on your lap by an insistent divinity who is boldly making it clear, “Don’t miss this!”   
I learned that I was 15 minutes from Blacksburg, Virginia, and the campus at Virginia Tech.  The NPR report indicated that a service would be held at 9:43 a.m. 
I drove onto the property and there, as if reserved, a single parking spot in front of the mighty football stadium, not far from the gathering place, Burress Hall.   I followed others, mostly students, who were coming from their residences and heading, uniformly, to the place where the memorial would take place.  I was surprised to see college students so nicely dressed, but then again, they were heading to a very solemn event.  
Walking down that impressive hill and seeing Burress Hall for the first time is breathtaking.  I knew I was standing on sacred ground.  
No one needed to announce the time.  We somehow sensed that the decade long “minute” had arrived. The “moment of silence” became an hour’s long ritual, filled with a deep and lasting spiritual power.  
A wreath was laid by Virginia Governor Terry McAuliffe in front of a candle that had been lit earlier, at midnight, signifying the beginning of that infamous day, like a waxen soldier holding  a single light valiantly against the dark night.  
A semi-circle of stone monuments rose from the ground, each capped with the name of one of the deceased.  Bouquets and arrangements of flowers were lovingly placed at each of the honored markers.  People stood close, many held onto each other in groups of threes and fours and fives.  Tears fell gently onto that hallowed ground.  I had no tissues, but when everybody around you is crying, it really doesn’t matter.  
I wept for those who died, for their families, for all who survived.  I wept for Terre. I wept for all the beautiful young people whom I have had the terrible blessing of being asked to preside at their funerals: for all who have died before they have had their chance to complete their “living.”   
I cried for all those gathered there on that Easter day, everyone, everywhere, who, like the courageous women two thousand years ago, came early the next morning to the tomb, bringing their sacred oils in the hopes that they could anoint His body, that they could do…something, anything….to undo this tragic devastation.   The women came on that remembered day for Jesus, but found only an empty tomb.  What did it mean?  What does it mean?
We Remember.  To remember is to make real, to “member" again.  It is the creed for all the descendants of Abraham and Sarah, the statement of belief for all who seek the fullness of Life and Love.  
God remembers.  Of this, I am sure.   Images of divinity, we remember too.  For all that has been, we give thanks.  For all that will be, we have hope.  Life is a journey, not a destination.  We remember.
 

RESURRECTION
    A Faith Community on the Move
           Midweek Message  (8.22.18)
     Ideas, Questions, and Spiritual Thoughts
                    Fr. Greg Corrigan
 
As summer is fading, other things in our lives are more enduring.  What’s short-lived for you, and what is staying with you? 
 
“every heart, every heart to love will come, but like a refugee…”  leonard cohen
 
SPIRITUAL ENERGY / SPIRITUAL LIVING
       Learn to be Present in the Moment
       Let Go of All You Cannot Control
       Accept What Is
Can you, will you, allow the true source of Life and Love, flow as a river in this parched desert world? You are so needed.  You are the treasure we have long desired. Ask yourself—
       Am I present? 
       Am I focused on what I control? 
       Am I free of judgment? 
           Ask what is missing and let us begin there.  
 
From Jean Vanier:
An Imperfect Community
A community that is committed to itself - to appearing perfect, stable, safe and secure—rather than to PEOPLE—to their growth and inner freedom, is like a person giving an address who is more interested in the beauty and coherence of the talk rather than in whether the audience can hear and understand it. It is like a liturgy that nobody can follow and during which people have difficulty praying.
 
gmc:
For a REAL conversation, look at the questions that Jesus asked:
Why do you worry about clothes?
Who do you say that I am?
Who is it that you are looking for?
What do you think? (What thoughts repeat over and over in your head?  Are they positive, creative, beneficial?)
What is it that you want?
What do you want me to do for you?
Why are you so afraid?
 
Mary Oliver:
“Never let anyone else have responsibility for your life.”
 
Jesus absolutely and always trusted his own experience of God.  DO YOU?
To not ask questions is to forfeit one's own spiritual birthright by allowing other people's experience of the Divine to define your experience.    
         Peace, 
                gmc 

     This week, PrayTell (praytellblog.com) paid tribute to Jerry Galipeau for the long-time, outstanding contributions he has made to liturgy in the Catholic Church.  Galipeau has worked for J. S. Paluch and its music and liturgy division, World Library Publications.  He is nationally recognized as a speaker and workshop leader on topics like the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults, liturgical spirituality, ritual music, evangelization, and adult spiritual formation.
     Galipeau is also known for the blog Gotta Sing Gotta Pray which he has written since 2009.  That year, in his opening post, he explained the title for his blog.  “I firmly believe that in good times and in bad, people simply gotta sing and people simply gotta pray.  Turning our hearts to the Lord in prayer and song gives us the kind of hope that only comes from God.”
     I have been blessed to meet Jerry and hear him speak a few times over the years.  He is one of those “cockeyed optimists” who always has something good to say about the Catholic Church and all the good things that are (always) happening in the Church.  He is uplifting, encouraging, and a faithful proclaimer of the Good News of Jesus Christ.
     Not long ago, Galipeau wrote about the Easter Sunday 8:00 a.m. mass he attended at his parish, Old St. Pat’s in Chicago’s West Loop.  (It was reported that over 6,000 people attended services at OSP on Easter Sunday).   Jerry arrived at 7:40 a.m and the line of people waiting was over a city block long.  He writes, “Fr. Ed Foley was the celebrant and homilist; just superb all the way around.  And the music, in a word, awesome.  The final communion hymn soared and the cantor ad libbed as it built and it was a taste of heaven for me.  I was so grateful for my parish and the Lord was truly risen in my heart once again.”
     I’d like to add my small “congratulations” to Jerry Galipeau and to people like him; all those holy Ones who regularly and most joyfully “keep coming” to celebrate a faith that announces so clearly, "Christ is Risen, and ultimately, All will be well.” 
     I love that line, "I was so grateful for my parish and the Lord was truly risen in my heart once again.”  At the recent funeral for Dillon Scofield, I cried throughout the mass.  Yes, I cried because my heart was breaking, the sadness that comes in saying farewell to someone as amazing as he.  But my tears were also my soul's participation in a liturgy that lifted the veil between heaven and earth:  spoken words that made present the reality of Dillon and the Lord Jesus, songs that so remarkably gave us a "taste of heaven," and an assembly of disciples, all of us, saints and sinners, become one in Christ through the breaking of the bread.
     Thank you!  That’s “Eucharist,” right?  That’s what it means.  That’s what we do in response to what God is always doing.  Christ is dying.  Christ is rising.  Christ is always coming again.  Thanks be!
       Peace,
          greg corrigan
          quierespaz@gmail.com

Lent begins as an open door for things spiritual.  I am taking an “e-course” this Lent, based on G. I. Gurdjieff’s “Obligonian Strivings” (it sounds scary but it isn’t!), facilitated by Cynthia Bourgeault, the spiritual writer, Episcopal priest, and contemplative.  Called, “Becoming Truly Human,” the course begins by reflecting on Gurdjieff’s first striving, “To have in one's ordinary being-existence everything satisfying and really necessary for the planetary body.”
Bourgeault asks, “Is it Feast or Famine?”  She hears Gurdjieff challenging the way we might typically approach the “ascetical” nature of Lent.  Bourgeault shares a well-loved story told by Fr. Thomas Keating, founder of the Centering Prayer movement, about his own initiation into the deeper meaning of Lenten observance.  As a zealous young novice master, Fr. Thomas set considerable store on following the monastic rule of life with a rigorous scrupulosity.  Among his monastic brethren he was much admired, and not a little feared.  As Lent approached, both he and the novices under his direction hunkered down for what was sure to be a season of stringent fasting.

On Ash Wednesday, in accordance with traditional monastic custom, the abbot called each monk in for a private audience and gave him his individual Lenten discipline, to be strictly observed throughout the full six weeks of Lent. 

Thomas Keating nearly fell over when he received his Lenten discipline.  Under strict monastic obedience, he was ordered to gain twenty pounds!

Today, nearly seventy years later, this beloved monastic elder still turns a bit red-faced as he recalls having to sit in the refectory slurping down milkshakes and ice cream while his brethren were eating watery soup and hard bread. 

But his abbot was indeed a wise man. For he had spotted that the real tempter in this case was what monks traditionally call "vainglory:" Thomas' attachment to his self-image as the most rigorously ascetic of all the brethren.
 
Like many of us, I have been thrust into the “liminal space” that enters our world when we experience the loss of “a great One.”  I speak of Hank Wisniewski, a person of profound presence and deep faith.  I could share many “ascetic” moments I experienced with this wonderful disciple.  Yet here, speaking to the “need to let go of the attachment to our self-image” as a Lenten opportunity, I recall a story that, through his great humanity, Hank “witnessed” a great and holy truth.
It was a few years ago and I had gone to visit Hank at Christiana Hospital.  He was in standard hospital room, in the “B” bed, next to the window.  As I entered the room, I noticed that the curtain was pulled between the beds, but not encircling Hank’s bed.  I heard Hank’s voice, a gruff, complaining combination of sounds… as well as the voice of his daughter (a saint!) pleading with him to “let her help.”  I moved past the curtain and could see Hank, his back to me, hospital gown wide open, as he vigorously tried to climb back up onto the bed (he was returning from the “rest” room).  The old joke about the person who invented those hospital gowns having the name, “Dr. Seymour Butts,” was most “obvious” at that moment.
Realizing it was me, Hank smiled and then started to laugh.  We all laughed.  And Hank announced, “Father Greg, now you’ve seen my better side!” 
I could share so many beautiful memories of Hank that are emblazoned on my heart.  During the past year, Hank inspired all as we witnessed his great strength, holding tight to that 3-legged cane and moving with power, driven, like a prophet on a mission, as he made his way to the Ambo during mass, to proclaim the Word of God to God’s holy people.  In his distinct proclamation, we heard the voice of divinity.  Thanks be to God!
May we always remember.
Much love….even more gratitude,
greg corrigan
 

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”       Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

Friends,
Those of you who have reached “a certain age,” may well remember the song “Truckin’” and its infamous line, “What a long strange trip it’s been.”

For me, indeed, it has been “a long strange trip.”  And it’s been a trip, a journey, that has been chock full of blessings and experiences that have been so wonderful and renewing that I have no doubt that only a Divine Force of Love, generating and bestowing an even greater gift of Life and Love, could be the origin, the present action, and the future hope of this entire “pilgrimage.”

I am experiencing much as I learn and embrace the multifaceted nature of “healing.”  Thanks be to God!  I know from the story of Jesus and the 10 people with leprosy that “healing” does not mean “being cured.”  Healing has its own complex and demanding components.  But there’s no view from the top of the mountain without one’s willingness to climb.
I am so grateful that I have been given this opportunity, the ongoing support of so many loving, good people, in a journey that, on my own, I would never have had the courage to undertake. 

But these past months I have been following a Path, travelling from Delaware to California to Pennsylvania to Indiana to New Mexico to California and now back to New Mexico again… and here, now, I am… on the mend.  It has taken me a long time, perhaps too long, to get here.  But, Thanks be to God, I am here.  For here, and now….”healing” is my new companion.  

Thank you.  Please know that I truly am doing so much better.  I am still impatient and this “teacher” requires a willingness to accept the help of others… the acceptance of what is… and a transformation that can only be gifted by the holy Spirit herself. 

Pray that I might continue to accept the grace that is being offered to me.  And be assured that I hold you always in my heart and in my prayers.

Much love, and even more gratitude…..
greg

First, let me say:  Thank you and abundant Blessings to you and yours. I continue to be amazed by the goodness and heartfelt prayers of so many friends.  I so appreciate your notes and good wishes.
 
A brief Medical Update: one small issue after another have made this process longer than expected.  We recently finished a series of new evaluations in order to get final medical clearance for the cervical surgery. And we got the final approval...Yeah!
 
While waiting, I decided to go on retreat.  I went back to the monastery where I started out-- the Benedictine Archabbey of Saint Meinrad in southern Indiana. Here, 8 years of formation took place.   It is a place that holds deep and holy meaning in my life.  So I am praying for you and writing you this note from "the Holy Hill," and using this opportunity of being in this beautiful place to send a couple pics.  They have done some amazing renovations since I was last here, and yet it's always been beautiful.
 
I'll be leaving here soon to go back to Los Angeles.   After the surgery, I will be in the capable care of good people at a wonderful facility in Culver City.   And it's Catholic!....I'll be saying mass there and they'll get to hear my boring, brief  homilies!).
 
Much love and a very grateful heart,
greg
 

A Note from Fr. Greg Corrigan…

Blessing to all!  I feel your prayers and hope you feel mine for you.  I LOVE the Pacific Ocean.  And sunshine and eighty degree weather ain’t so bad either!

I have gone through more exams and medical testing and feel very confident as a patient of Dr. Wolf.  At this point, he is recommending a surgery that would be less demanding than what other doctors have recommended.  Given his busy schedule, it will take time to get on his calendar.  There are also other tests and clearances and pre-approvals required before a date can be chosen.  I'll keep you posted.
  The surgery would require harvesting bone graft (STEM cells) from my hip.  As with any surgery, there are no guarantees.  But the prognosis is good.

At this point, I am “discerning” (in the Jesuit sense of the word).  I have met with a wonderful person, a Catholic Sister, who is my “Spiritual Director away from home.”  We’ve agreed that I should engage a time of Silence to ask the grace of God to guide me.  I began this Silence on November 11, a day to remember.  It happens to be the day on which my nephew Greg was born (1991), the day my good friend, Father Keith Zavelli died (1997), and the day I met and received the blessing of the Dalai Lama (1998).  A day full of grace, to be sure.  Blessings to all.
     Thanks be to God...
        greg  

November 10, 2016
It's been in the 80s and 90s this week in southern California.  Each day...early morning, afternoon, and, of course, the beautiful mystical hours of sunset...I find myself walking, standing, and simply sitting in gratitude and awe on the beaches here: Redondo, Hermosa, Long Beach, and Buenaventura  (yes, on the 'Ventura Highway'). 

It's been so magnificent in every way.  All of my senses have been held captive to the bold "everything" that envelops me: the crashing waves,  the clanging buoy, the Tarheels.blue sky,  the salted mist, the distant fog, and people walking in tanned and natural promenade.  This is life in all its beauty.   It's all good...so very good.  I am so blessed.

I brought one book with me on this trip...Mary Oliver's new book, Upstream  Selected Essays.  Here's what Mary Oliver writes:
"One tree is like another tree, but not too much.  One tulip is like the next tulip, but not altogether.  More or less like people--a general outline, then the stunning individual strokes. Hello Tom, hello Andy.  Hello Archibald Violet, and Clarissa Bluebell.  Hello Lillian Willow, and Noah, the oak tree I have hugged and kissed every first day of spring for the last thirty years.  And in reply its thousands of leaves tremble!  What a life is ours! Doesn't anybody in the world anymore want to get up in the
middle of the night and
sing?

In the beginning I was so young and such a stranger to myself I hardly existed.  I had to go out into the world and see it and hear it and react to it, before I knew at all who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be.  Wordsworth studied himself and found the subject astonishing.  Actually what he studied was his relationship to the harmonies and also the discords of the natural world.  That's what created the excitement.

I walk, all day, across the heaven-verging field."

In gratutide,
     greg corrigan

View Here - Homily from the Barn