St. Theresa Church

My Hawaii parish church is St. Theresa Church in Mountain View. It is located along Volcano Road, or Highway 19, near the fifteen-mile-marker. Coincidentally, it is also located at an altitude of just over fifteen hundred feet.
The first time I visited St. Theresa Church was five years ago. As we were driving up the mountain to house-sit near Volcano National Park, I was drawn to the small, quaint church structure with a sign proclaiming perpetual adoration. I thought to myself that such devotion to Our Lord in the remote setting might have some future meaning to my life. And indeed, it has.
I try to attend daily Mass at St. Theresa as often as possible. There is a reverent atmosphere in the church and among the people who worship there. I feel drawn to worship there because it is quiet and I find it easy to open myself in prayer so that I can "hear" God, and communicate with God.
After Mass on Tuesday, I talked with parishioner Gavin Kaisen. He told me that he converted from the Tenrikyo religion to Catholicism five years ago. He said that his wife had invited him to attend Perpetual Adoration, and that he was drawn by Our Lord's presence to open himself to join the Church.
I was struck by Gavin's intense commitment to his new faith. I was touched that he would share his conversion account with me.
He further told me that the parish no longer has Perpetual Adoration. But they do have two holy hours each week, one at their mission church, Holy Rosary in Keeau, and one, of course, at St. Theresa's.
On Wednesday, I attended the holy hour after Mass, where Fr. Sal blessed us with Our Lord's presence in the monstrance (see picture). Fr. Sal is a very prayerful and thoughtful priest.

Today

Today was another beautiful day in Hilo.
It rained fairly continuously in Mountain View, where we live.
It was also the first day of school in Hawaii.
Imagine that...the first day of school is August 2. That's pretty early.
My son, Aaron, would have turned 34 today.
It's the feast of St. Eusebius of Vercelli, a fourth century bishop.
I was surprised to learn of another saint whose feast day is today: St. Peter Julian Eymard.
St. Peter Julian was the founder of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament, the priests (and brother) who serve at St. Joseph Church in downtown Hilo, where I went to Mass today.
I met Fathers Sam Loterte and Greg de Guzman last week when my friend, Fr. Carlos Saligumba, visited me. I learned that the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament is composed of priests, brothers, and sisters. Interestingly, St. Peter intended to include laity and deacons in their order, like the composition in the Society of Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity (SOLT), the order with which I am involved. Small world!

Choir Director, "Aunty" Juanita Ramirez

She's got a sweet voice and the singing passion of a woman a quarter of her age, and I love her arrangements at Sunday Mass for St. Theresa Church in Mountain View, Hawaii.
It's a small church, uniquely suited for a woman who I suspect sang professionally at some point in her life. She has a theatrical bent as well, smiling beatifically when all eyes are on her.
I saw a different side of her yesterday when a memorial Mass was celebrated for her late son, Ernest Ramirez, who died on July 3 in Honolulu.
Aunty led the singing at this Mass, just like she does every week. I admired how she kept her composure until the very end, when she asked us to sit down while she sang "her gift to Ernest", who died at the age of 58.
It wasn't the best sung Ave Maria I ever heard, but it was the most deeply felt, a mother singing at the loss of her son, in the words of the hymn that asks for the Blessed Mother's intercession.
I have found my adjustment to yet another new parish and church in my life to be full of pleasant surprises, like Aunty Juanita. The parishioners at St. Theresa are no different than Catholics in most other parishes, except for what I would term their "local color". Like Aunty, the church has several unique personages, like the two ukulele playing choir members and the Eastern monk in full robe and head-covering (with a pony tail holding together his longish graying hair!). They have three churches at various locations along the highway that leads to Kilauea Volcano. Father hears confessions frequently, which is a wonderful opportunity for sinners like me! There are two holy hours with solemn Benediction each week.
When I first visited my son on the Big Island five years ago, he helped us lodge in a friend's house who was out of town, in the town called Volcano. St. Theresa's was the closest church, and I was immediately drawn to the reverent attitude within the church and liturgies. I saw it as the type of parish I would like to join should we ever move to the Big Island, and now we are members of this vibrant community. I am very pleased, as is Karol.
I hope one day soon to be more active in this parish, when I can spend more time on the island. But for now, I'm on "visitor" status until my work and studies for the diaconate are complete in KC.

The Banyan Tree

This large banyan tree is in the park across from the downtown post office in Hilo.
Like the story I began yesterday on this new blog, the banyan tree is composed of a multitude of interconnecting strands that imbue it with its "tree-ness". Interestingly, the banyan tree is actually composed of hundreds of fig trees, that adhere and multiply onto a host tree.
My story is more complicated than a banyan tree. I'll try to keep it simple.
In order to try to make sense of my life in high school, I began reading more serious literature. I was fascinated with A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. Stephen Dadealus's loss of faith seemed to coincide with my own deep questioning of my faith.
I read philosophy, history, Russian literature (Dostoevsky and Tolstoy), German literature (Hesse and Mann), poetry (Whitman - Leaves of Grass) and theology and existentialism. Then, I read The Seven Story Mountain by Thomas Merton, and I was stunned.
Merton led a very worldly life until he realized he was called to monasticism. He joined a monastery, and dedicated himself to prayer and writing.
Several weeks later, I was in the midst of what I now realize was a depression. I wandered about the campus at the University of Delaware on a quiet Saturday afternoon, and knew that I needed to confess and renounce my sinful life. From reading Confessions by Augustine of Hippo, I had a deeper insight into what constituted my sinfulness, and I was frankly filled with dread of what might become of me. I decided I needed to partake of the Catholic sacrament of Confession or Reconciliation, and I went immediately to the campus chaplains' office, where I confessed the many roots and branches of my sinful life.
More to follow.

The "Painted Church"

Welcome to the Star of the Sea Catholic Church. This church is located near Kalapano on the Big Island of Hawaii. Just a few miles from this church is the area where St. Damien of Molokai was first assigned as a new missionary from Belgium in 1864.
When I visited this church last week, I was struck by the vivid paintings inside the church. I was also touched by the name of the church, which is the same name as the church in which my grandmother was baptized in Malin Head, Co. Donegal, Ireland, in 1898. That church was near the sea, the North Atlantic Ocean, on another small island.
My grandmother's name was Elizabeth Mullin Dougherty. She encouraged me to consider becoming a priest when I was very young. I had the feeling that doing so would deeply please my grandmother, and bring great graces to our family.
As I grew older, the feeling of being "called" grew in me. I was drawn to God and to do good in my life.
As soon as I could, I became an altar boy. This was a privilege and an honor, and I took it very seriously. I felt wonderful serving with the priest on the altar. I was allowed to serve Mass in the chapel in the sisters' convent, where no child or males were normally permitted to go. I felt special.
As I grew older, I lost interest for several years in becoming a priest. With the onset of puberty, I could not recomcile my changing emotional state with a life of holiness, but the call re-emerged in my teen years, and then again in my late teens.
I will finish this story in my next posting.
Thanks for reading my new Blog.