Part V: My First Day on the Job is Just Unpacking

 Part V: My First Day on the Job is Just Unpacking

My first evening in Kansas was with Fr. Pillari. He is the chaplain of St. Martin’s Academy, a Catholic boarding school for boys, and, after I celebrated Mass in his chapel, he invited me to meet the senior class, whom he was meeting with for dinner and a talk. It was amazing to see a master at work! After the introductions, he sat down with the group and opened up the discussion with something like this. “Although I have some things that I wish to discuss with you, first, I would like to open this up to any issues you would like to discuss. Nothing is off limits. Who would like to start?” Talk about a priest with confidence that he would not have an unruly free-for-all with nearly 20 high school boys and an open forum!

I don’t know how many other schools, even—and maybe especially—Catholic schools, would form boys in such a way that they wanted to talk for a good hour on the joy of praying the rosary in the dorms before bedtime! The boys, as the last thing before going to sleep at night, would pray the rosary together in their respective dorms. The leaders wanted some suggestions on when to do it. To finish by the official “silent time” or to wait for stragglers still doing chores or homework?

"Should we start on time and leave the late guy to do it on his own?" From there, Father led them with the question about what they thought about praying as a group, what they experienced themselves as they prayed, and whether it was worth giving up sleep to wait for everyone. They each told stories about what it meant to them, getting pretty deep into the meaningfulness of praying. They asked for more “walking rosaries” and other group prayers. They loved praying it! They loved the sacrifice of sleep! They wanted the walking rosary (outdoors) even in the midst of winter! Each told which manner of praying it meant the most to them and why.

After the amazing discussion, the boys departed. I had nothing but praise for what I had just seen and the grace in which Father had pulled it off. Father said, “I don’t understand how they respond so well to me. I have never been the ‘cool guy,’ and yet the boys open up as if I were somehow great.” That, I believe, is the key. He is a priest, not a “cool” priest wanting to act young and stupid in order to "fit in" with the boys, but a holy priest interested in their spiritual formation. That is what they saw and what they reacted to. We need fewer “cool guy” priests and more like him!

It’s not just him, of course, but the entire school faculty (and each boy's family) that makes something like this happen. But a good priest is an absolute necessity to make a Catholic school truly Catholic. If he genuinely loves the Faith rather than loving being popular, the boys will respond the way this modern-day St. John Bosco’s boys did to his example. Holy men will emerge!

I slept well that night, and in the morning, after Father Pillari taped his semi-famous Rosary in his chapel, I celebrated Mass, and we had time for a leisurely coffee. Then it was time for me to head over to St. Joseph Convent for my first day.

Right on time, for the Sisters are very punctual about their schedule, I arrived and was greeted by Mother Maria Regina and two of her Sisters. They showed me to my cabins. Yes, not one, but two cabins all for myself! Each cabin has two rooms divided by a shared toilet and shower. Each room (or cell) measures about 7 feet wide by 15 feet long and has a small sink so you can wash or brush your teeth even when the person in the adjoining cell is in the bathroom.

My two cottages! I eat in the far right cell of the building on the right and sleep in the far left cell of the building on the left.

My bedroom cell was furnished with a twin bed pushed up against the wall on one side and the head pushed up against a window. Next to the bed was a small nightstand, just large enough to hold my glasses, a mug of water (with a lid so that it won’t spill if I knock it off the stand during the night!), and my cell phone, which I use for an alarm clock. There isn’t room for it to fit there and still be out of the way, so it sits in front of the inward-swinging entrance door, making the door unusable. Since both cells are mine, access through the other cell works fine. The sink is on the other side of the door. 

Across the room lengthwise is a closet/desk combination and another window. Inside the closet, there is barely enough room to hang up my cassocks (and they don’t drag on the floor!), but pants and shirts have to be folded up and placed in the cubbies next to the hanging items, along with undergarments. Good thing the shirts and pants only go under the cassock, so it doesn’t matter if they are wrinkled! Don’t tell that to the Sisters, though, since Mother wanted to get me another closet, but I simply said that I figured out a way to make it work!!

The cell on the other side has a short dresser (used for “stuff” storage, since all of my clothes are in the closet) under the back window. In front of that is a recliner that has two positions: sitting upright or nap position, for if the leg rest comes out, the back goes down too far to sit and read! A small table with a lamp on it is slightly in front of the chair, and a bookshelf takes up the rest of the space. The window, door, and sink are all that’s left to describe. Why am I going into detail about the rooms? Because that’s what all of the women keep asking about! If I can get some photos in here, I will. I know how to do it in Blogger, not yet sure how to do it in Substack.

But wait! There’s a whole ‘nuther cabin at my disposal! One of those cells is set up for my meals. There is a small refrigerator on the far side, with a nice, big cart next to it that holds a coffee pot, hot water kettle, toaster, dishware, a double hot-plate, a couple of small pots, a small frying pan, and some spices and cans of assorted soups and stuff. In front of that is a small table set for one with a microwave set on a cart across from it. And a sink next to the door.

The adjoining cell has a desk, three chairs, and a small printer. I put most of my pens, paper, and mail on the desk. The more flat, empty space I have, the more clutter I will find to consume it! Basically, it is just a room used for my weekly meeting with Mother. As an aside, none of the Sisters, including Mother, are supposed to be in my “living space” cabin if I am in there. Prudence at work. Oh, if only Rupnik and his Sisters had followed such a rule!

After this grand tour of my cabins, it was time to move in. We unloaded my car, and off the Sisters went to take care of their other duties. Mother gave me a printed schedule of their day with the reminder that I didn’t have to be with them for the entire schedule, just Mass, confessions, and Adoration, more about which I will write next week.

Lunch was already sitting in the toaster oven waiting for me, and dinner was in the fridge. A large bell in the courtyard was summoning the Sisters to Sext (mid-day prayer). I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out where things should go in such a small but divided area. It took about two weeks to finally organize it, since the space is so limited, and I had to figure out what I would actually need on a regular basis and what could just stay tucked away. Now, when I can’t find something, I don’t know if I just packed it somewhere weird or if I left it behind while downsizing.

Next week, I will show you a basic schedule of their prayer and try to describe what it is like to join them in the chapel. The difficulties reach far beyond the hours and the prayers themselves! 

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For those who wish to ask for prayers, discern a Vocation, or make donations:

This blog is not monetized, since as a Catholic Priest, I don’t need much money. But if you wish to support the Filiae Laboris Mariae Sisters under my spiritual care, feel free to send them a note to: St. Joseph Convent, 1250 Hackberry Road, Redfield, KS 66769. They constantly pray and their benefactors will get great spiritual rewards! That is also the address you can send snail mail to me. I suppose you already know or can guess my gmail address with the F*****P**** in front of it!

 I am passing on to you this information about the Mother Superior of the Filiae Laboris Mariae, the Sisters to whom I am chaplain. They pray for you, please pray for them, too! —Fr. Palka

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+JMJ+

Dear Family and Friends of the Filiae,

Praised be Jesus and Mary! We pray that you are well in this month of October, a month especially dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary.

Mother Maria Regina has asked me, in my role as convent nurse, to write to share some news with you about her health and to ask for your prayers. On the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, Mother discovered a lump on her breast. This led to a series of medical tests and visits to see doctors. Yesterday we received a biopsy result that confirmed that Mother does have breast cancer.

This is unexpected and difficult news for all of us. It is still early in the process of diagnosis and we are still gathering information. However, there are some hopeful signs that the cancer is in a fairly early stage. The biopsy did indicate that this seems to be a somewhat aggressive form of cancer, but more tests are needed to determine what treatments may be effective and how likely the cancer is to respond to them. We expect to make an appointment with an oncologist this week. Mother asked that everyone please pray for her and for our community to correspond with all of the graces that Our Lord wishes to give to us through this trial. She has encouraged us to thank God for entrusting to us a sliver of His Holy Cross. We know that somehow this fits into God’s mysterious plan for the good of Mother, all of us Sisters, and the souls for whom we pray, especially priests. We thank Him, even through our tears!

As we learn more about Mother’s condition, we will be sure to keep you updated. Thank you very much for your prayers for Mother and for our community. Be assured of our prayers for all of you. We ask that you please pray especially for our Sisters preparing to make their Professions on November 15th: Sister Maria Gratia of the Holy Eucharist (Perpetual Profession) and Sister Marietta of Jesus (First Profession). Thank you!

In Corde Mariae,

Sister Joanna Marie of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face, F.L.M.

Redfield, Kansas, Here I Come! [Part IV of a long-winded story]

 Redfield, Kansas, Here I Come! [Part IV of a long-winded story]

If you have been following along, you know that my travels from Tampa to Kansas should end with this article. Today (in the manner of writing, anyway), I will finally arrive in Redfield, where I will become chaplain for the Filiae Laboris Mariae Sisters. But first, I must finally arrive, and my phone apps have been trying to make it, not impossible, but certainly memorably aggravating. Why would today’s trip be any different?

I opened up the podcast app to pick up Introduction to the Devout Life where I had left off. But of course, this wouldn’t be in the story if it just worked. So you already know it didn’t. Oh, I suppose one could say that it worked fine, if “starting over” was his definition of working fine. But I wanted it to pick up where I left off the day before. What a novel (is there a pun there?) idea! The day before, it had no problem doing that every time I stopped it during rest breaks. But somehow overnight it went back to the beginning, which, if you recall, wasn’t the beginning of the book at all. I sat there looking for a way to determine how far I had gotten in it, but remember, I couldn’t view chapter numbers, and they were all mixed up anyway, so I just guessed that I had made it about halfway through. So I started there. I listened to the LibriVox commercial, heard the first couple of sentences of the chapter, and recognized that I had already heard that part. But how much further in the book had I gotten? If it had been read in order, I probably could have figured it out rather easily. But now I just had to pick another chapter, listen to the commercial, listen to a few sentences, and skip to the next. Then repeat. Over and over. For fifteen or more chapters and a wasted 30 minutes or so, as it turned out... ARRGHH!

Finally finding a chapter that I had not heard before, I set out again. This time, I went back to using Waze just for the heck of it. The rest of the drive, maybe 6 hours long, was just a beautiful drive through farm country. I didn’t know exactly where I was or where I was going, but I kept checking to make sure I was moving in the right direction, and the day passed quickly. I listened to LibriVox commercial, Book 4 Chapter 17, LibriVox commercial, Book 1 Chapter 39, and so forth, until I turned onto a four-lane divided highway heading north. Almost immediately, there were signs pointing west to a city named Girard with the warning: “Highway 7 closed. Follow Detour,” with the detour arrow pointing in the direction I was traveling. I didn’t think much of it at the time.

Many miles later, I came across more signs stating, “Highway 7 closed. Follow Detour.” No problem, thunked I to myself, seeing that my next turn was absolutely NOT Highway 7. No Sir, indeed. My next turn was a left turn onto a very short dirt road that would take me to Highway 7, an important bit of information which I didn’t know at the time! 

[I suppose I should interrupt the story to tell you that I was not heading straight for the convent but rather to Fr. Pillari’s house, where I was to spend the night. I had been at his place when I visited the month before this trip, so I knew how to get from his rectory to the convent, but this time I was coming from a completely different direction than I had been before. I had no idea where his house was from here, for I didn’t even know where “here” was!]

So, as Waze told me to turn left, I pulled into the opening between traffic lanes and, while waiting for a car to pass, read the large sign in the middle of the dirt road blocking passage. “Road Closed. Highway 7 closed. No thru traffic.” Oh, Waze, why did you take me here? I got to thinking about just how far back the last paved road was. 10 miles? How far ahead would the next paved road be? I guessed that it couldn’t be further than that, so I continued northward. Waze kept trying to get me to turn around and take the dirt road. I came to an exit for Highway 7. It was, of course, completely blocked off. Detour signs kept pointing north. 

There was no good place to pull off the road and check the map, so I just kept going and listening to Waze interrupt the audiobook, telling me to make a U-turn at every break in the median. I finally turned off both Waze and the book. It wasn’t long before I made it to Fort Scott, the “Big City” near Redfield. I pulled into a parking lot and turned Waze back on. It couldn’t find any way to Fr. Pillari’s place except for that darned dirt road. So I opened Google Maps. Sure enough, it not only plotted my course but also smarmily told me that this course was bypassing road closures! “Take that, Waze,” she seemed to gleefully announce, knowing that these two electronic ladies were in competition for my attention.

A few miles of gravel roads later, and I had made it.

The end.

What? You want more? Ok, twist my arm, why don't you?

I pulled into Father’s gravel “parking lot” and checked my messages. I had an email from Mother Maria Regina. I hope you don’t mind, but Fr. Richard (their outgoing chaplain) has asked if he could celebrate his last Mass with us tomorrow at 4:30 am before he flies out. We won’t need you to celebrate Mass at 7:30 as scheduled. If that’s OK with you, you could celebrate Mass at Fr. Pillari’s chapel in the morning and then come here at 11:30 for lunch. We will have your room cleaned by then, and a couple of the Sisters can help you unload your car. If I don’t mind? Heck, any priest who wants to celebrate Mass at 4:30 in the morning has my respect. He can do anything he wants!

Fr. Pillari saw me sitting there and came out to greet me. 

And that’s where I’ll leave off today. Check back next week for more drivel like this!

Part III [Little Rock, Black Rock, Classic Rock, What’s the Difference?]

 Part III [Little Rock, Black Rock, Classic Rock, What’s the Difference?]

I left off last week, if you have been following my story, driving out of a hotel in Douglasville, Georgia. I had checked out the route I wanted to travel and set Google Maps to take me to Little Rock, Arkansas. No, I didn’t go back to Waze, even though Google Maps had failed to warn me about the traffic backup in Atlanta. After all, I thought, Waze might have missed it, too, for perhaps it happened just at the exact time that I arrived. Waze was still in a temporary time-out after the gas station fiasco of the first day. The thing it does so much better than Google Maps wasn’t of much interest to me at this time, anyway. 

It outshines Google Maps when showing police up ahead, but it seemed silly to worry about them, for, since shortly after hitting the Georgia State Line, most of the traffic (including me) slowed down to the posted speed limit, or at least pretty darn close. There were police everywhere, it seemed, and almost all of them had somebody pulled over. Must have been the Florida drivers who didn’t get the message. Driving the speed limit, by the way, was the norm throughout this trip outside of Florida. I’m sure not used to that!

Anyway, just before pulling out on the road, I also started the podcast app I had downloaded before leaving Tampa. Somebody had suggested that I download some of these things to listen to on the journey. Believe it or not, I had never downloaded a podcast before (my car, after all, has both a CD player and cassette tape player, so I never needed to listen to a podcast while driving) so I had to first download a podcast app and then search for something worthwhile. I had found St. Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life and downloaded it. OK, so it’s not a podcast but an audiobook, but, what the hey, it’s as close as this old geezer got.

Off I went on my new day’s adventure. But the audiobook wasn’t playing exactly like I thought it would. Although some readers had recorded more than one chapter, most were read by different readers with different voices, inflections, pronunciations, accents, volume, and other characteristics so it wasn’t a smooth-flowing book-reading. Worse, I had to listen to an introduction to LibriVox before each chapter started. I assume that’s normal but was annoying when I was listening all day long to a book with over 100 chapters. Worse still was that the chapters were not playing in order!

I tried to figure it out when at a rest stop one time, but the way it was listed on the phone I couldn’t see which chapter was playing and which was next, so I just continued listening attentively trying to put together thoughts from Book 3, Chapter 41, then Book 1, Chapter 7, followed by Book 5, Chapter 16... and so on.

It became quite amusing as well as a challenge, trying to fit the pieces all together in my brain, and I did not get bored with it the whole day. But it did break my concentration on navigating, though I was following Maps for a long drive that was already plotted and set, so I didn’t really need to concentrate on that. Right?

I thought I was going to bypass Memphis but the signs kept telling me it was getting closer. No big deal. I had read the stupid map (who’s calling who stupid?) so many times and checked out so many routes that they were all blurred together. I-20 to Birmingham to I-22 for many more hours and finally, I-269. That must be the Memphis bypass. I thought I was missing the city completely, but no, I-269 hit I-55 and went straight through. Oh, well. It was an easy drive.

I-55 connected to I-555 which then just ended. The road continued, of course, but now I was on Highway 63, which was strange because I was pretty sure (but not positive) that I should be on the Interstate straight through to Little Rock. But I was enjoying the Devout Life concentration book-game, and the ride was a nice one, so I just kept going. Signs for cities without any city being visible appeared at various intervals. Bono, Sedgwick, Hoxie, Walnut Ridge. None of them rang a bell. Finally, I saw a sign for Black Rock. 

That one didn’t ring a bell but it set off bells. Wrong Rock. I finally figured that something must be out of whack. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But somewhere along the line Google Maps decided to bypass Little Rock and take me straight to Redfield. Little Rock was now two hours in the wrong direction. Good thing I didn’t make that hotel reservation! (May it be God’s will that another priest takes up the challenge of bringing the Clintons into the Faith. No joke.)

Not having seen any signs of city life for quite a while, I wondered if there would be a hotel somewhere up ahead or if I would just have to drive straight through the night. Fortunately, Google Maps showed a highly recommended old motel up ahead in Cherokee Village. Hoping that Maps was better at finding motels than finding directions, I drove on.

The Village Inn (not the pancake house) was just an old roadside motel but nicely kept. The woman greeting me had a great sense of humor and her dog was as friendly as can be. Everything was clean, the room smelled nice (like a hotel, not like an ashtray or bathroom, as can sometimes happen in these old places) and after settling in it was time to eat. An online search showed a number of surprisingly good-sounding restaurants nearby but they were all about to close. I opted to get a pizza from the local convenience store. It was good enough to get me through the night.

Tomorrow I will finally make it to Kansas. At least, such was the plan.

Go Through Atlanta?!?!

[Catholic Priest’s odd journey from Tampa, Florida to Redfield, Kansas. Part II] 

Before starting out toward Kansas, I had been speaking with some friends about the various routes I could take. “You have to go through Memphis,” they said, “because Waze says that they have the best gas prices!” Wait, wait, that’s not what happened. I don’t know where that silly idea came from. 

In reality I had mentioned to them that two of the three routes Google Maps had suggested took me straight through Atlanta before branching out, one taking me through, you guessed it, Memphis, and the other through Nashville. Although the third route was longer, I was thinking about taking it and avoiding getting even close to Atlanta, as I have always had nothing but traffic problems there. This third way would take me through the Florida panhandle before turning north somewhere in Alabama and then through—drumroll, please—Memphis on the way to Redfield. 

To my surprise, my friends, instead of confirming my choice, said, “Go through Atlanta.” Yes, the bane of my many trips up to Michigan to visit family in past decades, is now a fine drive, I was told. “Staying on 75 is even faster than taking the bypass,” they claimed with straight faces, taking Google’s side rather than mine. “There’s no more construction going on and there are six lanes of traffic open. And you’ll be traveling through on a Sunday afternoon, so traffic will be light, anyway.” 

That conversation was going through my head as I approached the west Atlanta bypass. Google Maps, now having taken the place of the malfunctioning Waze, was showing the same thing that I had been told. Easy driving straight through Atlanta, even if I was going to veer west toward Memphis right in the middle of the city. So I did what I knew I shouldn’t do. I passed the western bypass exit and headed straight through. It’s Sunday afternoon, I assured myself. Traffic is fine, I said. Maps says this is the best route and shows clear traffic all the way. Put your past bad experiences behind you, relax, and enjoy the ride. Like everyone who has ever been on the dark side of the confession screen, I managed to convince myself that doing the wrong thing was somehow better than doing what I knew to be right.

I put the peer pressure of a week-old conversation plus the reliance on the already proven-to-be-unreliable technology ahead of common sense. That idiotic thinking occupied my brain until I came to a complete stop just a short distance up the road. Six lanes of traffic all sitting together in one massive clump as if all of us had been punked by friends. “Your friends told you to go straight through, too, huh?” we (in my mind) called out to each other as it dawned on us what had happened. “Yeah, the guy in the Chevy next to me said his friends told him the same thing, as well.” After sitting there for a while, swapping stories (and planning revenge), we all started inching our way forward. Go slowly, stop, move a few more feet, stop. What the heck is going on? Google Maps, why didn’t you catch this? It wasn’t long before Maps changed the traffic markings to red. After it was too late.

After ages of creeping along in the traffic jam, I could finally see the problem: the infamous roadside arrow up ahead was indicating that the right lane was closed. Six lanes of traffic merging into five. “Ahh,” said I, “that explains the problems in the right lanes, and the left lanes are probably just slowing down as a sign of compassionate brotherhood, sharing our pain with us even when they don’t have to.”

After the merge point, though, we didn’t speed up. Further down the road, the arrow sign appeared again. Five lanes down to four. But, of course, that was not the end of it. Further still, four lanes merged to become three. There was no construction going on, just multiple lane closures on a late Sunday afternoon. I don’t know how my buddies managed to pull that off, but they got me good.

I had planned on spending the night just past Birmingham but it was already getting dark by the time I passed the west Atlanta bypass that I had chosen not to take.

At least the Douglasville hotel I stayed at had a good wifi connection so I was able to plan the rest of the trip even more carefully. This time the map showed a nice route bypassing Memphis (where I was definitely not going to get gas) and going through Little Rock, Arkansas. If all went well, I would be able to stop by and see Bill and Hillary. Maybe they would put me up for the night and join me for confession and Mass in the morning.

The next morning, I really did set course for Little Rock. Redfield was still over 12 hours away, plus gas and food stops. If I cut that into two days of driving, I could stop in Little Rock, visit the William J. Clinton Library and Museum (I have never been to a Presidential Library before, so I would like to see what makes it so special other than bearing the name of a former President) and maybe even, if I still had time, visit the Arkansas Inland Maritime Museum or their Old Statehouse Museum, both of which are near the Library. I had checked out hotels in the area but didn’t make a reservation, since I didn’t know the area and didn’t want to be stuck in a bad neighborhood. You’ll soon see that it’s a good thing that I didn’t. But not for the reasons I was worried about.

From Blogger to Substack? Input, please!

 I told you that I don't know about blogging and blog sites and asked for help. Multiple people have recommended switching from Blogger to Substack. Why? They really like how Substack works, giving you the opportunity not only to find my blog but to connect to other blogs that may be worth reading. I dunno. Is it just blog-facebook? Then again, Blogger doesn't seem to be anything on its own. On Blogger you must have an account to explore any blogs unless you already know the site address like FatherPalka.blogspot.com. On Substack, you can "explore" even without signing up. Go ahead and try it. Substack.com and "explore" to find Father Palka, or FatherPalka, or Father Edwin Palka or other such things. Let me know if it doesn't bring up my first post!

The Kansas Lovebugs are huge!

Here are some issues people have come across with Blogger. Here also is what I think Substack may do with the same issues. Your input will be helpful.

1. Some people can't figure out how to leave comments here. I was one. You have to click the word "comments" near the bottom where it says how many comments have been left. By default you have to log in to your gmail account to comment. I found a way to change that so that anyone can comment, but all the warnings say that by allowing anonymous comments the spam bots and trolls will surely attack. That said, if you don't have a gmail account, you can now comment unless things really do get bad.

On Substack, it looks like you have to click on the little "comment" icon on the bottom, similar to blogger. But it looks to me at this point that only those who have signed into Substack with some sort of email can comment. Nobody else can click on that comment icon. So, you don't have to have a gmail account but you have to use some sort of email, whatever you already have. There may be a way around it but I haven't found it yet. Better? Who knows.

2. On Blogger, most people haven't yet figured out how to receive notifications when (and if) a new article is posted. I finally found a "follow" button to put at the bottom of the page. Click it and, I hope, you will get some sort of notification when a new post is published.

 Substack puts something right in the middle of the article asking if you wish to subscribe. Enter your email and you are set. I think! You also have a choice to "subscribe" (lots of big buttons trying to get you to do that) or to "follow" by clicking on the three dots next to "Subscribe" and "message." As near as I can tell, "subscribe" gets the post sent to your email, while "follow" gets you a notification of a new post sent to your Substack account if you have one. Let me know if it doesn't actually work this way. Better? Who knows.

3. Both can be monetized, which means that I can make money by you reading my posts. How much money? Probably not much with a small following as I expect to have. I am fortunate in that, being a Catholic priest, I don't need money! Send donations to the Sisters instead of to me! You'll get on their prayer list if you do!

 Blogger gives me money if I allow ads. I don't want ads! I thought I had to allow them. Nope. What a relief.

Substack gives me money by shaking you down and asking you to give me money. They take a chunk of everything you try to give me. Again, not something I am looking for. 

Let me know what you think. I'll try both for a while but will probably have to choose one or the other.