An Irish Priest and a Swastika

LENT MEDITATION, 2017

Ephesians 2: 17 - 20

17 He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. 18 For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit.

19 Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, 20 built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. 21 In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. 22 And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.

As a boy I grew up Catholic. While I have many memories regarding my religious upbringing, one moment has been forever burned into my mind. My parents, brother, sister and I returned home from a weekend trip out of town to discover something horrific painted on our garage door. On the door, painted in bright red, was a swastika, with the words “GO HOME PAPISTS” written below it.

Having grown up in a neighborhood full of dads who fought in World War II, I knew the meaning of that sign. Then the confusion set in, on many levels. This was my home, so where would I go? Do people think we’re Nazis? The name “Mooney” is Irish, so that made no sense to me. Strangely, one thing is still clear in my mind – the red drips streaking form the words. I remember being afraid someone had written these things with blood.

The next day, at St. Columban Catholic School, my teacher noticed I was upset. I didn’t want to talk about it, yet she remained concerned. She wondered if I’d like to speak with Father Murphy; I nodded. He was always nice to me. I walked slowly to his office. He was standing at the door as I approached, holding a small trash can.

“Good morning, Edward! What brings you to my office?” He said with an Irish brogue woven through the words.

“I don’t know. Sister Teresa thought I should talk to you.” I shrugged as I looked down at the floor.

“Well, it can’t be that you’re in trouble. Is something bothering you?” He trailed off. I nodded.

“Yeah, I guess so, Father.”

Just then Mary Ann walked by – and I felt nervous. Father Murphy must have picked up on my emotions.

“You know, I have to take this trash out to the back. Want to walk with me a bit?” He asked. I nodded. We went through one of the doorways nearby. It was quiet for a bit. Father did not say anything.

“Something happened yesterday, Father, when we came home from Solvang.” I started.

“Ah, Solvang! I do like that town. Wonderful food!” He chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, I like it, too. I got a neat flag of some country called Denmark there.” I said, very quietly.

“Oh, Denmark is a wonderful place. But I don’t believe that a flag of Denmark caused such a long face.” He gently touched my chin. I felt a sob coming up.

“When we got home we saw that someone had painted a swastika and some mean words on our garage, Father.” I blurted out. I felt myself take a deep breath.

“Oh? What words?” He sounded more serious. He squatted down near me and touched my shoulder.  I told him. 

“Oh, Edward, those are terrible words.” Father Murphy said, in a whisper as he arose.

“I don’t understand. Why would someone do that, Father?” I looked directly into his eyes. He paused.

“My son, look over at the parking lot there.” He pointed as he dumped the trash into the large bin.

“I see it.”

“What do you see there?” He asked.

“Two cars.” I answered.  Father Murphy smiled.

“I like your answer. Walk with me…” He said as we turned around.

“Well, it’s just the way it is.” I was more confused.  He stopped walking, and I followed his example.

“You didn’t say, ‘a green car and a white car’, you saw two cars. You saw what made them the same, not what made them different.”

“Okay, but what about the words on the garage door?” I asked as we started walking again.

“Edward, some people focus on what brings us together as followers of Jesus. Other people want to see how we’re not identical. Someone in your neighborhood obviously does not want to see you as being like him.”

“So, people on my street hate me because I’m Catholic?” I asked, with fear in my heart.

“Oh, I believe almost all of them like you just fine…” He said as he tousled my hair. He had a big smile on his face.

“You think so?” I wanted his answer to be “yes”. Father Murphy nodded.  We arrived back outside of his office.

“Just watch, you’ll see. Now, off to class with you!” He squeezed my arm and I returned to my class.

Later, as my mother stopped the car in front of my house, as we arrived home from school, I saw five or six men, with my father, painting the garage door.  I knew the other men did not go to our church, so I was surprised.

“I guess most people do like us…” I said quietly as I remembered the smile on the face of Father Murphy.

Today, I’m concerned that Christianity is in another time of division. Anyone who does not believe exactly as we think is a suspect. Fear, hate and division overpower us at times.

It is my prayer this Lent that we remember the message of verse 19, that tells us that we are “fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household.” Let us turn from division and toward that which unites us; let us all be re-painters of garage doors. Let us see two cars, not green ones and white ones. Let love be our guide.

Edward Mooney, Jr.

February, 2017

An Unexpected Lesson

Edward Mooney, Jr.

©2017 Edward Mooney, Jr.

February, 2017

It was early in the morning on the first day of the new school year. I had come in before sunrise to set up my room; all was ready, except for one thing.  For decades my final chore before classes began was to place sticky plastic letters at the top of the whiteboard (or chalkboard early in my career), spelling out my name. I’d gently peel each letter off the sheet and carefully place it on a temporary line. M R . M O O N E Y.  Tradition held that each and every day I’d change the date right under my name, in chalk or with a board pen later on. 

That was just how I operated, but it was not to be that particular year.  As I started the annual chore, I paused. I realized something fundamental had changed. My twenty-five year tradition was about to change, by one simple letter. For the first time ever, I spelled out my name differently. The letters I peeled off spelled D R . M O O N E Y. I stepped back and looked it over. I was proud of all I had accomplished. I adjusted my necktie. I decided this momentous occasion demanded that I dress the part.

The awarding of the doctorate from Northeastern University in Boston was the result of years of hard work. There were vast expanses of reading, and rugged mountains of writing. There were jungles of group projects and desolate deserts of papers written by a tired man, all alone, in the middle of the cold night.  The university honored me by handing me that diploma. They had deemed me worthy. I stood up straighter.

Moments later my students started drifting into the room. I had known some from the year before, but most were new. The veterans didn’t notice the one-letter change on the board. They knew who I was; they were too busy discussing their new schedules to notice.

A new girl entered the classroom and secretly, with eyes quickly moving back and forth, scanned the front of the room. She let out an audible gasp as she read my name. She turned to her friend, standing close by.

“Oh, crap! We have another doctor guy!” She whispered, but loud enough for me to hear. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always had the ability to hear things around my classroom. Most of the time I find it quite helpful. Sometimes that gift is a pain. This time I was confounded. I wasn’t sure how to deal with her words. Her friend whispered back.

“So, how many times will you end up in the vice principal’s office this year, Laura?” She asked. Both of them were startled as I turned and walked toward them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard your discussion,” I started. The first girl, the one I presumed was Laura, started to speak.

“Hey, it’s kind of private…” Laura trailed off.

“I know, but it does involve me, and I want us to start off on a positive note. I’m a little confused. What do you mean by that ‘doctor guy’?”

“Hey, listen, I didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry.” Laura moved toward a student desk and put her books down. She turned away. I took a deep breath.

“I know you didn’t. Laura…do you mind if I call you Laura?” I asked in a kind voice.

“I guess so. That’s my name.” The girl stared at the floor.

“It’s a good name.  I like it.” I responded as Laura slowly looked up.

“What? You like it?”

“Oh, yes. My youngest daughter’s name is Laura. I wouldn’t have picked that name if I didn’t like it.” I smiled.

“Yeah, picked it. Nobody forced you to give her that name, huh?” Laura seemed angry. Just then the first bell of the new school year rang. School was in session.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure where you’re going with this. Of course not. My wife and I agreed on the name ‘Laura.’ Did someone force a name on you?” I asked as Laura chuckled loudly. Her friend chimed in. Other students in the class noticed the tense conversation and turned to watch.

“I’ll say. I had a teacher two years ago who had that ‘doctor’ thing in front of his name. I spent too much time in the vice principal’s office that year, just because I’d slip and call him ‘mister’.”

“You got sent to the office for that?” I asked softly.

“Like I said – for not calling him ‘doctor’. So, to answer your question, I wonder how many times you’re going to send me to the office this year.” Laura’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as she once again turned away. I took a deep breath and looked at the front whiteboard.

“For calling me Mister Mooney instead of Doctor Mooney, zero.” I answered. She quickly looked up at me. As I looked at her face, covered with a confused look, the final lesson of my doctoral program sank in. I could not demand that people should call me “Doctor Mooney”. I looked at the clock. Exactly five minutes had passed in the school year. That’s how long I was puffed up about my new appellation.

“Oh, come on. I don’t believe that.” Laura responded.

“I can understand why. I’ll have to prove it to you.” I turned to the entire class and got everyone’s attention.

“What is he doing?” Laura whispered to her friend.

“Hello, everybody, and good morning! Welcome to your new school year!” I moved to the front of the room and picked up a blue board pen. I wrote the letters ‘Mr.” under the title “Dr.” by my name.

“What are you doing?” Laura asked loudly.

“Introducing myself. I’m Mister Mooney.” I smiled.

“But what about the ‘doctor’ thing?” Laura pointed. I took a deep breath.

“Believe it or not, the school year is only about seven minutes old and you’ve already taught me something very valuable, Laura. Yes, I have a doctor’s degree, but before I earned the degree I was first a man who valued people, and I was someone who wanted people who could feel safe and accepted in his classroom. You see, when we feel safe, we learn. When we feel threatened, we shut down.”

“Well, I agree with you on that shutting down idea…” Laura huffed and nodded.

“You just taught me that if I demand that you call me by ‘doctor’, I’ll create a wall between us. I’ve been wondering about this, since I graduated, and now I see the answer.  If I demand a tribute, such as you using this title, it would be as if you gave me a one hundred dollar bill, but in board game money. It looks like a hundred dollars, but it’s not. It’s worthless. There’s no value to just using the word.”

The class chuckled at the image. Laura nodded.

“So, the rule is I’m ‘Mister Mooney’ – all of you are used to that idea – and ‘Doctor Mooney’ only if you want to use that title. No one will force you. Is that a deal?” I smiled at Laura.

“Better than the deal I got two years ago, so sure.” Laura’s tone softened.

“Well, then, let’s get on with what we need to do today!” I said as I walked over to the poster with the classroom rules listed on them. I discussed each one, then went around the room and had each student introduce themselves.

“My name’s Adam, Mister Mooney.” One boy said. He looked surprised. “I mean Doctor Mooney…” I shook my head.

“Either one works in here, so not to worry.” I responded as I looked at the clock.

“It seems I’m about a minute short here. But I think I covered everything.” I shrugged.

“Not quite. You missed something.” Laura answered as she stood up and walked to the front of the room. I was confused. She picked up the eraser to the whiteboard. She erased the “Mr.” I had written below the “Dr.” sticky letters.

“Now things look right, Doctor Mooney.” Laura smiled.

The bell rang. Much had been learned that day.

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THE END