Weekend Masses

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ, I have a picture of my father and my younger brother taken in London in the 1950’s. My father is holding tightly my two year old brother’s hand as they walk along a busy Lon- don street. We were there for the wedding of my father’s youngest sister. At two my brother was prone to run away into nooks and crannies and my father was holding on to him tightly. My father was a big man with a gentleness and a kindness that stays with me to this day over forty years since he died. We rarely took formal vacations but he would take days throughout the year when we would head out for the day and have fun. My cousins still talk of his hospitality and the special treats that were part of their childhood when my parents would take them out for after- noon tea over the Christmas season. Al these are part of the memory of my father . He was firm and fair but he ex- pected the same from you. He was a great story teller but rarely did we hear anything of the hardships of the first world war in Germany. He died young, and that for all of us was a great tragedy as there were many stories left untold and many questions still to be asked. This weekend as we celebrate Father’s Day let us remember with prayer and with pride the fathers who shaped our lives their strengths and weakness, the ways they challenged us to look at our world, their ability to let us go and plow our own furrow. Let us thank them and pray for them and ask the Lord to give them a place with the saints in heaven. The journey continues, Fr Karl  

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ, My first appointment as a priest was to Kenya. I was then appointed to a place called Kobujoi in Nandi District. Kobujoi was near the equator at 7000 feet above sea level with a very wet, wet season. It was over 30 miles from the nearest tarmac road. Its’ dirt roads were more like plowed fields. Getting in and out was difficult. There were places that had no roads as we were on the edge of an escarpment. There was a school a small mission maternity unit no doc- tor, a social service community school. Very often we got called out at night to take people to hospital. There were two choices thirty miles one way to the county hospital, thirty miles the other way to a Quaker hospital. Most times people preferred the Quaker Hospital as they had better doctors and care. On one occasion I got called by the mission hospital to take a women to the hospital It was a breech birth and they could not turn the baby so she needed to get to where there were doctors. When you took someone to the hospital you had to have one of the paramedics, someone from the family and a person who was willing to give blood. The small VW beetle would have a full complement, 5 people and at times more would want to get in. She chose the Quaker hospital. The first part of the “road” was okay. The next part was black cotton soil. Everyone had to get out and pull drag and push the car. The rest of the road Rocky and on the edge of the escarpment The women yelled its’ coming the car stopped and all got out and the baby popped. The paramedic asked her to continue to the hospital, she shouted a very clear No and we turned back. We had only traveled a few miles in over an hour and now had to go back. We dropped her at the Mission hospital where she had hot milky sugary tea and bread and then she gathered her things strapped baby boy on her back and headed home walking. People and life were tough. None of this was part of the training in the seminary but was part of the learning curve on the mission. The journey continues and we share the good news, Fr Karl