March 24, 2006 - Issue #6
Local News | Opinion/Editorials | Letters to the Editor
Find Jesus in your neighbors, however vulnerable they are
Editor’s Note: Here is a Lenten reflection by Daughter of Charity Sister Jean Marie Williams, who studied Russian in Anchorage for several years before relocating to Magadan, Russia, last fall. Sister Williams and two Polish sisters together formed a new Daughter of Charity community to serve the poor through the Parish of the Nativity of Jesus and assist in its outreach ministry efforts.
MAGADAN, Russia — On Ash Wednesday, Father Milosh Krakovski celebrated Mass at the Church of the Nativity and called all of us to see Jesus in our neighbors.
"Look into the face of another," he said, "and hear Jesus say: ‘It’s me. I am here.’ "
That Lenten message stayed with me later that day as I headed out with Nadia Orneva, a young parishioner, to visit our elderly friend Nina Nicholaevna in her small apartment. Nicholaevna is a survivor of Stalin’s slave-labor camps that permeated Siberia until the 1950s. She’s also a longtime parishioner who came faithfully to the parish for daily Mass and to pray the rosary until her failing short-term memory and fear of falling forced her to stay home.
Since she became homebound, the three priests at the parish have visited her regularly, bringing holy Communion along with the love and prayers of parishioners.
My fellow Daughter of Charity, Sister Barbara Repetowska, and I check up on Nicholaevna weekly. We help clean the large wound on her face caused by skin cancer, we clip her nails and clean her bedroom.
Nicholaevna shares her two-room apartment with her daughter, granddaughter and great-grandson. But they suffer from alcoholism and are unable to care for Nicholaevna’s simplest needs.
About three weeks ago when Sister Repetowska arrived for the weekly visit, no one answered the door.
A week later she tried again. This time someone answered the door. Inside, the apartment was filled with people drinking and smoking.
Sister Repetowska was shocked to find Nicholaevna lying barely responsive in a bed soaked with feces and urine. The smell was almost overpowering. There were bedsores on Nicholaevna’s side and she was so weak and her legs were so painful that she was unable to stand.
Sister Repetowska prevailed upon one of the less-inebriated family members to help carry Nicholaevna to the bathroom. Sister Repetowska bathed her and dressed her in some clean clothes and cleaned the bedding.
Once back in a clean bed, Nicholaevna drank four cups of tea and then ravenously ate the food that Sister Repetowska brought for her.
Since this incident, we in the parish have made it a point to visit Nicholaevna every day.
Recently, Orneva and I went to see Nicholaevna. We washed her face and hands, changed the sheets, washed her body, cleaned and dressed her bedsores. Then we changed her clothes, massaged her back and rubbed her dry legs and feet with lotion. Then we covered her in clean blankets.
She drank some orange juice and hot, sweet tea and ate some chicken vegetable soup, just enough of it to take the medicine prescribed for her leg pain.
While Nicholaevna ate, we chatted about parishioners — who is sick, who is getting better, how the young people are doing, what the priests are up to. When she was finished eating, we prayed a decade of the rosary with her and packed up our supplies and her laundry to wash at the parish.
Then we kissed her on the cheek and asked her to pray for us as we do for her.
Nina Nicholaevna showed me, in her need, the face of Jesus who suffered and died for love of me.
Once she was clean, warm and well fed, I looked into her grateful eyes and heard Jesus say: "It’s me. I am here."
Moose-salvage ministry resurrected in Soldotna
When the phone rings at midnight, Barb Trombley doesn’t panic, even though she knows it’s probably the state troopers on the line.
Trombley, a member of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish in Soldotna, is one of about 40 representatives of area charities that work in conjunction with the state troopers and Alaska Department of Fish and Game to salvage moose that have been hit by vehicles and killed.
"We’ve got a moose down," the voice on the phone says. "Can you come?"
Trombley always says yes, no matter what time it is.
She’s normally got 15 minutes to get to the scene of the collision, so she throws on her clothes and races out the door. She places a flashing light on her vehicle, dials up a fellow parishioner who has signed up to salvage the meat, and then sits tight.
If all goes well, the parishioner arrives with sharp knives and plenty of help, and the job is done in as little as an hour. Or, it might take five hours.
The parishioner must completely remove the carcass so as not to leave an unsightly mess that would attract scavengers.
When the site is clean and the animal butchered, the parishioner gives Trombley a portion of the salvaged meat for the church freezer and keeps the rest for personal consumption.
The church then distributes its portion, usually about a quarter of the meat, to families in need.
Trombley last fall resurrected the parish’s "moose kill ministry" after a hiatus of several years. She’s been called six times this winter — always in the middle of the night — to salvage a moose.
The Alaska State Troopers have operated the meat salvage program on the Kenai Peninsula since at least the early 1990s, according to Fish and Game wildlife technician Larry Lewis of Soldotna. There are similar programs in other regions of the state with large moose populations.
On the Peninsula, 1,742 moose have been salvaged over the past seven years ending June 30, 2005, according to Lewis. Over the past 16 years, the average yearly toll is 366 moose, not counting those that are hit but not salvaged, he said.
It’s a terrible hit to the moose population and to the unfortunate drivers who are often seriously injured in collisions with animals that can weigh 1,600 pounds.
If there is a silver lining, it is the salvage operation. At anywhere between 250 and 600 pounds of pure meat per animal, that’s a lot of protein not going to waste.
"It takes an unfortunate situation and helps some good to come of it," Lewis said.
While moose are by far the most common victims of the Kenai Peninsula’s roads, there are usually half a dozen or so bears that perish as well as a handful of caribou and of course dozens of smaller mammals and birds.
The trooper program salvages black bears — brown bear meat is generally not eaten because of its unsavory flavor — and caribou and even fish or clams if officers seize an illegal catch, according to Lt. Steve Bear, a trooper with the state Bureau of Wildlife Enforcement.
The 40 or so charities who take part in the program include seniors and veterans groups, Native corporations, and lots of churches, Bear said.
The troopers used to be much more involved in the salvage operation, remaining on site while the animal was butchered and then trying to hook up with needy families who could take a portion of the meat.
But it ate up a lot of time, so several years ago they switched to the current model, in which the charity group’s assigned representative takes charge of securing the collision site, arranging for the animal to be butchered and the carcass disposed of, and distributing the meat.
"That’s been a big plus for us, not having to deal with the logistics," Bear said.
Lewis said he’s grateful for the program but that it is a "mixed blessing": "It’s a good thing that these animals are being utilized, but it’s unfortunate that we’re still hitting so many."
He said he thinks the number of collisions could be reduced if people slowed down on the Peninsula’s narrow roads and highways, especially in low light conditions.
Most moose are hit at night by drivers partially blinded by the headlights of oncoming traffic, he said.
Winter’s deep snow drives moose toward plowed roads, where they can move about more easily, and consequently the winter months see the most road-killed moose. But there is a spike in deaths in June, too, when young calves are just becoming mobile and traveling with their mothers.
"When you see a moose cross the road, you tend to tunnel vision on that animal and don’t see the one that’s right behind it," Lewis said.
Various campaigns aimed at reducing collisions have generated lots of ideas, including shooting moose with paintballs filled with reflective paint, building huge overpasses or underpasses in high-density moose areas, or darting moose and outfitting them with reflective collars.
Most have been too impractical or costly to implement, according to Lewis.
For Trombley, volunteering as the parish coordinator for the program is "just something I can do for the church and the people."
"I’m not that crazy about getting up in the middle of the night and getting out of my night gown and getting dressed and going out in the cold," she said.
But she hates seeing an animal go to waste, especially when she knows there are needy families in the area who could use the help with their groceries, she said.
When she received permission from her pastor, Father Richard Tero, Trombley posted a sign-up sheet at Our Lady of Perpetual Help and got about 30 names and phone numbers of families wanting to participate.
When the troopers call her, she simply relays word to the next name on the list.
One who recently received that late-night call from Trombley is Peter Biegel. He and a neighbor who is also a Perpetual Help parishioner butchered the young moose while Trombley shined a spotlight on the scene.
Biegel said that he likes moose meat but that he’s "old now" and hasn’t been hunting in years.
But it’s more than that; he said he appreciates that the meat is being put to use and that needy people in the community receive a little help from the church.
Biegel said he didn’t even keep any of the moose he cut up with his neighbor because he already had meat in his freezer.
New chief of CSS has record of compassion, results
When Susan Bomalaski applied to be the new executive director of Catholic Social Services, she came packing a dense resume: Air Force officer, assistant professor of biology and aerospace studies, research scientist, professional mental health counselor, crisis center supervisor, executive director of a Catholic children’s home. Plus, she’s a mother of two college students. And she has a Ph.D.
The lanky 50-year-old joked that the long resume just means she’s old, but her credentials caught the attention of Catholic Social Services.
"All of her different life experiences seem to really fit this position," said community development director Ellen Krsnak.
Her record of experience shows competence, but Krsnak said she also noticed Bomalaski’s positive spirit and warmth. "That’s what we want social service delivery to be: competent but with dignity and respect for the person in a kind manner."
Bomalaski got the job.
Now she is at the helm of one of the state’s largest social services providers, composed of 11 programs that provide emergency shelter, refugee assistance, food and clothing for the poor, adoption and pregnancy support services, and assistance to the families of individuals with special needs.
The programs help fulfill Catholic Social Services’ mission to compassionately serve those in need as well as strengthen individuals and families and advocate for social justice.
Bomalaski said the Catholic Social Services mission spoke to her when she was searching for an executive position in Anchorage after moving here with her husband, Dave Bomalaski, in September from San Antonio, Texas.
For the last seven years there, she served as executive director at St. Peter St. Joseph Children’s Home, a protective-care residence and counseling center for abused and neglected children. The home, operated by the San Antonio Archdiocese, expanded under Bomalaski’s leadership to triple its budget and quadruple the number of programs serving kids and their families.
At St. Peter and St. Paul, Bomalaski focused on breaking the cycle of abuse. Now the center offers parenting and anger management classes and works with low-income parents facing homelessness to help build their skills and guide them toward their goals.
"We kind of looked at the bigger picture of the community," she said.
"The important thing is to find out what people’s strengths are and use them to help them figure out where they want their life to go."
Six months ago, with their two children in college, the Bomalaskis said goodbye to San Antonio, which had been home for 18 years, and headed north. Bomalaski’s husband, a physician in the Air Force, had filled in for vacationing doctors at Anchorage’s Elmendorf Air Force Base and ever since dreamed of eventually living here.
The couple found a house in South Anchorage, and Bomalaski said she’s been cross-country skiing, gawking at neighborhood moose, hiking and trying to learn more about Alaska ever since.
After leading the San Antonio children’s home’s efforts to address the root causes of their clients’ struggles, Bomalaski said the work of Anchorage-based Catholic Social Services resonated with her as an organization that also "wasn’t just giving handouts but really trying to help people change their lives."
She said she also sees her new position as an opportunity to help people realize their connection to one another.
"It’s easy for people to look at individuals that are having difficulties, financially or emotionally or in a variety of different ways, as somebody else. That’s ‘them,’ the ‘other,’ " she said. "I feel really strongly that we’re all connected. In helping people that need it, you help the whole community."
The Bomalaskis were thinking of their community in Colorado, when, as young officers in the Air Force, her husband received a significant check for back-pay wages.
They decided to tithe the money to their church, but their priest instead suggested that his brother could better use the money to keep a residential substance-abuse rehabilitation program running.
When the couple went to meet the priest’s brother, he didn’t just want the money; he wanted them to get involved in the lives of the residents.
The Bomalaskis’ children were 3 and 5 years old at the time, so Susan volunteered to teach a parenting class at the rehab center. Her husband taught CPR to the residents.
Serving the folks at the rehabilitation center, Bomalaski saw a "different side" of life, and that got her thinking about a career change.
With bachelor’s degrees in biology and physiology, she retired from the Air Force and returned to school to earn a master’s degree in psychology. She interned at the same rehabilitation center, counseling recovering addicts.
The experience "broadened my view of social issues that led to these individuals being there," Bomalaski said.
"A lot of people think, ‘Well, they bring it on themselves; why don’t they just stop?’ I learned there are all these others issues — not to excuse people for abusing substances and then getting in trouble with the law, but that most of them had troubled childhoods, they lost a parent at a significantly young age, had grown up in poverty, abuse and neglect kind of situations," Bomalaski said.
With her master’s in counseling, she went on to lead and coordinate mental health crisis-care teams in Michigan and Texas, and later to earn a doctorate in counselor education and supervision from St. Mary’s University in San Antonio.
She points to Jesus’ instruction to "serve the least of my brothers as you serve me" as another value of Catholic Social Services that resonates personally with her.
"It’s really pretty moving," she said, adding that the Catholic values of "love, compassion, dignity, respect are applicable to everybody."
Bomalaski said that the Catholic Social Services staff she’s met appear "energetic and committed and passionate about the mission" and that she’s looking forward to making connections in the Anchorage community and educating more people about the work of the Anchorage Archdiocese’s social outreach arm.
St. Joseph of Peace Sister Charlotte Davenport had been serving as Catholic Social Services’ interim director since August after executive director Yvonne Chase stepped down. The agency began recruiting for an executive director in November.
Sponsors, director of initiation rite say they enjoy the process as much as candidates
Feeling a little stagnant in your faith lately? Missing that "fire in the belly" fervor you once had?
Maybe you need to spend some time with some of the candidates and catechumens — and their sponsors — who are studying the Catholic faith in the RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) process at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish in South Anchorage.
There, you’ll meet people who really believe that, in the words of Christ’s parable in Matthew’s Gospel, they’ve "found a treasure buried in a field."
"I think it’s the history and discipline and tradition — the whole package."
That’s how Gayle Kirkendall describes what has appealed to her about the Catholic faith after spending time in Christian initiation classes.
Although baptized as an infant into the Methodist Church, Kirkendall said she’s had "a long search looking for the right church. I had tried many."
The RCIA has been such a "wonderful experience" so far that Kirkendall is already looking forward to volunteering with the process once she is fully initiated into the church at Easter, she said.
Deacon Ken Donohue is the director of St. Elizabeth’s Christian initiation process.
The rite is designed for catechumens — those who have never been baptized in the Christian faith. However, at St. Elizabeth, the process has been open also to candidates — those who have been baptized validly in another Christian faith and wish to become Catholic, or who have been baptized Catholic but never received the other sacraments of initiation — Communion and confirmation.
The process at St. Elizabeth begins in September. Throughout the church, the process culminates with reception into the church at the Easter Vigil, April 15 this year.
Leah Mendonsa is also a candidate in St. Elizabeth’s program. Her parents were both from Catholic backgrounds, but their divorce and estrangement from the church resulted in Mendonsa being baptized in the Episcopal faith and attending various churches sporadically.
"I’ve been in and out of churches. I’ve gone to quite a few," said Mendonsa, adding that she always felt a call toward faith.
Finally, her interest led her to accept an invitation from Deacon Donohue to try RCIA.
What impresses her, she said, is the merciful God she found in the Catholic Church. Although the church has strong guidelines and moral codes, Mendonsa said the forgiving God the church presents "seems less judgmental" than the scary God she sometimes encountered in other churches.
When Mendonsa told a co-worker, Kathy Gibson, that she was considering the faith, Gibson quickly volunteered to be her sponsor — even though Gibson is a parishioner of Sacred Heart in Wasilla, about 45 miles from St. Elizabeth.
Since the RCIA classes run Tuesday evenings September through May, Gibson made the commitment to stay in town after work on those nights and make the long drive home late on cold, dark evenings.
Yet Gibson said she would be sorry when the RCIA ends.
"I should thank her (Mendonsa)," she said. "I think I’m getting as much or more than she is.
"What is your faith unless you put it to use? We need to walk the walk instead of just talking the talk. Your faith doesn’t mean much if you keep it bottled up inside. This (sponsorship) hasn’t been a chore by any means."
Deacon Donohue said that after years of working with people in the rite, he still finds it "exciting" and one of the most rewarding things he does.
"There’s nothing else in the Catholic Church I’d rather be doing," he said. "It’s a privilege to be with people when they are making a decision to do something so radical as adopting a new way of life.
"And it never surprises me anymore that the sponsors get as much out of it as the person they’re sponsoring."
All Catholics should take the initiative to invite people to experience their faith, Deacon Donohue said, because often that is all it takes to bring someone into the church.
Faithful beginnings: The Archdiocese of Anchorage was created in 1966, but the Catholic Church has had a strong presence in the area for much longer
On the weekend of Feb. 12, the Catholic Church in Southcentral Alaska launched a year of celebration to mark the creation of the Archdiocese of Anchorage in 1966.
It had been 40 years since a new archdiocese was carved from Alaska’s existing dioceses headquartered in Fairbanks and Juneau, and Msgr. Joseph Ryan from Albany, N.Y., was named the first archbishop of Anchorage.
Deacon Ken Donohue delivered the homily that Sunday of celebration last month at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish in South Anchorage.
Forty years is not a very long time, he told the packed congregation.
When he asked, "How many of you were here when the pope visited 25 years ago?" only a smattering of hands went up.
"And how many were here 40 years ago?" One had to look closely to see a few hands.
A significant anniversary is always a time to look back to origins and evolution. But such a review in this case could be presumptuous in that the formation of the archdiocese was not the beginning of the life of the church in Southcentral Alaska.
It was 1963 when a young Fred Bugarin, who is currently pastor of Anchorage’s St. Anthony Parish, arrived in the city from the Philippines.
The town of his youth wouldn’t be recognizable to many residents today.
"We lived in Spenard," he said. "It was the end of the road."
To the south, the city virtually ended at Northern Lights, a two-lane road. There was no Tudor Road, no Benson Boulevard. Anything south of Northern Lights was considered rural. Habitations on the Hillside were largely homesteaded cabins, often used as recreational sites.
Young Bugarin’s family worshipped at St. Juliana Church in the middle of the Spenard neighborhood. St. Juliana, which later would be moved to the site of the present St. Benedict Church, was a mission of Holy Family Church (which didn’t become a cathedral until the archdiocese was formed).
The future priest attended Catholic Junior High, which opened in 1961 and would close under the new archbishop.
The only other Roman rite church in town was St. Anthony, a small precursor to the present church on North Klevin Street. On Arctic Boulevard, St. Nicholas of Myra served Byzantine Catholics.
In 1966, there were only two high schools in Anchorage — West High, which until the early 1960s was the only high school, known simply as Anchorage High — and the newly built East High. An earlier school, the first Anchorage High School, was downtown near the present performing arts center.
But, of course, the new archdiocese was much more than just the city that would be the seat of its archbishop.
Actually, Anchorage itself was a relative new kid on the block, which explains in part why first Juneau and then Fairbanks were named dioceses before the city that would grow to become the state’s largest.
The city of Anchorage was nothing more than another turn in a winding inlet before 1910. While there was no white settlement at Anchorage, elsewhere the church was already growing, thanks in large part to early Jesuit missionaries evangelizing areas that would eventually become part of the Anchorage Archdiocese.
For example, the first Mass in Valdez was celebrated by a Jesuit in a boarding house in 1903. St. Francis Xavier Church was built there in 1907 and dedicated in 1908.
In the seaside village of Cordova, construction of a railway that would link the port city to the rich copper mines of Kennicott was begun in 1908. The first St. Joseph Church was founded there the same year.
By 1910, Jesuit Father Matthias Schmitt oversaw construction of the first Sacred Heart Church in Seward. The Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace of Newark even tried their hand at a short-lived hospital in Seward, opened in 1916.
Meanwhile, after 1910, railroad work had begun at the site that was to become the city of Anchorage. The decision in 1915 to make that site the railroad’s hub changed the future of Southcentral Alaska.
By 1916, workers who had come to the "tent city" of Anchorage had lobbied for a Catholic church, and Holy Family was founded that year.
Elsewhere in what is now the archdiocese other churches sprung up from the wilderness long before 1966. Depression-era farming colonists helped to launch the first church, a little log cabin, in Palmer in 1937. St. Mary in Kodiak opened in 1944. Holy Rosary Church in Dillingham was built in 1950.
In 1956, the Jesuits and the Sisters of St. Ann opened a large boarding school, Copper Valley School, near Glennallen.
By 1961, the Redemptorists had arrived on the Kenai Peninsula, where they served for many decades, and in 1963, Mass was being celebrated in a basement church in Eagle River.
So what is an archdiocese?
The Roman Catholic Church, an ancient institution with a long-established bureaucracy, is divided worldwide into governing units called dioceses. Although each bishop has authority within his own diocese, groups of dioceses are formed around one larger unit called an archdiocese. Its head is an archbishop who is called the "metropolitan" for that group of dioceses.
According to Jesuit Father Louis Renner’s encyclopedic history, "Alaskana Catholica," in the early days of Alaska, church structure was virtually nonexistent. Rome, in 1887, gave jurisdiction over all British and Russian possessions in the region to the bishop of Vancouver Island, Canada.
Later, Alaska moved up in the hierarchical structure. In 1894, Alaska became a "prefecture apostolic," with Jesuit Father Paschal Tosi the first prefect. In 1904, Jesuit Father Joseph Crimont was named prefect apostolic for Alaska.
In 1916, Alaska moved to the next ecclesiastical level, a "vicariate apostolic," and the following year Father Crimont was ordained Bishop Crimont. He wasn’t Bishop of Alaska, however, but rather vicar. A vicar’s authority is close to that of a diocesan bishop but is delegated directly from Rome. The center of the vicariate was designated as Juneau.
It wasn’t until 1951 that Rome created the Diocese of Juneau. The state was divided into the diocese and Vicariate of Northern Alaska, headquartered in Fairbanks. Eleven years later Fairbanks became a diocese.
So what propelled Anchorage into the state’s top slot, hierarchically speaking?
A quick look at census records shows what someone in Rome may have noticed: In 1950, Alaska had a population of 128,600 people, with Anchorage comprising less than a quarter of that at 30,000.
By 1960, over 226,000 lived in Alaska, and Anchorage was home to more than a third, at over 82,000. The trend continued — by 1970, the city would be home to close to half the population of Alaska.
Anchorage, and Alaska, were developing economically and politically by 1966. Oil had been discovered at the Swanson River Field on the Kenai Peninsula in 1957, and Anchorage became the center of corporate activity.
The promise of future resource wealth helped propel the territory into statehood in 1959.
Then, on Good Friday, March 27, 1964, the state — especially Southcentral — was jolted by a magnitude 9.2 earthquake, the largest to hit North America in recorded history. Instantly, Alaska commanded the world’s attention and retained it as the massive cleanup effort proceeded.
If the "big bang" theory can be applied to the creation of archdioceses, Southcentral Alaska had received the final explosive event that helped propel it, shortly after the close of Vatican Council II, into its place in the modern church.
Rite of Election
While the season of Lent may be dominated in people’s minds by penance, subdued celebration and self-denial, it is also traditionally the time when individuals preparing to join the Catholic Church enter the final stage of their months-long journey.
The Rite of Election, usually held on the first Sunday of Lent, marks the beginning of this final phase of preparation that concludes at the Easter Vigil. Held March 2 at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church in Anchorage, and at churches all across the country and the world, the Rite of Election is the liturgy at which candidates and catechumens formally signify their intention to join the Catholic faith.
Catechumens are those seeking full reception into the church; candidates have already been baptized as Catholics or members of another recognized Christian denomination. At the Easter Vigil catechumens are baptized, and both catechumens and candidates receive First Communion and are confirmed. These three sacraments — baptism, Eucharist and confirmation — are the rites of initiation.
On the morning of the Anchorage Archdiocese Rite of Election, parishes from the Anchorage Bowl and Matanuska Valley sent forth their candidates and catechumens, who then traveled to Our Lady of Guadalupe with their sponsors for the liturgy with Archbishop Roger Schwietz.
The archbishop invited the 31 candidates to respond to the "call to continuing conversion" and declared the 36 catechumens "the elect of God." Both groups were invited to the front of the church during the liturgy, where the archbishop asked the congregation to verify the formation process they were engaged in.
At one other church in the archdiocese, Holy Rosary in Dillingham, three individuals took part in a special liturgy modeled on the Rite of Election, and there are other candidates and catechumens in rural parishes who were not able to attend the Anchorage liturgy with the archbishop.
— John Roscoe, Anchor editor
News & Notes
Local Dominican’s new book out
Dominican Father Paul Scanlon’s book, "Finding the Elusive God," has rolled off the presses and is selling online now. "The book is a pastoral reflection, rather than a theological treatise, on how we might discover our God who loves to play hide and seek with us," the priest said. Father Scanlon has culled stories from his many years of pastoral service in places such as Unalaska, Kodiak and Anchorage in Alaska and Chiapas and Baja in Mexico. The Spanish-speaking priest is now in residence at Anchorage’s Holy Family Cathedral, where he was formerly rector. He dedicates his ministry primarily to serving the Hispanic community. He said he tries to share in his writing his international pastoral experiences as a way to help readers "develop the skills of sighting the presence of our slippery God." The book is published by Our Sunday Visitor Press.
Whiten teeth, brighten days
Some Anchorage-area dentists are making sure you don’t have to leave your social conscience in the waiting room. Those wishing to brighten their smiles have the option of donating the discounted cost of their professional teeth whitening to charity when visiting a participating dentist by June 30. The dentists, including Dr. Brian Kruchoski of St. Andrew Parish in Eagle River, pass 100 percent of the payment on to two charities, the Alaska Community Foundation/Smiles for Kids and the Garth Brooks Teammates for Kids Foundation. Since 1998, Smiles For Life Foundation has raised more than $20 million to benefit at least 500 children’s charities, according to a press release from Kruchoski’s practice. To find a participating dentist, visit www.smilesforlife.com.
Editorial
Web site provides needed service
Catholic Online, a Web site that has burst on the Catholic press scene, addresses an important need by providing a single location where Catholics and others can expect to find a mountain of accurate, interesting, up-to-the-minute news and wide-ranging opinion about the Catholic world.
Most Catholic publications have Web sites, and many have links to other sources of sound information, but Catholic Online is doing a huge service by compiling — in its editor-in-chief’s words — the "best and the brightest" material generated by the Catholic press around the world.
We are pleased to say that the editors at Catholic Online have placed our stuff in that category a few times, most recently early this month when our story about St. Patrick (Anchorage) parishioner and Iditarod rookie Eric Rogers claimed the top spot, with a photo, at www.catholic.org. Rogers and his dog team were replaced after a few days by Pope Benedict XVI. Not bad company.
Catholic Online peruses the diocesan press — a force of more than 200 local newspapers published, like the Anchor, by diocesan bishops — and other Catholic publications such as Commonweal, National Catholic Reporter, National Catholic Register, America, Our Sunday Visitor and St. Anthony Messenger. There are 443 Catholic English language newspapers and magazines in North America alone, with combined circulation of more than 21 million.
Catholic Online invites the work of all who have something of value to contribute and who stay within the magisterial tent of the Catholic Church. You won’t find internecine attacks or opinions advocating positions contrary to church teaching. But within that very large tent, valid differences of opinion that are respectfully articulated are most welcome at Catholic Online.
So, we highly recommend it to Catholics seeking to thoroughly inform themselves and contribute to the dialogue so essential to the health of the church.
About a month ago on my drive to work a traffic light turned yellow at just the wrong time. I tried to stop, but the brakes on my old pickup locked up on the packed snow and I started to slide sideways. I let off the brakes, corrected the slide and went through the intersection — but the light turned red before I hit the crosswalk.
A cop pulled me over and gave me a $200 ticket, which I decided to take to court. I hoped the judge, given the circumstances, might reduce the penalty.
I never should have challenged the ticket.
On the day I went to court, mine was the third red-light trial in a row with very similar circumstances: light turned yellow, road was icy, driver went through to avoid sliding.
The first defendant explained her situation, and then, when it was clear things weren’t going in her favor, added that citizens expect cops to be out busting "real" criminals.
To which the judge calmly explained that in fact she had violated the law, and that the officer would have been negligent in his duties had he not pulled her over. The judge found the first defendant guilty. And the next one. And me.
The judge explained that the law grants him very little discretion to reduce penalties. It says, for the violation of running a red light, the penalty shall be a $200 fine. Very rarely — say in the case of a brand new driver — do judges reduce the penalty for a red light violation.
I felt so crummy I apologized to the judge and the officer — who was taken off the streets, away from fighting "real" crime, to show up in court.
I hope others learn from my mistakes. First, when roads are slick, drive slowly enough to be able to stop if the light turns. Second, if you run a red light and get a ticket, don’t take it to court. Just pay your fine and be grateful there are officers, and judges, working hard to keep our streets safe.
— John Roscoe
Letter to the Editor
Respect for life, even in grief
Bishop Paul Louvered of the Diocese of Arlington, Vir., recently said in a homily, "Respect for life shines most brightly when we demand respect for each and every human life, including the lives of those who fail to show that respect for others." Some family members of victims of the 2004 Beslan, Russia, school hostage tragedy show such respect for life. They reject the death penalty even for the surviving murderer involved in taking the lives of 330 of their loved ones, over half of whom were children. We might wonder about that day when it will be time for death penalty proponents to go. In their final hours will they find comfort in the love and forgiveness they have been able to give and receive from others, or will they wish that they had been able to spend more time at the gallows.
West Branch, Iowa