Dance Marathon II: Racing for Riley

Thanks for having us back. We loved being a part of this event last year, and it’s always a pleasure to support good works – and the work of Riley Children’s Hospital is certainly a good work. 

I love the NASCAR theme this year – a theme revolving around the idea of racing. It’s an apt theme in two ways. First, because of the other theme this week: Easter! You’ll recall on Easter Sunday hearing about Mary Magdalene reporting to the Apostles that she saw the risen Christ, and then both Peter and John raced to the tomb to see for themselves. 

Then, Easter Wednesday, we heard the story about the Road to Emmaus and those two disciples who encountered Jesus on the way, and then they raced back to Jerusalem to make their report. 

Finally, Easter Friday we saw the Apostles going fishing, and when they spied Jesus on the seashore, Peter jumped into the water and swam to shore, winning the race against the others in the boat.  

It was all about racing toward something – in this case, Someone – worth the effort. The prize was worth the sacrifice. 

And that’s the other reason racing is an apt theme today, because so much of the work of Riley Hospital is like a race – a race against the clock. Fortunately, most of us don’t need cutting-edge, advanced healthcare for our kids most the time, but when we do, we’re so blessed to have it right down the road. 

Take our first go-around with Riley Hospital. We brought our daughter Margaret to the doctor for what we thought was the flu, but it turned out to be peritonitis due to a ruptured appendix – and Meg was in serious shape. She was immediately transported to Riley where they drained the infection from her abdomen and, once she was stabilized, removed the appendix itself. 

Then there’s Nick. When he was born, we knew he had a heart murmur, but the echocardiogram did not indicate any need for immediate interventions. Later, when he was just a year old, he did begin showing signs of compromised cardiovascular function, and he was rushed to Riley Hospital for evaluation – and then, rushed into surgery. He had four repairs on his heart and spent some time in the pediatric ICU as he recovered…but look at him now. 

All because of Riley, and we, like so many, are so grateful. Thanks, Riley Hospital, for being there so close when we have to race for help. And thanks to you, all you dance marathoners, for helping Riley help folks like us – like Nick.

But don't take my word for it. Here's Nick to tell his own story!

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Nick was privileged to share about his life at the 2024 Saint Mary's College Riley Dance Marathon on Saturday, April 6. The annual event raises funds for Riley Hospital for Children, which provides critical life-saving treatments and healthcare services for kids from our region. For more information or to make a donation, follow this link.

King St. Brychan of Wales (5th century)

If you check Catholic Online for the saints of April, you’ll find this curious entry for today: “St. Brychan. King of Wales, undocumented but popular saint. Brychan is credited with having twenty-four children, all saints.”

So, we have a holy royal with no official pedigree, but an ostensible following – both in terms of fans as well as blessed progeny. It's a tantalizing hagiographic tidbit that invites further investigation.

The cloud that obscures the true biography of this acclaimed Celtic figure is virtually impenetrable, but his name sure is linked to all kinds of history and piety. The story goes that Brychan was an Irish prince that landed in South Wales as a youth after his family took charge of the kingdom of Garthmadrun – now known as Brycheiniog in honor of the saint. After his father’s death, Brychan inherited the mantle of leadership and was said to have developed into a godly and just ruler, as well as a firm supporter of the Church.

He was also a fierce opponent when threatened and tenacious in combat. It is said that a rival, King Gwynllyw, sought to wed Brychan’s beloved daughter, Gwladys, but that Brychan turned him down. After Princess Gwynllyw was kidnapped, a tremendous battle between the two monarchs ensued which required the intervention of King Arthur himself to produce a peace. St. Gwladys did go on to marry King Gwynllyw (also a saint), and, according to a 11th-century chronicle, their children included yet another holy personage, the abbot St. Cadoc.

And that’s the thing about Brychan’s legacy: It’s brimming with saints. They’re practically strewn about in Brychan’s story like plush occasional pillows in a redecorated living room – here, there, so many that you no longer notice them. It’s mainly his many saintly children, borne of his three (or four) successive marriages, not to mention his saintly grandchildren and on down the luminous line. There’s Ss. Adwen and Keyne, Wenna and Menefrida. Even his childhood tutor, Drichian, was known to have been a saint.

On the other hand, it’s also likely that some folks in the Middle Ages were inclined to associate their lineage with Brychan’s as a shortcut to pious respectability. So many, in fact, that although the number 24 (as quoted by Catholic Online) is the most commonly mentioned, there’s really no way of telling how many kids were sired by the king – 50? 60? Who knows?

Yet even that fudging of family trees is a backhanded compliment to the Brychan narrative, regardless of how accurate it is. It’s been said that “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” and it appears that such was assumed to be the case with King Brychan – or at least his name. Why else would so many want to be in on his heritage? He might not be a canonized – or official – Saint, but Brychan certainly has left his mark of sanctity on the British Isles and beyond.

As befits a man associated with so much godliness, the annals tell that he eventually surrendered his crown to one of his sons and lived out his remaining years as a hermit. Although his April 6 commemoration might be unofficial, he can hardly be overlooked on all the feast days of his saintly descendants, both real and imagined.
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A version of this reflection appeared on Catholic Exchange.

A Musical Tribute to Bill W.

My dad was an alcoholic. I loved him very much, and I know he loved me – and my brother and my sister and my mom. He was sober off and on the latter half of his life, and when he was sober, it was largely due to A.A.

Here's El Ten Eleven's tribute to Bill W., A.A.'s founder. Alcoholism is war, and I believe my dad fought valiantly with the weapons at his disposal. A.A. was one of them. Thanks, Bill, indeed. Rest in peace, Dad.

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We're All Special Needs Children

“It’s not special or different or extraordinary needs that make the difference. Aren’t we all ‘special-needs children,’ after all? Addressing Nick’s particular needs took on urgency and required a steeper learning curve than some of our other kids. But the joys are the same. The gift is the same.”

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Excerpted from Jeannie Ewing's "Overcoming Tragedy: The joy of having special-needs children," which was originally published in Catholic Digest (February 2017).

Green Ink

On my birthday last year, you gave me poetry –
Poetry! To one so prosaic as a dad
Who naps in Shakespeare and
Truncates your self-portraits.

And there it languished at the ready, along with
Kierkegaard and Flannery
And everything else I intended to
Read or re-read,

Perched by my pillow,
Within eyeshot, your gift – concealing
As it did a message, a clue, a line of epiphany,

Which I overlooked the times I
Blew off the dust and
Flipped through the pages, your
Literary largesse.

Now, a full calendar gone by,
I’m desperate for distraction – sleep
Bats me down, repose denied – and
The stack beckons, poetry on top.

Coaxed by your green-inked inscription, I
Enter and behold a green-inked
Line beneath title. So subtle, so
Like me to miss it before: The

Ink was the gift! Hence,
Before I drift off, here
I thank you.

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Real Life

Originally posted on Facebook, July 12, 2013. 

Snowboarding is a world utterly foreign to me, but I'm intimately acquainted with Down syndrome.

My son, Nick, has Down's, and his very life is a window on a world of freedom and joy that I'll never know—except through him. Thank God he's here.

I was reminded of that when I read Dorothy Rabinowitz' WSJ review of The Crash Reel, a documentary about snowboarder Kevin Pearce, his brain injury, and his recovery.

Kevin's story sounds compelling in itself, but what especially struck me was the portrait presented of Kevin's family—especially his brother, David:

David is a riveting presence. He's the family's Down syndrome child, now a young man—urgent, full of passion for his adored athlete brother, the raw voice of anguish over Kevin's accident that the other members of the family try to contain in themselves.

This is what we parents of Down's kids know; it's what the world that aborts them at a rate of 9 out of 10 needs to hear.

Is Down's a piece of cake? No. Here's more from the Pearces:

Mia, Kevin's mother, recalls her initial fear—soon dispatched—that she might not be able to deal with a Down syndrome child. David, that child now nearly a man, reveals details of the unhappiness he feels when he thinks about his condition, a description impressive in its eloquence.

Unhappiness about his condition, but better off dead? Hardly. Life is hard and filled with challenges, but killing to eliminate challenges not only doesn't work—it's terribly, painfully counterproductive. Sometimes, more often than not, the very challenges we wish to avoid turn out to be priceless opportunities that lead to new life. We just can't see it yet.

And when it comes to Down syndrome in particular? I pray for a world that, like Mia Pearce, will dispatch fear instead of persons.

On Her Sixth Birthday

"Nank you," she says, and "Her is
Upstairs" – endearing utterance
Doomed to extinction.

Professionals will have their way
In time, but not tonight! For
Now, her is heavy on my lap,

Safe, as we read a book
Falteringly, together,
Daddy and daughter.
Nank you.

Virginia Dale, February 29, 2012

Easter Meditation

The other day, the kids were watching Fly Away Home—a great, underrated movie. Like all good movies, like all true stories, it’s about sin and salvation; about love, life, and death; about redemption, sacrifice, risk, and hope.

And it’s about fatherhood. As soon as I heard the main theme by Mary Chapin Carpenter, I rushed in to catch the film’s end, and I burst into tears. It’s a father’s worst nightmare and greatest joy—his little girl growing up, leaving his protective care, launching, flying, going away on her own. My daughters aren’t rescuing geese and flying solo over a continent, but they’re growing up, just like Amy in the movie.   

As many of you know, my daughter Joan is preparing to go to Oxford this summer. It’s a great opportunity, and I’m fiercely proud of her, but I’m terrified. What was I thinking when I said she could go if she got the scholarship? Shouldn’t I have known that she’d get it? Shouldn’t I have known that she’d find a way?   

Easter is like that I think. We bury Jesus and think, “Well, that’s done,” and we go about our business—what were we thinking? He bursts forth, he undoes our complacency, he pummels our sloth, he calls us to be martyrs, saints, and heroes—scandalous! Outrageous! Crazy talk!    

But he is relentless—like kids growing up. You’re blessed with your first child—sometimes, like us, when you’re still getting used to being married—and you have no idea what you’re doing. You stumble along, God blesses you with more children, you do the best you can, and they grow up. They grow up even when you’re not ready for them to grow up—when you’re just beginning to think that you might be getting the hang of it all, they’re driving and dating and going to Oxford.    

God, watch over them as they fly away. 
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Originally posted on Facebook, April 9, 2012.

To Moses Emmanuel, As You Are Baptized

I'm writing you this note on your baptismal day, Moses. Someday, your mom and dad can read it to you; in time, you'll be able to read it to yourself. And I hope you will read it once in a while, especially when this day rolls around every year. It's a very special day, for you and for me.

Moses Saved from the Water, Raphael (1518-19)

For you, of course, it's your second birthday—the day you're born again and marked with the sign of a new spiritual life, the life of Jesus. You belonged to Him before, but now you belong
to Him in a very particular way. In fact, you now have His own life inside you, and He will always be with you. I hope you get to know Jesus very well.

It’s a special day for me, too, because I have the honor of being your godfather. This is no small thing, to be a godfather. It's hard enough to be a human father, and I'm still learning to do that. Your own dad will tell you it's difficult, and you never quite know if you're getting it right—but that's OK, and we love getting up and trying to get it right every day.

But being a godfather is a bit different because I'm an outsider. Your mom and dad and God loved you into existence, and they've been loving you ever since. That love will sustain you as you grow—day in, day out, every day, every hour, every second. And, like God, your mom and dad will be with you everywhere, and their thoughts will never drift far away from you. That's the way moms and dads are.

Godparents are like that, but not so much. I have my own family, and they keep me pretty busy, so I won't be part of your everyday life. Certainly I’ll be praying for you daily, and I hope I will see you a lot, but most of your growing up will happen when I’m not around.

Still, I have a part to play, and your mom and dad have entrusted me with a tremendous responsibility: To help you as you make your way on the road of faith. In a sense, I’ll be walking alongside you on that road, offering guidance and assistance when necessary, and always encouragement and spiritual support.

The Baptism of Christ, del Verrocchio and da Vinci (ca. 1475)

To do all that requires, first of all, that I be making some progress on that road myself—something I should be doing anyway, and something your mom and dad apparently assume I'm doing, or else they wouldn't have given me this job!  In any case, becoming your godfather makes me want to do it more and better. With God’s help, I will.

And with God’s help, we’ll both grow closer to Jesus—a funny idea, if you think about it, because now that you’re baptized, He lives in you just like He lives in me. How much closer can we get to Him?

I’m still figuring it out, dear godson, but I’m finding it’s a lot like a tree, or an ocean, or the sky. Next time it's a clear night, go out with your dad and look at the stars. No matter how often you do it, you see something new, don't you? And the sky is around us all the time, pretty much unchanging. We're the ones who change as we grow, and we see more.

Jesus won't change as He settles in our souls, but we will. We'll see more, hopefully every day. That's my prayer for you. Please pray the same for me.
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A version of this story appeared on MyYearofFaith.com, Diocese of Fort Wayne-South Bend. 

Thomas B. McNulty, Jr. (1930-2013)

Whoever has a true desire to be in heaven is in heaven spiritually at that very time.
~ Anon., The Cloud of Unknowing (14th c.)

I'm the son-in-law—husband of Nancy, Tom's daughter. So, I’m not a blood relation, but Eleanore has given me the privilege of saying a few words about Tom, and I’m truly honored.

My first introduction to Tom was through Nancy of course, and, specifically, through his books. I think it was the first time Nancy and I really spent time together—I’d just moved into a house across from her place, and she invited me over for a cup of coffee and a get-acquainted chat. Maybe this is a peculiar habit, but when I visit someone’s home, I can’t help but look at the books in the bookcases. It tells me something about the people I’m visiting, what they’re interested in, what they care about.

As I looked through Nancy’s bookcases while she prepared the coffee, I was struck by how many volumes we had in common—a full set of the Catholic encyclopedia, for example, and lots of Classics of Western Spirituality. Even then, on our first meeting, I thought that we’d have to give away a lot duplicate books if we got married.

Carl Spitzweg, The Bookworm (ca. 1850)

As you can guess, the majority of the books in Nancy’s collection were from Tom, so looking through the shelves in her apartment told me as much about her dad as about Nancy. You all know this about Tom, I’m sure. He was an insatiable book hound and book pusher—and not just to his family. Has anyone here not been given a book by Tom?

The book thing was underscored when I visited the McNultys here in Omaha shortly after Nancy and I got engaged. There were books everywhere in the house—really, everywhere. And then Tom took me out to his favorite used bookstore in town—the Antiquarium, where he was on a first name basis with the proprietor—and we spent time getting to know each other by hunting for bargains and swapping favorites. Pretty much whenever I saw Tom after that, a bookstore prowl was something I counted on.

Something else I could count on when coming to Omaha was an endless supply of candy, ice cream, and other things that we tried to reserve as special treats in our own home. This meant that, most assuredly, our seven kids always anticipated visits to or from Grandpa McNulty with great enthusiasm knowing that they’d be showered with Tootsie Rolls continuously.

That’s an example of Tom’s famous generosity, but it did have its limits. For example, he was, shall we say, a determined driver, and he did not suffer fools gladly. Many the trip to the grocery store or a bookstore with Tom behind the wheel combined a high level theological stream of conversation with an intermittent sampling of strong language and epithets directed toward other drivers who crossed him in some way.

Speaking of theological conversation, Tom was one of the most educated, articulate laymen I’ve ever met. He was a perpetual student—which accounts for his vast, ever expanding library—and a perpetual teacher. He loved the Bible particularly, the Old Testament especially, along with the great spiritual masters and mystics. And, as Mary Kate and Steve mentioned at the wake, Tom didn’t just know that stuff—he also lived it. 

Tom reading to Nick and Cecilia

Then, there’s his family. I’m a convert to Catholicism, so growing up I didn’t have a vision for what Catholic family and fatherhood was all about. Tom and Ellie and the McNultys filled in those gaps for me, and Tom in particular gave me an idea of how a Catholic man—despite faults and shortcomings—ought to love his wife and his children, how to put them first, ahead of work, career, personal interests.

He provided and protected, of course, but he also led—in faith, first and foremost. Mass (daily Mass in fact), Sacraments, the Rosary, Catholic education and formation—these were all non-negotiables for Tom, and I know he prayed for his growing family—children, their spouses, the grandchildren—regularly, every day. He was a prayer warrior then; I’m sure he continues to be one now. 

And not just leadership in faith, but also in courage, and in this he was a warrior as well. I think my favorite story about Tom revolves around the Supreme Court’s infamous Roe v. Wade decision in 1973 that legalized abortion throughout the United States.

For years on the anniversary of the decision, Tom brought members of his family downtown to march around the federal courthouse, despite the bitter January cold and snow. He knew the momentous gravity of what happened that day, and he knew that it was important to publicly demonstrate his opposition—important to himself, but especially important to his children.

It was a matter of principle, after all, for the actual impact of the picketing on the course of politics or legislation made little difference, but Tom knew it made an impact where it really counted—at home. It was legacy of integrity and fortitude and strength—and it was a legacy of kindness as well, as he was known to cross the street to the bus station to buy all the other marchers hot chocolate.

That legacy lives on in his children, and, God willing, it will live on in his grandchildren—my children—as well. Rest in peace, Tom McNulty. Well done, good and faithful servant; well done, faithful warrior. But don’t leave the ramparts just yet. Keep doing battle for us, and strengthen us through your prayers.
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Remarks at the conclusion of Tom's funeral Mass on June 28, 2013, at Mary Our Queen Parish in Omaha, Nebraska.