Why I Am Still a Catholic

I had some really awful experiences in Catholic School and yet I am still a Catholic. Some people have asked me why. First of all let me say that honestly Catholic School wasn't all bad. I had some good experiences, too. But the main reason I am still a Catholic can be summed up in the following description of why I wanted to remain a Eucharistic Minister when our Church, St. Francis de Sales, merged with another Church, Our Lady of Mercy. When we became a new entity known as Christ Our Light Catholic Church each Eucharistic Minister was asked to submit a statement as to why he or she wanted to continue being a Eucharistic Minister. I know there are problems in the Church just as there are problems in every human endeavor. I guess that is why we are called human rather than divine. In spite of everything that has transpired, the statement that I submitted should give you a pretty good idea of why I am still a Catholic and plan to remain a Catholic.

Being a Eucharistic Minister is the most important thing I do in my life.

It is an extension of who I am in my daily life - One important way that I nurture my family and loved ones is through food and sharing around the table.

Eucharist is the primary reason I am Catholic.

I feel Christ’s presence very strongly as I share His most precious Body and Blood. I feel love for each and every member of the congregation as they come forward to receive Christ in the Eucharist. This is not because I am the sweetest, most loving individual in the world or because I always have loving, positive thoughts about everyone. Rather, it is because God creates this change in me as I share Him with the other members of His Body.

I am also encouraged by the fact that so many other members of both parishes are Eucharist ministers too. I can only guess and hope that it is because that they realize the centrality of the Eucharist also.

It is a tremendous, awesome honor to be a minister of the Eucharist. Although I am absolutely not in any way worthy, nevertheless I hope I can be a Eucharistic Minister for the rest of my life.

Mary Beth Buchner

PS. The photo above was taken of me on my First Communion day in early June 1951. I refused to open my mouth when I smiled as I was missing my front teeth. I was stubborn even as a kid.

I received my First Holy Communion at St. Michael the Archangel Church in the East New York section of Brooklyn, NY. I had just turned 6 years old three months earlier (March 9th) and I was a student at PS 76 at the time. Back in those days, once a week we left our Public School early in order to go to the Catholic School for religious instructions. It was referred to as "released time" since we were released earlier that usual from school. I remember that one day the nun in my "released time" class called me up to the front of the class so that the priest could ask me questions. Since I was younger than most of the other kids they wanted to see if I was ready to receive my First Holy Communion. I remember that this nun and this priest seemed very kind. The priest asked me if I knew who I would be receiving when I was given the host. I was very clear about who I was receiving then and I am very clear about who I am receiving now. Plain and simple, this is all the reason I need to remain a Catholic. Honestly what better reason could there ever be?

Marie Murphy & Joe O'Donnell on their wedding day

I will never, ever understand war.

Memorial Day

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After 58 years, the heart still breaks

By MARY BETH BUCHNER, Special to the Times Union
First published in print: Sunday, May 24, 2009

The night before my Uncle Joe O'Donnell left for Korea, he and my Aunt Marie stayed up all night talking. They wanted to spend every possible moment together, as they knew there was a possibility that Joe might not return. The trip to La Guardia airport the next day was solemn and somber. We were all so terribly sad. I was only 6 & 1/2 years old at the time, but until this day, whenever I pass the airport, I still feel the blanket of sorrow that covered us, Joe's family, as we hugged and said our final good-byes.

When Joe arrived in Korea, he had no way of getting to his post. Since there was a desperate need for officers at the front, Joe arranged to share a jeep with an Army chaplain, the Rev. James Meeder. During their quiet ride together, Joe told Father many family stories about his wife and two little girls and spoke unabashedly of his tremendous love for them. The next day, Joe shared in Mass and Holy Communion with Father Meeder and the rest of his platoon before leaving for the front.
Even though he was a strong and brave young man, my Uncle Joe was not what I envisioned as a warrior. Although he had served his country for three and a half years during World War II as a member of the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division, and had fought in and survived the Battle of the Bulge, when I think of Uncle Joe, I remember a kind, sensitive and unusually gentle man.
I remember a man who drew pictures in letters home so his two little girls would get some idea of the people and places their Daddy was seeing. I think of a devoted son, a son who composed an original poem for his mother one Mother's Day, adding a note of apology at the end because he wasn't able to get to a store to buy a real Mother's Day card. I have no doubt this little poem meant more to my grandmother than all the most elaborate, expensive cards she ever received.
On Oct. 13, 1951, 1st Lt. Joseph T. O'Donnell was killed in action while leading his men, soldiers of the 38th Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division, up a hill called Heartbreak Ridge. On the day the news of Joe's death reached us at our home in Brooklyn, my Grandma, a reserved and ladylike woman, ran out in the street screaming, attempting in vain to run from the most horrendous news any mother could ever receive. Joe was her only son and just 29 years old.
I remember the bitter cold day in January when we brought Joe's body to its final resting place. I hear the loud and frightening 21-gun salute and the final, mournful sound of a bugle playing taps. But most of all, I still feel the sadness on my Aunt Marie's face as she was handed the flag of a grateful nation.
Now, many years later, I walk up State Street and pass a memorial to another forgotten war, Vietnam. There on the silent, dark monuments are names written in bronze, too numerous to count. I slow my steps and purposely allow my eyes to fall reverently on the names of the young Americans who gave their lives in service to our country.
I offer a silent prayer for them and for their families. I learned at an early age the pain and sadness that lingers forever when one so young, one so beloved falls on a battlefield.
I think these thoughts once again. May we continue to remember them. May we never look lightly on war and may we work feverishly to maintain the freedom and peace they died to preserve.
Mary Beth Buchner

Juggling

Dear Friends,
At the moment I am struggling/juggling plans for my 45th Nursing School Reunion, my Dad's 95th birthday celebration and taking orders for shirts for Christ Our Light parish. I have not had a moment to write any stories. I'm too busy living to write about living. I feel a loss when I don't have time to write but I guess life can be like that at times. Twice this week I have heard this statement - "don't expect perfection this side of the grave" and since I hope to stay this side of the grave for a while longer, I will have to make due with imperfection.
In case you enjoy seeing photos as much as I do, and even though I don't have time to write a story, I am attaching the the photo that I put on my Dad's birthday celebration invitation. I thought it was rather cute. It was taken when my father was in the 5th grade (school year 1925-1926) at St. Michael the Archangel Elementary School in Brooklyn, NY. I enjoy looking back into history through photographs from the past. I hope you will enjoy it too.
Good night, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite.
Love, Mary Beth

Beloved Little December Child

On December 2, 1993, my sister, Meg, went into premature labor and delivered a perfect, tiny little baby boy, Joseph Adam Carrick. He weighed only 1 lbs. 8 oz. We all loved him so. We hoped and prayed that our love for him would be enough. We thought our tremendous feelings of love would truly be able to sustain him.
When little Joseph left us 24 days later on December 26th, we felt indescribable heartbreak. We also had this strong and convincing feeling that his unique and special spirit would never really leave us. So in the midst of our broken hearts we supported and comforted each other as best we could. We stood together and shared our words and music with other parents and families who had experienced the ultimate pain of loosing a child.

Within My Heart

Chorus: You're here with me,

within my heart
And there you'll stay
We'll never part
Your spirit lives inside of me
This part of you will always be

And when I see the sun arise
You'll see it too
You'll use my eyes
You'll use my feet to do your dance
I promise you, you'll have your chance
You'll sing your song
You'll have your day
I'll never let you go away
I'll keep you warm and safe and sound
Within my heart

You'll build a castle in the sand
You'll shape its' form
You'll use my hands
You'll run through snow that looks like lace
My ice cream cone is for you to taste
And when my life is dark and blue
I'll look inside and I'll find you
You'll put a smile upon my face
You'll be the breath of peace and grace
That sees me through

And as I walk down through the years
Throughout my life,
the laughs, the tears,
the joy and pain that's filled my heart
You'll be there still
You always will
Withing my heart

Then, when my time on earth must end
I'll have no fear,
I'll have my friend
The one I love will be with me
now and through eternity
The love that started one spring day
will never die or go away
I'll keep you warm and safe and sound
I'll hug you close and feel you here
I'll keep you warm and safe and sound
Withing my heart

Music - Joe Carrick
Lyrics - Mary Beth Buchner
Albany, NY 1994