As I went out a side door I bumped into two sheepish teenage guys who were leaving. They clutched in their hands copies of the parish bulletin: parental notification of the fact that they had been to church. "Busy day?" I asked them. "No," said the older boy, "we're just bored." They mumbled good-bye and took off.

   Watching the two of them retreat, I started thinking about some of my own friendships over the years - and the elements that make those relationships work. It certainly isn't excitement: friends sometimes bore each other. It isn't intellectual: sometimes our conversations are dull beyond belief. It isn't the richness of our personalities: we can be annoying, obnoxious and difficult to be around. It isn't power or money: we haven't got much. In fact, it's less a "feeling" of friendship than a commitment to be friends: our desire to be loyal and our decision to be there for each other.

    And friendship, I think, is at the heart of our spiritual lives, too. Sometimes going to church can be boring, dull and intellectually vacant. And if we're expecting exciting entertainment, we will surely be disappointed. Rather, we are there because our friend God has invited us to be there. If we are true friends, we take that invitation seriously. That means we reject all the nonsense we use as excuses for staying away, like:

    "I'm really busy." There are 168 hours in every week. We somehow find the time to eat, to sleep, to go to school or work, to play sports or pursue hobbies, to be with people we care about, to take care of a great number of personal obligations and preferences. In fact, we find the time for everything we really believe is important. If our God and his people are important to us, we will also make the time to be there.

    But the sermons are so boring." Give me a break. If we switched off everyone and everything that's boring in life, we would stay home in bed. Assume the speaker is trying hard. Shouldn't we try to listen? And more to the point: we are not just there for the homily. We go to be part of a community that needs us. We go to get closer to God, who never bores us or gives up on us.

    "I can find God in many places. I don't need a church to pray." That's true. But let's be honest: if we don't go to church, how much serious praying do we really do? And further, where else can you go to receive Communion? Are they giving it out someplace else? More importantly, Jesus told us in no uncertain terms: I want you to gather with other believers to celebrate my life.

    "I used to go, but I had a really bad experience at church." We have all had some bad experience at church. But again, let's compare our experience of God's friendship with the rest of our lives. If every time we had a poor experience with our parents, siblings or friends, we said, "That's it, this relationship's over," we would have none at all. But we keep working at relationships that matter. We forgive, we compromise and we try to love again.

   The far-reaching impact of The Christophers, as a truly ecumenical movement which speaks to people of all faiths and of no particular faith, came home to me recently. I received a telling letter from a now retired State Supreme Court Justice. The jurge's parents taught him to be suspicious of religions other than his own. And Catholics were at the top of the list of prominent faiths to be avoided.

   As the judge matured he began to wonder about his perceived enemies. He even dared to wonder if it's possible that we're all children of the same God. Could it be, he asked, that even though we come to the reality of a higher being from different perspectives, our final destination is the same? This musing put him in direct conflict with the biased attitudes he had learned as a child.

   Then one day, listening to the radio, the judge heard the compelling message of an articulate priest. His name was Fr. James Keller, and he had founded an organization called The Christophers. Fr. Keller spoke of the importance of all religious faith. He encouraged us to see in the different beliefs and practices of other faiths not a threat, but a sign of hope. God makes us all different and that's part of the eternal wonder of his creation. The differences of approach give testimony to the universal importance of humankind's search for meaning and for God.

   The judge wrote me that in those few moments of listening to Fr. Keller on the radio so many years ago, his view of others began to change. He had never known a priest, and certainly never imagined that he would ever hear one say that his way to God was a path that should be worthy of respect, appreciation, even delight for other people. With that affirmation, the judge embarked on a new recognition of the value and dignity of every religious search. He even came to see that each human being, including nonbelievers and those who struggle to believe, are worthy of esteem. And it all began with the words of one priest who dared to affirm our shared search for God.

   There is value in this journey toward divine truth. When you look at our often divided and conflicted world and see that too often people use religion as an excuse for prejudice, cruelty and even war, it's wonderful to remember the hopeful message of Fr. James Keller. It's a much-needed message that must be interpreted anew for each generation. As Pope John Paul 11 has warned us more recently, "To do harm, to promote violence and conflict, in the name of religion is a terrible contradiction and offense against God."

   There are many reasons I love working for The Christophers. Among its greatest strength as an instrument for God's goodness is its work of bridge-building, through which it encourages all people of good will to develop mutual respect for the myriad ways men and women come to believe. Imagine, if we all lit candles in the midst of the darkness, how bright, tolerant and respectful our world could be.

In the twenty years I've been a priest, I've spent a lot of time sitting and listening to people. In fact, listening is probably the activity ministers of all faiths do most. Now, some people would balk at the notion of listening as an activity. After all, it sounds pretty passive. You're not physically exerting yourself. It's not manual labor. But it is, nonetheless, a real activity. True listening involves an active disposition, it requires an lively intellect and must always be accompanied by the ability to hear beyond the "audio," taking in the fuller meaning of both the words spoken and the words that aren't.

   One expert suggested that pastoral counseling (that's what they call what we do), involves listening with a combination of heart, mind and soul: the heart to have true compassion or empathy for the person sitting before you, the mind to know how to direct the person to a safer harbor, and the soul to acknowledge that God works through everyone, even those most resistant to His plan.

   There are two types of approach counselors use. The image of the more passive counselor is the popular notion from television and the movies of someone taking notes either on paper or mentally, but saying very little. This is the quiet listener who hopes that just giving the person a chance to speak will lead to a solution. And, in fact, sometimes that does happen. People who are bottled up are often helped just by having the chance to articulate their struggles and choices. Others require more active or direct counseling. They need to be helped to focus and decide on a course of action or behavior. As a pastoral counselor, I probably fall into this category. I think that people are looking for us to tell them what we dunk. They may not agree with us. They may not think much of the advice, but many do want reaction. They want to know what we make of the story they've just shared.

   People who come to counseling are generally honing in on a problem they face. And that sometimes finds them pretty self-absorbed. Understandably, folks come because of personal pain, stress or confusion. Once in a while, though,

   I think I was more taken aback by the fact that he cared dm by the particular question. I gave a fairly ordinary answer, then added with great sincerity, "but thank you, Steve, for bothering to ask."

   Everyone wants to be heard. Listening is a gift we share with others. Listening well is a grace for people in pain. Knowing that someone cares can be communicated in many ways: through touch, through physical assistance and, importantly, by the quality of our ability to hear with compassion. Sometimes we take these goodhearted listeners for granted. Since they've always "lent us an an ear" presume they always will. And maybe that's so. But as a professional in the listening business I need to tell you - it's great to be heard too. It's wonderful to have someone who stops long enough to ask: "How are you doing?"

   The foremost name in the history of the United States will always be that of George Washington. For generation after generation, Washington has stayed a constant, not merely the hero of the American Revolution and the father of a new nation but also the man who defined our national character.

    I At a time when so many citizens, particularly the young, have grown weary, if not cynical, of those associated with the Government and public service, Washington remains a guiding beacon and inspiration.

    Washington's sense of character is best expressed in his Farewell Address of .1 796. At the a e of 64 and after 45 years of public service, he declined to run again as a candidate for the presidency.

    Washington singled out the "increasing weight of years" as his reason for retirement, then added, "Here, perhaps, I ought to stop." But he went on, explaining that the occasion gave him the opportunity "to recommend to your frequent review some sentiments which are the result of much reflection."

     His concern focused on the question as to whether the American people were capable of ruling themselves. Repulsed by the spectacle of factionalism and party politics, he urged his fellow citizens "to shape a common opinion that transcends self-interested differences that divide" the nation.

    To do this, Washington stressed the need to strengthen the connection between morality and public happiness: "Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. Reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle, morality cannot be maintained without religion."

    Here was someone who looked through the confusion of the moment and seeing the ethical issues involved, gave voice to them. For him, the only way to sustain good government is by making individual citizens aware of their moral obligation to create the conditions for "decent politics." For those of us determined to restore character to our national life, the wisdom of George Washington urges us to be more resolute about weaving our own moral and spiritual fiber into the fabric of our democracy.

    This year, our national election provides yet another chance to express fidelity to our principles. We could do no better than to consider a 1783 message from Washington which reminds us that each of us has a responsibility to God and neighbor to endow our country with good character, starting with our own:

    "I now make it my earnest prayer, that God would most graciously be pleased to dispose us all, to do justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility and (peace-making) temper of mind, which were the characteristics of the divine author of our blessed religion, and without a humble imitation of whose example in these things, we can never hope to be a happy nation."