SEEING THROUGH
THE BACK OF YOUR HEAD

Sitting there at church – Christmas Mass – Jack was taking it all in – front and back – and all around him. Great images. Great scenes. Great drama. The stage called “Church”. And not just the Christmas crib up front – but the people – the people everywhere.

Sitting there at Mass, he chucked inwardly. He said, “Aha!” to himself. He was realizing for the first time that the term, “Christmas Mass” is redundant. It’s repeating itself. It’s like saying, “Mass Mass” twice. Christmas means, “Christ’s Mass”. “M – A – S” – the last 3 letters of “Christmas” – is the word for “mass”, but without the final “S”. “I never realized that till now,” he thought to himself. Then he said to himself, “No wonder Catholics come to Mass at Christmas time. I get it. Good.”

Sitting there at Mass he always did a lot of this kind of thinking – but come to think about it – Jack did a lot of thinking all the time. His 3 kids in describing their dad years later – to their spouse or friends – would say, “My dad was very quiet – but when he said something, you found out, he did a lot of thinking about what he said.”

Sitting there at Mass, Jack began thinking about something his dad had taught him way back when.

I guess at Christmas time, we do a lot of thinking – a lot of remembering of mom and dad – our sisters and brothers – when we were kids – and it was Christmas.

Sitting there at Mass he remembered something his dad had taught him some 40 years earlier. His dad taught him to see through the back of his head.

He remembered the moment – the teaching moment – when this life lesson took place. The classroom was Macy’s Department Store. It was Christmas time – and he and his dad were on the line going up to see Santa Claus – to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas.

The line was long – very long. When they finally got up to Santa, his dad turned and looked backwards. He saw lots of kids with their dads and moms on the long line. Then his dad said to Santa Claus, ‘Santa, you need a break – a bathroom break? Go for it now – because there’s a long line coming. My son and I can wait. I’ll stand here and say, ‘It’s my fault.’”

Santa was taken by surprise and said, “Buddy, thank you. Thank you. Nobody has ever said that to me all these years – these 17 years I’ve been doing Santa Claus. Great. Just give me 7 minutes. I’ll be right back.”

His father turned – and with hands raised in a “Whoa!” gesture, palms open and facing the long line – he said loudly to the crowd: “Santa will be right back! Relax.”

And Santa went to the bathroom.

Then he came back with a cup of coffee, two donuts for himself – in fact, his stomach was not a pillow, but a lot of donuts – and he also had two chocolate chip cookies, one for Jack and one for his dad – all in both hands.

Then out came a big, “Ho, ho, ho! Now let’s get back to you kids! Son, what’s your name?”

And his father said, “His name is John.”

And Jack told Santa, “It’s Jack!”

“Ho, ho, ho, Jack,” Santa said as he put down his cup of coffee. “Now Jack what do you want for Christmas?”

And Jack remembered there in church that Christmas Mass – exactly what he wanted when he was 7 years old and it was almost Christmas. He told Santa he wanted a baseball glove and a flexible flyer sled.

Jack didn’t see his dad winking at Santa. Jack didn’t have eyes in the back of his head yet. But looking back now he smiled and said to himself, “That must have been what happened, because now being a dad, that’s what dads do.”

And Santa said, “We’ll see about that!” and Jack remembered that’s exactly what he got that Christmas.

It was then – at that moment – that Santa said it. “Mister, thanks for getting me the bathroom break. They never think about that around here. You must have eyes in the back of your head – seeing all those people behind you. Thank you.”

In time, Jack realized his dad did have eyes in the back of his head.

In high school football Jack played linebacker and his dad went to all his home games. One game Jack sacked the other team’s quarterback 4 times. And that night his dad told him. “When I played football I also played linebacker. And I learned there are two kinds of quarterbacks, those who can sense someone coming at them from the blind side – and those who can’t. You were lucky today – because he never saw you coming all 4 times. I was watching. Good job. And the best I ever did, was one game when I got 2 quarterback sacks.”

In college Jack didn’t play football. Yet he went to a couple of games every season with his dad. All through the years his two sisters and his mom didn’t like football. “Boring. Boring. Boring!” they would chant in a refrain – whenever they saw Jack and his dad watching a football game on TV or talking about football.

Thinking back, Jack said to himself, “My dad only corrected me once. And it was at a football game. I stood up to watch a running back who had broken through the line and was going 76 yards for a touchdown. Dad pulled my sleeve and said, 'Jack there are people behind you, who are also trying to see the game.'”

And he thought, “Dad knew that without turning his head.”

And some tears came into his eyes and a squinch – the squinch we get in the side of our head – just above the front of our ears – when there are this kind of tears.

“That was dad.”

Jack thought about all these things as he looked around the church that Christmas Mass. “Wow do I miss him – especially at Christmas.”

And as he looked up at the pulpit – and the front of the church – that Christmas Mass, he remembered the eulogy he gave at his dad’s funeral in this very church just two years ago – December.

He began by telling everyone his dad once told him his favorite Gospel story was the one about the miracle of the wine at Cana in Galilee – when Mary noticed that the wedding party was about to run out of wine. And that was the gospel story the family picked for their dad’s funeral. “Life,” my dad said, “is all about others – not oneself. Get that and you got life. Get that and you got happiness. Get that and you got God.”

In the funeral eulogy for his dad, he told everyone how his dad taught him not only to check the rear view mirror when wanting to move into another lane when doing highway driving – but to make a quick turn to actually see who might be behind you. Dad would often say, “You have to have eyes in the back of your head, if you want to be a good driver – if you want to make it in this life.”

“So looking back,” Jack said in his dad’s eulogy, “ the greatest gift my dad ever gave me – was not a baseball glove or a flexible flyer sled, not his old car or my first bike, but his message of being aware of other people – especially those coming up behind you.

“And dad practiced what he preached. He said little – but wow was he aware of other people – giving some people lots of room – giving others a chance to shine and get credit – like he always did for my mom – always making her #1.”


Sitting there he continued remembering the words he said in the eulogy, “Like in coming to the door at our house or coming into church or a store, my dad would open the door and never simply walk through. For some reason he would always stop and turn and sometimes there would be another person coming behind and he would either hold the door for them – or actually step back and let them go through first – sometimes three or four people in a row – often people who were perfect strangers.”

Sitting there in Church, this Christmas, two years later, Jack felt very thankful – in his memories about his dad.

“That’s my dad,” he said to himself again – as if his dad was sitting there right behind him in church that Christmas Mass. “What a great Christmas gift he was. Thank you, Dad. Thank You, God.”

[This is my 17th annual Christmas story in memory of Father John Duffy, CSSR - who always wrote a Christmas story for his niece. He asked me to type a few of them for him. When we got the call that he died that Christmas Eve in 1993, I was just beginning to work on my Christmas homily. It struck me to write a Christmas story in memory of him for that Christmas - in place of coming up with a Christmas homily - and I've been doing these Christmas stories ever since.]

CHRISTMAS

GREETINGS!

May

you know

the glory of God
in red berries and the glisten
and glow of new cold snow.
May you be surprised in church,
not just with Jesus in the crib and
the cross, the bread and the crowd,
but by 99 quiet babies in cradles

and 1 baby who is crying

till she spots you

and then she starts to laugh.
And may you be there at the
exact moment on Christmas morn,
when children rush in to rip open their gifts

from under the Christmas tree;
but especially

may you always have room
in your Inn for Christ.
O come let us adore him.
O come let us adore him.
Christ the Lord.

© Reflections, 2009, Andy Costello

With your mouse

put the arrow or cursor

on a red berry and tap, tap,

[twice]

and see those beautiful red berries

in our Marian Garden up close and cold.

SMALL

Small like a seed.

Small like a baby.

Small like a smile.

Small like a wave with one’s hand from a car or at a basketball game – to someone 30 yards away – or 30 seats away.

Small like an act of kindness.

Small like an “Amen” at Mass – that connects us with all those other small “Amen’s” at Mass – and then they become a loud “Amen” that is sent into God’s ear – and each other’s ears.

Small like a step – one step at a time – one day at a time – in A.A., Alcoholics Anonymous – and slowly a person sobers up – wakes up – slowly – one step at a time – okay sometimes there is a slip – but they start again – and it was only a small slip in the long run.

Small like the holding of a baby and rocking her or him till they fall asleep.

Small like dropping into a nursing home – to see a next door neighbor who is slipping slowly in dementia and Alzheimer’s.

Small like reading a page of a book – one page at a time – and in time the book is read.

Small like a hearing aid battery in the hand of a widower with early Parkinson’s at a senior citizens’ center – who is missing a lot of what’s going on and a lady with a clipboard - who is just happening to go by stops and says, “Oh, let me put that battery in for you. My mom always says they make them too small.”

Small like a “yes” today – and a “yes” tomorrow – and another “yes” the next day – each “yes” with love – each “yes” being something to make the whole enterprise called a “family” or “household” work – as in filling and emptying the dish washer – and doing the big weekly food shopping trip – with the added getting needed milk on the way home from work on a Wednesday evening – because of a cell phone call – and then there is soccer moming – and football dading – as well as the going to work Monday to Friday – the commuting – the daily work for daily bread – and soon a couple celebrate their 25th and then their 50th wedding anniversary.

Small like a returned phone call – or an e-mail – seconds small.

Small like a snow flake – and in 24 hours we have a couple of feet of snow.

Small like shoveling snow – and in an hour a path is cleared – and then a few hours later – the same shoveling – but good thing you did the first hour – because it makes the second hour of shoveling snow easier - sometimes.

Small like chopping celery – or putting together a salad – or making 5 bean soup.

Small like turning lights out – so as to do our part is not wasting electricity.

Small like picking up a candy wrapper on the floor near a waste paper basket.

Small like a male putting the seat up before and the down afterwards.

Small like going the extra mile – giving the shirt off our back – putting a dollar in the poor box – dropping 50 cents into a guitar case of a metro musician – like buying girl scout cookies.

Small like learning how to play the piano – or violin – tuba or trombone – one lesson at a time – one piece at a time.

Small like sitting with a little kid and having him or her read a kids’ book to us or us to them – concentrating on them – being present to them – and not to the TV in the background – and they feel like they are secure – having someone giving them undivided attention.

Small like having a cup of coffee with a co-worker or a friend – but we really want to get moving – but they look like they need a break and a break with a live, human being – and they have nothing really important to say – so they say trivia to us – and they feel good – that someone listened to them.

Small like putting together a jigsaw puzzle as a family – one piece at a time.

Small like playing “Go Fish” with a 4 year old or chess with a teenager.

Small like a young girl named Mary – a no-name from basically a no-name town – who said “Yes” to God and gave us the first Christmas.

Small like a small town like Nazareth and Bethlehem – where Jesus a small town carpenter begins – and slowly changes the world.

Small like a light in the window – a sign of welcome – “I’m home! Do drop in.”

Small like decorating a Christmas tree – one ornament at a time – one string of tinsel at a time – one Christmas tree light wrapping at a time.

Small like a small compliment, “Did you lose weight?” even though we now it’s a lie – but we know it will makes someone’s day.

Small like a small note – on a Christmas card – instead of just a signature.

Small like a “Please” or a “Thank you”.

Small like remembering someone’s birthday – with a card or a call.

Small like letting someone out into traffic – ahead of us – otherwise they might be there two minutes – because we notice in our rear view mirror there is a whole stream of traffic coming behind us.

Small like knowing what the other’s favorite ice cream flavor is – or one’s favorite movie – or color – or TV program.

Small like fitting through the eye of the needle and discovering the kingdom of God is all around us on the other side of an attitude change.

Small like a 3 page homily on the idea of “small”.





Homiletic Reflection for the 4th Sunday of Advent - Year C. The small word "small" in today's first reading as well as the Gospel triggered this reflection. Cf. Micah 5: 1-4a; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-45