LISTENING  FOR 

THE UNDERNEATH, 

UNDERNEATH THE  UNDERNEATH.

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 20th Monday in Ordinary time is, “Listening For The Underneath, Underneath the Underneath.”

Welcome to all of you St Mary's High School Teachers and Staff - and a special welcome to all of you who are here for the first time. On our high school retreats, if a kid says this is his first year here, I always ask in one to one situations: "Have the other kids made you feel welcome?" 

So once more the title of my homily is, "Listening For The Underneath, Underneath The Underneath."

This is certainly a theme that we find in today’s first reading from Ezekiel the Prophet – who used many strange props and preaching and teaching tricks – to get underneath the underneath in people.

This is certainly the theme we find in today’s gospel  - when this young man comes up to Jesus and addresses him as “Teacher!”

Then he asks Jesus the secret? He asks Jesus: “What’s the good I must do to possess eternal life?”

I assume the text is here to get folks underneath the 10 commandments – and to go much, much deeper – into what’s possessing us.

What’s the bottom line? What’s underneath? What’s really going on here – underneath the underneath?

This is certainly a theme and a thought you think about many, many times with many, many kids – “Where is this kid right now? She’s certainly not here? Is it something going on at home? Or in a relationship? Or what?

What’s underneath this person’s underneath?

My original title for this homily was, “Answering The Call!”

That’s the theme a team came up with for this new year of religious education for our parish education programs.

“Answering The Call.”

I began asking myself, “What’s underneath that message?”

It’s 3 words – like last year’s theme – easy to bannerize – easy to titleize.

I began wondering – who’s calling?

I began wondering, “Is there a problem here at St. Mary’s that people are not answering calls?”

I sense this line of wonderings got me to come up with the title of my homily this morning: “Listening For The Underneath, Underneath the Underneath.”

SO A FIRST QUESTION THAT I WANT TO ASK:

“Do themes work?”

I know I asked that question to myself at this time last year – when a team came up with the theme for 2013-2014: “Every person matters.”

I don’t know about you, but that theme worked for me. I found myself listening better. I found myself looking people in the eye more. I found myself giving others more attention from my command center in my brain than I had been doing.

I heard that theme in several homilies and on retreats and in several talks.

I sense that theme resonated with faculty and people around here.

I sense that theme – “Every Person Matters” - a quote from Pope Francis -  had more impact than themes from other years.

Then I began going underneath a bit more….

I wondered if the team – or the folks who came up with last year’s theme – did any polling or soft research – on the impact of that theme?  Was it better than previous themes? How would one measure that? Did we need to stress that theme more than other themes?  Were their folks around here who felt they didn’t matter? If asked on the street – could 37% of our kids state what the theme was – or what a theme was? What would be the percentage? Is there a successful percentage?  How about teachers – staff – parishioners?  If asked what the theme was in December – would more know what it was – than in September? How is it broadcast – advertised?

UNDERNEATH THE UNDERNEATH

Next I began wondering if everyone has a basic theme – underlying their life?

I thought of Hillary’s comment that was in the news a few weeks back when she criticized Barack about his foreign policy plan – that it was no plan.

She said his plan: “Not doing anything stupid” – or “Not doing stupid things” -  is not a plan.

I am glad that conversation was started – because it got me saying to myself: “Not doing stupid things is a very wise plan.”

Then underneath that thought,  I said to myself, “That’s my foreign policy plan.”

I also thought that my basic motivation – my basic life plan – to be perfectly honest is: “I do what I do to be liked.” 

Then having admitted that to myself, I added, “Does anyone do things to be disliked?”

I don’t think so, but sometimes when I see people I judge to be odd – doing odd things – doing stupid things – doing things others think are nutty – I wonder.

I also realized others might not have as their major goal in life – to be liked – they have something else as their major goal or plan: to be comfortable or to be in control.

It was after these thoughts I said to myself:  “Underneath there has to be multiple plans going on – all at the same time – one predominating all the time or most of the time.

So awareness would be a first step. Seeing other possibilities would be the next step. Decisions to change or remain the same would be a third step. Changing and practicing new behaviors and ways of thinking would the fourth step.

Last night I heard during a football game that Michael Jordan worked on one specific skill that he thought he needed – or needed improvement on – every off season – say a jump shot from a specific spot – or what have you.  The commentator had said that of some football player on the field – had worked on footwork or something in the off season. Did he take ballet lessons or tango dancing lessons or what?

I remembered playing a 3 on 3 basketball game once – at Dunwoodie in New York. 3 of us priests would go there every Monday for 3 classes for Pastoral Counseling Skills and then play basketball after lunch for an hour or so. Well I have the ball. I’m out beyond the foul line dribbling the ball – watching and about to make some kind of move or play – and the guy covering me, Neil Connolly, is not in front of me – but to my right – and it was noticeable and while dribbling I said, “Why are you standing there?” And he said, “You can’t go to your left.” And I said, “What?” And he said, “That’s one of the first things I learned in basketball camp as a kid.”  Here I was 33 and never knew that about myself. I couldn’t dribble and go to my left.

I still remember that moment at the age of 74.  What are the things I do and don’t do?  What are things I don’t know I’m doing or not doing?

When it comes to theology and politics I certainly go to the left – and don’t go to the right.

UNDERNEATH

So my question this morning is my title, “What’s underneath the underneath?”

So the title of my homily this morning is, “Listening For The Underneath, Underneath the Underneath.”

So the theme for this year is, “Answering the Call.”

I would assume that underneath that theme is the issue of listening – listening to what’s underneath my skin – underneath my thinking – underneath my talking to myself.

I would assume that we first need to listen to the calls inside of me – before I hear the calls from others.

I hear Mary Oliver’s quote. It’s on one of those cube quote boxes in my room – within eye shot: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life!”

I would assume there are various calls – underneath the underneaths – of our life and our life plans.

What gets me out of bed in the morning?

What gets me out of bed some mornings faster than other mornings? Is it weekends?

What makes me tick?

Does anyone have a list of basic ticks – motives – calls?

What are the calls I’m hearing?

What are the calls I tend to put on hold?

Do I avoid calling a sister or a parent or a friend – or my God?

While working on this homily – I thought of basic motives – under the letter “C”

Comparisons, contrasts, compassion, competition, control, challenge, cash, Christ….

Why do I teach? Why do I do anything?

Do I take the time to listen to the underneaths underneath my underneaths?

CONCLUSION

Conclusion – a great C word.

So in working on this homily I said to myself: I liked last year’s theme, “Every person matters” better than other year themes.

I like it better than this years’ theme: “Answering the Call.” – yet maybe by next year – I’ll say, “Not bad. I learned a lot from that one.”

Not bad, because I am like this guy in today’s gospel – who didn’t follow Jesus’ call – after he heard it – because so many things were possessing him. Amen. 

WORLD WAR I POEM # 1

Poem for Today - August 2014       

THE GREEN FIELDS OF FRANCE

Well how do you do, Private William MacBride
do you mind if I sit here by your graveside?
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done.

I see by your gravestone that you were only 19
when you joined the dead heroes in 1915.
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
or Willie MacBride was it slow and obscene?

Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France,
a warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished under the plow
no gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.

But here in this graveyard that is still No Man's land
the countless white crosses in mute witness stand.
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
to a whole generation that was butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder now Willie MacBride
do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe them that this war would end wars?

Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame -
the killing and dying - it was all done in vain.
Oh Willie MacBride, it's all happened again
and again, and again, and again, and again.

And did you leave wife or a sweetheart behind,
in some faithful heart are you forever enshrined?
And though you died back in 1915
to some faithful heart are you forever 19?

©  Eric Bogle

DEMONS 

[The following is  a  story I made up last night for today’s gospel story of the Canaanite woman – in Matthew 15: 21-28. I’ve always had trouble and wonderings about this story – so writing a story helps me put some meaning into it. I like writing stories – and I know something’s happening when I begin to wonder where the story is going and how it’s going to end.]

She brought her daughter to a half dozen hospitals and clinics in the city and nobody – no nobody - could help her. 

Nobody could heal her. Nobody could hear her daughter’s pain and her daughter’s horrors. 

Like an angry dog her demons barked in the basement of her mind – often keeping this daughter of God awake and crying in the night.

Her mother also brought her to priests and ministers, shrinks and specialists.

It seemed nobody knew what to do. It seemed after a while nobody really cared. Her daughter was an impossible case. 

 Next.

It seemed to her mom that even God had abandoned her and her daughter. It seemed Jesus didn’t care  – every time she brought her daughter to sit with her in her favorite church. Many an afternoon the two of them would sit in a bench -  in the second row  - off to the side – sort of in the dark - near the candles - of this little used Catholic Church – in the big city.

Her mom would pray and pray and pray to Jesus in the tabernacle – in the Blessed Sacrament. Her mom would  beg and beg. It seemed Jesus wasn’t  listening – wasn’t helping. Wasn’t he the one who said, “If you have faith, you’ll keep on knocking on God’s doors?”

Her daughter - with these unspeakable demons – would sometimes yell out in that big empty church. Sometimes she scratch her arms – sometimes to the point of bleeding. Luckily, nobody else was ever in the church.

Her daughter was 21 – had been in several institutions – usually for 2 or 3 days at a time – for observation - and had been dismissed from them all. Nobody could come up with a diagnosis. What to do? Where to turn? What now? What next?

Well, one afternoon, a 56 year old nun – which is young for a nun in many religious orders these days -  just happened to drop into that little used Catholic Church.

Let the healing begin.

She had spotted the church  - when the bus she was sitting in - stalled - right outside that particular church – at  that particular moment.

The nun got up from her window seat in the bus – walked to the front – went down the 3 steps - and carefully slipped by the steam and the smoke that was hissing -  out from under the motor of that bus.

The driver had said, “Sorry! Something’s wrong folks! Better get out of the bus – till I get some help here.”

The nun walked up the 4 stone steps of the church. She opened the big wooden center door. She then opened the inner doors and walked into this big empty church – which she have never seen before.

She knelt  down to pray – in a back bench - first a prayer for the bus driver -  and then for all the passengers – that everyone would be safe and get home to their families okay.

It was then that she heard the girl with the demons letting out a few shrieks of pain – somewhere down front and off to the side in the church.

The nun, Sister Mary Patrick, reached for her bag – and was about to head back out the front door. She heard a woman say, “Calm down honey. Calm down. We’re in God’s house. We’re in God’s house - now.”

All was quiet again.

The nun said a prayer for whomever was yelling or hurting.

Then she heard, “Mom, there’s someone back there. There’s someone in the back of the church. Maybe we should leave.”

Both got up and headed for the back of the church….

Spotting the nun, the mother said, “Hello Sister, hello. Could you say a prayer for my daughter? Could you give her a blessing.”

Pause.

“Yes,” the nun said. Then nervously she continued, “Let’s say the Lord’s Prayer together.”

Surprise, the young girl reached out her hands – one to the nun and one to her mom.

And they prayed the Our Father together.

Then the mother introduced herself and her daughter, Georgia, to the nun. She told the nun that Georgia was named after her dad – who disappeared a long time ago. It was just the two of them.

The nun introduced herself, “Hi. I’m Sister Mary Patrick.”

Then the mother for some reason said, “Sister can you help us?  My daughter and I need prayers and healing.”

And then they sat down in that same bench.  Then they told Sister Mary Patrick the whole story.

Sister Mary Patrick asked the young girl, “Do you have a job?”

“No!”

Then she asked her mom, “Do you have a job?”

“No!” said the mother as well.

“Well,” said Sister Mary Patrick, “I take care of old nuns and I sure could use some  help. I can pay both of you at least the minimum wage and a tiny bit more  - but that’s all I can pay.”

And the rest of the story is a story of healing – a healing that started that day in that tiny little forgotten church in this big city.

The old nuns - the 3 of them began to serve – were bed ridden or in wheel chairs – in a big - 3 story old convent – about 13 blocks away from that church. Good thing it had an elevator.

Georgia, her mom, and Sister Mary Patrick – became quite a team. It was bedpans – lifting – lots of lifting – lots of meals – and lots of love.

The old nuns fell in love with Georgia and her mom – and Georgia found healing and peace – serving the old gals.

They asked about Georgia’s education – which was practically non-existent. Well, that changed. In fact in 2 years time they had Georgia going to a community college – having got her high school equivalency – home school nun style mind you.

This is a story of healing – and it has a happy ending – Georgia eventually met a neat guy in her job as a dental hygienist  – began dating – got married – had 3 kids and a great life together – and her mom – her mom became a great granny. And Sister Mary Patrick – well – she was able to get more help and continued to serve her sisters and from time to time Georgia and her husband and 3 kids – as well as her mom – would drop into see the sisters – and Georgia would say, “This is where it all happened kids – the place where your mom got well.”

Then with a big smile she'd finish, “Well, well, well, as the story goes. Amen.”

BACK TO SCHOOL #2 

Poem for Today - August 17, 2014

SONNETEERING MADE EASY

I

With hyphens, clip off endings that don't fit;

We call this “Hyper-Technic Line Expan-”

It has a certain rhythmic swing to it

That can't be got with ordinary scan‑

Pentameter, iambic, is the rule

They teach in every other Sonnet School;

But we have found it simpler, if not nea-­

To take occasional liberties with me‑

Three quatrains and a couplet is the length

Of Shakespeare's sonnets, and of those by Mil-

It's standardized, like cheese from Brie or Stil­-

The only difference being in the strength.

So now that we have settled length and ti-

Our Lesson Number II involves the rhy‑

II

You'll note the scheme, “a,” “b,” “a,” “b,” above

In Quatrain One; that's perfectly O.K.

If something different's what you're thinking of,

See Quatrain Three, with its “a,” “b,” “b,” “a.”

For mittel quatrains we prefer to reck‑

With what the Germans, in their “schonnet-sprech-”

Employ: “a,” “a,” “b,” “b;” ja, that's correct;

No German schonnet's e'er been besser sprecht.

So mix your “a”s and “b”s, your “b”s and “a”s

To suit your own convenience; any son-

Will have our professorial blessings on

If it is rhymed in one of these three ways.

The metre, length, and rhyme scheme now are def-

­La porte est ouverte—simply put la clef.

III

The only item still to be discussed

Is subject matter, and we think you'll find

That Love is one that you can always trust

(Though Milton did quite well On Being Blind).

So Love it is, the simplest of all top‑

Like “Frozen Love” or else “Love in the Trop-”

If you feel good, try “Love Is Here to Stay,” 

And if you don't, there's “Love Has Gone Away.”

Love's hot or cold; it moves like a thermom-

­It's in, it's out, it's either up or down;

It's in the country or it staved in town—

A Fair or Stormy, Wet or Dry barom-

So get a pencil and a piece of pa‑

And you're all set to start “The Sonnet Ca-”

© S. B. Botsford

Page 663-664

In The New Yorker

Book of Poems,

Selected by the Editors

Of the New Yorker,

Morrow Quill Paperbacks,

New York, 1974

BACK TO SCHOOL 

Poem for Today - August 16, 2014

A  LESSON  IN  HANDWRITING 

Try first this figure 2,

how, from the point of the pen,

clockwise it unwinds itself

downward to the line,

making itself a pedestal to stand on.

Watch now. Before your eyes it becomes a swan

drifting across the page, its neck so carefully

poised, its inky eye

lowered in modesty.

As you continue, soon,

between the thin blue lines,

swan after swan sails beautifully past you,

margin to margin, 2 by 2 by 2—

a handwritten swirl of swans.

Under them now unroll

the soft, curled pillows of the 6's,

the acrobatic 3's, the angular 7's,

the hourglass 8's, and the neat tadpole 9's,

each passing in review

on stilts or wheels or platforms

in copybook order.

Turn the page, for now

comes the alphabet, an eccentric

parade of odd characters. If at first you tangle,

now and again, in a loop or a twirl,

no matter. Each in time will dawn

as faces and animals do, familiar,

laughable, crooked, quirky.

Begin with the letter S. Already

it twists away from the pen like a snake or a watch spring,

coiled up and back to strike. SSSS, it says,

hissing and slithering off into the ferns of the F’s.

Follows a line of stately Q's floating

just off the ground, tethered by their tails,

over the folded arms of the W's

and the akimbo M's. Open-eyed, the O's

roll after them like bubbles blown away.

Feel how the point curls round them lovingly

after the serious three-tongued E's.

See now how the page fills up

with all the furniture of writing—the armchair H’s,

the ladders and trestles of A's and Y's and X's,

the T-shaped tables and the upholstered B's.

The pen abandons a whole scaffolding

of struts and braces, springs and balances,

on which will rest eventually

the weight of a written world, storey on storey

of words and vows, all the long-drawn-out telling

that pens become repositories of.

These are now your care, and you may give them

whatever slant or human twist you wish

if it should please you. But you will not alter

their scrawled authority, durable

as stone, silent, grave, oblivious

of all you make them tell.

Tomorrow, words begin.

© Alastair Reid

Pages 381-382

In The New Yorker

Book of Poems,

Selected by the Editors

Of the New Yorker,

Morrow Quill Paperbacks,

New York, 1974

ASSUMPTIONS: 

WE  ALL  HAVE  THEM! 

INTRODUCTION

The title of my short homily is, “Assumptions: We All Have Them!”

Today is the feast of the Assumption – and I assume we all know it means the Assumption of Mary into heaven – after her time here on earth.

It’s an amazing assumption. It’s an act of faith – that there is resurrection – life after death.

I was visiting a lady in hospice the other day – whose husband once said to me that he doesn’t believe in life after death. I didn’t bring that up the other day – as I sat with both of them and with their kids on their back porch.

Resurrection – life after death – is the big assumption – the big hope – the big act of faith.

I would stress faith and hope – because there is no proof – in life after death – just faith and hope – and a belief in the charity and love of God that Christ is the one who will be the bridge that will take us into heaven.

ASSUMPTIONS: WE ALL HAVE THEM

The title of my homily is, “Assumptions: We All Have Them!”

We would go crazy without assumptions. We assume the water is good. We assume the pilot can fly the plane. We assume that the other people in the cars around us are not about to fall asleep. We assume that those who say they love us, love us.

We have assumptions about there being a tonight and a tomorrow – and a next week and a next year.

Tragedies, accidents, abuse, terrorism, can destroy our trust in others as well as life.

Goodness and kindness and love and presence can firm up our trust in others – especially those around us.

MARY: MODEL AND MOTHER

I assume this is where Mary fits in. Her presence in the Christian Vision – helps us build up our faith and our hope and our assumptions about life and eternal life.

I think one of the blessings of being a Catholic is our assumptions about Mary – as a model and a mother. She lived some 2000 years ago. Yet she is more than that. The Christian assumption is that after her life, she was taken up to heaven by Christ ago. And like those who have gone before us, she is someone whom we can pray to. She is someone who we know by faith is with God – and so we can pray, “Hail Mary full of grace…”  We give her that compliment  - then we ask for help.

She modeled how to live life. When she lived her life in Israel – Nazareth, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and on the road, we see that she was full of grace. She spotted those who had run out of wine – a couple at a wedding in Cana of Galilee - and someone who were running out of blood – her son – on the way to his death at Calvary. She told people to listen to her son. She was there after his resurrection – helping the Early Church get off to a good start.

As we heard in today’s gospel [Luke 1:39-56], in the Early Christian hymn, the Magnificat, she proclaimed the greatness of the Lord with her life – her spirit rejoiced in God our Savior.

She was not only a model, but she has become a Mother for our Church down through the centuries. We see her shrine – statues, pictures, etc. in every Catholic Church – and so many Catholic homes. We see so many churches – like this one – named after her.

When I was a kid I was an altar boy and then a candle boy at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church,  Brooklyn, New York, I saw firsthand people visiting Mary’s altar – as well as lighting a candle. We grew up as a family saying the rosary – every evening. It felt like an hour – especially with my mother’s add ons – which I’ve always hated – but all this taught me that there are assumptions here when it comes to Mary.

CONCLUSION

The assumptions are: there is a God. There is the Christ. There is Mary – a model of faith and hope and charity – showing us how to live life to the full. There she is also  a mother – someone whom we can pray to and hear her say: Go to Jesus. Amen. 

ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT MARY

Poem for Today - August 15, 2014

SONNET 41

In Mary's body miracles took place

Expressions, Yahweh, of Your holy plan.

She danced in You before her life began,

Conception sweetly clean, without a trace

Of sin or imperfection, full of grace.

As conceived, so conceived in Anne;

So conceived the way the Son of Man

Would enter time, would join the human race.

In Mary's body, normal flesh and blood,

A spirit lived unburdened, free to love.

Normal soul and body, hand in glove,

She was as You intended: simply good.

Singularly normal in this wise,

She bridged the gap from earth to paradise.

© Christopher Fitzgerald
Painting: Virgin With Child
Mikhail Vrubel,
detail of Mary's Face

ST.  MAXIMILIAN KOLBE

1894 - 1941

Here is a painting of Saint Maximilian Kolbe by a friend of mine, Al Pacitti.

St. Maximilian Kolbe was killed in 1941 in Auschwitz, Poland. It was by lethal injection. Notice his prison uniform.

He was a member of Conventual Franciscans. Notice his religious habit.

He spoke out against the Nazis - and was imprisoned.

In July of 1941 - 3 prisioners disappeared  - and the German camp commandant chose 10 men to die by starvation. One of the 10, a Franciszek Gajowniczek screamed out that he had a wife and kids. At that Max Kolbe volunteered to take his place.

"A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends." [Cf. John 15:13]

IMAGES 

SEEING THE IMAGES, 

MEDITATING ON THE IMAGES - 

THE GRASP OF MEDITATION 

August 14, 2014

MEDITATION

Collect your mind’s fragments

that you may fill yourself

bit by bit with Meaning:

the slave who meditates

the mysteries of Creation

for sixty minutes

gains more merit

than from sixty years

of fasting and prayer.

Meditation:

high-soaring hawk

of Intellect's wrist

resting at last

on the flowering branch

of the Heart:

this world and the next

are hidden beneath

its folded wing.

Now perched before

the mud hut

which is Earth

now clasping with its talons

a branch of the Tree

of Paradise

soaring here

striking there—cacti moment

fresh prey

gobbling a mouthful of moonlight

wheeling away

beyond the sun

darting between the Great Wheel's

star-set spokes, it rips to shreds

the Footstool and Throne

a pigeon's feather

in its beak

or a comet

till finally free of everything

it alights, silent

on a topmost bough.

Hunting is king's sport,

not just anyone's

pastime

but you?

you’ve hooded the falcon

-        What can I say? –

Clipped its pinions

broken its wings …

alas.

© Sana’i (Persian Sufi poet)

ON THE BORDERS  
OF ENLIGHTENMENT 

Poem for Today - August 13, 2014

SOUL

When we are able to place

ourselves inside the wings

of the butterfly and feel its

fluid motion,

When we are able to enter the

head of the ant and see through

its eyes, and to feel the

burden of the bread that

lies upon its back:

This is the time when we are

enlightened

and only begin to

touch upon the borders

of the eternal spirit

the borders of the soul.

© Eamon J. McEneaney,

Page 32 in

A Bend in the Road,

Poems by Eamon J. Mceneaney

Cornell University Press

WE BECOME 

WHAT  WE  EAT 

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 19^th Tuesday in Ordinary Time is, “We Become What We Eat.”

That’s a 5 word bumper sticker truism if we ever heard one.

“We Become What We Eat.”

TODAY’S FIRST READING

Today’s first reading from the 2^nd and 3^rd chapters of the Prophet Ezekiel triggers this homily. 

Ezekiel is told to take and eat.

So he takes the scroll – which has writing on both sides – eats it – digests it – then speaks it out in his homily. I get that. I do that.

We get that image – because we do this very thing every day. Take and eat. Take and read. 

So we’re familiar with Ezekiel’s words – because we’re familiar with this everyday reality.

We’re all ears. We’re all mouth. We're all eyes.

We spend our days taking it all in - digesting it - processing it - being effected by everything.

We become what we read. We become what we eat. We are the evening news. We are Morning TV shows. We are our conversations. We are our coffee breaks. We are our comments and our gossip. We are our phone calls. We are our e-mails. We are out everyday conversations.

We are what we eat. We still remember those words we heard years ago: “Garbage in – garbage out.”  “Good stuff in – good outcome coming out.”

TODAY’S GOSPEL

Today’s gospel - Matthew 18: 1-5, 10, 12-14 -  has Jesus telling us to become like little children.

Children hear English coming into their ears and English comes out their mouths. So too Chinese – so too Russian and Arabic.

We are formed by our environment - our surroundings - the atmosphere we breathe in - each moment.

Children hear love coming into their ears – and the outcome is love.

Movies in, movies out.  I keep chewing on that scene in the movie, 42 – the life of Jackie Robinson – when the little kid goes out to the game to see this new player on the national scene – he goes out with excitement – and then he hears his father screaming “Nigger” at Jackie Robinson. It shocks the kid – a possible hero is crucified on the infield at Crosley Field, in Cincinnati. And then the kid - in imitation of his dad, also yells out, “Nigger”.

We become what we eat; we become what we hear; we become our parents; we become our teachers and out TV personalities.

Movies move us. News nudge us. We become what we see, and hear and touch.

Listen to people and you’ll hear reruns of the news.

THE MASS

So we get the Mass – that’s why we’re here. We’re  here to hear. We’re here to eat. We’re here for communion with each other and with the Lord. We’re here to eat. We’re here to digest. We’re here to chew. We’re here to become one with Christ and the Body of Christ.

So at each Mass we hear words and they become us. We eat bread and drink wine and they become us.

We talk to ourselves about what we hear at Mass and at Mass we talk to ourselves about what we heard last night – or today – all being digested in the belly of our minds – as our belly is still digesting food from our tables.

So we get the description of the mass as a meal  - with two tables – the table of the word and the table of the Eucharist.  We get that because we talk and listen to each other at tables – as we eat our Cheerios or our meatloaf, eat our bread and drink our water or wine.

 Even those who eat alone – sometimes have a book or a newspaper or a magazine in front of them – or the TV or radio in the background.

We’re always eating. We’re always eating two things: food and words.

CONCLUSION

So we get today’s first reading – about Ezekiel eating the scroll. So we get Jesus’ words about becoming little children. How becoming is that. And we get Jesus ending words in today’s gospel – that all are to be welcomed and celebrated at Mass – the Mass of humanity – as well as the 100th sheep.

As priest if I have digested what I hear grandparents and parents saying – what’s eating them up – is their worry about their lost sheep – who have left the flock.

And what eats God up – It’s the same message. Hear again the last sentence in today’s gospel: What eats God up is: “Just so, it is no part of your heavenly Father’s plan that a single one of these little ones shall ever come to grief.” Amen.

OOOOOOO

Picture on top: Pat Doherty, Plate of Donuts

TANGLED UP

Poem for Today - August 12, 2014

TANGLED UP PUPPET

I'm a tangled up puppet,
Spinning round in knots,
And the more I see what I used to be,
The less of you I've got.

There was a time that you curled up in my lap; like a child
You'd cling to me smiling, yours eyes wide and wild
Now you slip through my arms, wave a passing hello
Twist away and toss a kiss, laughing as you go

You used to say "Read me a story and sing me songs of love"
For you were Princess Paradise like your wings of a dove
Now I chase you and tease you trying to remake you my own
But you just turn away and say "please leave me alone."

And I'm a tangled up puppet
All hanging in your strings
I'm a butterfly in a spider's web
Fluttering my wings

And the more that I keep dancing

And spinning round in knots
The more I see what I used to be
And the less of you I've got

You are a drawer full of makeup and rinses and things
You keep changing your moods like your earrings and rings
But tonight while we played tag for five minutes in the yard
Just for a moment I caught you off guard
But now you write your secret poems
In a room just for your dreams
You don't find time to talk to me
About the things you mean
And what I mean is--

I have watched you take shape from a jumble of parts
And find the grace and form of a fine work of art
Hey, you, my brand new woman, newly come into your own
Don't you know that you don't need to grow up all alone

 © Harry Chapin