NOVEMBER DAYS

Someday we’ll arrive
at the November days of our life.
We’ll have our particular aches and pains,
walkers and canes.
We’ll have the struggles of our last days,
our hands like hanging on November leaves
shaking in the cold wind,
Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s.
And then we’ll finally move into
our December days,
to the day we’re buried in the earth.
But we shall all rise at the call of the Risen Christ,
“Lazarus, come forth!”
“Mary.”
“Thomas, take your finger 
and examine my hands. 
Stop your unbelief! Believe!
“Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
“Come to the banquet.”

Andrew Costello

(© Markings Prayer

 for November 2002)

ALL SOULS DAY

All Souls Day:
prayers sinking from our hearts
down deep into the graves
of our dead beneath our feet
or in the cemeteries in our hearts,
prayers for those we talked
at table with,
prayers for those we walked
these streets with,
prayers for all those
who have gone before us.
Amen. Come Lord Jesus!
Come Lord of the Living
and not of the dead,
because our creed is:
we believe down deep
you have risen from the grave. Alleluia.

Andrew Costello
(© Markings Prayer

for November 2000)

*

GRAVEYARD
STORIES!

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Graveyard Stories.”

Hey it’s close to Halloween – but my real reason for talking about graveyards is because today is All Souls Day – the day we remember our dead and pray for them.

Who are your dead? Where are your graveyards? What are your graveyard stories?

Talk to each other about your graveyard – your cemetery stories. Share the stories?

When you drive by a graveyard, does something happen to you that is different than going by a mall or McDonald’s?

When you drive by a graveyard where someone you loved and laughed and lived with died, what happens in the ground of your soul?

Get a ballpoint pen and paper – or a blank screen on your computer - and jot down the funerals you’ve been at – the cemeteries you went to afterwards. Jot down: what was the first death you experienced; what was the first cemetery you visited?

KAIROS RETREAT
I was on a Kairos Retreat with some of our high school seniors this past week. I was moved when one of the girls told about getting her grandma’s prayer book – after her grandma died. The girl described going through the prayer book and seeing all those death cards. As the girl talked I could sense it was a sacred moment for her – thinking about all her grandma’s friends who had gone before her. She had seen her grandma page through that prayer book – remembering her friends and family who had died – whom she loved and missed.

I couldn’t help but think, wouldn’t it be horrible if that prayer book was pitched. I guess that’s why people want stones – gravestones with their names and dates on them.

What do we do with the memorial cards we pick up in the back of the funeral parlor – just before or after we sign the book – because we want to say, “I am here for you at this tough moment.”?

Do we have a shoe box, a prayer book, a spot for our sacred stuff?

Who are your dead? Where are your graveyards? Whose names are on the stones? What are your graveyard stories?

CEMETERY SUNDAY

Have we lost the old traditions – like today being called, “Cemetery Day” or “Cemetery Sunday” – when families go to cemeteries to remember their dead?

PAUSE – CLOSE YOUR EYES – AND LOOK
Pause, close your eyes, and look at the gravestones in the slide show called our memory. Doing this can be a power point presentation of who has been who in our lives – how we got to where we are – where we have picked up our values, outlook – besides our DNA.

What have been your death experiences? Where are your gravestones? Whose names are on your stones?

Let me tell you some of mine – with the hope that it will get you to tell each other some of yours.

JIMMY HENNESSEY
The first death I remember was Jimmy Hennessey. He died when we were in grammar school. In those days some wake services took place at home. My only memory is being quiet – creeping forward – a line of boys going up the steps of the brownstone Hennessey House on 64 Street in Brooklyn - and quietly going into the house. There was Jimmy in a casket – in his black first communion suit. We stopped and looked. I hope we prayed. Then we silently walked out. I don’t remember the funeral mass or anything else – just the going into the house to see a dead body of a little boy.

His brother John was in my class and he came to my first mass and met my cousin Miggy again. They dated and married and I did that wedding and I did John’s funeral a few years ago. My cousin Miggy got remarried and I did that wedding as well. Life is a circle.

MY DAD’S FUNERAL
My dad died June 26, 1970. I was 29 years old. It was my first family death.

He was 68 – had emphysema and lung cancer – and I was there in Moses Maimomedes hospital that Sunday afternoon at 2 PM with my brother and two sisters and my mom – when my dad left us. Death.

I was to discover slowly, one of the greatest blessings of being a priest is the gift of being able to celebrate not just baptisms and family weddings, but a parent’s or a family funeral. I still have that sermon – one page – quite faded – hand written. It’s a visible reminder that I once preached very short homilies.

After the Mass came the procession and ceremony we all know very well: the slow dance down the church aisle with the casket to the hearse - the tears, the flowers, the holding onto mom arm in arm – the slow starting drive to the cemetery.

My dad is buried in St. John’s Cemetery in Brooklyn, N.Y. My mom heard about a great bargain. Talk about big time. She bought two spots in a mausoleum for them. It looked like an apartment house. It was a funny feeling going up this big elevator to the 3rd floor – with a casket – and then proceed to the spot in this big high ceilinged corridor. We stopped. We stood there in silence. We prayed. I remember being quick enough to switch the wording of the prayer in the book: “We consign the body of the deceased into the ground” to “We consign the body of the deceased into the wall.”

And that was the only funny moment that day.

MICHAEL

My next family funeral was my nephew Michael’s – age 15 – who died June 14, 1977. It was only 4 days after they found out he had cancer. He was such a strong kid and an athlete. He was just finishing his first year at Regis High School in New York City. I remember walking into the church and seeing what looked like 400 high school kids. What were they thinking? Was this their first death? They were a bit older than me when I went to my first funeral for Jimmy Hennessey. Are they still remembering that moment?

My sermon was three pages. It began. “It rained the day Michael died.”

The cemetery was in Staten Island. It was outdoors – a great grass lawn – filled with white tombstones and plastic flowers that were bright – and lots of dead flowers. To me the scene was much more powerful than the indoor mausoleum that my dad was buried in.

And to lose a 15 year old is much more horrible than a dad who had a full life – dying at 68. I’m older than my dad now – so that’s another thought for another day.

MY BROTHER BILLY
My brother Billy died on March 21, 1986 in Washington Hospital Center. Once more I was able to do that funeral. I’ve gone to his grave near DC at various times. He died of cancer – melanoma – at the age of 51. I miss him big time – but he told me before he died, “Thank God mom and dad gave us the gift of faith.”

It was a powerful funeral – about 70 cars – and once more I experienced the honor of being a priest – and being able to help my sister-in-law, Joanne, and their 7 daughters and the rest of the family and my brother’s friends deal with the death of a great character.

The sermon was 4 and a half pages long.

MY MOM
My mom was killed in a hit and run accident the following year on April 7, 1987. She was on her way to church. She was still working at the age of 83. It was a horribly difficult death and funeral. Our provincial was next to me at the funeral mass and whispered at the sign of peace, “I don’t know how you can do this.” I didn’t say anything but, “It’s my mom and I’m honored to do this.”

I don’t know how long that sermon was – but it was short.

After Mass and the drive, once more we were back at St. John’s cemetery mausoleum. This time the prayers were in an inside chapel – and then we went upstairs in the elevator. By now they had piped in music – all through the place. It was very nice – elevator or dentist office music – but not the stuff my mom or dad would ever listen to. Once more like in my dad’s casket, besides a rosary, someone put in a deck of cards. Like many couples, they prayed the rosary together, as well as played a hundred thousand games of cards together.

Once more I wished it was outside – with green grass and blue or grey skies – even rain. Looking at marble vault covers up near a ceiling – with names on them – doesn’t hit me like a gravestone in a graveyard does.

IRELAND
In 1996 I went to Ireland with my two sisters and my brother-in-law. It was a trip to go back together to the place where my mom and dad were from.

Looking back – and looking back is the best part of any trip for me – one of the moments that stands out – was walking with my Aunt Nora, my mom’s sister, who stayed in Ireland, down to the graveyard – right on Galway Bay. What a spot!

To get into the cemetery, there was a rusty metal turnstile. Interesting. It was to prevent cows from getting in – and you know what cows do. She warned us about what cows do. And surprise cows did get in there. My sister Peggy, a nun, didn’t heed the warning and ugh.

Aunt Nora pointed out the graves of our grandparents – only one of whom I met – an old lady who wore high tie black shoes and smoked a pipe – when she came for a visit to America when I was a kid.

This cemetery moment was a sacred moment – just like that girl on our high school retreat last week – who was handed her grandma’s prayer book. I was standing there with grand parents, great grand parents – and relatives from before that – all buried there. It was a sacred moment.

Praise God.

We were standing on holy ground - but good thing we didn’t heed the biblical call when standing on holy ground to take off one’s shoes – especially my sister Peggy.

CONCLUSION

The title of my homily is, “Graveyard Stories.”

What are your graveyard stories?

I just told you some of mine – 5 and a half pages worth – with the hope you too will tell each other your graveyard stories.

And make sure we tell each other our great graveyard story. When Jesus was buried they put him in a cave – a borrowed mausoleum – but on the third day – that stone was rolled back and Jesus rose from the dead – giving the hope and promise of resurrection to all of us. Alleluia.

* My mom, dad, and my sister Peggy (Sr. St. Monica, IHM-Scranton) and myself at the grave of one of my dad's sisters in Portland, Maine. Three of his sisters were Sisters of Mercy. [c. 1967]

THE HOOK

Why did this fish
bite this hook?
Okay, the hook was hidden
in a worm – and it
was feeding time.
But the consequences?
Death, the whole group
missing a member.
For me – a caught fish,
a digital photo, bragging rights,
and fresh fish for supper.
Yet, now, the thought
while wiping my plate
with rye bread: a family
without a father; a friend
without a friend.
To fish or not to fish?
It’s lesson time.
There are so many hooks
out there. And I’m so hungry.
I do it every time.
I bite – killing myself,
not considering
the consequences:
an end to conversations,
and time together,
being missed – the future,
but at the time,
“Oh that worm looked so juicy.”

© Andy Costello,

Reflections, 2008

WHAT’S IT LIKE?

[The title of my homily is, “What’s It Like?” Looking at today’s readings, especially the first reading, the key theme of “What’s It Like?” hit me. It’s the theme of “What’s it like to walk in another’s shoes or moccasins or clogs?” It’s the central theme of Christianity – the Word becoming flesh – incarnation – becoming human – announcing to us the Good News that God knows what we’re going through - what it's like to be human. Been there. Done that. So my homily is on: “What’s it like?”]

What’s it like to be a freshman in a college or university – and it’s your first night there and you don’t know any other person in the whole school – and your mom and dad who dropped you off – who helped bring your 18 plastic cases of stuff to the 4th floor of your dorm room – said “good-bye” after having pizza with you, and they are on their way back and they are not answering their cell phone – and you’re homesick already – and you feel stupid – it’s only 4 hours since you said “goodbye” and you’re thinking – maybe this choice was too far away?

What’s it like to be on vacation in some country where nobody knows English and your wallet and passport are stolen on the first day of your vacation – and it’s Sunday morning and the U.S. Embassy seems to be closed – at least nobody is answering the door bell right away?

What’s it like to go to Arizona in the summer and you get to the Grand Canyon – and you had wanted to see the Grand Canyon for over 50 years and you’re finally retired and you see it – and it is an overwhelming experience and you come back home and someone says at a tail gate party, “How was your trip out west? I heard you were going to see the Grand Canyon?” And just as you’re about to tell this captive audience about your mystical experience someone else jumps in with “Grand Canyon. Yeah. What a great place. I was there 27 years ago with my family” – and they go on and on and on and on and you never get to tell your story?

What’s it like to be a dental hygienist and you hate to floss?

What’s it like to be Saint Paul and you blush when the people of Thessalonica – whom you had no clue would be so great – saved two of your letters – and just love you – and pinch themselves for being so lucky that you just happened to come into their city and you told them all about Jesus Christ – and they caught him?

What’s it like to love the Lord our God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind – and your kids could care less about God?

What’s it like to be a priest and you’re giving a weekend retreat to a group of 87 men and you sit down after lunch with a man who asks to talk to you one to one - and he tells about his only son – his only child who is homosexual – and how difficult it was to come to an understanding of his son – the struggles both of them had – but they finally talked about it – one stressing disappointment, worry about what others might be saying – the other stressing how he felt for the lack of support and understanding and compassion – and then that evening you as priest are running a question and answer period for the whole group of 87 men and one man stands up and starts blasting homosexuals and you look over and see the face of the man who talked to you that afternoon after lunch about his only son?

What’s it like to be a ESL teacher – English as a Second Language teacher - at St. Mary’s – volunteering to do it one evening every week – and you’ve been doing it for the last 4 years now – and you have met some remarkable men and women – who work all day – and get to the classes in the evening – and then you’re at work and people are making nasty comments about immigrants – attacking these foreigners, who are lazy and not willing to learn English?

What’s it like to be here in church right now and you heard today’s gospel that we are called to love the Lord our God with our whole heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind – and then we hear that that’s the greatest commandment and then we hear Jesus say the second is to love our neighbor as ourselves – and we start to tighten our fist – because a co-worker comes to mind – a face and a name is applied to the word neighbor – and we say to God in prayer, “Do you realize how hard it is to love so and so– after all she has said about me behind my back?”

What’s it like to be a Eucharistic Minister – and you’re standing there with the Body of Christ in your hand and 98 % of the people come up to you and you say, “Body of Christ” and they say “Amen” and receive the Lord Jesus and you feel overwhelmed with the love of Christ – and then afterwards you hear one person say, “I’d never receive communion from a lay person. I will only go to a priest.”

What’s it like to feel that way and you feel singled out by a priest from the pulpit saying such a thing and you feel attacked or disrespected for your way of understanding Church?

What’s it like to be a freshmen in high school and your parents are killed in a car accident and you have to move across the country to be raised by your grandparents – whom you really don’t know that well – and now it’s just you and your older brother and he is already in college – and you feel all alone in a new home, in a new school, in a new part of the country – with these older folks – whom you wonder “Will they understand?” and then a month later – you realize they too are grieving – because they too lost their daughter and son-in-law in that accident – and you feel stupid for being so self-centered?

What’s it like to have a dad who gets bombed out of his brains every weekend and at every tail gate party and you’re in your room and you know your mom is also embarrassed to death – and also your dad’s mom and dad – and nobody is saying anything – and you love your dad with all your heart and you wish he would stop drinking?

What’s it like to have a bumper sticker for a candidate for president and also their running mate and someone sees it and sneers at you – as if you’re dumb or stupid or what have you – and you can’t wait till Wednesday November 5th?

What’s it like that first week in a nursing home – and you know your kids are doing this out of love – but it’s not home and the person in the room with you keeps losing their teeth and their glasses – and keeps calling, “Nurse. Nurse!”

What’s it like to be out of work and you’re 54 and you sent out 37 resumes and your savings are depleting fast and you’re nervous, very nervous and you don’t want your family to be nervous?

What’s it like to be a single mom or a single dad and you both tried a hundred times and then some to make your marriage work – and you both couldn’t make it work and you know it’s ripping the heart out of our kids – but this was the best compromise you could come up with – and you have kids in school and things are tight, stressful, and you want to scream?

What’s it like to be in Ireland this past May and from the bus window of our tour I saw 10,000 sheep and 100,000 rocks. I saw lots of old castles, pubs, churches, lakes, mountains, but surprise, surprise, here it is October and the most vivid memory of the whole trip took place while walking in Dublin one evening after supper. I spotted 3 young adults with backpacks and suitcases walking down the street. They looked Eastern European. They looked like strangers in a strange country. Then I saw them going into a place with triple bunk beds for the night. I could see the well lit rooms on the second and third floors – each with 3 big windows – no curtains or drapes - and lots of bunk beds in the big rooms that I could see from the street. I had no idea who they were. My imagination brought me to my parents coming to America at probably the same age having spoken Irish as their mother tongue - but they could also speak English – with only a minimum of education. Mom and Dad, what was that like?

What was the experience the writer of today’s first reading from Exodus that got him to have God say, “You shall not molest or oppress the alien, for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt. You shall not wrong any widow or orphan.”

What did the scholar of the law feel like when he tried to catch Jesus by asking him, “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” and Jesus answered him, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.” How did he feel that night? Did he think about that moment for the rest of his life? Did he hear that Jesus was crucified – and forgave his crucifiers from the cross?

What’s it like to make a mistake – and you feel totally alone –and there is nobody in the whole world you feel you can turn to?

What’s it like to be you?

What’s it like to be me?

What’s it like to die – and you wake up on the other side of death – feeling totally scared and totally alone and you hear this great crowd in the distance. It sounds like they are at a banquet. There is music and dancing* – and as you get closer you hear someone say, “Welcome. You’re in the right place. And you find yourself in the eternal embrace of God.

What's it like?

*Cf. Luke 15:26

MONARCH


The monarch butterfly
with Tiffany stained glass wings,
works for his supper -
a king oblivious to others.
His term limit is months,
so he’s not concerned about polls
or public opinion.
He just does what butterflies do -
just worried about the next generation.
Now that’s the kind of king I’d vote for.

© Andy Costello, Reflections 2008

AFTER

THE PERFORMANCE

Three moments:

before and after the performance
and the performance itself.

The performance: a party,
a wedding, a picnic, an anniversary,
a funeral, the hard work

in putting and pulling
it all together, the invitations,
the food, the phone calls,
the double checking,
the letting everyone know,
so nobody will feel forgotten, left out,
yet knowing old family fights,
those still burning below

on the bottom of what look

like cold coals,
might burst into flames again.
I guess it’s part of the party,
part of the play. It's family.
Some people like being on stage.
Some people are repeat performances.
Too bad for them: I rather

concentrate on the laughter
the reconnecting, the celebration.

Three moments….
Some like the before.
Some like the performance.
I like the exhausted feeling
after a performance.
It’s finally over.
People have headed home.

We're off stage.
We are all alone again,
tired, but with shoes off ,
bread and wine or coffee and cookies in hand.

Exits can lead to Resurrection. Restoration.
We sit in soft chairs and taste

some of what we didn't taste at the banquet
and “Wow! The stories....”

© Andy Costello, Reflections 2008