DEATH

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Death.”

Yep, that’s the topic that hit me when I read today’s readings.

Death.

Then I said, “Uh oh! Death is not a theme for a summer Sunday sermon. Maybe an All Souls Day sermon in November when the leaves are falling from the trees – but not a summer Sunday sermon. [Say that 10 times fast!]

Yet, the theme of death still hit me. We’ve been having a lot of funerals lately – a lot. Was that the reason the theme hit me? Nope.

Then we have this upsurge of deaths in Iraq and there was endless commentary on the news about Michael Jackson’s death – with a few comments about Farah Fawcett’s death by cancer. Was that the reason I began thinking about death? Nope.

The other day I read the following quote by a man named Alan Harris, “The road to hell is littered with the manuscripts of church sermons written late on Saturday.”

Now that made me say, “Uh oh!” I do many Sunday sermons on Saturdays – sometimes late Saturdays – unless I have the 4:30 at St. John Neumann or the 5 here on Saturday evening. Then I do that sermon on Saturday during the day. I used to be able to write sermons well in advance, but ever since I got to St. Mary’s, I’ve found out. I can only do one at a time. Like yesterday I had to come up with two new homilies – each homily 3 1/2 pages long – for two weddings. Someone said, “Use the same homily for each wedding.” I answered, “They are two totally different couples.” And then there are homilies for weekday masses. That’s a lot of preaching. So with the 2 wedding homilies, I did 7 different homilies this past week.

Too much – the result being sermons without enough thought and prayer in them. Some might say, “No, you’re okay.” I say, “No. I need to do more reflection!" I know this place is very busy. So after some sermons, I’ve find myself saying, “You just gave sizzle, instead of giving steak.”

WHY THIS TOPIC OF DEATH?

Answer: the opening words of today’s first reading: “God did not make death…” hit me.

Those words stopped me. Those words call for a sermon of substance about death.

Guess what? Everyone here has to write that sermon – sermon meaning conversation – for themselves – because everyone has to deal with death.

We have to talk to God about death – our death and the death of others. And it’s my experience that we all think about death from time to time. The older we get, the more the theme of death knocks on our door. It might be triggered by seeing wrinkles on our skin on the inside of our elbow or it might be a class reunion and everyone looks so old.

I think of a sub-plot in the movie, Moonstruck, when Rose Castorini, played by Olympia Dukakis, wants to know why men cheat, why her husband Cosmo is cheating. She keeps on asking the question till someone finally tells her, “Death! They are scared of death.”

I think of men who are addicted to Internet porn. Are they also scared of dying without anyone loving them? Do they think by eating forbidden bytes on a computer screen someone will give them life – something will tell them they are still alive?

We have to come up with answers as well as new questions. We have to come up with words that make sense – words with insight – otherwise we might become angry people when it comes to sudden deaths, young deaths, or any death – including our own – if we’re aware it’s happening – because of cancer or what have you.

Today’s first reading from the Book of Wisdom gives the standard answer that God did not make death. We caused it.”

We find that standard answer through the scriptures. Today’s opening text is definitely teaching what the Book of Genesis teaches. God created this world – and all is good – and Adam and Eve were to live forever in this beautiful plush garden. There was no work – no problems – and death was not part of the story.

Then Satan, the adversary, crawls along the ground – a snake in the grass – and whispers to Eve to take a bite from the forbidden fruit. She falls. Adam falls. We all fell that day – and death became part of the package ever since. The egg was cracked. The gates were closed. Paradise was lost.

That’s the answer we find in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (#400) as well as our theology books.

God didn’t cause death. We caused death by sin.

WAIT A MINUTE!

As I found myself thinking about that, I found myself saying, “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I have to think about this a lot more. It’s Saturday night. It’s getting late.” Maybe Alan Harris was very right when he said, “The road to hell is littered with the manuscripts of church sermons written late on Saturday.” Preachers don’t give enough reflection, research and prayer to their sermons. I know I don’t. Sorry. And I’m not saying this so you will then say, “Father you’re doing fine.” I know that game – how to elicit support comments from people. I played that game at times when I was much younger.

So should I ditch the death question and go elsewhere?

I decided, “No! Give it a shot. It’s a lifetime question. You’re not going to figure it out on a Saturday night and solve it on a Sunday morning, but maybe you’ll figure out something new for yourself and in the process, maybe someone here needs to do some more thinking on the topic of death, a topic we all need to think about and bring to God from time to time.

SO THREE COMMENTS ABOUT DEATH

First of all I sort of don’t agree with the opening statement in today’s first reading – that God didn’t make death. I guess that makes me sort of a heretic. I’m not trying to get you to be a heretic too – but I can’t see how God isn’t in this mix and mystery somehow.

Okay, if God’s plan was – there was only going to be Adam and Eve – and a garden – then okay with the no death part of the story. I assume that the story tellers in Genesis are trying to figure out what we’re all trying to figure out: life and death.

Some science fiction writer could write a book about nobody dying – and everyone is eating good fruit in a plush garden with constant San Diego type weather. That means no wars – no fatal car crashes – no plane crashes – no cancer – no heart stoppage – no kidney failure and lots and lots of people.

Would there also be no nursing homes? Would we see 900 year old folks on skate boards? What would traffic be like? What would housing be like? How many people would show up for weddings and ball games?

So I assume God made us the way we are – and part of the picture is term limits and the numbers game.

Check the obituary columns or cemetery stones. Life has term limits. Or check the Biographical Names section in the back of any Webster Dictionary. 99 out of 100 names there have the two numbers and the dash in between. And we’ve all heard sermons about filling in that dash with a quality life – filled with love and compassion for our brothers and sisters – as well as gratitude to God for each day of life we have.

Second Point: the reality of death triggers powerful human reactions.

Would we go to a movie, if it didn’t have an ending?

What about jokes and sermons and Mass? There has to be endings.

Death – the reality and possibility of death triggers a zillion different things.

Anthony Dalla Villa, in his eulogy for Andy Warhol at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, New York City, April 1, 1987 said, “Death gives life its fullest reality.”

Marie Murphy, a theologian I know from Brooklyn, in her book, New Images of the Last Things, Karl Rahner on Death and Life after Death wrote, “Human beings long for completion. We want to achieve a definite end. Death is that act in which a person gathers his/her whole life and all that he/she is and says, ‘Here I am, Lord.’” * (p. 8)

Since we don’t know when we are going to die, the smart thing to do is make that our night prayer every night – and hopefully we wake up in the morning.

Third Point: Jesus’ death and resurrection can have a profound impact on our life. Yes, there is suffering and death, there is caring for loved ones, there is being there for them when they are sick and dying, but we Christians have the gift of faith that there is life beyond this life.

This is very significant and if you want substance, there it is.

Now in today’s gospel we have two people that meet Jesus – two people who need Jesus. Message we too need Jesus.

The first is Jairus, whose girl, about 12 years of age, is dying and Jesus goes to Jairus house and heals the girl.

The second is the woman who has suffered with blood, hemorrhages, for twelve years, and she touches Jesus’ clothes and she is healed.

Let me quote from a book entitled, Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels by Bruce Malina and Richard Rohrbaugh. Their area of expertise and research is the First Century in the Mediterranean Basin. They write, “A twelve-year-old dying would have been a common occurence in antiquity. Through much of the first century, 60 % of persons born alive die by their mid-teens.” (p. 209) *

Think of that.

They write, “In the cities of antiquity nearly a third of live births were dead before age six. By the mid-teens 60 percent would have died, by the mid-thirties 75 percent and 90 percent by the mid-forties. Perhaps 3 percent reached their sixties. Few ordinary people lived out of their thirties.” (p. 211) *

This was the reality that Jesus walked in – Jesus who died around the age of 33 on the cross.

We live much longer. Question: Is it tougher for us to deal with a dying child or to have a lingering sickness of 12 years?

Each of us has to deal with these realities of sickness and death – and the Gospel message is to approach Jesus for help or reach out and touch him. Isn’t that what we’re doing here this morning?

Aren't we here for Jesus to heal and help us?

Don’t we all have inner aches and deep questions that have been flowing around inside our minds for 12 years and more?

The End.

* Dr. Marie Murphy, New Images of the Last Things, Karl Rahner on Death and Life after Death, Paulist Press, New York, Mahway, N.J., 1988, p. 8

** Bruce Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, Fortress Press, Minneapolis, MN, 1992, p. 209, 211

DEATH

AND 

RESURRECTION

Each day is a gift.
Each death is a mystery.
Each tomorrow will be surprise.
Each resurrection because of Christ
will be our Easter suprise and mystery,
even though, as with Christ,
others will be crying at our grave.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

DEAD FLIES

ON A WINDOW SILL

I once heard an anthropologist say,
“It was a significant day
in our evolution as humans,
when some hunters and gatherers
stopped to bury a dead one –
not just tossing him or her
off to the side of a path.

“They paused – prayed – said significant things.
They watered the ground with their tears.
They marked the spot – knowing next year
they would travel this same trail.”

As I thought about that, I wondered,
“Did someone take a tiny rock
from that place, put a hole in it
for a leather piece of cord and
then wear it around their neck?
Did they touch it in the times of missing?”

We are more than dead flies on a window sill.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

CRINKLE AND STATIC

IN THE AIR

Sounds like there are sounds, sounds,
sounds, everywhere – crinkle and static –
hum and jackhammers – someone trying
to get the last 4 potato chips
from the bottom of the bag,
the bag just a tiny bit bigger
than their hand. Then I hear a car alarm
going off from the street or somewhere –
sounds, sounds, everywhere.
Then a bird chirps a series of peeps,
taking me away from my inner chatting
about what happened last night.
So with all this crinkle and static in the air,
I find it difficult to listen to you.
Sorry. So could you tell me again
what you’ve been trying to tell
me all these years? Oh, you’ve been
trying to tell me the same thing
has been happening to you too. Oh, okay!

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

FATHER’S DAY

INTRODUCTION

Every Father’s Day in St. Joseph Parish they have a unique custom at the Father’s Day Mass. Instead of a homily, the pastor, Father Day, yes that’s his real name, has 3 fathers from the parish say a few words about what being a father means to them. Unlike himself and his homilies, Father Day asks each to say what they want to say in 3 minutes or less.

And just to cover himself, because only priests and deacons, are supposed to preach homilies at a Mass, he gives a few seconds homily. This Sunday he said, “Today’s Psalm Response says, ‘Give thanks to the Lord, his love is everlasting.’ Let’s say that everyday, especially when the storms of life shake our boat as we heard in today’s Gospel, because we know Jesus is in our boat. He might be asleep, but he's in our boat.” Then he invited the 3 fathers to come forwards to speak one at a time.

This year I was able to get a copy of the 3 talks – saving me from having to do a homily this Father’s Day. So here are the 3 short talks. Obviously, it would be better for you to hear the talks in person – but this is not St. Joseph’s Parish.

FIRST FATHER: RICK JACKSON

Hello, Good morning. My name is Rick Jackson. I’m married to that beautiful woman there, Rita, who keeps me on the straight and narrow. She’s sitting there with our 3 wonderful kids, Rachel, Ricky and Robby. And notice she’s sitting there not smiling. In fact, she’s nervous because she knows I could make a fool of myself – that I might say something stupid and she’ll have to pick up the pieces.

Fatherhood. Fatherhood changed my life – with the birth of our first child, our daughter, Rachel. Before she was born, I kept hearing comments from the folks at work, especially dads, “Wow are you going to be in for a surprise! Everything changes when you have that first child.”

Well, everything did change. Schedules. Expenses. Cries and rattles in the night. At first I loved it. I loved saying, “Honey, relax, I’ll see why Rachi is crying” – and I would let my wife Rita sleep on. When our 2nd and 3rd kids, Ricky and Robby, arrived, this wasn’t as easy.

Fatherhood. I learned about giving. I learned about letting go – and life is impossible to control. I learned about surprise. I learned about God. Having kids got me back to church – got me to understand faith and hope and charity are important gifts to carry in one’s heart and mind.

Fatherhood. Fatherhood got me not only thinking about my dad, but it got me talking to him – like I had never talked to him before. Various guys had mentioned this, but hearing about something is nothing compared to experiencing something. So dad and I find ourselves comparing notes from time to time. Neat.

Fatherhood. What’s the biggest thing I experienced? I learned about what’s really important: God, people, my wife Rita, our kids, values, each day. I learned to be grateful – very grateful. So to you fathers here today and those of you who help kids and family: Happy Father’s Day – 2009. Thank you for listening.

SECOND FATHER: NELSON DANKSON

Hello, my name is Nelson Dankson. Hi and good day. Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers here. I want to thank Father Day for this opportunity to say a few words about fatherhood.

Where to begin …. my father. Let me begin with my father.

He drove a long distance 18 wheeler – cross country – for a living. He was a high school graduate – a good athlete – loved country western music as well as my mom. We grew up seeing a great marriage – a great mom and dad who loved all 5 of us. My father was often on the road, but he made missing him worth while when he got home.

My mom and dad – as well as one of my brothers – have passed away. I find Father’s Day as well as Mother’s Day – tough days – because I miss them. We were a close family – and we still are – but when the two pillars fall, mom and dad, the house called family is never the same.

My wife Marsha and I wanted a big family, but we were blessed only with one kid: Jessica. We wanted more. Nothing happened. God had other plans.

In the short questionnaire that Father Day gave us, it asks: What qualities do you see necessary in being a good dad? What was your dad like? What do you want as your legacy? Who was the best father you’ve experienced?

My dad was the best. It’s great when you know that and can say that – and I often told him that – later on in life – before he died.

Legacy? Love.

Our daughter Jessica is a Marine in Afghanistan right now. How would she answer those questions? I’ll ask her when I talk to her this evening – when a call is coming through.

I would hope that our daughter saw my presence more than presents. I went to lots of boring basketball games – rooting for her teams. I learned that with little girls, winning or losing a basketball game was not as important as going out for ice cream afterwards – and having a good time. I learned how beautiful and how wonderful that look to the stands at a basketball game was. She always knew where we were sitting even though I am not a loud sports dad. My wife, now that’s a different story. I know she’s going to kill me afterwards for that one. She’s giving me the glance right now. Good thing, we don’t have the custom of yelling back at speakers at Mass. Back to the kid’s glance. At games, I found myself looking for that glance. It made our being there worthwhile. She became much more subtle with the glance towards us when she was in High School and the Naval Academy – but she always looked for us in the stands. Nice.

She taught me pride – true pride – value – true value – is not in the car or the house or the amount on the pay check – but it’s in one’s kids.

Now that she’s a Marine in Afghanistan, obviously, I am rather nervous – but we’re putting everyone there in God’s hands.

My wife Marsha and I were watching an episode of Foyle’s War – entitled “Broken Souls” on TV the other night – PBS Masterpiece Theater. No commercials. Great. It takes place during World War II in Britain. The theme they kept focusing on during this episode was chance. This Polish Jewish psychiatrist just happened to be in Paris at a convention when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939. He never got back home. He and his wife had met by chance on a trolley. He was recalling all these moments to Detective Foyle. He says, "Life is series of chance meetings.”

Afterwards, Marsha and I were talking about that. We had met by total accident – in an airport. There was this storm – and planes and passengers from all over the country were stranded there in O’Hare Airport in Chicago. We talked about how our parents met and their parents met and then Marsha said, “Wouldn’t it have great if someone had written down the answer to that question as far back as they could go?” We held each other on that couch filled with the thought that a lot of tiny moments had to collide with each other to get us to this moment of life on this couch together, June 2009.

So fatherhood, life, love, is chance and mystery, surprise and wonder, and please God, lots of wonderful what’s next’s because of lots of has beens. Bring it on God. Bring it on.

THIRD STORY: JERRY BUNSON

My name is Jerry Bunson. Friends call me "Bunny". I used to hate that, but I’ve grown used to it.

I am a single father – three daughters.

I am a single grandfather – thirteen grandkids.

My wife, Carol, died at 30 – cancer – painful uterine cancer – leaving me all alone – but gifting us with three daughters.

I felt overwhelmed – and out of sorts – but we did it – and all three girls, Teresa, Sarah and Jennifer have done wonderful.

If you’re going to be a single dad, if you’re going to be a single grandfather – let me tell you, have daughters. They are caring – concerned – and they call every day.

The calls weren’t always every day – but now that I’m 73 – they are wanted and waited for – except at the 9th inning of a baseball game or the 4th quarter of a football game.

Two of my daughters, Teresa and Jennifer live within an hour of me. Sarah is in Texas.

But I get to see all my grandkids – many times over and then some more. That generation is growing up and the first great grand kid is on the way – and I hope to babysit for my great grandkids.

What did I learn?

The answer to that depends on the decade and the moment.

Now I love to see new parents – to see kids cling to parents’ legs when strangers wave to them at church or at a game. I love to see how women have won – having domesticated their husbands to do stuff I had to do by myself as a single dad. In fact, my daughters used me as a wedge to get their husbands to do things they didn’t know they were going to have to do.

I love refrigerator pictures as well as these new 1000 flowing pictures in a frame. I never grow tired of looking at them.

My daughters wanted me to get remarried and I did some dates, but nothing worked – and I think I did well in life – with Carol my love – always in the main frame of my life.

With my daughters, I learned women are different – big time different.

I often wondered what it would have been like if we had three boys instead of three girls – but these gals, my three queens, were the cards we were dealt – and I learned to play the card game of life with them – and I won.

I learned that the happy ones over 60 – are the ones who pinch themselves with gratitude each day – at who they are, who they have been blessed with – and look at what they have – accept what happened – and are not looking at what they don’t have and what didn’t happen.

That’s why I like Fathers Day – one more chance to say, “Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you Carol for making me a dad three times over. See you one of these years – but not yet. There’s a lot more to see on how all this unfolds. In the meanwhile thanks for Teresa, Jennifer, and Sarah and all your grandkids. Amen.”

And thank you. Father Day, for this chance to let Rick, Nellie and myself to talk today on Fatherhood. Best of luck next week with your homily, Father Day. We'll be timing you. 3 minutes, right?

THE MOMENT

Does every marriage, every relationship,
have that moment, when we pop the
question – the real question,
“Do we have between us what will
keep us together till death do us part?”

Silence….

Does the other then say, “Years ago
we said, ‘Yes – of course!’ but now
the next question is: ‘What do we have?
What do we love to come home to?
We need to be specific.’”

Silence….

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

YOUR EYES


Your eyes, your face, seem so elsewhere.
You seem so out of place here with me.
You seem to be in another’s room
in another’s eye, far, far from here.

Where are you?

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009