WHAT WAS 

YOUR FATHER LIKE?

Poem for Today - April 11, 2014

AMATEUR FIGHTER

- for my father

What's left is the tiny gold glove
hanging from his left key chain. But,
before that, he had come to boxing,

as a boy, our of necessity - one more reason
to stay away from home, go late
to that cold house and dinner alone

in the dim kitchen.  Perhaps he learned
just to box a stepfather, then turned
that anger into a prize at the Halifax gym.

Later, in New Orleans, there were the books
he couldn't stop reading. A scholar, his eyes
weakening. Fighting, then, a way to live

dangerously. He'd leave his front tooth out
for pictures so that I might understand
living meant suffering, loss. Really living

meant taking risks, so he swallowed
a cockroach in a bar on a dare, dreamt
of being a bullfighter. And at the gym

on Tchoupitoulas Street , he trained
his fists to pound into a bag
the fury contained in his gentle hands.

The red headgear, hiding his face,
could make me think he was someone else,
that my father was somewhere else, not here

holding his body up to pain.

(c)  Natasha Trethewey

HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE

Poem for Today - April 10, 2014

WEDDING CAKE

Once on a plane
a woman asked me to hold her baby
and disappeared.
I figured it was safe
our being on a plane and all.
How far could she go?

She returned one hour later,
having changed her clothes
and washed her hair.
I didn't recognize her.

By this time the baby
and I had examined
each other's necks.
We had cried a little.
I had a silver bracelet
and a watch.
Gold studs glittered
in the baby's ears.
She wore a tiny white dress
leafed with layers
like a wedding cake.

I did not want 
to give her back.
The baby's curls coiled tightly
against her scalp,
another alphabet.
I read new new new.
My mother gets tired.
I'll chew your hand.

The baby left my skirt crumpled,
my lap aching.
Now I'm her secret guardian,
the little nub of dream
that rises slightly
but won't come clear.

As she grows
as she feels ill at ease
I'll bob my knee.

What will she forget?
Whom will she marry?
He'd better check with me.
I'll say once she flew
dressed like a cake
between two doilies of cloud.
She could slip the card into a pocket,
pull it out.
Already she knew the small finger
was funnier than the whole arm.

(c) Naomi Shihab Nye

UNDERWOOD

Poem for Today - April 9, 2014

from A FRAME FOR THE ANGELS

39.

The Spring that I was six I found in the woods
Far in the back of our house a little dump,
A pile of rusty cans, bottles and one

Treasure: an Underwood typewriter, ancient, rusty,
Rusted solid in fact. But the black keys
Had not rusted, the bakelite or whatever it was

Had held the letters legible there in the woods,
And I, who knew the alphabet, had stared
Dumbfounded at that mysterious order. No wonder,

No wonder they threw it out, the letters are all
Mixed up. I hunted for an A and B and C
And through to Z, touching them one by one.

I remained dumbfounded long after I'd asked
And learned the reason for that disorder. The logic
I lacked there in the woods was, all along,

Right in the very structure of my hands.

(c) Paul Smyth

THE POWER OF THE CROSS

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “The Power of the Cross.”

That’s a key theme in today’s gospel as well as the season of Lent.

We begin Lent with the sign of the cross in ashes on our forehead and we have the veneration of the cross as a key part of Good Friday liturgy – when everyone in the church comes up and kisses the cross.

We make the Stations of the Cross privately as well as publicly on each Friday evening in Lent. We have this big cross here in our sanctuary to remind us that Christ died for us on the cross.

QUESTION

What are your personal practices when it comes to the sign of the cross?

We see athletes make the sign of the cross when they are to attempt  a field goal or when they about to take a key foul shot. I always remember a baseball moment from Dave Concepcion of the Cincinnati Reds at the time. He got up to bat in the Baseball All Star game and he made the sign of the cross 2 times – and he hit a double.

It’s superstition. It’s faith. It’s hope.  Sometimes it’s a mixture of trying to get an edge – using the cross as a type of magic or what have you – as well as a moment of prayer.

Some people make the sign of the cross when they wake up in the morning and when they are going to bed at night. It can be a half a second morning prayer and a half  second night prayer.

I like the moment at baptisms when the deacon or priest doing the baptism asks the parents to bring the child around and ask each person in their party to impart a sign of the cross on the child’s forehead.

A lady told me that once her children were baptized – every night before they went to bed – she signed a tiny sign of the cross on their forehead. She did that for one son till he was 21.

Last night  singer Darius Rucker sang the National Anthem at the opening of the NCAA final between Kentucky and Connecticut and he had a strong looking cross around his neck and obvious for all to see.

I find myself making the sign of the cross going by every church I pass – as well as those white crosses on our highways – some roads worse than others. I like this church steeple with it’s cross glistening in the sun – sometimes.  You can see the cross from all over town.

This morning I’m asking all of us to reflect on what meaning the cross has in our life? Multiple meanings are okay as an answer to this test.

TODAY’S READINGS

Today’s first reading from Numbers in the Old Testament has a significant text for us Christians when reflecting upon the cross. Snakes were killing the Israelites in the desert – so Moses tells folks to catch a snake –and hang him up on a poll  – telling folks this is what is killing you.  How’s that for an advertisement for the cross that goes back at least 3000 years? It has  a clear message – finding out the killer and announcing a campaign to stop him. I assume that’s one reason the medical profession has the snake on the poll as a symbol. Let’s find out what’s hurting or killing our people.

Today’s gospel has Jesus telling the crowds who he is – that even if you kill me – even if you lift me on high – I’m here for you.

CONCLUSION

I want to close with the ancient prayer: "We adore you O Christ and we bless you because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

CRUCIFIX

Poem for Today - April 8, 2014

THE CRUCIFIX

(for an eighty-sixth birthday)

I

I remember today a Quebec roadside, the crucifix
raised crude as life among farming people,
its shadow creeping, dawn and twilight, over their lives.
Among wains, haycocks and men it moved like a savior.

So old, so scored by their winters, it had been staked out
perhaps by a band of ruffians on first Good Friday.
The way it endured, time would have bruised his fist in striking it.

What time had done, breaking the bones at knee and wrist,
washing the features blank as quarry stone,
turning the legs to spindles, stealing the eyes

was only to plant forever its one great gesture
deeper in furrow, heave it high above rooftops.

Where time had done his clumsy worst, cracking its heart,
hollowing its breast inexorably, - he opened this Burning-glass
to hold the huge landscape: crops, houses and men, in Its fire.

II

He was irremovably there, nailing down the landscape,
more permanently than any mountain time could bring down
or frost alter face of. He could not be turned aside
from his profound millennial prayer: not by birds
moved wonderfully to song on that cruel bough:
not by sun, standing compassionately at right hand or left.

Let weathers tighten or loosen his nails: he was vowed to stand
Northstar took rise from his eyes, learned constancy of him.

Let cloudburst break like judgment, sending workman homeward
whipping their teams from field, down the rutted road to barn

still his body took punishment like a mainsail
bearing the heaving world onward to the Father.

And men knew nightlong: in the clear morning he will be there
not to be pulled down from landscape, never from his people's heart.

(c) Daniel Berrigan

THE POLICE

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, "The Police!"

That’s the thought that hit me as I read today’s two readings for this 5^th Monday in Lent.

My homily won’t be too long, because today’s readings are long – and some of you have to get back to work.

The Police.

WHAT’S YOUR TAKE ON POLICE?

What’s your take on the police? 100 cars surround us or go past us while we’re driving. We notice very few of  them – but we spot police cars.

Last week when they had this gigantic traffic jam in Annapolis, I heard people saying, “Where were the police when you need them?”

I want a FDA – to police the manufacturing of drugs and food – to check for health hazards. I want people to check on emissions and our water and our labeling, etc. etc. etc.

I hear athletes now wanting better policing of PED’s – wanting the playing field to be level and fair.

So when it comes to policing, what’s your take?

THE READINGS

Who delegated the two dirty old men in today’s  first reading to want Susanna arrested?

Who made them the police? [Cf. Daniel 13: 1-9, 15-17. 19-30, 33-62]

And we find out they are the bad guys.

And the crowd, the community, crash in on them and find them guilty of the crime they wanted to accuse Susanna of – to save their skin.

And the men in today’s gospel want to condemn this woman caught in adultery – they want to throw rocks at her. [John 8: 1-11]

And Jesus like Daniel saves her – from the rocks – as Jesus gives us the great mantra – “Let the one without sin be the first to throw a rock at her.”

And then the tiny detail, “And they walked away beginning with the eldest.”

Who makes whom the police?

ROCK THROWERS ARE STILL AROUND

Rock throwers are still around.

The thought police are still hunting down mistake makers.  If someone is making a speech or announcing a ball game and they have a speech wardrobe malfunction or “wrong” comment" – it goes viral on other programs – as well as YouTube.

In listening to priests I hear comments about Liturgical Nazi’s. If you make one slip of the tongue or do one thing wrong – they let you or others know.

During political campaigns, I've noticed that people police bumper stickers in Catholic Parking Lots.

Pastors or bishops receive e-mail – sometime anonymous from the thought police – on a regular basis.

Let him or her without something contrary to the Spirit of Jesus make the first complaint.

If I get anything out of this gospel from John and this reading from Daniel, the older we get, the more understanding we ought to be. I don’t know about you, but I fear becoming a grouch. Hello, hello, listen to the title and the theme of this homily.

I think we all ought to read today’s two readings very carefully – along with Luke 15 – where the refrain is, “There is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous people who need no repentance.”  We ought to hear Pope Francis’ off hand comment to the reporter on the plane about gays – “Who am I to judge.” I think we ought to get the old, old book, The Scarlet Letter and read it very carefully. It’s all about the community throwing rocks at Hester Prynne – for her sin of adultery.

CONCLUSION

Sometimes we see police just sitting in their cars –in a big parking lot - and not out there checking the speed cars are going by.  Maybe we all ought to put our inner policeman or woman in park – and start talking to our inner policeman or policewoman – instead of judging everyone else than ourselves. Amen.

PLATO WAS HERE

Poem for Today - April 7, 2014

ALLEGORY OF THE CAVE

He climbed toward the blinding light
and when his eyes adjusted
he looked down and could see

his fellow prisoners captivated
by shadows; everything he had believed
was false. And he was suddenly

in the 20th century, in the sunlight
and violence of history, encumbered
by knowledge. Only a hero

would dare return with the truth.
So from the cave's upper reaches,
removed from harm, he called out

the disturbing news.
What lovely echoes, the prisoners said,
what a fine musical place to live.

He spelled it out, then, in clear prose
on paper scraps, which he floated down.
But in the semi-dark they read his words

with the indulgence of those who seldom read:
I'ts about my father's death, one of them said.
No, said the others, it's a joke.

By this time he no longer was sure
of what he'd seen. Wasn't sunlight a shadow too?
Wasn't there always a source

behind a source? He just stood there,
confused, a man who had moved
to larger errors, without a prayer.

(c) Stephen Dunn