THE RELATIVITY  OF  TIME

As you know, as Einstein said, “Time is relative.”

Years ago when most houses had  one bathroom, this old saying made sense, “How long a minute takes depends on which side of the bathroom door you’re on.”

Sometimes - time seems to sit still – like sitting in traffic – like sitting in a waiting room at the doctor’s. Sometimes - time flies – like a great meal and it’s getting late and the waiters and waitresses want us to finish up so they can clean up and go home – and we’re wrapped up in great conversations.

Not every day, not every weekend, not ever week, not every month nor every year is the same.

Holy Week – Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday – is upon us. Some of us remember Ash Wednesday. Maybe we whispered to ourselves a spiritual hope or two – a Lenten Resolution – and here it is Palm Sunday.

It makes a difference how we spend time. The key is not to judge others – but to judge ourselves: how we’re doing.

I know I judge. When driving I wonder about those who drive along the shoulder or the exit ramp as far as they can and then move left to get into the regular two or three lanes – and beat 50 cars on Route 50. I wonder about those who sneak in side doors and skip lines if possible. Is that their regular personality? Does that pattern sneak into how they give their time and life to family or work or what have you – or who have you?

I went in a side door at a wake in a church in Bowie two Sunday’s ago. The crowds were enormous. I still feel a bit of guilt about that. Hey those on the long lines were waiting – slowing stepping their way to the Church steps  – why can’t I? – like everyone else? I rationalized. As I was meeting family members of the deceased – I could see those on line in the back still coming in. And whispers of “unfair” were clinging to my inner ear.

Time is relative.

It all depends on who we are – our spirituality- our sense of fairness and how we treat one another. Everything relates, is relative, to the I, I am.

I would assume that how we do Lent, how we do Holy Week, how we move those 40 days from Ash Wednesday to Easter, how we move these seven from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, how we drive, how we notice other drivers, how we notice waiters and waitresses in a restaurant – how they notice our needs, is somehow connected to how we spend time – how we see or don’t see each other – and especially how we see ourselves.

I would assume how we spend Holy Week will help us deal with the Good Fridays of our life that might or might not happen on Friday’s.  Deaths happen every day of the week. Crosses, betrayals, family deaths - and then the long wait to go through a wake in a Funeral Parlor, the Funeral Mass, the long ride to the cemetery, the burial, all happen –all take time  often when we weren’t or aren’t ready for them. Then there’s the time -  till we experience a personal Easter for us – the time from the death of another  -  to the acceptance of a death of another - to the experience of the act of faith we make that the one we loved is with the Lord – and it’s time for us to rise from feelings of death – and walk in new time.

It’s all relative. It all relates to how we spend our time – instead of sneaking in side doors to avoid life – or speed past all those in the same traffic of the same kinds of pain and waiting.

So this week is Holy Week. We’re in traffic near the end of the 40 day trip called Lent. We’re getting into Holy Week – closer to the Bridge into Easter and resurrection and flowers – new garments - and new life in Christ.

This week we have some sacred moments – we might miss – lots of times for Confession – now called, “The Sacrament of Reconciliation”. Is there anyone or anything we need to reconcile? This Thursday can be like any other Thursday or it can be Holy Thursday. 
We’ll have that renewal of the Mass this Thursday night at 7:30 at St. John Neumann. This Friday can be like any other Friday, or it can be Good Friday – where we enter into the Lord’s Passion on the Cross – and with the whole community we venerate the Cross in silence and song. Next Saturday evening we have the Long Easter Vigil when folks come into our church – and that night and the next day, next Sunday, we renew our Baptismal time – and celebrate once more The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

How we spend this week, how we spend our time, is relative.

That’s the title and theme of this homily.

But how we spend our time affects and effects who we are - and how we are to each other and to the Lord – but especially how we are to ourselves.

WHAT WAS 

YOUR MOTHER LIKE

Poem for Today - April 12, 2014

HOT COMBS

At the junk shop, I find an old pair,
black with grease, the teeth still pungent
as burning hair.  One is small,
fine toothed as if for a child. Holding it,
I think of my mother's slender wrist,
the curve of her neck as she leaned
over the stove, her eyes shut as she pulled
the wooden handle and laid flat the wisps
at her temples.  The heat in our kitchen
made her glow that morning I watched her
wincing, the hot comb singeing her brow,
sweat glistening above her lips,
her face made strangely beautiful
as only suffering can do.

(c) Natasha Trethewey

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