My sister Mary told me that one of the 58 killed in Las Vegas had a name like mine. Got me thinking ....
Years ago there was a story of a guy who had the same name as I have and he took a bump on a plane out of Chicago - which crashed. Got me thinking ....
And there was to be a surprise, according to People.com: Mr. Miller had been planning to propose.
He never had the chance. Ms. Castilla was killed in the attack, according to a text message from her aunt, Marina Castilla Parker, who posted photos to Facebook of Ms. Castilla beaming at the festival with her sister and their partners.
“I was holding onto her head and trying to keep her from losing so much blood, talking to her, kissing her, telling her she was going to make it,” Athena Castilla said. “We all did our best to help her get through it. We did the best we could.”
October 9, 2017
EXPERIENCES
It’s not whether you experienced it;
it’s the feeling of knowing - being present - to the feeling you had - when you experienced it. Namely: celebrated, honored, singled out, betrayed, hurt, rejected, succeeded, failed, loved, cancelled out, forgotten, cheated on, stolen from, tricked, won, lost, avoided, not been forgiven, lied to,
challenged, welcomed at a front door.
Name and admit those experiences.
Now we can talk to each other. Now we can be one with each other. Do you know, now we can really get to know each other. Did you know that?
A bunch of grapes hung there tight and together on the
vine.
They enjoyed the sunshine
- and they enjoyed the rain.
They liked talking to each other - laughing - watching
sunrises and sunsets.
They liked it when a sweet wind swung them back and forth
in the breeze - hanging together in a rich looking cluster of grapes - like
kids on swings in the park or on a ride in the amusement park.
Not a bad gig - this being a grape.
“Hey,” grapes would say to each other, “beats being a
rock or a clump of hard dirt.”
Grapes liked it that people bragged about how great they
were - and the great future ahead for grapes - some becoming grape jam but in
this vineyard becoming the best wine money can buy.
And fine wine was in. It used to be that beer got the
most cheers - but now it was wine. Even men toasted with it - clinking see-through
wine glasses together during football games. Imagine that? Football games…. Wine!
Time rolled on. The vineyard owner and his wife, along with their two
teenage sons and two teenage daughters - and all their workers looked forward
to harvest time.
It would be soon - very soon.
All the grapes from one end of the vineyard to the other
end of the vineyard - from top to bottom - from row to row - if you listened
carefully - after everyone went to bed - would be singing, “Soon and very
soon….” Then they would croon in harmony as a background refrain: “Soon. Soon. Soon.”
Different grapes started wondering more and more - where
they would end up.
Would it be at the table of a millionaire or some
governor or mayor or movie actress?
It was the first day of October - when they heard the
news. It was harvest time. They heard the tractors getting closer and
closer - pulling wagons with neat bright
white plastic boxes.
“Chug …. Chug …. Chug….
“Chug …. Chug …. Chug….
“Snip …. Snip …. Snip….
“Snip …. Snip …. Snip….”
That hurt - being a cluster of grapes - snipped off the
vine with a sharp, sharp, silver cutter and then thrown into a big while
plastic box.
“Uh oh,” one grape said.
“It looks like a coffin to me.”
And then the lid was closed.
Then the tractor chuged, chugged, four white plastic boxes over to a big
truck that already had about 15 plastic
boxes of grapes on it.
When the truck was filled with these white plastic boxes
of grapes it was brought to a big cinder block building with a big sign on the
outside, “WINERY”.
The boxes were taken off the truck and stacked inside in a damp
- cold - room.
The grapes were now quite nervous - wondering what was
next.
They were being kept in the dark - and they wished for
one more day - of sunrise and sunset.
The next day - it was well after sunrise - but they
didn’t know that - they were poured out - all the grapes were poured out - into
a big wooden round vat. It was
called a wine press.
“Oh no,” different grapes thought, seeing this big wooden
round press - like a plunger coming down on them. “We’re finished.”
The squeeze was on.
Every last drop of grape juice was squeezed out of them.
Then they were tasted, tested, blended, mixed with add
ons and all that.
Then they were put in barrels and lined up in storage.
And all was silent.
It was time for them to ferment - to become wine.
Time rolled on.
From time to time they could hear barrels being moved.
They had aged.
How do I look? They wondered.
Then they were bottled and labeled and shipped.
Once more the question came up: “Where will I end up?”
Fast forward - it was years now - since all this happened
- but different wines were bragging where they ended up.
They bragged about being at weddings and banquets. They bragged about being wined and
dined.
But there was this one bottle - that was very quiet.
And everyone wondered why.
Then this wine told those close by.
I have been chosen to become altar wine.
I have been chosen to go into a chalice at Mass.
I have been chosen to become the Blood of Jesus at Mass.
I have been chosen to bring people together in Holy
Communion.
And the others were amazed - this was Hall of Fame stuff - in the world of wine - but not everyone knew this - but the different types of
wine knew.
And you could hear at times - wines singing on the vine, "Holy, Holy, Holy, some day - some of us - will become the blood of Christ.
Amen."
[This is sort of a story - a reflection coming out of today's readings for the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time - when vineyards don't work - and plans for the future go sour and get crushed.] Justin was having a tough year.His wife walked out on him and he lost his
job.As I was saying, Justin was having
a tough year.
He got a new job.
It was in Washington D.C. and he discovered that buses from and to his new apartment was a
great way to get to and from work. The bus drivers weren’t singing - especially
in the early morning commute - “And leave the driving to us.”
What to do on the bus on his way to and from work?
It was the same bus at the same time every morning: 6:57 A.M. It was the same bus at the same time every
afternoon: 4:14 P.M.
He began to notice there were 4 different small
communities on the bus - and he could overhear conversations and comments about
sports and weather, politics and public policy.
Hey a lot of these men and women were government workers. He got to know
different voices and different laughs and different exclamation points. He got
to know who were loners and who Noah’s ark type folks - liked to travel two by
two - and who were groupies.
He was a loner. He
was new to all of this.
He was still in a funk over his failed marriage. Thank
God they didn’t have any kids. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about life and family
- what’s new and where you’re from?
So with book in hand - or newspaper - or magazine - and
always a window seat - he remained quiet - giving signals, “I prefer quiet right now in this ride to work
or this ride home from work.”
He found it hard to read. He found it easier to just sit
there and think.
Looking out the bus window, he saw a poster or an ad for
something - that featured the statue called, “The Thinker.”
And so he started to see himself as “A Thinker”.
Then he changed that image and that title to, “The Philosopher”
or “A Philosopher.”
He smiled because he remembered being tempted in college
to take a course called, “Philosophy 101.”
He took 2 classes and then switched over to a history course of Southeast
Asia instead.
“I wonder,” - he thought - “maybe I should have stayed
with the philosophy.”
He bought a medium
spiral note pad - blue cover - the ones with the wire along the side - 150
blue lined sheets - 9 ½ inches by 6 inches.
And to and from work he became a philosopher - jotting
down life issues - like, “The Secret of Happiness,” - “The Meaning of Life” - "Sour Grapes and Vinegar" - “Suffering and Loss” - “Success and Failure” - “Men and Women”.
With those titles and themes on the top of the page - he
then jotted down thoughts and questions that he philosophized about on his trip
to and from work.
One day, on the top of a page - he put down a title, “The Best Laid Plans”. He
remembered that from high school - that it was part of a poem by somebody. Sure enough - he was close. It was, “the best
laid schemes”. It was part of a poem by the Scottish poet, Robert Burns - from
way back in November 1785. It was about a farmer plowing his field and ruining a mouse’s house - and changing a mouse’s
schemes for “What now?” "What's next?"
Smiling for the first time in a long time - he said to
himself, “I’m becoming a philosopher. That’s me. When she left me - my whole
life - all my plans - have changed. My nest and my next was ruined. Wow -
imagine what all these people in Mexico, Puerto Rico, Florida, Houston,
Southeast Asia - have to go through when their plans are ruined?”
Sometime while slowly becoming a philosopher he slowly began to become a theologian. This was not from
the bus - but from the sidewalk.
It was Spring and the weather in Washington was becoming
beautiful -cherry blossoms were springing from the trees and flowers popping up
from the ground. Resurrection and new life were appearing everywhere.
Instead of eating lunch at his desk - he decided on
getting outside - feeling and sensing the sun and the spring light breezes. And
he found a favorite bench - on the mall and he sat there - eating his sandwich
- and an apple - and watching the world go by on the sidewalk.
Without knowing it, he was about to become a theologian.
He saw two blocks down a church - and he could see folks going in and out -
every once and a while.
So one Friday - he walked down the sidewalk - crossed an
avenue - came to the church - walked up the steps - opened the door - and found
himself in the semi-darkness.
He put his hand into the holy water dish. “Must be a
Catholic Church,” he said to himself. “I haven’t been in one of these since my
marriage.”
He walked down the side aisle - and slipped into a bench
- and tears came to his eyes.
He began to pray - well just a one word prayer - “Help.
Help. Help!” In time it would become, "Christ, where are you?"
He sat there that first time in church in a long time - for a good 22 minutes - till he realized
he should be back at work.
He ran - walked - ran - and snook into his desk - a good
15 minutes late - but nobody noticed.
That afternoon - he opened up his spiral pad - and wrote
on a fresh page - just one word, “God!”
He jotted down two or three pages of words about his God
Life” - but then he smiled and said to himself, “Wrong book!”
Getting off the bus he walked into a supermarket where he
shopped. He picked up some groceries, a
shepherd’s pie for supper, and a medium size spiral pad - this one with a red
cover - 9 ½ inches by 6 inches - 150 sheets - blue lines.
After supper he wrote on the top of page one the word, “Theologian.”
He remembered he signed up in college for a course on
Theology 101 - and he dropped out of that course after two classes as well.
He remembered the professor saying that Theology came
from two Greek words, “Theos” meaning “God” and “Logos” meaning “word”.
So under the word “Theology” on the top of page one he
wrote a sub-title, “Words About God.”
And that professor said, “Philosophy comes from two Greek
words, ‘Philos’ meaning ‘Lover’ as in ‘Philadelphia
- City of Brotherly Love’ and ‘Sophia’ meaning
wisdom.”
He got up and got out his other spiral pad and wrote on
the top of page one, “Philosophy” - Subtitle: ”Wisdom Lover.”
Now he had those two books - one blue one red - that he
kept in his small backpack - which he traveled with to and from work.
He was a neat nick - the writings he did on the bus - he
limited himself to wisdom and philosophy and the writings he did on his
favorite bench and church near the mall, he limited himself to words about and
with God.
He had a plan.
But in time - plans and schemes and subtitles change. He
found himself back in church - on a regular basis - on Sunday mornings. And oh yeah, he met this nice gal - on the bus - and time
will tell when and what he’ll write again and what happens next.
October 7, 2017
FOUNTAINS
Who made the first fountain? Who was the first kid who splashed another kid with water from a fountain and both laughed and laughed and laughed? Who decided, "Let's put a fountain right here for hot days like this one?" Who came up with the idea of water in the first place? Well, whoever you are, "Thank you!"
It’s a scary topic and theme. It could trigger our upbringing - that we
might have been shamed as kids - or it could trigger mistakes we have made on
kids.
TODAY’S FIRST
READING
Today’s first reading from Baruch 1: 15-22 begins this way,
“During
the Babylonian captivity, the exiles prayed:
‘Justice is with the Lord, our God;
and we today are flushed with shame,
we men of Judah and citizens of Jerusalem,
that we, with our kings and rulers
and priests and prophets, and with our ancestors,
have sinned in the Lord's sight and disobeyed him….’”
After reading that I wondered
if they actually used our understanding or idea of shame. So I looked up other
translations. The different translations
I could find used words that seemed to capture our understanding of shame: “public shame is upon us…. ” - “open shame is
upon us….” - “to be shamefaced….” - “we are still covered with shame….”
This is a tricky text to get
at - because it’s from the non-canonical literature in some Bibles - that is,
Baruch is not in all Bibles.
So I would assume the people
from 563 B.C. and then later - because there are rewrites - like most of
scripture - were describing the human feeling called, “shame”.
What are your thoughts about
shame? Do you ever feel ashamed.
SHAME TODAY
Today’s first reading is from
back then. What do the writers and
teachers and speakers and therapists and counselors of today say about shame?
If interested in this topic:
type into Google, “Shame” and then listen to the short videos you can find
there on YouTube and Ted Talks. Two speakers that are featured are John
Bradshaw and Brene Brown
Better: type into the Google search box: “Shame and
Guilt.”
John Bradshaw was big 15
years ago. He’s dead now.
John Bradshaw talks in a
language we can all understand. He talks
about the feelings that hit us when we are yelled at. Any one with kids knows
what potty training is about: holding and letting go.
So check out shame and guilt
on google.
For starters, you’ll find out
some say: shame is much deeper than guilt.
For starters, some say there
is good shame and bad shame.
For starters, bad shame or
toxic shame means I am bad - whereas
guilt is the feeling - I did something wrong. Guilt is the aftertaste from
doing something that is considered wrong.
I like the distinction: Guilt
means I made a mistake; Shame means I am a mistake.
BACK TO THE READING
The people in today’s first
reading from Baruch are in exile. They are slaves. They have been dragged out
of Jerusalem and Israel and made slaves and servants of the Babylonians.
What would that feel like?
Was it like slaves captured
and brought to the Americas? What would
it feel like to see so many die on the trip to America from Africa.
What was it like to be made
to wear the yellow star of David?
What did the Jews and Poles
and others feel like when stripped and dragged and pushed into prisons in
Auscwitz etc.
What was it like for those
women in France who slept with Germans to get food and anything they could get
to survive - and they were put on chairs up on a stage surrounded by crowds of
French folks - and their hair was cut off? Did they blush? Did they wish they
were dead?
SHAME: LET’S START AT THE VERY BEGINNING
I have always read that the
earlier the problem, the worse the problem.
Evidently adults use or have
used the mantra: “shame, shame on you” on kids. That comment can last. It can
become imprinted on a kid's psyche.
I don’t know what they are going to find in the physical brain
of Stephen Paddock.
Years ago, when the Texas Tower killer Charles Whitman
killed 18 people and injured 31, they found a brain that was abnormal. On July
31, 1966 Whitman wrote a note about his violent impulses, saying, “After my death, I
wish an autopsy on me be performed to see if there’s any mental disorders.”
I read this on line, “The note then described his hatred
for his family and his intent to kill them. That night, Whitman went to his
mother’s home, where he stabbed and shot her. Upon returning to his own home,
he then stabbed his wife to death.”
GUY AT
TOBYHANNA
The worst shame story I ever heard happened at Tobyhanna,
Pennsylvania.
It was Saturday night and on a men’s retreat an older man
raised his hand. I acknowledge him and he stood up to speak.
He said something that went like this. I’ll never forget
it. “My brother and I were in the kitchen sitting with our dad.”
“My dad said to my brother. You’re going to graduate from
the 8th grade soon. We’re going to get you into the best high school
around here. You’ll go to high school and do terrific as you always do. Then
you’ll graduate and go to a good college. Then you’re going to become a doctor
or a lawyer or an engineer or architect. You’ll be a great success in whatever
you do.”
“Well,” the man continued, “I asked my dad. ‘Dad, what
about me? What about me? What’s going to come of me?’”
“You? You’ll never amount to anything. You’re as
worthless, and he pointed to his shoe. “as the sole of my shoe. You're nothing.’”
Well we were all shocked and silent. The man was numb and
hurting.
Then after this long period of silence, he said, “My dad
was right. I never amounted to anything.”
That scene has been a rerun in my mind many times ever
since.
CONCLUSION
Shame is underneath addictions and abuse.
A human being has to start with primal love.
I was a baby once and I deserved to be loved and honored
and held.
A human being has to hug herself or himself and say, “I
am worthy.”
A human being needs to feel God holding him or her - in
love.
When I taught prayer I always said, “Prayer is taking
time to be with God.”
Then I would add, “If you sit down and pray for a short period of time every day or
at least once a week, many times it will be boring, but it’s my experience, if
you take time with God, you’ll have God experiences."
I’m not scared to say I was once making a holy hour and I
sort of spaced out and I experienced God as the Good Shepherd picking me up and
wrapping me around his shoulders like a sheep.
The underbelly of a sheep has to smell ugly - being caked
in pee and poo - and my flesh was touching the fleshy neck of Jesus. That moment overwhelmed me.
That’s from Luke 15. Read that chapter over and over
again.
Feel yourself like the lost sheep, baa, baa, baa till God
finds you.
Feel yourself like a lost coin, keep going, “Ahem. Ahem,
Ahem over here, till God finds you.”
Feel yourself like the lost son - who still smells like
pigs - coming home to his Father and the Father embraces him.
That’s what that old man at that retreat house needed,
the embrace of God that he is good, that
he is loved. Amen.
