We finally had the funeral service for Joanne who died just after Thanksgiving - down in St. Mary's Georgia, where she lived. About 50 people showed up here in Long Branch, New Jersey - for the funeral. We are grateful for Gary Reich for getting a videographer to do the service.Thank you. Thank you everyone for helping us deal with the death of a wonderful human being: Joanne Reynolds - Costello - Reich.
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JOANNE:
A PLACE AT THE TABLE
The title of my homily is, “Joanne: A Place at the
Table.” All of us want – like – hope - for a seat at the table. In the movie, Eagle Eye, the main male character, Jerry
Shaw, says he always wanted to walk into his house and feel at home – but it
didn’t happen. Is that something that happens to everyone – at sometime – or
sometimes – in their life? Translation: wanting
to feel at home at home - somewhere. We all have an eagle eye. We’re looking for signals.
We’re hoping to see signs – that “I’m at home here.” In thinking about Joanne these three months or so, I
think that was one of her greatest gifts: she made you feel at home. Don, Ron, and Pat could attest to that – so too Kathy,
Patty, Mary, Maureen, Margie, Jeannie and Claire. So too Gary. So too all the
other chairs around the table. Sons-in-law, grandkids, friends and those who
moved around in Joanne’s psyche – all liked it – when they felt welcome in her
presence – and with each other. Thank you, Joanne. I remember talking to her and Ron once about a book they
read together: A Place at the Table. It was all about making sure every
member of the family had a place at the table. Translation: in some families people who are seen as
different – are not accepted as is. I once wrote down and memorized a quote I found in some
book: “The greatest sin is our inability
to accept the otherness of other people.” I made that a theme of much of my preaching. Thank you Joanne. People are different. Often that’s their beauty. Thank You God. It’s obvious, but sometimes we don’t want to eat with, we
don’t want to be with, we don’t want to sit at the same table with certain
people. Not smart. Not good. Not the way to do it. But we do it –
at times. If I hear Jesus – I hear him – telling us to eat with
each other – be with each other- be in
Holy Communion with each other. I hear him telling us about the importance of food. I hear him telling us about the beauty of bread and wine. We like it when we have a ticket to the human table. Jesus fed the 4000, the 5000, the hungry and the thirsty. Did his disciples keep an empty chair for him in their
first meal together after their last supper with him? When they said the Our Father together in their meals
together in the weeks and years of the early church – did they pause – and then
say extra loud: “Give us this day our daily bread”? When they received the bread and ate the bread together –
did they slowly say to Jesus in prayer: “You’re right, there are people I don’t
want to eat with – be with – I can’t stomach them – yet you hung out with
outcasts and told us to do the same. Being good only to those who are good to us – is not
enough. I heard Joanne tell a story a few times – when the little
kids – were looking for her. She was hiding.But they knew she was somewhere in the house. Well, she was
hiding in the bathroom. That’s the door
that had a lock. She could hear their little kid’s fingers scratching on the
bathroom door. They wanted her. She wanted a break. She needed a break. She’d
be hiding there in the locked bathroom –
with wine and Utz potato chips – and Vienna Fingers cookies.Bread, wine, desert, space. Phew. Then she’d come out and continue her job of motherhood. Being wife and mother of seven – she learned – the great
life message: everyone is hungry for food and for each other – but sometimes we
need a break from each other. Life. Joanne was a learner - and those who knew her - learned from her. Salt, light, we need both – as today’s readings told us. Joanne was both salt and light. Today’s first reading - that Kathy read - also told us about a good wife. My brother,
Ron, Don, knew that. Her kids – also the McGee’s, the Goldberger’s, the
neighbors - the people she worked with – all learned learnings from her. If only we would listen – if only we would watch – life
is a great classroom – the family table – every table – every meal – is a
teachable moment. I remember a good conversation I once had with
Joanne.There were good ones – but not
enough. No wonder heaven is often
described asa banquet. Then we’ll really have time for each other. Well - I’m sitting with Joanne – talking - or maybe we
were walking. She loved to walk – well - once upon a time - she said she went out to lunch with the women she
worked with on a Maryland County Human
Relations committee. All were people of color – except her.They were now in a big van – 7 of them – heading
back to the office – after lunch. One lady says to Joanne – in the van. “You
were there at table with us – in that restaurant – just now. Did you notice
anything interesting?” Joanne – paused – hesitated and then said, “Well, no.” Well, the lady who asked the question - said, “Did you notice the white waitress picked
up all our plates – silverware – cups and saucers – without asking if we were
finished – all of us except you?” “But she politely asked you – if you were finished.” “Woops.” Silence. When I heard that I said, “Ooops” and thought “Woops!” I never stopped to notice or think about that at any meal I ever had- at home – or in a restaurant – or at a
banquet – up to that moment in my life.Ever
since that anecdote – that story – that experience Joanne mentioned, I have.Now I notice that. I notice when waitresses
or waiters ask if I’m finished before they take my plates and stuff. Every person deserves all the marks of dignity and notice
– and recognition and respect. “Every person,” as someone said, “is sitting in the best
seat.” Wasn’t Jesus aware of that – and said that – when he
noticed folks wanting the most important seats – at meals and banquets? I noticed in these funeral services – where there is the
cremated remains – they place the cremains on small tables. The one who has
died is being given a place at our table with us. Today – we are especially – noticing – remembering –
being with Joanne. Today – it has taken some time – today we are finally
having a funeral service for Joanne Reynolds. It has certainly been quite difficult for the people of
this planet – to do this - in this time of Corona Virus deaths. Thank you – for all of you who have done this – prepared
all this. Thanks. We all know it’s important to do this.That’s why we are here today. I remember seeing a documentary. It might have been one
by Jacob Brownowski.He said that
somewhere in our evolution as human beings – a group of early – early – way
back when - people – were migrating through the woods of Africa or Europe –
somewhere. Someone died. Till that moment – they would just take the body and throw
it – move it off the path – and then move on. But at that moment – they stopped. They buried the body.
They left a marker.They paused out of
love for that person – and on the way back – along that path – they paused at
that spot where there was a marker. They said a primitive prayer – and told
some stories about their loved ones – and moved on. The title of my homily is: Joanne: A Place at Our Table. In the weeks – in the months – in the years to come –
Joanne’s presence in our life – remains with us. She’ll always have a place at our table. Just scratch on her door – and invite her stories – into
our stories. Continue to do what we are doing today: thinking,
talking, loving Joanne – and the people Joanne loved: us – us here at our
table. Amen.
March 7, 2022
THENAMES
Yesterday,
I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.
*This poem is dedicated to the victims of September 11 and to their survivors.
Not mentioned by Billy Collins I'd like to mention my godfather's grandson: Sean Bowman
Sunday, March 6, 2022
March 6, 2022
SEEKING THE SOURCE
a voice out of this world
calls on our souls
not to wait any more
get ready to move
to the original home
your real home
your real birth place
is up here with the heavens
let your soul take a flight
like a happy phoenix
you’ve been tied up
your feet in the mud
your body roped to a log
break loose your ties
get ready for the final flight
make your last journey
from this strange world
soar for the heights
where there is no more
separation of you and your home
God has created
your wings not to be dormant
as long as you are alive
you must try more and more
to use your wings to show you’re alive
these wings of yours
are filled with quests and hopes
if they are not used
they will wither away
they will soon decay
you may not like
what i’m going to tell you
you are stuck
now you must seek
nothing but the source
i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any—lifted from the no of all nothing—human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
This poem was originally published in Xaipe1(New York: Oxford University Press, 1950), reissued in 2004 by Liveright, an imprint of W.W. Norton & Company. Reprinted here by permission of the publisher. Copyright expires 2045.
Poem by e.e. cummings
Friday, March 4, 2022
March 4, 2022
Thought for Today
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them
feel.”
