DEATH & RESURRECTION

The title of my homily is, “Death and Resurrection.”

Serious topic – obviously.

Lent begins with ashes – a symbol of death and end – and ends with Easter – resurrection.

Ashes – the house, the forest – is burned down – and that’s all that remains – ashes – so too skeleton and dust.

Resurrection – rebuilding – reforesting – the sound of hammer and nail – a new house rising on the ruins of a former house – the sight of buds and new trees – new life – rising to new life – resurrection – Monday morning in eternity.

For the Christian, Lent can be a good season of challenge and spiritual growth.

Lent – 40 days: Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. This year, February 25th till April 12th.

Moving from winter into spring – dark empty branches – slowly budding – breakthroughs.

Surprise – waking up one of these days in March to see those empty branches now breaking forth in green leaves.

Death to resurrection.

Emptiness to new life.

We who live in the northern hemisphere – with our homes and landscape in 4 season geography – get to see all this happen year after year after year – coinciding with Lent – moving towards the Spring of Easter.

Geography impacts us.

It makes a difference in how we think and feel, see and sing. It does depend on where we live. Those who grow up in South Florida or the Caribbean can have a different attitude towards life than those who grow up experiencing, spring, summer, autumn, winter, especially cold winter and empty trees – and then spring and on and on and on.

Whom we live with makes a difference. Whom we interact with makes a difference. What we eat, read, see, experience, become us.

The Christian is called upon to be salt and light – to help others to be zestier and brighter.

The Christian is called to make a difference in this world: in the home, in the neighborhood, in the church, how we enter and exit parking lots and stores – and especially how we treat each other in the work place.

Easy and poetic to say – difficult to do.

We are called to put others ahead of ourselves. Less self; more concern, care, kindness towards neighbor – spouse – children –parents – stranger.

We are called to die to self – and rise to new life.

We are called to be joyful Christians – to pray and practice the prayer of St. Teresa of Avila whose statue is here in our sanctuary, “From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us.”

Christians believe in recovery after the disaster – starting again – and helping those who find recovery difficulty – whether its alcoholism, storms, floods, bankruptcy, out of work, depression, divorce, sickness or death.

Arriving at 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90, 100 – and somewhere along the line the graveyard – is not the end of life.

The Spanish writer, Miguel de Unamuno [1864-1936] quoted an old peasant who said, “If there is no immortality, what use is God?”

For the Christian, we have the faith to say, “We are immortal – because of Christ.”

As we say and sing at Mass: “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.”

The tree of the cross is the tree of the horror of death – the worst we human beings can do to each other. The tree of the cross is also the tree of the seed of hope: resurrection. Christ forgave from that cross. Christ redeemed us from that cross. Christ was taken down from that cross – and many that day, that Bad Friday thought that was the end.

Resurrection is the central act of faith and hope for the Christian.

This is the big Lent to Easter – winter to spring message.

Notice Lent is a season – a period of time. Life is not instant fix.

Conversion – recovery – new beginnings takes time.

So the 40 days of Lent is a model for all of us to realize growth is 40 days, a day at a time, a step at a time, a week at a time.

It’s good to take time out to pray and to fast.

It’s good to give up something for Lent – like fasting from TV one night a week, or the computer one day a week (unless we use one for our job – or we’re doing school work) or fasting from alcohol or bad language or self and my way – and surprise we discover we’re addicted to things and patterns and behaviors we didn’t realize we were chained to.

It’s good to do something extra for Lent – like 5 minutes of prayer per day. Designate a favorite chair as our prayer chair in some quiet place in our home - some inner room - and escape to that prayer chair for time to be with God. I don’t know if there are any more Lenten materials in the back. Use them or the scriptures or say one decade of the Rosary. Father George cut up thousands of little strips of paper. They are in the baskets in the back. Grab one. Put it in your wallet. Look at each day for a moment. See all the things it will say to you this Lent.

Today is Ash Wednesday – the beginning of Lent.

Lent is a good time to have the reality of our life span rubbed in our face.

THE SPAGHETTI SAUCE STAIN

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “The Spaghetti Sauce Stain.”

We’re invited to our sister-in-law’s house for dinner. We’re wearing a bright white wool sweater – brand new – first time wearing it – and we didn’t know it was going to be veal parmesan and spaghetti.

“Ooops!” A small smidgeon of red spaghetti sauce slips off our fork and right onto our bright white wool sweater – right above our belly button.

“Ooops!” and we don’t have a Tide to Go Stick with us.

We cover it with our napkin. The stain is smaller than the size of a dime – but it feels like the size of 12 inch plastic Tupperware cover.

We go to the bathroom – napkin pressed to our stomach – hoping no one saw our tragic accident. Soap and water don’t work. “What did she put in that red spaghetti sauce?” We come back to the table with napkin strategically placed and we sit down for the rest of the meal – hoping our sweater will dry and maybe the stain will go away. Then the host says, “Let’s have dessert in the family room.”

“No!” we scream inwardly.

Dessert is cannoli and spumoni, Napoleons and almond macaroon tarts, but the spaghetti spot is so loud and so screaming we don’t enjoy the cookies or any of the dessert.

Nobody notices the spaghetti sauce stain – but us.

STAINS ARE US

Stains are us. Sins are us. Mistakes are us. Foot in the mouth is us.

And we remember our mistakes for the rest of the evening – some disasters for the rest of our lives.

We don’t forget. We get – we understand, the spaghetti sauce story.

It can be a dumb comment or a car accident – or a parking ticket – or a wardrobe malfunction. There are things we don’t forget.

The baseball pitcher pitches a three hitter – and he remembers those three hits more than the 13 strike outs he pitched.

The basketball player remembers the key missed foul shot and forgets the four three 3 pointers she or he made.

The ice scatter falls on her butt – but doesn’t remember her perfect triple Axel and otherwise flawless performance – just the fall on her fanny in front of thousands – especially her competition.

The reader at Mass reads the reading perfectly – except for the second sentence where she pronounced one word wrong – and for the rest of the Mass she feels really stupid. She’s still stuck in that second sentence. “Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!”

The grandfather – aged 87 – looking back on his life – remembers that time he cheated on his wife. He had too much to drink at the office party. It was 47 years ago. It was a hug with another woman – and one long kiss in a corner. That was it. As he looks back on a wonderful life, he still can’t see anything but that mistake.

At one point he felt so miserable that he had to tell his wife. She forgave him. It was difficult, but she forgave him. There was still one person who wouldn’t forgive him: himself.

A marine killed 5 Viet Cong in Vietnam – as well as a mother and a child who were in the house – in a nasty fire fight – an ambush on him and his buddies as they came into this small village.

Therapy – a silver star from another incident – a wonderful wife and family – a church goer – 12 years in service for our country – seeing the movie, Saving Private Ryan – couldn’t remove the pain, the wonderings about those 7 people – who couldn’t share the rest of their lives like he could.

Pain and stains are hard to be bleached from our record.

THIS IS BLACK HISTORY MONTH

With Michelle Obama as First Lady – and her husband Barack Obama as President – I, for one, hope for more peace – more forgiveness – more improvement in the stained United States history regarding slavery, bigotry and racism. Obviously, to me there has been great improvements. I look forward to an end to "them and us" and we are simply a we - a true US.

There is a poem by a black poet, Countee Cullen [1903-1946] that has the same message as my spaghetti sauce example. The title of the poem is, “Incident”.

INCIDENT

by Countee Cullen

Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,

And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, “Nigger.”

I saw the whole of Baltimore

From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That’s all that I remember.

This is the way we are. We spot spaghetti stains more than almond cookies.

Parents pick up the report card and see the C in algebra – and miss the A’s in all the other columns.

Twenty five people say, “Good sermon Father.” I only hear the one complaint.

The basketball referee drives home in his car that night – no radio – no music on – just the echo of the boos and nasty chants of the crowd because of one blown call.

PARALYSIS

Today’s gospel has it right. Great use of body language.

Sin paralyzes us. Sin prevents us from enjoying the veal Parmesan and the spaghetti dinner as well as the dessert – as well as the sights and sounds of Baltimore.

We all remember the sordid or stupid comment that someone made at us – years and years ago. And if it was particularly violent, it can paralyze us.

We’ve learned from the child abuse stories – that predators of children can paralyze a person for life.

Then the pain, the hurt, the paralysis of soul and spirit, can be made even worse by someone saying, “Get over it.”

Today’s first reading begins, “Thus says the Lord: Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see, I am doing something new!”

Today’s first reading ends, “It is I, I who wipe out, for my own sake, your offenses; your sins I remember no more.”

CONCLUSION: 5 BRIEF OBSERVATIONS

1) Guilt works. It gets us to do a lot of things we might not have done if we didn’t feel guilty because of a mistake.

2) God does not do guilt. We do. God wants to make us new after our offenses. We hold onto old stuff.

3) God doesn’t have scales and books. God doesn’t have a set of scales – good stuff goes on the right and bad stuff on the left – and at the end – whatever side is lower – that side wins. God isn’t Santa Claus – with a book on who’s naughty or nice. Nope, God goes after the one lost sheep and leaves the 99. God is a Forgiving Father who welcomes home prodigal sons and daughters without a, “How could you have done this to us?” Older brothers might. God the Father doesn’t. God just says, “Set up the banquet tables. He’s home! And enjoy the food. Don’t worry about stains.”

4) True friends worry about friends. If a brother or sister has a spaghetti spot on their lower cheek, we signal them, [Signal]. If a brother or sister at work or car pool or family is messing up, a true friend prays over it and looks for the right moment, if that seems the right move, and tries to help a brother or sister from falling off a cliff. If that doesn’t work, he or she gets a few more friends to try to figure out what to do. Today’s gospel has 4 friends in on the healing – and they go through a roof to get him to Jesus. That’s what friends do!

5) This is serious stuff. We start Lent this Wednesday. We get Ashes on our forehead – then we wash them off – and spend extra time in our inner room for Lent. We have 40 days to ponder heavy stuff. Why stay paralyzed by the past, when we can pick up our selves and walk life in a better way? Pick up a piece of Lenten literature from one of the tables in the back. Put a flyer on your car visor to remind you it’s Lent and use your car as a small chapel. Put a Lenten booklet in the bathroom or on your bedside table or read a page at supper out loud and talk about the contents as a family. Lent is a good time to let the good stuff sink into you like good spaghetti sauce.

ON HAVING LEPROSY

I have leprosy.

The priest in our village was the one who broke the news that I had to leave my wife and kids. I had leprosy.

I don’t know where or how I got it, but I got it.

It began on the side of my head – above my right ear. It was a lump – a hard skinned lump – composed of a dark something. It itched at times. I scratched it at times. It bled at times. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

Then the same thing appeared on my right leg above my ankle and then my back. It was like I was getting camel skin.

I was supposed to head for the hills: “Leave!” “Go!” “Disappear!”

Well, I left. I didn’t want to. Who would? But I had to.

At first, I didn’t go too far from our village.

I camped myself behind this rock – on a hill just above our village. It allowed me to watch our house from a distance.

Sometimes at night, my oldest son would come half way up the hill – half way up to me – and we would talk from a distance – about what was going on. It had to be at night – and even that was risky – because in a small town everyone knew everything – warts and all.

My wife was like a widow. She felt isolated like me – becoming what I had become – because of me – but without leprosy. She remained inside our tiny house most of the time. She continued to weave baskets and make bread – but my five kids had to bring the bread and baskets to a market in the next village which was about 7 miles away – if they wanted to sell them.

They needed money – daily bread and daily coins – and it would have been nice if daily forgiveness came along with them. It did from some, but others would point out my wife from the other side of the street, “There’s the woman whose husband has leprosy and had to leave her. They must have done something wrong for God to punish them like this."

In the meanwhile, what do you do to put food on the table?

I felt helpless – isolated – stupid – and all alone. My wife didn’t understand any of this either. I don’t blame her. It killed me. I itched more. I scratched more.

Then word got out that I was hiding just above our village.

The priest – whose job it was to bark out such orders – came half way up the hill and told me that I had to leave the area.

“Unclean!” “Unclean!”

It must be tough being a priest.

I left. It wasn’t easy. But I did.

Finally, I found a group of men who had what I had: leprosy.

They hung out in these “Godforsaken” caves – high up in the hills.

They had little gardens – some sheep and goats – and were able to make it – with a lot of difficulty.

In the evenings we could laugh at times. Two men in our small group could play a flute – and three were good with bells – so the dozen of us or so – could sing and laugh at times.

However, when it came time to sleep, we were a sorry bunch – all alone – sleeping with the feeling of rejection and not being wanted.

In the morning some would wash up – but some had given up even that. What’s the use? It was good there weren’t mirrors. However, it’s always easy to see the other person’s lumps and cuts and dirt more than one’s own.

Each new lump – each new sore – lowered our expectations and our hopes about life.

We had to say, “Unclean!” if some shepherd or kid wandered into our camp in the hills.

We had to wear a bell around our neck and ring it if we ran into a caravan or stranger on a road we might be traveling.

I was ugly. I was alone. I was miserable.

Then this crazy guy – who didn’t care about us or anyone – went to the synagogue in Capernaum and met a man named, “Jesus of Nazareth.”

And Jesus healed him. Jesus healed him and he went outside and told everyone in the market – in the carpenter shops – in the inns – as well as in the hills – that he had met Jesus and Jesus healed him.

Hearing that I heard hope.

Hearing that I gathered up my stuff, said, “Good bye!’ to the men in our camp, and headed in the direction of Jesus. I had to find him. I had bundled myself up and wore a turban. I covered all my sores.

I asked folks on the roads, “Do you know where Jesus of Nazareth is?” Some hadn't heard of him; some had and pointed me in his direction. I just missed him two times.

Good News.

There he was – all alone – early in the morning. I knew it was him. I just knew it.

Surprise!

I followed him. He didn’t see me. This was up in the hills. He rested behind a rock. I could identify with that. It looked like he was praying. I watched and watched.

After about an hour he stood up – bowed to the heavens – and headed back down to the road. Well, here was my chance.

I yelled to him, “Jesus of Nazareth!”

He turned.

I said, “If you want to, you can cure me!”

Jesus looked at me. He looked me in the eye – even though my tendency by now was to constantly be looking at the ground. I felt ugly – very ugly – and not worth anything.

Jesus walked towards me. He reached out and touched me. He then said, “I want to heal you. You’re cured.”

I could feel something happen to my skull above my right ear. I could feel tingle in the sores on my feet. I could feel the sores on my back itch in a new way. Something was happening to them.

Jesus said, “Don’t tell anyone. Go back to your priest and make the offering that Moses prescribed. That should be a proof for anyone who thinks you still have leprosy.”

I stood still for a moment – shocked, surprised, stunned.

Jesus hugged me and then he headed back towards where his disciples were encamped.

There was a stream of water nearby. I headed for it and washed myself and my clothes completely and rung them out to dry. While waiting for them to dry in the sun I found myself singing. I felt as clean as a naked new born baby. Then I dressed – singing like I used to love to sing when I was a kid.

First thing I did? You know it. Everyone I met on the road I told my story. They thought I was another crazy person. I headed back to my camp. There were ten people there with leprosy. I told them what happened. They quickly got together their stuff and headed in the direction I told them Jesus went.

I went home. I went to the priest and told him what happened. He was skeptical till I showed him the side of my head – above my right ear – and my feet and my back. I was a brand new person.

He was dumbstruck – a priest with nothing to say. Amazing.
Then I headed home to my wife and 5 kids.

Then the celebration began.

[This Sunday in the Archdiocese of Baltimore we had the Archbishop's Annual Appeal 2009, so we didn't have a sermon - so I wrote this reflective story on today's first and third readings for this 6th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B: Leviticus 13:, 1-2, 44-46; Mark 1: 40-45]

ME

A rock – no, never.
Water – not even close.
A tree – sometimes.
A chair – getting closer.
A table – a tiny bit at times.
A door – but closed – perhaps.
A bridge – trying to be.
A window – no.
A mirror – definitely not.
Me – yes.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

R.S.V.P.

Love is a risk – well worth it
when another chooses
to love back in return –
and that’s the catch. It has
to contain the possibility of
the other’s “No!” – otherwise
the other’s “Yes” means
nothing. So here goes,
“I love you!” R.S.V.P.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

CRAYONS  AND  CLAY

Adults know – somehow they know
to say, "Thank you!"
without being told to say it
when a kid hands us a drawing –
or a statue they made from clay or play dough.
Putting the drawing on the refrigerator door
or the clay cat or dog on a shelf
or a very prominent place,
so the creator can notice it every time,
now that’s learned behavior….
God the Creator has to be saying “Wow!”
and “Thank you” as well.
“Imitation is the sincerest of flattery.”
But what does someone feel when he or she
finds in an attic box or cellar trunk
old papers and pictures
from mom or dad – or grandparents –
a crayoned Picasso or an impressionistic painting
or sculpture or note book that he or she drew
or wrote in when they were 2, 3 or 4?
It has to be somewhat like the feelings
the 4 teenagers had who discovered the Cave of Lascaux
in southwest France in 1940 with all those drawings
of bisons and bulls, horses and penguins
dated back to Paleolithic times –
some 15,000 to 17,000 years ago –
or the feeling the shepherd or goatherd had
who discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947.
Wait! There's more to come.
Imagine all the undiscovered paintings and scrolls
in trunks and boxes in attics and cellars,
as well as in the caves of the human heart,
waiting to be discovered, “Thank you!” “Wow!”

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

PERSPECTIVE

From way up here
everything looks so, so small …
sitting here – window seat
looking down at the vast below….
And sometimes that’s how I feel
sitting here right next to you,
window seat next to aisle seat,
feeling so far, far away from you.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009