Friday, January 2, 2009

HAPPY NEW YEAR
FACE TO FACE


INTRODUCTION

Today’s first reading triggers the memory of one of the most ancient and most popular games of all cultures. It’s the game that parents and grandparents play with children called, “Peekaboo!” And if the kid is very small we say, “Peekaboo! I love you.”

Little children long to see the face of their mother and their father. “Peekaboo! I love you.”

In the movie, “The Godfather”, we even see Don Corleone, Marlo Brando, as a grandfather, kidding and playing this came of “Peekaboo” in the backyard with his grandson.

When we were children we climbed up on our father’s lap to pull away his strong fingers to see his face.

We long to see the face of our father.

And when we did wrong, didn’t we hide our face in shame? But didn’t we also have at the same time, a deep longing that our father would come into our darkness and that we would see his shining face? Didn’t we long for his smile, so that we would know that he had come to “forgive us our trespasses?”

HOMILETIC REFLECTIONS

In today’s first reading, then, we have these basic human feelings in an ancient and famous blessing called, “The Aaronite or Priestly Blessing.”

“May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May the Lord let his face shine on you
and be gracious to you.
May the Lord uncover his face to you
and bring you peace.”


This special blessing goes way back into Old Testament history. In fact, for example, in August of 1979 an amulet or charm was found in an archeological dig in Jerusalem’s old city with the blessing on it. However, it took years for anyone to figure it out.

Judith Hadley, a graduate student in archeology from Toledo, Ohio, spotted the amulet and said it looked like a cigarette butt. It was a tiny roll of silver from around 2,600 years ago. The leader of the dig, a Gabriel Barkay of Tel Aviv University, recognized it as an amulet that someone would have worn with a string through it.

For two and a half years the amulet was studied and worked on carefully. Gabriel Barkay knew there must be writing on it. Finally, after figuring out how to unroll the silver without destroying it, writing was discovered. With the help of a microscope, a researcher saw the name Yahweh two times. However, it wasn’t till 1986, when the Israel Museum was putting together an exhibit of the treasures from the dig where the amulet was found, that the name Yahweh was seen for the third time. It was the clue that solved the mystery: the amulet contained the Priestly or Aaronite Blessing.

So just as people today wear charms or amulets around their necks with special words on them, what more beautiful words than the Priestly or Aaronite blessing.

The blessing is simple and basic. It asks that essential needs be taken care of:

• that God keep protective watch over us,

• that God be gracious to us,

• that God not hide his face from us,

• that God bring us his peace—Shalom.

What more could we want?

This blessing became so special that laws (rules and regulations), were made, so that it could be given only by the priests: the Sons of Aaron.

PRACTICAL APPLICATIONS


As we begin a New Year, as we wish blessings on each other, as we pray for peace for ourselves, our family and our world, perhaps we can look at this Aaronite or Priestly Blessing for the secret or the answer on just how to have peace and a Happy New Year.

The key hope and blessing is that we see the face of God. When that happens, then we will have peace. The key then is living in a face to face relationship with God. Transparency. Honesty. Openness. These are the virtues needed for a happy life.

All of us can relate to that. Once more we can go back to the childhood game of longing to see the face of our mother and our father. When they were out of sight, we often cried. We thought they were hiding from us. We thought we did something wrong. But when we saw their smile, then we knew all was right. Peace was being loved. Peace was being held. Peace was being reflected in the center of our parent’s eyes. “Peekaboo! I love you!”

But we don’t have to go back to our childhood only. We know as adults that when we are at odds with God or our family or our neighbor, we hide our faces from each other. We can’t look each other in the eye. We wear masks. Didn’t St. Paul say all that: that we sin in the dark, behind closed doors, our of sight, in secret?

Isn’t that the message behind the eye of God on the dollar bill? God sees all. Put the dollar back. It’s not yours. Don’t steal. And if you do steal, you’ll discover, even if you are never caught, that you stole some peace and happiness from yourself. Is unhappiness worth a dollar? A hundred dollars? Does it have a price?

But happiness isn’t a relationship with God where we think he is always watching us. That would be a relationship built on fear and not on trust and love. To have a Happy New Year and to have the blessing of peace, we need to have a positive relationship with a loving God.

And to start this kind of a relationship, God usually makes the first move. When Adam and Eve sinned in the Garden, what did they do? They hid in shame. They could not face God. Yet, God did not give up and hide his face from them. He went searching for them in the Garden. And when He found them he talked to them face to face.

And isn’t that also the message of Christmas which we just celebrated? That God once more came into the Garden of the world to look at us face to face. Jesus is the face of God shining on us. The word became flesh, became an infant, looking out at us and our world. When we look at the Christmas crib, what do we see? What does the Christmas story say to us?

Did Mary play, “Peekaboo! I love you,” with Jesus?

Obviously, we don’t know the answer to that one. But why not? And why not imagine seeing the faces of Mary and Joseph and the shepherds in today’s Gospel looking at the face of Jesus? Painters through the centuries have imagined the scene. Luke is telling us that the shepherds represent us, that we should long to see the face of Jesus.

And Luke is also telling us to be like Mary: to treasure and ponder all these things in our heart. Isn’t that treasuring and pondering the beginning of a deep prayer life with God that will bring happiness and peace to our heart this New Year and every year of our life?

And isn’t that what Paul is calling us to in today’s second reading? “God sent his Son, born of a woman,” so that we can have a relationships with him that is face to face—intimate. We can have a relationship with God that is as close as a child climbing up on his lap and looking him face to face, eye to eye. We can have a relationship with God that is as intimate and face to face as is his relationship with Mary.

Commenting on today’s second reading from Galatians, John Bligh, S.J., the British scripture scholar, reflects on St. Paul, that “it can hardly have escaped his notice that the `woman’ whom he mentions was taken into an astonishing intimacy with God. When she cried `Abba, Father’, she was addressing the Father of her own Son. To this day, it is impossible to contemplate the relationship of Mary the Mother of Jesus to God the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ without wonder and amazement.”

The secret of a Happy New Year then is t have a face to face relationship with God. How? The answer is found in today’s Gospel: to be like Mary, to be like Joseph, to be like the shepherds, to approach Jesus and look into his face.

But it must be stated that Jesus is no longer a baby. Today, this New Year, approach Jesus adult to adult, face to face. Let his face shine on you. Let him be gracious to you. Isn’t that what Jesus was about? He is the Aaronite or the Priestly Blessing in the flesh. He is the face of God walking around blessing people. He walked around looking into people’s faces. Most turned away and walked the other way. The gospels, Sunday after Sunday, however, tell us story after story about people whom Jesus met face to face: Nicodemus, the Woman at the Well, the Rich Young Man, Zaccheus, and hundreds more. But to as many who received him, he gave them power to become the children of God. Like a little kid, climbing up on his father’s lap, Jesus went up to people and pried their hands away from their faces and looked into their eyes, with the eyes of love.

The Lord’s face shone on them. He was gracious to them. He gave them the possibility of peace. And whenever he looked into someone’s eyes and saw death, he cried out, “Lazarus, come forth!” He, the Lord of the Resurrection, wanted to see life in people, not death. He wanted to see light, not darkness,. He wanted to be gracious, not grouchy or greedy. He wanted to see peace, not unrest. He wanted to see love, not hate.

It might sound corny, but doesn’t Jesus say to us, “Peekaboo! I love you.” Isn’t that what he calls his followers to have: a love that breaks down walls and allows people to live face to face with God and each other in love? Isn’t that what will put peace into our hearts and our faces? Isn’t that what will bring all of us to a Happy New Year?

MORE THAN 15 MINUTES


INTRODUCTION

In 1968, there appeared in an exhibition catalogue in Stockholm, Sweden, an interesting statement by Andy Warhol (1928 - 1987), the famous painter: “In the future everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.”

Today, as we begin 2009, it still hasn't happened. Most of us haven't been given our chance to be famous for 15 minutes or even for 15 seconds. In the meanwhile Andy Warhol's statement is what has become famous and for more than 15 minutes. We often hear it quoted in magazine articles, sermons and in jokes. And people quote it in several versions, “In the future everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.” “Everybody is entitled to be famous for fifteen minutes.” “Your fifteen minutes of fame are up.”

With almost 7 billion people on the planet, to be famous for 15 minutes is still quite a feat. Most of us will never make the evening news or the front page of the daily paper. Most of us will have our name in the paper only once or twice in our lifetime: when we get married and when we die. And in both those cases somebody in the family had to pay for it.

Andy Warhol, in his sort of autobiography, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A To B & Back Again), gives us some interesting glimpses on what it's like to be famous. He writes that he lived next to a Gristedes grocery store in New York City for twelve years. “Every day I would go in and drift around the aisles, picking up what I wanted - that's a ritual I really enjoy. For twelve years I did this just about every day. Then one afternoon the New York Post ran a color picture of Monique Van Vooren and Rudolf Nureyev and me on the front page, and when I went into the store all the stock boys started yelling `Here he is!' and `I told you it was him!' I didn't want to go back there ever again. Then after my picture was in Time, I couldn't take my dog to the park for a week because people were pointing at me.”

People point at famous people. People try to grab famous people. People ask famous people to sign autographs while they are eating in restaurants. Still people want to be famous. Warhol also wrote in his autobiography? “But being famous isn't all that important. If I weren't famous, I wouldn't have been shot for being Andy Warhol. Maybe I would have been shot for being in the Army.”

HOMILETIC REFLECTIONS

Today's readings help us prepare for the new year. They won't make us famous, but they will help us feel famous in the eyes of God and hopefully with each other. They will challenge us to see each person in our life as a blessing - as a new gift of God each time we meet them. Today's readings are a call to see why Christ was born, what Christ was all about. Each new baby, each person on the planet, has a right to be seen with the status of a child of God, as a person whom God the Father loves. Like Mary we are called to ponder, to treasure, and to reflect on all these words and turn them over in our heart.

As the Aaronite blessing, which we find in today's first reading, puts it,
“May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May his face shine upon you,
and be gracious to you.
May he look upon you with kindness.”


This famous Aaronite blessing is a blessing that every person has a right to each day of their life - not just for 15 minutes - but for every minute of their life. When God sees us, when God sees our face, whether we're in a grocery store, whether we're walking the dog in a park, whether we're in church, or wherever we are, when God sees our face, God's face shines in return. We are famous in God's eyes. Is this just poetry or rhetoric or do we believe this? Do we really believe that God knows us, cares about us, and personally loves us face to face?

It seems that some people have never received nor felt that blessing. It seems that some people have never heard that message. Parents, family, teachers, priests, religious, doctors, friends, somehow didn't get that message across to them. They didn't get that blessing passed down to them on a feeling level. Somehow, some people feel that they are not worthy. Somehow, some people feel that they might as well not have been born for all the notice or recognition or blessings they have received in their life. They certainly don't feel famous. They probably don't feel infamous. They just feel like they are nothing: unnoticed and unblessed and unwanted.

Yet that blessing still remains. The Lord told Moses, “Speak to Aaron and his children and tell them this is how you are to bless one another:
May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May his face shine upon you,
and be gracious to you.
May he look upon you with kindness
and give you his peace.”


Today's second reading tells us that “God sent forth his Son born of a woman ... to tell us that we have status.” We have status: we are the children of God. “God has sent forth into our hearts the spirit of his Son which cries out `Abba!' (`Father').” We are no longer slaves but children of God. And this fact makes us heirs. We have an inheritance. Our name is in the will of God. This is God's design. This is God's plan. How's that for being famous - for being famous for more than 15 minutes? We are part of God's design for all eternity! We are rich! We are heirs. We are in the inheritance. We are in the will. What more could we want?

In today's gospel, Mary and Joseph begin to experience fame - what it means to have a famous child. When they saw the shepherd's astonishment and adoration, they had a glimpse of their future. It was to be different. It was to eventually lead Mary to experience many swords of sorrow. It was to lead her to Calvary, but also to Resurrection and into the beyond.
Luke tells us that Mary treasured and reflected on all these things in her heart. Shepherds and then kings, later on the blind and the lame, the centurion and a woman who suffered from hemorrhages for twelve years, all would reach out to touch Jesus, to receive his blessing, to be healed - to have his face, his kindness and his peace shine upon them.

PRACTICAL APPLICATIONS

Today we begin a new year. What are your resolutions? What are your plans, your designs, your will to bring about a Happy New Year for all the people in your life?

This year, a great New Year's Resolution would be: to treat each person in your life as famous - to give every person status and recognition. Is there any person in your life, in your house, in your place of work, that you ignore? Is there any person that you tend to rarely notice? Is there any person who feels out of place, a nobody because of you?

Paul told us in today's second reading that Christ came to give proof that all persons have status. Nobody is a nobody. We are all God's children.

Now all this might sound good on paper. All this might sound good when we hear it spoken out in church. But what really is good, what really feels good, is when we are treated that way by others. “Go thou and do likewise.” What people really need is to feel connected with each other - that we are all part of the same family - that God is our `Abba', our `Father'.

However, it seems that before people can experience the reality that God is our `Abba', our `Father', we must first experience that we are all brothers and sisters to each other as well. We are all the Children of God. The same spirit of Jesus within each of us that can cry out `Abba', `Father' is also the spirit of Jesus within each of us that can cry out, “Brother!” “Sister!”. You are my brother! You are my sister. This is the will of God. “Who is my mother? Who is my brother. Who is my sister? It is the person who does the will of my Father.” (Cf. Mark 3:31 - 35.)

So if we want to have a Happy New Year, we ought to be like Mary: ponder these words. We ought to treasure these words and turn them over and over again in our heart.

The words: `Abba' `Father’, Brother', `Sister', “heirs” with one another, “heirs” with Christ, “status”. Realizing all this, we will feel famous - not just for 15 minutes - but for all our life. Realizing all this, we will treat each other as famous - not just for 15 minutes - but for all of our life. Doing all this will bring about a Happy New Year!

Monday, December 29, 2008


WHAT’S ON YOUR PLATE

Regrets and resentments,
like salt and pepper,
sit there on life’s table.
But don’t forget what’s on the plates:
the meat and potatoes,
as well as the wine, the bread,
the dessert of life.
Make sure you see the need
to pick up the sharp knife
of thought – to cut the fat,
to take a fork – to probe a baked potato,
to let the smoke out,
to discover the inside of everything.
Bite into, chew, slowly digest life.
Of course, it takes time
for things to finally make sense –
what to do, what to chew,
and oh yeah, what to sneak back
onto the corner of your plate. Life
has gristle. Then hide it with a napkin.



© Andy Costello, Reflections 2008
GLUE

Clean silver clamps
held the wood together
while the glue was doing
whatever glue does.
Don’t we all wish
we knew words
that could glue back
together a relationship
we split with wrong words?
And if words are the glue,
what are the clean silver clamps?

Now that’s the question?

Now what’s the answer?

I guess we need to sit down
at a wooden table
with each other,
to talk to each other,
to go searching for the glue
inside the cabinets
inside us with the hope
of finding answers
to our questions –
and please God, we won’t
break each other again.


© Andy Costello, Poems, 2008

RED BERRIES

Clusters of tiny red berries,
ripe, ready for birds
who decide to stay
for the winter …. Red berries
quite visible against
still green leaves
or white bright snow.
Friends? Not too many.
No flocks, no clusters,
just the ones who
stay quite visible,
quite close,
quite delicious,
like red berries,
especially appreciated
when others have gone south –
or disappear when winter is here.


© Andy Costello, Poems, 2008

Sunday, December 28, 2008


WISDOM!
BE ATTENTIVE!


INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Wisdom! Be Attentive!”

If you have ever been to an Eastern Rite Mass in the Catholic Church, you’ve seen the priest or the cantor hold up the scriptures and then sing out, “Wisdom! Be attentive.”

When I heard that for the first time, I said to myself, “That is enough for me. You don’t have to say anything else.”

“Wisdom! Be attentive!”

That’s a great life message!

Pay attention.

Listen! Look! Learn!

Be aware of what’s happening. Better: after what happens, take the time to figure out what happened. How did you get to where you are today? What are your values? Where do they come from? What are your attitudes, insights and outlook and where do they come from?

Don’t miss anything.

Let’s be honest. Sometimes we don’t listen to the readings. We are not attentive. We’re often somewhere else.

Wisdom! Be attentive.

HERE IN CHURCH



Here we are in Church. The readings are read, but we’re not listening. I’m sitting over there in that cushy chair talking to myself about something else and miss both readings. I can read the gospel out loud and be somewhere else – even while I’m reading. How about you?

Wisdom! Be attentive!

HOLY FAMILY SUNDAY

Today is Holy Family Sunday. The Church instituted this feast in 1921 – to stress family – to be aware of family – to improve family life.

In this homily I would like to stress today that the family is a main source of life’s wisdom.


Look at your family. What wisdom did you pick up from your mom and dad? And if you had brothers and/or sisters, what wisdom did you learn from them? It could be from good experiences. It could also be from bad experiences.



For example, when I was a kid I saw an uncle show up at our house – especially around the holidays, drunk. I saw the pain and stress it caused. As a result, I have never drunk alcohol in my life – except a tiny sip of the wine at Mass – and a tiny, tiny sip at that.

Wisdom! Be attentive.

RACHEL NAOMI REMEN, M.D.
Rachel Naomi Remen has two books that are marvelous when it comes to learning wisdom from life’s experiences. She tells about what she has learned from family and from her job as Doctor – dealing with people who are sick as well as training future doctors.

If you are a reader, I’d recommend two of her books: Kitchen Table Wisdom and My Grandfather’s Blessings. A lady in the parish gave me the first book, Kitchen Table Wisdom and I found the second one at Barnes and Noble. Both are well worth reading – several times.

Her books, like the Chicken Soup for this and that books, trigger for me so many memories – especially family growing up moments – that call for personal reflection. Wisdom. Be attentive.
Let me give a few examples – and they will be the rest of this sermon from Rachel Naomi Remen’s books that I have read.

If you haven’t heard of her – and you want to know more – I have both books listed on my blog. They will be mentioned in this sermon. Just go into the St. Mary’s Annapolis Web Site – and go from there – or just type, “Reflections by the Bay” with my name in the Google box and “Presto!”

Here are the examples – I use them with the questions: “Listening to these stories, do they trigger any stories from your life? Looking at your life, what are your examples that you learned from?” Look at them and say, “Wisdom! Be Attentive.”

SIPS OF MANISCHEVITZ: L’ CHIAM!

Many years ago my grandfather gave me a silver wine goblet so small that it holds no more than a thimbleful of wine. Ex­quisitely engraved into its bowl is a bow with long ribbon streamers. It was made in Russia long ago. He gave it to me during one of the many afternoons when we sat together at the kitchen table in my parents' home memorizing phrases from his old books and discussing the nature of life. I was quite young then, no more than five or six, and when I became restless, he would revive my attention by bringing out the sacramental Concord grape wine he kept in the back of the refrigerator. He would fill my little berib­-boned wineglass with Manischevitz and then put a splash of wine into his own, a big silver ceremonial cup, generations old. Then we would offer a toast together. At the time, the only other celebration I knew was singing "Happy Birthday" and blowing out the candles. I loved this even better.

My grandfather had taught me the toast we used. It was a sin­gle Hebrew word, L'Chiam (pronounced le CHI yeem), which he told me meant "To life!" He always said it with great enthusiasm. “It is to a happy life, Grandpa?" I had asked him once. He had shaken his head no. "It is just 'To life!' Neshume-le," (1) he told me.

At first, this did not make a lot of sense to me, and I struggled to understand his meaning. "Is it like a prayer?" I asked uncertainly.

“Ah no, Neshume-le," he told me. "We pray for the things we don’t have. We already have life.”

"But then why do we say this before we drink the wine?" He smiled at me fondly. "Grandpa!" I said, suddenly suspicious. "Did you make it up?" He chuckled and assured me that he had not. For thousands of years all over the world people have said this same word to each other before drinking wine together. It was a Jewish tradition.

I puzzled about this last for some time. "Is it written in the Bible, Grandpa?" I asked at last. "No, Neshume-le," he said, "it is written in people's hearts." Seeing the confusion on my face, he told me that L'Chiam! meant that no matter what difficulty life brings, no matter how hard or painful or unfair life is, life is holy and wor­thy of celebration. "Even the wine is sweet to remind us that life it­self is a blessing."

It has been almost fifty-five years since I last heard my grandfa­ther's voice, but I remember the joy with which he toasted Life and the twinkle in his eye as he said L'Chiam! It has always seemed remarkable to me that such a toast could be offered for generations by a people for whom life has not been easy. But perhaps it can only be said by such people, and only those who have lost and suffered can truly understand its power.

L'Chiam! is a way of living life. As I've grown older, it seems less and less about celebrating life and more about the wisdom of choosing life. In the many years that I have been counseling people with cancer, I have seen people choose life again and again, de­spite loss and pain and difficulty. The same immutable joy I saw in my grandfather’s eyes is there in them all. [My Grandfather’s Blessings, pp. 77-78]

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING WITH DAD: THE GIFT

Every Christmas Eve when I was small my father and I would take the subway to downtown Manhattan and go shopping for presents for my mother, my aunt, my friends, my teacher, and other important persons in my life. These were special, even magical, times. Everything was decorated for Christmas. The windows of the stores up and down Fifth Avenue were magnificent, and some even had whole mechanical villages that moved or a mechanical Santa that waved. It was almost always cold, and the night-time streets were crowded with smiling people carrying beautifully wrapped packages, the women in furs and men in overcoats with velvet collars. Thinking back on it now after more than fifty years, it seems to me that I could see the joy in people shining in the streets. Christmas music poured out of every open doorway. In my memory, it is always lightly snowing, and everyone had snowflakes on their coats and in their hair.

We would start at Rockefeller Plaza and stare in awe at the enormous, beautifully decorated tree, debating whether this year’s decorations were more beautiful than last. They always were. We would watch the skaters for a while. And then we would move slowly down Fifth Avenue, stopping in every store, thinking of the people I loved, one at a time, looking at many, many things until I found just the right one for each one of them. At some point during the evening, my father would hand me his big gold pocket watch and tell me that when it chimed I was to come and meet him right where we were standing, and then I would go off alone in whatever store we were in to find his present. While I was gone, my father would do a little shopping of his own.

I got to stay up late, far later than my usual bedtime, and it was often close to midnight when we got home, our arms filled with boxes, each of which had been specially wrapped at the store. My mother always had cocoa waiting, and we would show her the beautiful boxes and tell her about the wonderful things we had found for everyone — but not, of course, what we had found for her.

It was a chance to think about each one of my beloved people, who they were and what might make them glad. I remember the indescribable feeling of finding each present and the joy of recog­nizing it as just the very thing. There was such pleasure in choosing the paper and the ribbon and watching it wrapped in a way that was as special as the person it was for. I loved finding these presents. It made me feel very lucky.

In thinking back, I realize that I never actually saw many of these presents opened. They would be mailed away or left under other people's Christmas trees. Somehow this never mattered. The important moment wasn't in the opening, or in the thanking. The important thing was the blessing of having someone to love. [My Grandfather’s Blessings, pp. 88-89]

VISITING THE GODFATHER
When we are seen by the heart we are seen for who we are. We are valued in our uniqueness by those who are able to see us in this way and we become able to know and value ourselves. The first time I was seen this way I was very small, maybe three. I had never met my godfather. He lived in another city and when it was clear that he was dying I was taken to his home so that he could see me for the first time. My mother told me that I was going to meet my godfather and that he was dying. I was so small I didn't get the time sense quite right and understood that I was going to see someone who was dead. I looked forward to this for days.

I remember the details of this meeting very clearly, especially my godfather's bed. It was very high, higher than I could see, and made of a dark carved wood. My mother had lifted me up. Lying there among the pillows with his eyes closed was a very old man.

He was completely still and so thin that the covers didn't rise up over him very much. She put me down next to him, between him and the wall. She was talking to me softly but I wasn't listening. I watched him with interest. Then his daughter called to my mother from the kitchen and she turned away and went out into the hall for a short time to see what was wanted. In those few moments, my godfather opened his eyes and looked at me.

I remember how blue his eyes were, and how warm. In a voice that was barely more than a whisper he called me by my name. He seemed to be trying to say something more. I was very young then but I knew that whispers meant secrets, so I leaned toward him to hear. He smiled at me, a beautiful smile, and said, “I've been waiting for you.”

My family were intellectual, formal, well-mannered people who were not openly affectionate or demonstrative. My godfather's eyes and his smile were full of a great love and appreciation. For the first time I felt a deep sense of being welcome, of mattering to someone. His hands were resting on the covers and, still smiling, he slid one a little toward me. Then he closed his eyes. After a short while he sighed deeply and was still again. I continued to sit there remembering his smile until my mother came back. She looked closely at my godfather and then snatched me up from the bed and ran with me from the room. My godfather had died.

My parents were deeply distressed about my being alone with my godfather when he died. It was the forties and they consulted a child psychologist to help me over the "trauma" of it. Yet my own experience had been quite different. It was many years before I could tell my parents what had really happened and how important it had been to me. [Kitchen Table Wisdom, pp. 149-150]

COUNTING ONE’S CHICKENS

When she was eighty-four and newly widowed my mother had come from New York City to live with me. Frail and very sick with a heart condition, her physical needs were complex and I had found her care overwhelming. Over and over she had sudden attacks of pulmonary edema, a sort of internal drowning from which I would rescue her by placing rotating tourniquets on her arms and legs and injecting her with morphine. On four occasions, she had a cardiac arrest in our living room. With the help of paramedics, I had resuscitated her each time and kept her going. In the last year of her life, these good people came to our house so often I knew many of them by name.

It was clear that time was running out, and I became concerned not only for my mother’s physical well-being, but also for the state of her soul. She was not a religious woman, and what rituals she observed seemed more like superstition than spiritual practice. I had read somewhere about the importance of encouraging old people to reflect on their lives in order to die in peace. Without such remembering it would not be possible to receive and offer forgiveness, uncover meaning and to complete a life well. I did not know much about such things then, but I believed what I had read and wanted the best for my mother. Yet every attempt I made to encourage her to reflect on her past and her relationships was rebuffed.



Some of my friends were involved in spiritual practices of various sorts, and one by one I had invited them over to talk with her their spiritual paths. A few even attempted to interest her in their ways. She listened politely to their enthusiastic discussions of such things as tai chi, mindfulness meditation, yoga, and vipassana. But afterward she would tell me that meditation just wasn’t for her. It was too quiet.

As she became sicker, I became more intent on my agenda. A nonmeditator myself, I even began to sit for fifteen minutes in the morning and invited her to sit with me. Surprisingly she agreed with enthusiasm, but every time I opened my eyes I would find my mother looking at me with great love. After a few weeks of this, I suggested that we abandon it but she refused, saying that she en­joyed having the chance to look at me for fifteen minutes every morning. Eventually I just gave up.

So I was overjoyed when one evening in the living room after dinner, my mother sighed and spontaneously closed her eyes for more than an hour. Once I had determined she was not asleep, I sat in silence with her all that time. When at last she opened her eyes and looked at me, I asked her what she had been doing. “Why, I was counting my chickens,” she said with a smile.

Meeting my puzzled look with a laugh, she told me that it had suddenly occurred to her as she was eating dinner (it was chicken) that she had eaten a chicken once or twice a week for many years. She had begun to calculate this in her mind: two chickens a week, fifty-two weeks a year times eighty-four years turned out to be more than 8,500 chickens. It seemed to her to be a great number of chickens just to keep one old woman alive. She had closed her eyes then to try to imagine what 8,500 chickens might look like. It had taken some time, but she had finally gotten a picture of them in her mind. It had been overwhelming. “All that innocent life”, said my mother.

She had begun to wonder whether she had been worth the sacrifice. And so she had begun to review her life, looking at as many of her important relationships as she could remember, examining her own heart and her own motivations. It had taken a long time, but at the end she had realized that, while she was certain that she had disappointed and even hurt people in the course of her life, she could not remember deliberately causing pain or harm to anyone, or resenting anyone else’s good fortune or even telling a significant lie. She smiled at me again. “I believe I have been worthy of my chickens, Rachel,” she said. [My Grandfather’s Blessings, pp. 74-76]

MYSTERY: PURPLE IRISES
I was late for what was to be my last visit with my mother. Pushing through rush hour traffic, tired from a long day at the office, I stopped to buy her some flowers. It was seven in the evening and the florist had no purple irises, my mother’s fa­vorites, and little of anything else. Sympathizing with my dis­tress, he offered me a bouquet of half-closed iris buds from his icebox, assuring me that they would open in a few hours. I took them and waited, irritated and impatient, as he wrapped them in green tissue. A strange-looking bouquet. Then I hurried on.

Carrying the flowers, I pushed through the heavy doors of the ward. A nurse was waiting there for me. “I’m so sorry,” she said. My mother had died a short time before. Stunned, I allowed myself to be led to her room. She lay in her bed, seemingly asleep. Her hands were still warm. The nurse asked if there was anyone I wanted her to call. Numbly I gave her the numbers of some of my oldest friends and sat down to wait. It was peace­ful and very still in the room. One by one my friends came.

Four days later I was three thousand miles away arranging for my mother’s burial. It was an unseasonably hot spring and New York City was at its worst, muggy and uncomfortable. The funeral director was a person of sensitivity and kindness. Gen­tly he went over the arrangements, assuring himself and me again of the details of my mother’s wishes which we had dis­cussed on the phone. Then he paused. “There was something that came from California with your mother. May I show you?” he asked. Together we walked down the corridor to where my mother lay in her closed pine coffin. Lying on the coffin lid, still in the twist of green tissue paper was the bouquet I had left in my mother’s hospital room on her bed. But now the irises were in full bloom. I remember them still with great clarity, each one huge and vibrant, seemingly filled with a purple sort of light. They had been out of water for four days.

It would be easy indeed to dismiss this sort of experience, not to make a simple shift in perspective or find a willingness to suspend disbelief for a moment. Not to consider adding up the column of figures in another way and wonder. The willingness to consider possibility requires a tolerance of uncertainty. I will never know whether or not I was once for a moment in the pres­ence of my Russian grandmother or if my mother used my final gift of flowers to make me a gift of her own, letting me know that there may be more to life than the mind can understand. [Kitchen Table Wisdom, pp. 323-324]

CONCLUSION

When we come to church, we come here to pray and to close our eyes and listen, look, learn, not only the scriptures, the Bible readings, but also the stories of our life that the feast or the Sunday or the readings trigger. Today, look at your family, where you come from. It’s filled with stories, it’s loaded with wisdom. Don’t miss it.

What is that wisdom?

“Wisdom: Be Attentive.”


Count your chickens.

See your irises come to full bloom.




I preached two versions of this sermon. The first version had just two stories from Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D. It didn't have energy. I was using a script. I wanted to tell the two stories I selected just as Rachel Naomi Remen told the stories in her books. That was at the 7 AM Mass. It was too dry and too long. So at the 10:30 AM Mass, I didn't use a script. I told the 2 stories I told at the 7 AM Mass and added 3 more stories - but all were presented in much shorter versions than in this text. It sounded better to me that way.



(1) Neshume-le means “beloved little soul. (p. 23) My Grandfather’s Blessings





Thursday, December 25, 2008

*
HAMBURGERS FOR FIVE

Jeff walked over to his job space that morning – like he had done Monday to Friday for the past 16 years. He took off his jacket. As he reached to pull out his chair, he spotted his boss signaling him.

“Uh oh!’”

He had a feeling he hadn’t had since he was in the second year of high school. That time he had to go to the principal’s office. He had been part of toilet paper wad fight in the boys’ room – and someone squealed on him as one of the culprits.

“Uh oh! I wonder what this is all about.”

Sometimes we know – we just know – when everything is about to change for us – when everything is about to unravel.

The boss still standing – one hand on Jeff’s shoulder – said, “Jeff, I’m sorry. I have to let you go – along with 25 other people – today. This isn’t going to easy for any of you. I was at a meeting yesterday with the big wigs! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I don’t know what else to say, Jeff.”

“Woo!”

And that’s all Jeff could say.

He didn’t see it coming. He saw the state of the economy. He knew millions across the country were losing their jobs – but he didn’t see this coming towards his desk.

He was the manager of the department. He was it – a key accountant for this medium size accountant firm – in this mid-size city. So he knew his job was secure.
It wasn’t. The whole department was being cut – and its various components would be absorbed by other departments – at this location and two other locations.

When the short meeting was over – the execution finished – the ax put back on the boss’ desk, Jeff walked back to his desk and sat. He had to sit. Head in hands, he began to sob.

Some knew what just happened, “Oh boy, Jeff too!” Some of them got their news by memo. Some knew it might be coming that morning for them as well.

Jeff – you’d expect him to call his wife Sarah – then and there. But he didn’t. He called her every time in their 15 year marriage at every up and down, every better and every worse. Not this time. Not yet. He had to go outside. He needed to take a walk. It was windy that first Monday morning of December. Most trees were empty; those with leaves had only dead leaves hanging on – trees waiting for spring – which was on the other side of a long winter ahead. Grey – slow moving – buffalo shaped – clouds signaled possible rain or maybe even snow. It was a bummer of a morning.

He walked and walked and talked and talked to himself.

He saw a church: Our Lady of Sorrows Church. He went in. He sat in the dark back of the church and inwardly cried to God for help. “God, we have 3 kids. God, this is going to wipe Sarah out. God, what am I going to do? God, Christmas is coming. I guess this is going to be our ‘no room in the Inn story.’ God, help me.”

The husbands of stay-at-home moms often say, “I” instead of “we” when there’s job trouble – when they are saying, “God, what am I going to do?” instead of “God, what are we going to do?”

Silence.

He sat there in the dark – for at least half an hour – all alone – except for the flickering red candles in the front of the church – silent prayers he thought for people out of work or out of sorts or filled with cancer.

On the walk back to the office, he saw a sign in a Wendy’s window: “Help Wanted.”

He said to himself with a smile, “Good! At least there are some jobs available. I can always do that.”

He went back to the office and started to sort out his stuff. What else do you do? By now others were talking with others – most in two’s and threes – most standing – but some people sat alone.

He picked up a newspaper – and checked out job listings. No luck.

He got on the computer and checked for any accountant openings. No luck.

He used his computer to come up with a resume. He sent it out to 9 accounting firms that he knew of in the area.

He made a dozen phone calls. No luck. He still didn’t call Sarah.

Others from time to time had lost their job and he would make a comment like, “Sympathy, hopes, best of luck”. It would be an automatic comment – the thing you say and the other really doesn’t hear – but they know you care – sort of like those words that come out of our mouth and heart at a funeral parlor when we go in there to pay sympathy and sorrow and respect and presence when a friend or neighbor has lost a family member.


*
It was now lunch time.

Jeff was direct. He grabbed his jacket – went to the men’s room – spruced up as best he could and headed for Wendy’s.

He entered – asked for the manager – told him that he was out of work – and needed a job. He got a job. He filled out the papers and said he would be there in the morning for his first training session.

He went home – but he couldn’t tell Sarah. He couldn’t tell the kids. He wasn’t good at poker – but he was good at faking this. Nobody suspected anything.

He simply said, “It was okay” to the “How was your day?” question.

Next day – suit and tie – Jeff headed for Wendy’s.

He liked it. Free food. New work. Different people – people he never really noticed or talked to whenever he went to a McDonald’s or a Burger King or a Wendy’s with the kids on the way to summer vacation or what have you.


*
It was now December 17th. He was there two weeks. He had learned to flip hamburgers like a pro. He knew how to read the monitors. He knew how to stock. He knew how to run the drive-in-window. He knew how to take orders – push all those buttons. In two weeks he knew where everything was. He was a quick read.

It was December 17th and Sarah and Mikey, Miggy and Molly, his three kids, still didn’t know their dad worked at Wendy’s – even though Molly his youngest kept saying, “Daaad you smell like a hamburger.” And he would simply say with a smile, “Oh I went to Wendy’s for lunch.” Then he would wink to himself and think, “Well, I didn’t lie!”

It was December 17th and in walked Pete – his old boss – into Wendy’s. They said, “Hi!” to each other. Jeff didn’t blush. He was surprised he didn’t blush. Pete put in his order and seeing Jeff very busy waited for his tray and then went over and got a seat where he could see Jeff working away with a smile.

After lunch Pete went up to Jeff and gave him his card. “Give me a call Jeff. Give me a call!”

After the lunch rush, Jeff took the card out of his shirt pocket. He noticed it was the name of a different company. He called Pete.

“Is that you Pete?”

“Jeff, amazing. You working in Wendy’s. I always knew you were a go getter.”

“Pete, hellooooo!, Christmas is coming and I needed to get some income.”

“Jeff, listen, I lost my job the day after you. But I called my brother-in-law and he had room for me in his company. It’s called ‘NewJobSeach Inc.’ Praise God. Praise God. Listen. Good news. If you want, there’s a job here waiting for you.”

“Pete, you’re kidding?”

“No I’m not. We’re processing all kinds of people looking for jobs and you’d be great at this – and you know how many people are out of work.”

“Woo! Wow!”

“Jeff, what time do you finish there today?”

“4:30!”

“Okay, can you come here on your way home this evening?”

“I’ll be there.”

“My brother-in-law and I will be waiting.”

Jeff got the job.

Jeff went home that December 17th evening. After the kids were gone to bed, Jeff said to Sarah, “I have to talk to you about something.”

Silence. Pause. Quiet.

“Sarah, I’ve been lying to you.”

Sarah remained silent.

Jeff started to cry.

Sarah didn’t know what to do – whether to fold her arms and just sit there or open her arms and hold him.

“Sarah I lost my job – and I was scared to tell you. That’s the bad news. The good news is, ‘I have another job.’”

He didn’t mention Wendy’s – just about this new job at NewJobSearch Inc.

And both held each other all through the night.


*
It was December 24th morning – and Sarah, Jeff, Mikey, Miggy and Molly were ice skating on a pond on the other side of town. On the way back – Sarah said, “Look there’s a Wendy’s. Let’s get something to eat for lunch.” And before Jeff could point out the Burger King on the other side of the street, the kids started yelling, “Yeah! Wendy’s, Wendy’s, Wendy’s. They make the best hamburgers.”

In they went. Jeff said, “I’ll get us a table. And hon, I’ll take just a Baconator.” He didn’t want to go near the counter – lest he be recognized. He sat in the back facing the outside windows – with his back to the cooking and counter area.

Soon, Sarah, Mikey, Miggie, and Molly came back with a tray with hamburgers for 5 on it – along with the manager and all the employees and they all clapped for Jeff.

“Great that you got another job. We sure miss you, Jeff. You were the best. Merry Christmas. Great looking family.”

There were hugs and introductions and then the workers went back to work – and the customers stopped watching and wondering what was this story about, this clapping and the celebrating at one of the tables.

Then there was silence.

Then Jeff said it, “Sarah, you knew, didn’t you?”

And she just smiled and said, “Merry Christmas Jeffrey. Merry Christmas Jeffrey. Women always know. Women always find out.”

Puzzled.

Jeff’s face was all puzzle and question mark.

“Okay,” said Sarah, “Several of my friends saw you in here working a dozen times. I wasn’t going to say anything till you said something. But once more I realized I have the best husband in the world”. At that the kids toasted their dad with their milk shakes, adding, “and the best dad in the world too. Merry Christmas Daddy. Merry Christmas!”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Merry Christmas!


[Picture is from the Tablet magazine - U.K.]

[Every Christmas since 1993, instead of a homily, I write a Christmas story in memory of Father John Duffy, CSSR, who died December 24, 1993]

[I hope I didn't "dis" anyone who works at McDonald's or Burger King, etc. and maybe Wendy's will make a $50,000 donation to our school for this promotion. Just kidding Wendy!]