Saturday, May 17, 2014

THE SCREAM!


A QUIET POEM

My father screamed whenever the phone rang.

My aunt often screamed when she opened the door.

Out back, the willows caterwauled.

In the kitchen, the faucet screamed
a drop at a time.

At school, they called screaming “recess”
or sometimes “music.”

Our neighbors’ daughter had a scream
more melodious than my own.

At first, Col. Parker had to pay girls
to get them to scream for Elvis.

I didn’t want to scream when I saw the Beatles
but I did. After that, I screamed for even
mediocre bands.

Late in his career, John Lennon
got into Primal Scream.

Many people find it relaxing to scream.

Just as crawling precedes walking, so screaming
precedes speech.

The roller coaster is just one of many
scream-inducing devices.

The ambulance tries, in its clumsy way, to emulate
the human scream, which in turn tries to emulate nature.

Wind is often said to shriek, but Sylvia Plath
also speaks of “the parched scream of the sun.”

Jim Morrison wanted to hear the scream of the butterfly.

With ultra-sensitive equipment, scientists measure
the screams of plants they’ve tortured.

It’s proven, that if you scream at a person
for years, then suddenly stop, he will hear even
the tenderest words of love as violent curses.

And to anyone who speaks above a whisper, he will say:
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare raise your voice to me.”

© Elaine Equi, pages 570-571,
In Post Modern American Poetry,
A Norton Anthology, edited by
Paul Hoover, 2nd Edition.

Painting on top:
The Scream, The Shrik,
(The Scream of Nature),
Edvard Munch [1863-1944]
Pastel on Board, Oslo.
This version sold for
$119,922,000.


Friday, May 16, 2014

QUIET

May 16, 2014




QUIETLY

Quietly
may the murmur of water falling
fill us,

quietly
may the autumn moon
Float on the ripples of the lake,

quietly
may life’s unspoken mystery
deepen in our still eyes,

quietly
may we, ecstatic, be immersed in the expanse
yet find it in ourselves –


Agyeya, translated by Lucy Rosenstein, from New Poetry in Hindi, Nayi Kavita: An Anthology (London: Anthem Press, 2004 / Permanent Black, 2002) Copyright © by Lucy Rosenstein.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

GOD?

Poem for Today - Thursday May 15, 2014


TO GOD

How many things they say about you –
that you created the expanding universe,
or was it that the world’s people
created you? Whose side do you choose?
The rich – who take more than their due
and toss scraps to the poor, and toss you too?
Or the poor – who hope you’ll soon turn things upside down
and so deliver them? But you never do.
In battle, you sit by the victor.

Nietzsche says, you’re dead.
Pascal says, we can’t know whether or not you exist,
but it’s worse to be fooled disbelieving.

These are weighty and deep philosophical questions. I see
a forest behind me, a desert in front of me,
and man in the middle, in his encampments.
and bullock carts hauling heaps of beef everyday.


© Sarat Kumar Mukhopadhyay
Translated from the Bengali
by Robert McNamara and
the author.




Wednesday, May 14, 2014

BE  STILL


Poem for Today - May 14, 2014



TODAY

Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word.
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.

But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.

Stillness.  One of the doors
into the temple.


© Mary Oliver, page 23,
in A Thousand Mornings.

Painting on top:
The Purification of the Temple,
1479-1481. It's part of  the
St. Wolfgang Alterpiece
by Michael Pacher (c. 1435-1498)
which can be found 
in a monastery at the end of 
Lake Wolfgang in Austria.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

ON  BEING  CALLED 
A  CHRISTIAN  




INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 4th Tuesday after Easter is, “On Being Called a Christian.”

In our lifetime I think we’ve seen people and heard about people being called and seen as a Christian.

I like that last sentence in today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, “… and it was in Antioch that the disciples were first called Christians.”  That’s Acts 11: 26b to be exact.

THREE REASONS TO BE CALLED A CHRISTIAN

As I thought about this last night for  a sermon this morning, I came up with 3 reasons why someone might want to be or would be called a Christian.

First reason would be that a person does Christ like things: turns the other cheek, goes the goes the extra mile, gives the shirt off one’s back, visits the sick, feeds the hungry, loves one another as Jesus loved us. This happens without knowing whether who the person is or what have you. I wonder, I hope, the following also happens in other parts of the world that someone says when someone is charitable to another that someone says, “That was very Moslem like of you.”

Yesterday – in the Metropolitan Diary section of The New York Times – I noticed the following story. Every Monday morning I look for at these incidents and anecdotes about life in New York City.  A man named Kevan Slattery writes, “I had the privilege and the pleasure to usher at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on the morning of March17. The members of the 69th Infantry Regiment are the guests of honor at the Mass celebrated before the parade. My assignment is to stand on the front steps, starting at 7:30 a.m.and continuing until the 69th marches through the central doors.  

Today’s gospel has a great 3 word sentence, “It was winter.”

That story in the New York continues, “It was very cold and quite windy early on March 17. Well, in advance of the time the central doors were opened, while the regiment waited in formation on51st Street, a color guard of eight enlisted men and women were posted on the top step. As they flanked the entry with national, state and regimental flags, they stood and waited in place, outside the closed doors, in the biting cold.”

He continues, “The cold was having a particular impact on one young enlisted man. The major noticed the enlisted man’s plight and persuaded him to accept the offer of the Army-issue long undershirt the major word beneath his battle-dress uniform tunic.”

The story teller concludes, “There on the steps of the cathedral, out of view of the public with no diminishment in the hoor or accorde the colors, the major gave the shirt off his back to the enlisted man.”

As I read that I said to myself, that’s probably the only thing Mr. Kevan Slattery will remember from the St. Patrick’s Day parade this year. Then it hit me, it’s the only thing I remember from reading the whole New York Times yesterday. Then I smiled, because it will be the only thing you’ll remember from this sermon – if that.[N.Y. Times, A-13, May 12, 2014]

Second reason would be that a person is baptized a Christian. C.S. Lewis, in his book Mere Christianity, states loud and clear this viewpoint. Instead of using the word “Christian” as an adjective to describe a giving or loving or caring person he makes Christian a noun. You’re baptized, you’re a Christian. This takes us away from subjectivity – to objectivity.

Third reason would come from today’s gospel. A Christian is a person who is united into the Trinity – into Christ – into the Body of Christ – like a grape on the vine or a hand or foot or a voice in the Body of Christ.  This comes from the last sentence in today’s gospel: “The Father and I are one.”

Being a Christian is all about being one in Christ - having a living relationship with Jesus – entering into God in and through Christ.

This makes me a Christian. We Redemptorists were brought up stressing what St. Alphonsus  discovered: The whole of life – the whole of spiritual life – is to practice the love of Jesus Christ. That makes one a Christian – regardless of the words.  

CONCLUSION

Let us be loving Christians this day – as we march in the parade of life.

MUSIC FROM THE REED 

Poem for Today - May 13, 2014


THE REED FLUTE

Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separate.

“Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone separated from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from the source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there, mingling
in the laughing and the grieving,

A friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body. We can't conceal
that mixing, but it's not given us

to see the soul." The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be nothing.

Hear the love-tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric

torn and drawn away. The reed is
hurt and salve combining.

Intimacy and longing for
intimacy in one song.

A disastrous surrender,
and a fine love, together.

The one who secretly hears this
is senseless.

A tongue has one customer,
the ear.

The power of a cane flute comes
from its making sugar in the reedbed.

Whatever sound it has
is for everyone.

Days full of wanting, let them go by
without worrying that they do,

Stay where you are, inside
such a pure, hollow note.


© Rumi
ON  BEING  INTERVIEWED


INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for today’s St. Mary’s Lawn Mass is, “On Being Interviewed.”

ON  BECOMING A REPORTER

About 15 years ago I was at a Mass for our confirmation class at St. Gerard’s Parish, Lima, Ohio.

Bishop Hoffman, the Bishop of Toledo, was speaking to our young people.

He stood there in front of the Confirmation Class and asked, “Does anyone here want to become a newspaper reporter when you grow up?”

He said he was reading a newspaper the other day and the reporting was poor – terrible – and he thought to himself, “We need some good Christian reporters, some good Catholic newspaper writers.”

So he said that’s why he was asking the question: “Does anyone here want to be to a newspaper reporter when you grow up?”

Nobody raised their hand!

So he said, “Think about it?”

It’s now 15 years later. I’ve often wondered if anyone in that group that day became a newspaper reporter as a result of that question.

I’ve wondered at times if there is any mention here at both St. Mary’s Elementary School or St. Mary’s High School – about becoming a reporter. Does anyone teach kids how to interview people and how to be interviewed.

Two times in the past 12 years kids from our high school called me up and interviewed me for a school project or what have you.

They asked some basic interview questions:

  • ·       “Where are you from?”
  • ·       “Where did you go to school?”
  •          “When did you decide to become a           priest?”
  •          “Why in the world did you become a        priest?”
  • ·       “Where have you been as a priest?”
  • ·       “What’s the most interesting                      experience you’ve had as a priest?”
  • ·       “How do you come up with your                sermon ideas?”

I would like to add that every one of us will be interviewed and we will interview others all through our life.

10, 15, 20, 30, 40, 50 years from now, we will be on a plane, a train, a bus, or in a bar, or at the beach, or at a boring basketball game and we’re sitting next to a stranger. And they will ask us the regular life questions:
·       “Where are you from?”
·       “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
·       “Where have you lived in your life?”
“Where did you go to school?”
·       “What job do you have?”
“Where did you go to college or trade school or what have you?”
·       “Do you have a family?”
·       “Were you in the military?”
·       “What teams do you go for?”
·       “Have you ever met anyone famous?”
·       “What was your best vacation?”
·       “What was the best moment in your life so far?
·       “Are your mom and dad still living?”

Those are some regular interview questions.

We don’t call them that. We just call them talking with another – usually one to one – at a picnic or a ballgame or on a plane – a bus – or a train.

If we’re interested in life, if we’re nosey, if we’re inquisitive, if we’re alive, if we’re social, we interview and we like to be interviewed.

IN MY POCKET

I have here in my pocket the 3 tools of a reporter. Father Tizio loves to have something to show when he preaches. Show and Tell.

Here is a ballpoint pen. If you want to be a reporter – or catch on paper – some of life’s great stuff, always have a pen handy – in your pocket or purse.



Here is a small spiral pad. I have well over 100 of these tiny notebook pads in my desk. They contain all kinds of information that I picked up from reading – but especially meeting people – going to talks – what have you.

Most of you can’t see the leather protector for my small spiral pad. A gal in a wheelchair – in a church near Rochester, New York – her initials were M.G. handed this to me once as a gift.  All I remember was the smile on her face, the handing me the gift, and the wheelchair.

I have put over 100 of these small 3 inch by 5 inch pads in this homemade leather cover. They stay there till they are filled up. Then in goes a new clean pad. I can pick up anyone of these pads and find interesting stuff from way back – comments, interviews, talks I’ve heard, neat bumper sticker quotes, etc. etc. etc.

This morning I just opened this up and at random spotted this quote: “Babies diapers and politics must be change frequently and both for the same reason.” George Bernard Shaw

I wonder where I spotted that quote.

I also noticed in front about 20 tiny pages of notes from the commencement address of James Patterson that I went to a few years back in New Jersey.  He’s the guy who has the most written books in the United States right now. He said in his talk that he went to Catholic school in Newburgh, New York, was an altar boy, went to Manhattan College in New York, went to Vanderbilt, and somewhere along the line, some teacher reading his writing said, “Mr. Patterson, don’t ever try to make a living as a writer.” So he went into the advertising business and in the meanwhile became a writer.

And the last thing in my pocket is this small tape recorder. It’s one more reporter’s necessary tool. You’ve seen reporters interviewing Buck Showalter after an Oriole game or an athlete after a game – and they have tape recorder in hand – as they interview an athlete or a coach.

HERE’S A JOB FOR YOU

The title of my homily is, “On Being Interviewed.”

Here’s a job for you.

Interview your mom and dad. Ask they how they met – what was it like growing up – their favorite dessert – their favorite moment growing up?

If your grandparents are alive still and they are not that far away, interview your grandparents.

Get a tape recorder. Get a ballpoint pen. Get a pad.

Interview. Interview. Interview them.

It’s magic. It makes them feel that their life has been worthwhile, bringing you into the world – and someone is interested in how they spent the time of their life.

Line up your questions – ask them – clarify them – ask follow up questions.

Write their life.

I recently did a funeral – and one of you kids is here today – and your grandpa loved it when you interviewed him.  He told me this just before he died.

MY MOM AND MY DAD

Way back in 1969 – for some reason – I sat down with my dad – and at that time I had a big Yellow Legal pad. My dad was very quiet. He didn’t say that much. That evening at the dining room table, I jotted down about 45 pages of notes.

I asked him about what it was like growing up in County Galway, Ireland – in a small town named Ballynahown. I asked him about his mom and dad. I asked him about school. I asked him about coming to America. He told me he  took a boat from Ireland to Boston. He said he had a 5 dollar bill in his pocket. He had a clean set of underwear in a bag. He said he was told to arrive in America with a clean set of underwear. He said the tossed the bag with his dirty underwear off the boat before they landed. He was polluting the Boston Harbor.  He told me about working and looking for work in Boston, Portland, Maine, Philadelphia, and then New York City.  He told me about writing love letters to my mom in Boston for 10 years – till she finally said, “Yes!”  They knew each other as teenagers in Ireland. Those notes are precious writings. My dad died in 1970.

In 1987 – for some reason – I decided one evening to interview my mother. She was very healthy – still working – being a caretaker for a woman who was younger than she was. This time I had a small tape recorder – with this tiny cassette – and I tape recorded my mom’s story – where she was from – just a stone’s throw from where my dad was from – right on the water at the edge of Galway Bay. I asked her about school – there were just 2 rooms in their schoolhouse – one side for boys, the other side for girls. First grade in Row 1, Second Grade in Row 2 and up to Grade 5.  She came to America – to Boston – worked as a maid at the Adam’s House Hotel. She also worked for a lady named Mrs. Brandt – whose daughter was a classmate of Anne Morrow in college – so my mom met Charles Lindbergh – the pilot who made the first solo flight from the United States to France.

After about 45 minutes of being interviewed, my mom said to me, “The moo is out of me.”  Translation: I’m tired. I’ve said enough. Then she said, “The next time you come home, we’ll get the rest of the story.”

Sad to say, two weeks later, my mother was killed crossing the street in a hit and run accident. She was still working at the age of 82.

This little tape is precious to me. Yesterday was Mother’s Day and I sat there and listened to some of her story again.

It is a very powerful reminder to me of the importance and the power of interviewing people.

CONCLUSION

The title of my homily is, “On Being Interviewed.” Go for it.

And we have over 1500 kids right here, right now – in this great big beautiful outdoor Mass.

What would it be like, say 20 or 30 years from now, you’re on a plane or a train or in Pensacola Florida and you’re talking with a stranger. And one of you says to the other, “Hey, where are you from?” And the other answers, “Annapolis, Maryland.” And the other says, “That’s funny. Me too.”

“Well,” the next question is asked, “What school did you go to?” “St. Mary’s” comes the answer. “Well, what years were you there?” And the other says, “Way back around 2014.” And the other person says, “Me too.”

And you both laugh, because you both were at this Mass way back on May 9, 2014 – and you didn’t know it.

And one of you says, “Yeah, remember the ducks. Quack. Quack! They landed right on the lawn next to the altar right in the middle of the Mass and everyone laughed!”