CELTIC  PRAYER 

Poem for Today - Tuesday - November 17, 2014

BREAD

Be gentle when you touch bread.

Let it not lie, uncared for,

Unwanted.

So often bread is taken for granted.

There is such beauty in bread—

Beauty of surf and soil,

Beauty of patient toil.

Wind and rain have caressed it,

Christ often blessed it.

Be gentle when you touch bread.

Celtic Prayer from  

The Open Gate 

by David Adam

STOP  GRINDING YOUR TEETH

[The following is a story I wrote this afternoon. Today’s gospel story has an unhappy ending. I decided to rewrite Jesus’ story – and give it a happy ending. The title of my story is, “Stop Grinding Your Teeth.”]

He was sitting there in the dentist’s chair and he felt anger regurgitating and burping up out of his gut.

Inwardly, he was yelling in loud – to himself – nobody could hear him – neither the dentist nor the dentist assistant. “Why do they always tell me, ‘You have to learn to stop grinding your teeth.’ I’ve been hearing that all my life – from my mom, from my older brother, from everyone. Stop grinding your teeth.”

They told him he was doing it at his baptism – grinding the few tiny teeth that he had at the time.

They told him he was doing it at his first birthday. 

They told him he was doing it at his second birthday.

His mom – who could read her 5 children’s minds – three girls and two boys - by reading their faces – wondered, “Was it because he didn’t get a chance to blow out his candle at his baptism, at his first birthday, at his second birthday?”

She answered her own question, “No that’s too early!”  But early on – she would often be saying, “Robert stop grinding your teeth.”

He did it when he didn’t get an end piece of square or rectangular cake – wanting a piece of cake with frosting on both sides.

Is that why mothers buy round birthday cakes?

He ground his teeth – whenever he was angry – whenever he didn’t get his own way.

He ground his teeth when he didn’t get the seat he wanted in kindergarten.

He ground his teeth because his brother got the bottom bunk of their bunk bed – in the room – the boys’ bedroom - which he shared with his older brother. He didn’t like being stuck way up there near the ceiling – with the possibility of falling off into the dark.

He ground his teeth every time he had to go to bed before his older brother and his two older sisters. He didn’t notice that his younger sister had to go to bed before him. She was in the girls bedroom with her two older sisters.

His mom and dad worried about him. He always seemed to be angry.

He always seemed to be saying, “Not fair. Not fair. Not fair.”

He ground his teeth – when he felt a deep sense of unfairness – when he never got a TV show that he wanted.

He never saw his own  gifts at Christmas – only the gifts his siblings got. They always lucked out – getting the gifts they wanted.

Obviously this worried his dad – as well as his mom. They would talk about Robert from time to time.

His mom would talk to other moms about him. She was worried.

“Not to worry,” most other mom’s at the playground – as well as his teachers. “He’ll get over it as he grows older.”

Every time he went to the dentist – they would notice that “Robert seems to be grinding his teeth too much.” 

“I know” his mom would say, “but do you have any suggestions on what to do about it?”

The dentist suggested getting a special mouth guard that he was told to wear during sleep – during the night.

He didn’t like that mouth guard.  “My older brother doesn’t have to wear one while he sleeps, but I do. Not fair, not fair, not fair.”

So when the lights went out, when no one was looking, he would put it under his pillow – and grind his teeth – inwardly arguing about something else he found very unfair.

When he played Little League baseball and Pop Warner football, he never made the starting team. “Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.”

In high school, he never got A’s – only B’s and C’s – always thinking that teachers have favorites and obviously I’m not one of them.

He continued to grind his teeth – angry and frustrated with the unfairness of his existence.

His parents – but more his dad – worried about Robert – and the lack of smiles that appeared on his face. He was sculpting his own face – by his own thoughts – and putting on a happy face didn’t seem to be on his agenda.

Dentist after dentist kept telling him, “Stop grinding your teeth.”

He got through college – which he thought was not the thing he really wanted to do – but because his brother and two older sisters went – he went.

He didn’t like that life had too many have to’s and not many want to’s.

After college – with a business degree – he got a job in sales – selling furniture to small furniture stores and out lets.

Part of his salary was set and part of it was based on a percentage of what he sold. Needless to say: he ground his teeth when he heard the boss praising the salesman of the week or salesman of the month – for their hard work and plenty of sales.

“Unfair, unfair, unfair,” he thought inwardly, “The boss always gives his favorites the best stores and the best referrals.”

So there he was in the dentist’s chair.

He had work to be done on his teeth.

The dentist – like every other dentist – told him, “You have to stop grinding your teeth.”

But he had been hearing that message all his life – so he said to himself, “So what else is new.”

The dentist said, “I have to give you a needle for this back tooth here. It will hurt for a second – and we’ll be back in 5 minutes – after it takes effect.”

They both took off their rubber gloves.

Robert closed his eyes and just sat there – motionless.

Suddenly after hearing at least 10,000 “Stop grinding your teeth” messages he finally said to himself, “I guess I better stop grinding my teeth.”

And surprise that’s exactly what Robert started to do.

He stopped grinding his teeth and surprise, “The first real smiles he ever smiled started appearing on his face.”

Surprise his older brother asked him if he would be God-Father to his first child.

Surprise  his boss gave him some good stores to visit.

Surprise – he started to get sales.

Surprise – his mom and dad and 4 siblings said behind Robert’s back, “Did you notice Robert. It seems that he’s finally happy . What happened?”

He met a gal named Janet – who said to him, “Robert you have such a great smile. How come no girl didn’t gobble you up before this.”

They married. They have 5 kids – and every kid has this great smile and Robert often hears, “The apple never falls that far from the tree!”

And when he hears that - he smiles his great smile – while showing his teeth.

TIME, TALENTS, AND TREASURE

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A -  is, “Time, Talents and Treasure.”

One of the titles of this Sunday is, “Stewardship Sunday.”

How are we using all 3: our time, our talents and our money?

Obviously, the Church wants all three. Obviously others want all three from us. Obviously, we want all three: Time, talents and treasure.

All three can tax us. All three can wear us out. All three can worry us.

Then in today’s gospel – the stress is that God wants us to use all three well – our time, our talents and what we have and what we treasure.

HOW MUCH TIME DO I HAVE?

We can guess, we can estimate, but we don’t know how much time we have left. However, we can figure out how well we use the time we have.

I remember a job I had for 9 years: that of being a novice master.

I would have a class of young men hoping to become Redemptorists.

I would have them for a year and a day. Then they moved on or moved out.

Looking backwards … looking into the rear view mirror … looking at where we’ve been … we learn much of life.  And then we use what we saw – as we drive into our future.

Looking back on my job or role as novice master, I learned that some novices could do 30 things in a week and think they did nothing; others could do 3 things in a week – and they thought they were overworked.

Obviously, working with others, we learn how others work – or don’t work.

Sometimes we might be surprised.

Eric Hofer – a practical philosopher and down to earth writer about life – talks about brick layers. He discovered that sometimes the young guy who looks like he laid 1000 times more bricks in a day than older brick layers – actually did less. Some people are all about motion and commotion.

That triggers for me a years and years ago comment and life lesson that Jimmy Brown the football player said live on TV at a half time – of a pre-season game.  “Watch the young players who tackle me? They tackle me. Then they struggle to get off me. Then they run fast back to  play defense – to get ready for the next play. Watch me. I learned to just rest there on the ground till everyone gets off me. Then I slowly walk back to be just in time for the next huddle and next play. Then watch me move on the next play.”

Question: how well do I use the time I have?

Question: am I having the time of my life?

Question: do I know how to run a smart game, a balanced life.

Question: what have I learned and noticed about time in my lifetime so far?

TALENTS?

The English word “talent” comes from today’s gospel – from this story Jesus told about 3 types of people.

The Greek and Latin words were talentum [Latin] and talanton [Greek]. They were the words used for a unit of money in New Testament times. A talentum or talenton was worth 3000 shekels in Palestine or 6000 drachmas in Greek areas. The English word chosen to translate these words into our English New Testament text was “talent”.

The key message is not what a talent was worth – but the question: how well am I using the talents I have?

Before texting that text into our brain, a key life question is: what are my talents, skills, and gifts?

Remember that book that was popular a few years back, What Color Is My Parachute.  People out of work – looking for a job – or a career shift - would take the surveys and tests in that book – then  try to name their gifts – and then look at  job possibilities that need those gifts and skills.

One of the values of school is that we learn our gifts and skills – our talents – in comparison to others.

Is there such a thing as a math gene? If there is one, I didn’t get it – or at least the algebra gene.

Of course teachers help. Stick-to-it-tive-ness helps – but in the long run we discover in classrooms and in schools – by marks and others – the other gal or guy is better in sports or writing or drawing or music than I am. I also learn that I am better than others in history or hop scotch in the playground.

May we all have teachers and coaches – in our life – who spotted talents – and gifts in us that we didn’t know we had. And looking back may we  look them up and if we can locate them, call them or send a note of thanks.

Then there are those like that third person in today’s gospel story. They are the ones  who buried their heads and their talents in the sand and life passes them by.

Sometimes they are the ones who grind their teeth – as today’s gospel puts it – because they feel teachers and coaches were unfair. And God is unfair. And life is unfair – because they think they are getting the short end of the stick – whatever that means.

In the early 60’s when I was in the major seminary – we had well over 100 students for the priesthood. We had some great professors. One prof pushed for a major building renovation. Looking back I learned I didn’t know electricity or plumbing. Others did – and did big time work that saved lots of money. I was a painter – and I liked best doing trim work. It’s slower. It called for precision and patience.  It was me. I learned that not in the classroom – but painting classrooms and doorways – and wood work.

I also took care of horses for six years – and I learned that job called not for talents – but for time – and it gave me the joke – that I learned how to shovel horse manure in the seminary and that skill has helped me ever since – especially at meetings and in the pulpit. In time I also got to kiss the Blarney Stone.

TREASURE

Treasure is money.

In today’s gospel - talents refer to amounts of money.

Question: what have I learned about money and its use from life so far?

We grew up poor – but we didn’t know it. My sister Mary told me that she was talking to her kids once and she said that our dad in his whole job life at Nabisco – never earned more than $100 a week. A grandson heard that and said, “What?” I often wonder if he ever thought about that after that. Next time I see him, I’ll ask.

We learn a lot about money from our parents – without knowing we are learning. It’s the first anniversary of my sister Peggy’s death. I was just up to her grave near Scranton Pennsylvania with my sister Mary. We decided when we got back to her house, we’d look at the funeral service on CD or DVD that they made of the funeral – a wonderful idea. In the eulogy my sister gave, she said that in the late 1930’s my dad was making $9 dollars a week. At the same time, my mother said to my dad when he came home from work that day, that she just bought our house. My sister Mary then said, “You do the math.”  She said that our mom knew how to work with money and make money work.

What are kids learning when their parents get them to put the envelope or a dollar in the collection basket?

What are kids learning when they hear from their parents one of life’s most important words to hear and learn, “No!” – especially when it comes to things they want – because someone else has one.

What are kids learning when they see their parents give a good tip to a waiter or waitress along with a personal thanks? 

What are kids learning when they experience their parents splurging and taking them for ice cream as a family on a summer night?

What is our take on money?

I once learned a key message about money from a lady named Tessie Hoffmeister. It was on my first assignment as a priest – at Most Holy Redeemer Parish – Lower East Side of New York. Tessie had a great New York accent. Bird was “boid” and her boid’s name was Tippie. Bathroom was pronounced “toil-let”.  I was in charge of Bingo and Tessie did the books and the money counting on Wednesday night bingo. During the day she worked for the newspaper – The New York Daily Mirror. Doing what? Of course woirking in the money counting room.

She said, “Andrew watch out for money. It’s funny. It does tricks on lots of people – from big shots to little shots.”  She said, “I woirk in this big gigantic caged room with about 50 desks. Money from newspaper stands from all over the city would come into that room.”  Then she said, “From time to time the suits would come into the room and walk to a certain desk. They would tap a poirson on the shoulder – whisper something in their ear. They would turn red. Then they would clean out their desk. Never to be seen again.

Question: what about you and money.

The New York Daily News once had someone say, “The Three Biggest Problems in Marriage are: ‘Money, Sex, and In-Laws.”

What’s your take on money?

CONCLUSION

The Church, this parish, along with the organizations, and family we  belong to, need our “time, talents and treasure.”

We need ushers and money counters, Religious Ed teachers, Eucharistic Ministers, readers, singers, people to visit the hospital and shut ins – and a lot of other jobs that take time, talents and gas money. We are grateful for those who have done these jobs in the past as well as the present.

We also need money – your money. It seems always. I’m glad I was never a pastor.

Thank you for your generosity – and if there is anything parishes have to talk about from time to time it’s that: money.

Check the bulletin and our Web site for more information on Faith Direct – and all kinds of other requests.

Someone complained once about a parish to a pastor: “All I hear about here is give, give, give.” And the pastor said, “Wow what a great definition of Christianity.”

Taken rightly, it is.

If it gives ammunition to stop going to church, “Money, Money, Money. All they ever talk about money.” That has to be looked at as well.

Amen. A few comments about “Time, Talents and Treasure.” 

CHRIST - THE WHOLE 

LOAF  OF  BREAD 

Poem for Today  November 15, 2014

BALLAD  OF THE BREAD  MAN

Mary stood in the kitchen
Baking a loaf of bread.
An angel flew in through the window.
‘We’ve a job for you,’ he said.

‘God in his big gold heaven
Sitting in his big blue chair,
Wanted a mother for his little son.
Suddenly saw you there.’

Mary shook and trembled,
‘It isn’t true what you say.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said the angel.
‘The baby’s on its way.’

Joseph was in the workshop
Planing a piece of wood.
‘The old man’s past it,’ the neighbours said.
‘That girl’s been up to no good.’

‘And who was that elegant fellow,’
They said. ‘in the shiny gear?’
The things they said about Gabriel
Were hardly fit to hear.

Mary never answered,
Mary never replied.
She kept the information,
Like the baby, safe inside.

It was the election winter.
They went to vote in town.
When Mary found her time had come
The hotels let her down.

The baby was born in an annex

Next to the local pub.
At midnight, a delegation
Turned up from the Farmers’ Club.

They talked about an explosion
That made a hole in the sky,
Said they’d been sent to the Lamb and Flag
To see God come down from on high.

A few days later a bishop
And a five-star general were seen
With the head of an African country
In a bullet-proof limousine.

‘We’ve come,’ they said ‘with tokens
For the little boy to choose.’
Told the tale about war and peace
In the television news.

After them came the soldiers
With rifle and bombs and gun,
Looking for enemies of the state.
The family had packed up and gone.

When they got back to the village
The neighbours said, to a man,
‘That boy will never be one of us,
Though he does what he blessed well can.’

He went round to all the people
A paper crown on his head.
Here is some bread from my father.
Take, eat, he said.

Nobody seemed very hungry.
Nobody seemed to care.
Nobody saw the God in himself
Quietly standing there.

He finished up in the papers,
He came to a very bad end.
He was charged with bringing the living to life.
No man was that prisoner’s friend.

There’s only one kind of punishment
To fit that kind of crime.
They rigged a trial and shot him dead.
They were only just in time.

They lifted the young man by the leg,
Thy lifted him by the arm,
They locked him in a cathedral
In case he came to harm.

They stored him safe as water
Under seven rocks.
One Sunday morning he burst out
Like a jack-in-the-box.

Through the town he went walking.
He showed them the holes in his head.
Now do you want any loaves? he cried.
‘Not today’ they said.

© Charles Causley

SCULPTOR

Wheat, flour, dough,

table, pan, bowl, hands,

the struggle to sculpt,

to carve, to mold, to form,

to try to grab and grasp

the formless energy

of the universe, called God,

better: Bread, 
God easy eating bread,

not a God who stands there

on a pedestal - posing as

a rock stone statue, but our God –

Delicious - Divine - Daily Bread,
cut crushed wheat,
becoming flour, kneaded and baked,

slowly rising, slowly sending

forth the sweet smell of bread,

to all – to all in the house -

coming under doors – through windows ….

Come – take – eat - taste - be in

communion with one another.

© Andy Costello, Reflections 2014

WRITING POEMS

Poem for Friday, November 14, 2014

WHAT THE CHAIRMAN TOLD TOM

Poetry? It’s a hobby.
I run model trains.
Mr Shaw there breeds pigeons.

It’s not work. You dont sweat.
Nobody pays for it.
You could advertise soap.

Art, that’s opera; or repertory —
The Desert Song.
Nancy was in the chorus.

But to ask for twelve pounds a week —
married, aren’t you? —
you’ve got a nerve.

How could I look a bus conductor
in the face
if I paid you twelve pounds?

Who says it’s poetry, anyhow?
My ten year old
can do it and rhyme.

I get three thousand and expenses,
a car, vouchers,
but I’m an accountant.

They do what I tell them,
my company.
What do you do?

Nasty little words, nasty long words,
it’s unhealthy.
I want to wash when I meet a poet.

They’re Reds, addicts,
all delinquents.
What you write is rot.

Mr Hines says so, and he’s a schoolteacher,
he ought to know.
Go and find work.

© Basil Bunting,

From Complete Poems,

Ed. Richard Caddel

Bloodaxe Books, 2000

THE SNAIL 

KEEPS MOVING FORWARD

Poem for Thursday November 13, 2014

CONSIDERING THE SNAIL

The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth’s dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,

pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail’s fury? All
I think is that if later

I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.

©  Thom Gunn