Monday, September 14, 2015

September 14, 2015


DOUBLE CROSSED

She felt double crossed by God.
He left her for a much younger woman.
He left her with three young kids -
screaming - hungry little ones.
He left her without money and
a house which she was about
to lose. “God! God! Where are you?”
Her family was in a far country.
He had promised her the world
if she would come to live with him
in this now God forsaken trap?
She had to make a decision.
She headed home and started
again in her own family. Now
looking back - that was the best
move she ever made. She and
her kids had a double resurrection.
But it took 13 years not 3 days.


© Andy Costello, Reflections 2015

September 13, 2015


NEXT HOUSE

On my street, there are all these houses -
all lined up next to each other - in a row.
I see their skin - their roofs, their colors -
their windows - as well as their front doors.
I see their occupants come and go. I wave.
I smile. I acknowledge. In time I get to know
a few of the people on my street. Sometimes
someone moves and I realize I only know a
few folks and their names.  Surprise! Worse!
Sometimes I don’t really know the people
in my own home - in my own family - or even
deeper I don’t even know the person in my skin.
I am a mystery to myself. God do I even know you? Does anyone ever receive communion?


© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2015

Sunday, September 13, 2015


A  QUESTION: 
WHO  DO  YOU  SAY  I  AM?


INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 24 Sunday in Ordinary Time [B] is, “A Question: Who Do You Say I Am?”

TODAY’S GOSPEL

In today’s gospel Jesus asks that question to his disciples.

Listen again to how today’s gospel reading for us begins, “Jesus and his disciples set out for the villages of Caesarea Philippi. Along the way he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?’ They said in reply, ‘John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others one of the prophets.’ And he asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter said to him in reply, ‘You are the Christ.’ Then he warned them not to tell anyone about him.”

Strange scene. Strange story. Strange comment.

Jesus asks each of us here today that same question. That’s why it’s here. We need to hear that question: “Who do you say that I am?”

It’s Sunday. I suggest as you walk along  - as you drive along - the days of this week, hear Jesus asking you that question: “Who do you say that I am?”

CROAGH PATRICK - JOHN F. DEANE

By total coincidence I picked up again the other day the Irish Magazine, Ireland of the Welcomes. I had bought it at Barnes and Noble in June.

One of the articles was about a guy who climbed a mountain to make the Croagh Patrick Pilgrimage. A million people make that climb every year. It’s only 4.3 miles long - but it’s a good day’s climb - up and back.

I remembered a moment - years ago - standing there in Westport - County Mayo, Ireland - and looking up at that mountain - but didn’t climb it. I saw the big hand carved - some well-polished - walking sticks. I know a priest who had made that climb - that pilgrimage - and did it - and told me about the grace of that experience. It’s considered the holiest mountain in Ireland.

We didn’t have time. We had to get back on the bus. We had to hit the road, Jack. We had to keep moving.

I looked out the bus window and felt some kind of longing to climb that mountain. I had climbed a bunch of peaks in New Hampshire - parts of the presidential range. I had climbed a few mountains in the Rockies - so I knew the feeling mountains give off: Climb me.

The writer of the article was by the Irish poet, John F. Deane. Sorry to say I had never heard of him.

He tells his story. In 2011 - age 68 - he bought a stout ash stick and started the climb. It was September. It could be cold. He had good climbing boots, warm clothing, and a plastic mac in case of rain. It rains in Ireland at times.

He had a small backpack with water, biscuits and a bar of chocolate.

He paused at the first station - a big whitewashed statue of St. Patrick - with his hand raised in blessing. John Deane said he stood there and prayed. He said he spoke the name of Jesus “to the soft air of the morning and listened, to the world about me, the distant ocean, the fields, the clouds, the sheep.” Then he wrote, “It was as if the voice of Christ were asking: Who do you say that I am?”

I had read that article just last Sunday - and surprise - that’s the question in today’s gospel - this Sunday.

And I was thinking about John Deane’s words all week - a week I went to a class reunion - of classmates - who were ordained 50 years ago - in 1965.

Who did we say Christ was these past 50 years?

Since John Dean said, “September” and “2011” I was wondering if he had gone to Mass on that morning  - and heard this reading -  and then made his climb. I don’t know - but as I read more about John Deane - I think the answer is no - because this seems to be his lifetime question.

As he climbed - as his article continued - I hear him asking himself that question over and over again. He gets the idea to ask the poets of Ireland to write poems to answer that question. He wonders if he’d be laughed at if he did. He decides that when he gets back he’ll ask the famous Anglican bishop, Rowan Williams, about his idea of his.

The answer to that question is not in the article.

But answers to Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” are all through the article.

Then when I started to do some beginning research on John F. Deane I discovered that this poet - who had thought about being a priest - has been asking and answering that question about who Jesus is - all through his life - especially in his poems.

And he is not scared - or hesitant - to write many a poem about Jesus - to an Ireland that has  become for many - Post Catholic - and for some Post Christian.

The priest scandal - and so much more - has not helped - the Catholic faith of the Catholic Ireland.

POETIC ANSWERS TO THE QUESTION

In a 2010 poem, Shoemaker, that won him first prize in a poetry contest, John Deane writes about a quiet shoemaker who sees the whole world like through the eye of a needle. The shoemaker sees Christ - the walking the roads of Galilee and Ireland - and  the world Christ, who sees everything telling us everything  - the swallows in the skies - the leather of one’s shoes - the wind singing - the scenes of people on the roads  - bread, wine, water, the rains - the windshield wipers, noise music, Christ everywhere.

CONCLUSION

This week - for homework, for heartwork, for holiness work, work on the question, “Who do you say that I am?”

I think we have to ask that of ourselves - who we are -  and of others - who they are -  but save those questions for other climbs - other pilgrimages -
other mountains - other weeks.


But this week, answer that question from Christ: Who do you say that I am?

Saturday, September 12, 2015

September 12, 2015

ON THE SUBWAY TRAIN

There must have been 73 people
in our subway car - all silent - all
alone - as we wiggled and woggled
from one stop to the next - and the
only person who noticed me was
a little kid directly across the aisle
who got out of his father’s lap -
walked over to me - pointed to the
bandaid on my hand and said,
“What happened? Where did you
get that boo boo?” He was the first
person and the only person in my 
entire life who ever asked me about
my hurts and what happened? Wow!


© Andy Costello, Reflections 2015
Painting on top - Subway Scene
 by Daniel Celentano, 1935

Friday, September 11, 2015

September 11, 2015

TODAY’S  DATE

Every date has its own importance.
Today: it’s someone’s birthday
or someone’s deathday or it’s
someone’s anniversary or it’s a
day like today - September 11th,
when 14 years ago those of us
who were alive and adults that day
remember what happened and how
it changed our ways of thinking and being.
Who knew what was to happen that date?
Who knew about December 7th, 1941 -
Pearl Harbor - and how that changed
our way of thinking or August 6th 1945
at Hiroshima or 3 days later, August 9th,
at Nagasaki, days that also changed us?
God give us pause to realize with dread
and awe and “Uh oh!” feelings that each
day and each moment is filled with mystery -
as we crawl along on the spider web of time.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2015
September 10, 2015

RAIN

It hadn’t rained for a while,
in fact a few weeks now.
So when it finally rained,
rain was very much appreciated.
All those complaints about too
much rain last April had been
forgotten  - but the rain,
it remembered. Complaints
linger. Complaints sink in.
Rain smiled - knowing
absence and holding back
and silence always work.
They bring appreciation
and gratitude every time.





© Andy Costello, Reflections 2015


September 9, 2015



COME HOLY SPIRIT

To get Spirituality, one has to climb a
mountain, cross a desert, slowly take
stairs and steps - and sense and realize
what these experiences are like. One
has to see and touch trees, rocks, dirt
and dust. One has to listen to music:
guitars, pianos, orchestras, birds, crickets 
and bees - lots of bees - classical, pop,
rock, country western - as well as Oriental.
When there is lightning to stop and 
look at storms, rumble and stillness.
One has to know about desire and wants.
One has to know about control and will.
One has to plunge into lakes and rivers
and like a deer taste water, salt and
sweet meadows. One has to walk beaches
and slowly jump or dive into the edge
of an ocean and then wade out into the deep.
To catch the Spirit - one was to walk
outside in the cool of evening and feel
the breeze and see leaves and needles
shaking in the wind. One has to carefully look
at veins in leaves - to see them bud and see 
them crumble. One has to taste - really taste
and savor bread and wine - but while eating with each other - and talk about the taste, 
togetherness and communion. One needs 
to know the poets: Levertov, Oliver, Bishop,
Berry, Hopkins, Haviz, Heaney. One has to read the great texts - memoirs - autobiographies, like the Confessions, the Seven Storey Mountain,
the words of Rumi 
and the three Teresa’s - 
and so many others - to know Jesus’ words  - especially  his parables, his sayings and his teachings, as well as one’s own story. Write it
all out chapter and verse. Then let all that be sorted and sifted out slowly in long early dawn walks or in deep prayer and cries and 
sometimes screams to God in the Dark Nights 
of our darkness - and sometimes in bright insights and Ah’s - on the street or on the bus.



© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2015