Cana Wedding

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time in the Catholic Church Readings

Cana. The first miracle of Jesus Christ. Also, what also is the first, of what we know about. is a disagreement between mother and son.

Hmmm. A disagreement between mother and son. Sounds like Jesus proved both his divinity and humanity all at one event. A wedding, no less which normally means a union. But there you have it in scriptural writing.

Says the Son of God, “It’s not my time, Mom, so please leave me alone.” Mary, being the wise mother that she is, knows in her heart that her son will do the right thing. “Just do what he tells you to do,” dictates the Mother of God to the catering service.

Whether it’s Roman, Greek, or the mythology of our Catholic faith – gods and Gods seem to like to argue. One position. One staunch position. Standing tall with a strong resolve. Very little room for bargaining, if any.

My opportunity to listen and compromise to my elders was done with soap. My mother shoved it inside my mouth after my feeble attempt to defy her. It worked. Then my mother’s mother shoved Ivory soup in my mouth after a said “s_h_i_t” to her for some silly reason. In her home. Unfortunately for my grandmother, her soap tasted kinda nice to me, a scented soap. But, I still got her message.

Disagreeing and getting frustrated when “two or three are gathered” at a dinner table is as inevitable as when “two or three are gathered” at the table of Our Lord. Why? Because it’s us, folks. A Christmas gift this year to me was a plaque that read, “The more people I meet, the more I love my cat.”

Disagreeing and getting frustrated are, and will continue to be, a part of our nature. What is not part of our nature, nor of our Christian faith is the methods we use. Politics shows us the worst of it these last few years. In the Congressional chambers, where’s the Ivory soap kept?

We yearn for union between us. No longer to be “between” us but “with” us. We pray for union among nations, every single day at Mass. Yet, how often do we revel in our comfortable disagreements? The ones where we are always right and everyone else is wrong. Since I’m not married I believe that bargaining is very much a part of the bargain we call marriage. If there’s only a winner and a loser then that sacred bond is slowly but easily torn apart.

Since I have two cats, I guarantee you that my two cats always win. Oh, well, I don’t mind.

Our readings today describe the bond. A marital-type bond between Israel and God. A bond with powerful words: no more “forsaken” or “desolate” but, in faith, becomes “my delight” and “espoused.” And St. Paul chimes in with his list of many gifts. We don’t possess all those gifts but meld them with the gifts of others to become a union, a beautiful harmony of care and concern for both ourselves and those around us; most especially those with whom we disagree.

The Son of God needed a nudge. And, who better to nudge than his first disciple – Mom. Mary. Mary nudges her son to perform the first of his many miracles.

I don’t think soap was invented back then. But a nudge is a universal gesture or look between two people. Can we nudge ourselves toward being a tad more compassionate, patient, and offering a listening silence when conversations get heated? It may very well not be our nature but it is the nature of our Catholic/Christian faith.

I have to remember that wine protocol: good wine first, then sneak in the cheap stuff for the rest of the evening. Good idea!

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My sermon will begin in a moment. Oh wait, that’s my cue. I can sincerely assure you that I’ll take up only a moment of your time.

What a curious yet unpredictably and mysterious word. Moment. My dad ran a solo credit union, and his sign on the door at Noontime read, “Back in a moment.” Boy, did he have nice lunches. The car salesman says about your car price offer, “I’ll be back in a moment; I need to check with my manager.” You sit there looking at your watch as though a moment has time allotted to it.

How many of those passing measures of time contain no measurement? The nurse says, “The doctor will be with you in a moment,” as all of us continue to impatiently wait. Next to you on a table is the sign that reads, “If your appointment is later than fifteen minutes, please see the receptionist,” as though she can hurry things along.

Thiers? The Blessed Mother of Jesus had her non-timed moments. Pregnant and riding a donkey to Bethlehem? Sidesaddle. Anybody? Losing God’s only begotten Son for three days or thereabouts? “One Call, That’s All,” anyone? Then there are the severe moments in her life. Watching her Son slowly emerge as the messiah he is called to be.

Ours? Your wedding or my ordination? Your firstborn or my feeble first sermon? Ours? Losing a child to death or the slow death of addiction. Signing divorce papers. Ours? Becoming a parent to our parents in their aging years. (Just try that sometime!)

Thiers? There would be Mary’s wonderings if her Son’s mission was the angel’s message to her. Mary and Jesus watchfully wait for Joseph’s last breath, which is now called the “Happy Death.”

Ours? Family gatherings and gossiping about those who aren’t there. A significant promotion and a larger paycheck to lower your monthly mortgage. A child’s college acceptance letter or receiving a letter in her favorite sport.

Theirs? Mary’s vigil witnessing her Son dying for doing nothing he was accused of. And then holding him for a forever scene that offers us balm, comfort, and solace for any of our tragedies, setbacks, or disappointments.

This Epiphany feast is Mary and Joseph’s validation that light in our dank, darknesses brought the world to live and see the light in the damp darkness of an animal’s stable. Memorable moments. Perhaps that’s a moment that contains no time because it’s become timeless. Unforgettably ours because of our biblical models.

The moments of all of our lives. What is remembered and endured? There are no magical steps for a moment to recur. There are no five steps or quick solutions. Pfizer hasn’t created a pill for reliving moments. Happy times are easily retrievable, but those flee away as quickly as they appear. Mistakes promise us there’ll not be a second one. Regrets are growing cancers as it spreads. The only cure for cancerous regrets is a firm resolve to keep moving on as best we can.

The light of Christ. The morning of our lives. The light we can witness and share with others. Those are the cherishable moments of our lives. A light never to be extinguished. Because that light continues to light our lives right now. And you know by the time I say, “Now,” a new now began.

The Creed will soon begin. But first, permit me a moment to get from here to over there.

Books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS. are available at

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Mary, Mother of God

A mother was asked, “When is your greatest joy of motherhood?” She replied, “When they’re all in bed, asleep.”

That’s not our joy and cause for gathering, recognizing Mary as the Mother of God. Not to be divisive but Protestants wince at the title given to her. Yet, if Jesus is indeed God, what other conclusion can you reach? Mother. Child. Relationship of the mother to the child?

The Church argued centuries ago about this title. It was often told that Jesus grew in our human form and gradually evolved or learned about his Godship. Others were told that it was two natures that slowly merged as one. Both got the boot (“heretic” in churchy terms). Both tellings missed the inspiration of our Hebrew Scriptures, formally called The Old Testament. How many prophets? Most of them predicted and hoped for a union between what’s up there and what we experience down here. It’s called the incarnation. It is brought about for your amazement and adoration through a simple teenage girl to be recognized as the Mother of God. 

Mary gives birth to a son who lived all of our messed lives in everything but original sin. Sin was reserved for us. The reserved was reserved for us to show us how to become God-like. (Please hear the hyphen in those two words.) Never to be God (small “g,” as we often think of ourselves), but “like” in our thoughts, words, and deeds. 

I’ve used the word “through” to describe the birth of Jesus. However, they are not called “labor pains” for nothing. Now many hours of you moms experienced those two words coming together? Thinking that delivery is so near only to be delayed and with more delays. 

Doesn’t that sound like our “on-again, and-off-again” lives? “Tomorrow,” we pray to God, “my life will be as new as the changing year’s number. We then even add a “promise” to it as though that solidifies it. A here-today-gone-tomorrow promise. By tomorrow afternoon, around 5:00, we find ourselves back on our knees, hoping for a newer tomorrow to make that very same promise. 

Life, and our life of faith, teaches us to live life. Live life through Mary-examples. (Another hyphen.) Here’s a few of them. The Blessed Mother begins for us by doubting. An over-arching angle stands boldly in her living room, wings touching both her walls in her one-bedroom apartment, right before she’s ready to eat supper. The Blessed Mother was troubled when discovering that her almost teenage son was not with the traveling group. The Blessed Mother witnessed what her son was providing for the poor, lame, the blind and sick, and even his best dead friend. The Blessed Mother saw the scars on his back for doing nothing then being himself. The Blessed Mother saw purple placed all over him, mocking him for claiming to be a king. The Blessed Mother saw it all.

We’ve seen it all! We see it on TV and read about it not only in the news but also in our families and the families next door to us. How often we dismissively say,  “How can a God allow a community parade in Waukesha to end that way?” “I can’t shop anymore at a mall and try on Christmas dresses with my daughter in the dressing room?” That mother held her dying daughter in her arms as Mary held her son. “Don’t you dare tell me about God and his Mother?”

“God-Bearer,” a third hyphen, is the Greek name those centuries-old folks gave to Mary. “God-Bearer.” Is it a title only reserved for Mary, or is it a joining she now lovingly shares with us? “God-Bearer.” Wrapped around our shoulders is the God that we each proudly bear witness to others with our many ounces of goodwill, forgiveness, and grace. What’s been modeled for us from the Mother who was “full,” full of grace. 

One woman who had three children was asked, “If you had to do it all over again, would you have the number of children?” “Yes,” she replied, “But not the same ones.”

Books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS. are available at

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Growing Up Moments

Way before technology showed us magic and fun, we, ourselves, created magic and fun with our neighborhood friends and in our minds. As a new year begins we can forget to look back. “Look back to what?,” you ask. Then read on and then close your eyes and relive those magical and funny moments of growing up. Moments that brought us here for a new year.

“Red light, Green light,” “Red Rover, Red Rover,” Kickball and dodgeball, “Ring around the Rosie,” Jump rope, “You’re It!” The ultimate weapon? Water balloons.

Parents stood on the front porch and yelled, or whistled, for you to come home (no pagers or cell phones). The best reminder to return was when the street lights came on.

Running through the sprinkler. Cereal boxes with great prizes on the bottom and Cracker Jacks with the same prizes. Ice pops with two sticks to break and share with your buddy. Catching’ lightning bugs in a jar. Saturday mornings – “Tom and Jerry,” “Captain Midnight,” “Cisco Kid,” “The Lone Ranger.”

You first day of school. Climbing trees for absolutely no reason, except you could do it. Swinging as high as you could, reaching for the sky. Mosquito bits and sticky fingers. A strictly enforced weekly bath. For no apparent reason – pillow fights and jumping down the steps. In the movie theater, watching the movies for the third time.

Being tired from playing. (You may to read that sentence once more.) Work? Taking out the garbage, cutting the grass, washing the car and doing the dishes. (Which any capable adult is able to do!)

Your first kiss – with your eyes open and mouth closed. Summer’s drink? Kool-Aid; also a swig from the hose. Giving your friend a ride on your bike’s handlebars. (“One Call, That’s All!” if that happened today.) Attaching a baseball card to your bike’s spokes to make it sound like a car. When nearly everyone’s mom was home to greet you after school with milk and a snack. Receiving a quarter allowance was a miracle from heaven. When being sent to the principal’s office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited you at home.

Decisions were made by going “eeny-meeny-miney-mo.” Mistakes were corrected by simply exclaiming, “Do over!” “Race issues” meant arguing about who was the fastest.

Finally. Nobody was prettier than Mom. Scrapes and bruises were kissed and healed by her. And, getting a foot of snow was a dream come true.

Now? I can answer telephone calls on my wrist. Where’s the magic and fun? I hope it never leaves me or however the next generations define it.

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The Christmas Gift

I carried it in the house in a dark plastic bag so no one would know it’s from me. It’s our yearly gathering much like the ones in the past. Or, is it the same? Wrapped in bright, shiny, red paper with a fancy bow on top. 

It’s been under the Christmas tree forever. Only a few hours. The waiting kills me, always has. Will she like it? Why didn’t I shop a while longer? All these barriers between now and then. We still haven’t eaten. Dessert takes forever. I sure hope that no one wants coffee. That only drags it out with your choice of decaf/regular, mocha, sugar and what type of milk. Whatever happened to just a quick cup of black coffee?

A gift, any gift is special. It’s the surprise. Unspoken communication between the giver and the receiver. The only control I had was its purchase. What happens when it’s opened … is open to anything.

The place is full with constant laughter and the chatter (some you hear, others you overhear). A suspension of time in this small, allotted time. It’s time spent with family that becomes even more precious as the years pile up. My young nephew corrects me because I missed adding 1/2 to his 7 years. Politics, of course runs its length with no resolutions. Biden, Trump. Trump, Biden. Along with a sprinkling of Bernie thrown in from the one family member we’ve always been suspicious of.
And, there my gift remains. It’s still there under the Christmas tree. 

Oh wait! Just now, someone put another gift on top of it. That means a further delay. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that cup of coffee. I’m getting nervous. The family told me what she wanted. They all said, appearing to be humble and unassuming,“Nothing fancy, just small things is fine.”

One only gets one shot at gatherings like this. No gift would have been all right but we were expected to bring one to exchange. (Remember the theme? “Family?” Let’s hear that sentence once more.) If you, for instance, chose for one year not to bring a gift you then you’d become the retold story for endless years, complete with laughter. “Do you remember the time when everybody brought a gift to share except Joe?”

Have you ever reached a point in time when time just stops? The family are all mingling and doing their party-type thing but you somehow find yourself stepping back and observing it all. In your mind, you are filming this gathering, like a director only without you directing. It’s happening before you and it is happening now. It will never be duplicated. It may try to repeat itself but it can never be duplicated. I see my gift now. Now, mine is four gifts deep under the tree. I should have come late like everyone else.

Time finally resumes. Bathroom visits are completed and people seem ready for what I wanted since I arrived. What? Is that a fifth gift on top of mine? Now they’ll never see it. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. Does mental telepathy help as I transmit my gift’s description to the one in charge, the oldest? “It’s the gift wrapped in the bright, shiny red paper with the fancy bow on it,” I keep repeating to myself seeing that she’s over there laughing and missing my sonic message. The laughter grows louder as each gift is presented and quickly ripped open. Academy Awards should be given for facial expressions wondering whether the gift is truly accepted or merely acknowledged.

“It’s the red wrapped one,” I say to myself as more time passes and the family seems to grow restless waiting for the ending. “It’s the one on the bottom! I murmur to God, I’ll quit smoking if it’s handed out right now,” knowing He doesn’t believe me either. 

With the passing of all my anxious waiting moments since arriving, my moment is captured and contained in a single moment. Presented by the oldest. Carefully unwrapped by the recipient. Her surprised look looks authentic as I felt a warming in my heart. She looked up at the family and smiled. She liked it.

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Christmas Sermon: Two in One

Andy Williams’ “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” hands down, is among the top five favorite Christmas songs. And the two top dates in our lives are this day and our birthdays.

Today I have a two for one sermon. But, rest easy, it’s my usual length. The first is called “A Confident Faith’s,” The second is called “A Connected Family.”

“A Confident Faith’s,” written by by Fr. Joe Jagodensky. Literally, it’s the birth and death of Jesus Christ. For us, that second literal will one day occur. However, during this weird in-between time that we, in the Church, call the “journey of life” it’s the symbolic stuff of dying to ourselves and rising to imitate and copy the life of Jesus Christ.

We are all too familiar with failings, sinfulness, and half-hearted attempts. Yet, yet (I love that word because it’s so packed with potential), yet we have the strength of God’s grace living within us along with those never fading, undying virtues of hope and joy. And then there’s God’s daily call to our humility. We would all call that one a challenging challenge. Then there’s our literal kneeling and bowing that we do here in the church which needs to metaphorically happen in each personal encounter, especially with those who disagree with us.

Another song. Julie Andrew’s favorites of “whiskers on kittens” and “cream-colored ponies” and “wild geese that fly with the moon of their wings” may be her’s. But, hardly the spiritually “favorite things” of hope, joy and peace that this day began and continues to live within us all year-‘round. Part One is done.

“A Connected Family,” created by Walter and Jane Jagodensky. As an adult, I refer to our Manitowoc family’s Christmas as the “Iron Curtain.” It was only a bedsheet tacked on the wall that separated the living room from our small hallway. Because you see, I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree. I had “people” do it, aka my older sisters and brother.

Now. My younger sister and I were briskly exiled to Russia, aka my grandmother’s house, a mile and a half away. There we waited with impatience for our return home at dusk. Now. We received the telephone call and our visas and were quickly whisked back home. Hidden behind the bedsheet in our living room was our, once more, brightly decorated tree. Mind you now, unseen by the two of us until the entire rosary was said. All five decades. The manger scene in the hallway still had an empty manger. However, during Advent’s four weeks, we were able to place a straw in the manger for every good deed and behavior done by us to soften this newborn’s sleep.

Now. Here’s the tricky part. The two of us had to be in our pajamas, but the way upstairs was through the living room. We promised not to peek as we both hurried through it. (I peeked once and have confessed it ever since.) The rosary now reaches the third decade, and the youngest got to place the baby Jesus in the manger, now full of our goodwill straws. (Bummer since before she came along I used to be that guy.) We’re finally finished, the curtain is removed, and another Christmas has been ritually and methodically honored. Opening gifts grab our attention more than any grade school writing or arithmetic assignment.

I’m sure all of you had your own family customs that are forever remembered.

Now. Ours is still not finished because we need to dress and attend the Midnight Mass, which was surprisingly held at that time, and then return home for treats. For us kids, it was ice cream. For my dad, it was a terrible gelatin concoction, from either a cow or pig, called “sultz.” That brought a smile only to his face.

The confidence of our collective faith and a connected family to confirm it. What song can you sing and hum along to for this newly approaching year? Is it that nihilistic Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” or is that depressing Gilbert O’Sullivan lamenting, “Alone Again…Naturally”?

Remove the curtain of sin as best you can, and promise to live and share the hope, joy, love, and peace this day provides for all of our days. Live it within your hearts and then sing it to all you meet.

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Blessing the Manger of Jesus Christ

Here they all are again, right in front of us. And here we are again. They are presented to us for our adoration and our emulation. We and the Church call them the “Holy Family.”

Over here is “Silent Joseph” whose words are never spoken but whose dreams all come true. Thank you Joseph for listening to something more powerful than words. Can we do the same?

Next to Joseph is the “Enriching Mrs. Cow” wondering whose milk she can nourish. Could it be that child? Whose body can she provide and sacrifice? Thank you Mrs. Cow for the gift of your life given for others. Can we do the same?

Over there is Mr. Donkey whose durable body carries a pregnant woman soon to be called “mom.” Thank you, Mr. Donkey for carrying our Mother and the Savior of the world to safety. But please don’t forget to stay healthy and call AAA for directions to Eqypt. Can we carry someone and do the same?

On top of us roams “Hovering Angels” (What else do angels do except hover!?) smiling down on us at our erksome, troubling and unsolvable problems that always contains a divinely inspired solution. Thank you Hovering Angels and please keep watch over us. We need all of you, especially the one we call “Guardian.”

I didn’t forget her. In front of us is Mary, a simple name that gains stature because of what she represents and presents to us. Simplicity made grandeur, humility that finds peace, perseverance leading toward life’s next inch when those previous inches failed. Thank you Mary for embracing all of life’s contradictions and treasuring them within your heart. For they are all lived through you and all solved because of this one mangy manger.

And the newborn? We already know about him. Laid in a manger, a trough meant for animal food. The greatest of all metaphors – the trough of food that will soon be for us the spiritual food to strengthen our minds and hearts to live lives that mirror’s his.

Here they all are again for our adoration and emulation.

The Marriott was full. They didn’t have enough points for the Bethlehem Sheraton and Tom Bodett forgot to “leave the light on.”

So this mangy, meager manger full of unlikely people, beasts and celestial beasts gives us never a remark like – never a wink, “I promise you that”, certainly not a “good luck with that.” This simple stable scene reenacts for us each year the people we need to be, as best we can. Dreamers. Nourishing. Food that is shared. Able to carry another one more necessary step. Grounded in our thinking because of those heavenly guides. Treasuring all of the stuff our lives – goods, bads and indifferents; like Mary. And all waking to new births which is always our tomorrows and all our days after that.

Can we do the same? We wouldn’t be here if we thought we couldn’t.

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Ruminating Dusk

There it goes again as it did last night and centuries ago. It’s my bay kitchen window view, only this time it’s at 4:30 pm. or 8:30 if it’s July. It’s a transition from the known (the passing today) to the unknown (tomorrow).

The descending brilliant orange colors along with orange’s fading shades are slowly coupled with hints of grey and darker greys alerting me that once again a tomorrow will arrive.

Advent and Lent are both about transitions. Each starts and ends yielding themselves to a new season of life living.

If my tomorrow continues like my today then what’s the point of those alerting seasons? Let’s just skip to the good parts and forget about each season’s anticipations and preparations. (Sounds very American to me, don’t you think?)

Both seasons invite spiritual growth. Advent’s new life and Lent’s renewal of life. Yearly offered to us by the Church, not to tease us with Christmas or Easter but to search our souls to find the soul of Christ.
The sky now shows more grey but the orange’s hint remains at 4:57 pm.

I learned from my pastoral care work that this time of day is the most unnerving for those with Alzheimer’s disease. Their minds continue to make the transition only without the transition. “Agitation and aggression” is written in their medical records during this time. How sad. They are only experiencing what you and I do. I suggested reciting the rosary to them but I don’t think it ever happened. The rosary for them would be a calming, no matter their religion. The rosary or similar prayers for us is the movement from one haunting, troubling thought or condition to a new perspective.

5:03 pm. Only a slight light remains as the night begins and I love it. This view provides me with the second most powerful potion. The first is the Eucharist.

No matter our disposition whether it’s a new diagnosis, confusion about faith, strengthening our faith, a lost spouse or friend, or just a wanting to give up on this whole faith thing, it’s Advent. This year, it’s Advent. Like any Advent, you will never, ever know again.

5:08 pm. Almost completely dark outside with a slight wind to remind me who’s in charge. What will or what can I do to make this Christmas, at least a small piece of, what God created me to be?

Books by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS. are available at

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Owen the Cat & Socks

My eighth-grade nun told us, kids, often, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” Being thirteen years old, we thought that meant keeping underwear in one drawer and socks in another. Not bad advice.

Being older it takes on new meaning but continuing to talk about socks. My male cat decided to play hide and seek with my socks. He must have seen me take one off and the movement was all he needed to see. Never taken in pairs which I would prefer. Just one here and one there. Supposedly hidden, but I found most of his hiding places. If it didn’t entertain him so much, I’d be frustrated. If it didn’t help us, then it’d be futile.

Missteps. Mistakes. Wrongdoings. Wrong words said out loud. Once done, none can be undone. It needs a safe place to reside to continue and hopefully improve our lives. So keeping the “sock,” so to speak, lingering and haunting us, doesn’t help anyone, especially ourselves. The damage or discord happened. We learn and become better persons from those two “M’s” and two “W’s”.

Here’s the cat part. We need to put those errors in judgment somewhere. Closet? Too obvious. Under the bed? More sleepless nights. In the trash? Too literal. Our favorite psalm provides the answer both for our mental and spiritual wellbeing. We eat with them. “You set a table before me in the sight of my foes,” says number 23. By knowing they are staring right at us while eating meatloaf, a baked potato with cream corn (my favorite meal, by the way), we take away their power to preoccupy or hurt us. What better place to learn more about ourselves and our behavior than having it all in front of us.

We all know we are sinful people, hence the “M’s” and “W’s”. We also forget that we are grace-filled people relying on our faith to see us work on our ever-growing lives through these “socks”. Sister was right about keeping our clothes clean and accessible. As adults, Psalm 23 does the same thing for Christian grownups.

P.S. Please don’t say anything if you see me with two unmatching socks. Owen, the cat, knows where the missing match is hidden.

Check out Fr. Joe’s books on “Letters from My Cats” is letters written by his cats to him about living with him.

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Do You Believe in Angels?

“Do you believe in angels?” Simple question, often answered in a split second. Yes/No or that ever pervasive and safe “perhaps”? Intermediators from God is their commission. Perceived to be flying all over the place, especially during trying times in someone’s life; something like Batman or how many other wannabes.

Angels are called to call for a pause before a rash decision becomes a disastrous one. A calming presence is their intended purpose. Turning overcharged minds and hearts toward a quiet can enhance and enrich anyone’s life.

I don’t know if I believe in angels. I just like them. My apartment has 284 of them surrounding me. How do I know this? My precocious nephew at Thanksgiving was bothering my sister’s dinner preparations. “Go count Joe’s angels. I’ll give you .25 for each one,” was her charging challenge to the young one. Hence, the amount given to a nine-year old, under mom’s care.

They come in all shapes and sizes, just like us. The Catholic Church doesn’t fool around. Angels have a hierarchy just like, guess who? There’s Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, and of course, Arch. Then there are regular angels like Clarence who needed to earn his wings. (Name the movie!) I choose the “regulars,” it’s more like me.

It seems they are both policemen, counselors and protectors all rolled together with their mobile appendages.

I still don’t know if I believe in angels but I’m sure glad they’re around me all the time.

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