Soulful Muse

Around 5 or 6:00 am. you wake up and perk away a strong cup of coffee, coke, or whatever your wakeup beverage may be. Those still drowsy thoughts begin again to repeat themselves into your heart and soul as they have for years and how many unending years. Thoughts like “a barren bush in the desert that enjoys no change of season,” and “a salt and empty earth.”

Hmmm, what a daily, usual, and predictable way to begin a new day preparing for work and life. Hopping in your car you flip around radio stations and catch someone talking about “the kingdom of God belonging to you,” the word “satisfaction” is used to reduce hunger and those weeping tears of yours suddenly turn to laughter.

With that still harboring “barren bush” living within you, you flip to the next station. Again you hear a different voice saying, “rejoice and leap for joy” when accused of honoring the Son of God. You think to yourself, ” Just like Elizabeth’s kid did in her womb upon seeing the Blessed Mother.” (You also think to yourself, “I need a new radio!”)

Another flip brings words of “Behold, your reward will be great in heaven” for living and sharing your faith both within yourself and in the lives of others. Turning the radio off seemed like a good idea but those words – words of life, love, and commitment – continue to sing their way into your heart and soul. Unlike those “saltless” words that so often creep into your head, heart, and soul. Get it!? Words of life “sing,” debilitating words only “creep” themselves to live within a creepy head.

Driving along you pondered if your wakeup beverage just wasn’t strong enough. Your head is now full of hearing words of wonder, joy, and dedication instead of that low life of living without salt, a life that has nothing to share, and a barren life where there is little or no pregnancy of joy, hope, and amazement.

We all know that it’s so much easier living a life of kinda waking up rather than living a full life that is fully awake to our beautiful Catholic faith.

St. Paul provides for us a class in Logic using reason. No resurrection? No Christ. No Christ? Faith is in vain. Those asleep through death? Perished. If only living this earthly life? Pitiable.

Forget about how you wake up still full of sleep wishing for one more hour of it. Take those voices in your head with “a grain of salt;” as little as what remains of salt in your head. And, do you really want to live and stand “in a lava of waste?”

Listen to those mysterious voices on the radio. Listen to their timeless messages timed exactly for our lives here and now. Outside voices that slowly become your voice. Your life. Your beliefs. Your behavior. Voices that speak of purpose and meaning (regardless of your situation or predicament), voices echoing God’s hope for you (not the unknown hope of the future but a hope that gets you to work today and to family and friends), voices that erase saltlessness and being sterile with experiences of fulfilling feelings even if they arrive in only small amounts. The Beatitudes provide us with divinely life-giving words – with all their contradictions -leading to a holiness that is the envy of those still asleep and wading their lives with surrounding lava. The promise of God, Son, and Spirit is to keep us always wide awake and alert for the Lord.

No matter what your morning beverage may be.

My apologies to the learned St. Paul but Love is not number on the top three list; Faith Hope and Love. The greatest is not Love. There is no Love without Hope. Faith cannot be uncovered and discovered without Hope living within us first. With Hope on top then our lives are rooted in and through Faith and then freely expressed in and through Love. Please repeat that sentence.
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Hope is about an unknown but believing future. Hope is also about our tough unchangeable pasts. Sounds like an oxymoron but that’s us Christians for you. Hope can only be a promising future when we fondly remember and beautifully cherish the memories of goodness and wonders of our lives. That’s the easy part. And, to be the heathliest, it also includes the weakest part of us – sin whether commissioned or omissions. With God’s help, it means forgiving the past. Never forgotten but forgiven.

St. Paul joins the dictionary in getting it wrong with “expectations” and “certain things to happen” as though the second greatest virtue is limited only to our future and not our past. 

Love is the fulfillment of both Faith and Hope. Just think about this, if you will. If you’re making a casserole and you want the result to be a scrumptious meal full of Love then make sure you add two cups of Hope to your crushed ground beef (or to your pasta if a vegetarian). Preheat the oven (that’s called our birth.) Then sit back and bake at 350 for 45 minutes and then see what happens. After cooking, sprinkle the top generously with French Fried Onions representing Faith. There’s your Love on the kitchen table.

There’s a quaint, quiet town outside busy, metropolitan Milwaukee that illustrates “hope” as defined by the dictionary.  Driving through the main street, I’m reminded of a movie set. Everything you see is wonderful, neat and pretty, and great until you park the car and peek behind those stores’ facade. Behind that facade is 2 x 4’s propping up the fake front.  It seems simply shallow. (Cedarburg.) “Putting your best foot forward” may be good advice for a job interview but planting both feet solidly on the ground are the three virtues gifted to us by our three friends (Father, Son, and Spirit).

Sorry virtues Faith and Love, please set aside as we show ourselves that the power of Hope can heal any of the backwards of our lives in order to move our lives humbly and faithfully forward.

When we seek closure or some kind of healing that can never be fully granted because the past is gone, we easily begin to use the word “wish.” “I wish that that memory could fade away from me,” or “I wish healing about that incident or episode that I regret” or “I wish that stupid death didn’t happen.”  “Wishes” are from Walt Disney, “Hope” is the grace from God.

Can’t Hope be broadened without getting the other two virtues upset? Can’t the power of Hope in all of its full maturity and Godly grace and power offer us healing or a softening to those “things” of the past? 

Those mistakes of the past, whatever they may be – sinful or just stupid, have a cute way of haunting and persisting in our minds and behaviors.  Looking blindly toward an unknown future, like that quaint town are feeble attempts to bypass parts of our lives as though they never happened. Forgiven but not forgotten.

Try this example.  If you dent your left driver’s bumper then guess where your next accident will occur. (No one seems to guess it correctly.) Your next accident will be on your left driver’s bumper. Go figure.

The longer we live the more backdrops we have to hold up. Each of our “storefronts” may look clean and neat to those who drive by us but unless we hope our ways toward our backs then we are simply a scene set on a studio lot in a cheap make- believe-movie.

In my healthcare experience, the last ounce of us to release is what? Most people say, “Will” but they’re wrong. It’s the driver of our car. It’s the first of those three marvelous, mysterious virtues that roam around our hearts, souls, and minds every single day.

Driving along, Hope says “Thank you Faith and Love for all you do but you’re sitting in the back seat. Let me do the driving…I know where we’ve been and I know where we’re going.”

Like fingernails on a chalkboard, I hear five words way too much. It contains nothing but twelve meaningless letters. Twice last week which is a low for me. “It is what it is.” It says zero to me but the speaker thinks it speaks volumes. Two repeating words with a “what” in the middle are supposed to summarize one’s present predicament.

It is often said as a conclusion as though there is nothing more to say. I guess you could call it a spoken period. Where’s theologian Reinhold Niebuhr when you need him?

Are we that quick to sell out? It is not even resignation because that would imply a recognition that nothing more can be done about a particular situation. “I am resigned to this,” is not the same as saying, those twelve letters. 

Twelve letters that represent nothing says something about our English education. Whatever the subject that concluding statement leaves me baffled as I walk away. “Was he talking about sorrow or grief or talking about an unknown future?” I think to myself. “Please, try to think of a noun.” It helps the listener (i.e. me) immensely.

Where would the great protestors of our culture be if that phrase was thrown out at a civil rights rally or gay rally or Vietnam protest or women’s rights or BLM or how many others we can recall?  The reason for those gatherings was that whatever the “it” was, it was the “it” that gathered the group to change the present “it” to a different or new “it.” (Don’t you sometimes hate pronouns?)

 
Niebuhr gives us three responses or approaches to life with a concluding prayer that gathers the three together.  The two pronouns and two verbs with a “what” in the middle provide us with nothing except a “sell-out” speaker and a confused listener (i.e. me). If it’s despair then use the word. I can work with resignation and despair. 

I’ve learned to hear it as a “dead-end” which makes the chalkboard’s sound all the more irritating. We are smart and educated here in the U.S. so how we can so glibly condense and nutshell our lives into two nameless pronouns and two verbs with no action with a “what” in the middle?  Naming the “what” may very well lead us to a new direction or understanding in and of our lives. Heck, I may even learn what you’re talking about!

So, Niebuhr, prays with us, “God, give me the grace to accept with serenity, the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish one from the other.
Living one day at a time, Enjoying one moment at a time, Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it, trusting that You will make all things right, if I surrender to Your will, So that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.”

Augustus, Sofia and Callie (ASC, for short) were baptized by me. (Not Christian names but that’s a different sermon.) Actually, I mean those three were baptized by all those gathered at that early 8:00 a.m. Mass here at St. Sebastian Catholic Church back in November 2016. So very young attentive eyes staring up at me while I poured water on their growing hairs, three times; one for each person of the Trinity.

The other day I received a cute picture of a young kid talking on the phone saying, “So today, in church, a guy in a dress tried to drown me. And, I kid you not, my family just stood there taking pictures!”

Parents and Godparents beaming with joy as I place the oil on the crown of their heads proclaiming them to one day act as “priests, prophets, and kings.” Their beautiful white garments are then acknowledged with the word, “dignity” when presented into eternal life; occurring at a hopefully far—far-off date. We all offer a welcoming clap and then we are re-sprinkled to remind ourselves of what we may have forgotten or were told about how many years ago.

Baptized. These three are now freed from that leafy-clothed couple that haunts and under-scores our whole religious lives.  (I thought an “apple a day kept the doctor away!”) Baptized now and soon to be living in a world that few of us will witness.

ASC will never hear a revolving record skip (or the sound of the needle at the end of the song going “sshh,sshh,sshh.” Will they have self-driven cars? ASC will never wait for a neighbor to finish a telephone call before making their own. In their time, they will only touch their chests to activate the implant to receive an incoming telephone call and then see the person they’re talking to in their glasses. ASC will probably never wait for a bus, replaced with some super-studded transport system. ASC will not need to take their shoes off at the airport because newer disasters will lead to newer measures. And, the best of all, ASC will never know that it’s time to go home when the street lights come on.

The first “Black” president and first “woman” president”? Forgotten footnotes to them because so many will have come and gone since our time.

ASC will need to care for their parents as their parents cared for them. Nursing homes during their time will look more like a golf resort if they can afford it. Or worse still, collective housing in “that side” of town, right next to the noisy railroad. Or worsier still, medical methods will be commonplace to ease suffering and of course, quietly rid ourselves of our aged burdens. (Yes, I used the word “burdens” to describe parents in the future.)

Will there still be that awful title, “Third World” or will we have finally solved poverty and hunger? Will there still be “those guys” on 76th and Capital and North Avenue and Highway 100 wishing us a “Happy New Year and Anything Can Help” on his cardboard sign? And, the most piercing question about their adulthood will be, “Is ‘I Love Lucy’” still playing every minute of every day somewhere in the world?

Baptized with water. That’s John the Baptist to Jesus. (From now on, I want to be called “Joe the Priest.”) Baptized with fire and the Holy Spirit? Now we’re talking about Jesus Christ. Baptized. A one-time event? Yeah, right!
When does (or better yet, “when did”) Jesus Christ fully baptize you with that fire and the power of the Holy Spirit?

1240 WOMT radio in Manitowoc. Seventeen years old. It’s 6:30 on Saturday and the previous announcer whisks himself out the door leaving me all alone until midnight. All alone. My first time on the radio, junior in high school. Two turntables and lots of rock songs to play. I forget to turn the microphone on the first time and begin talking. True story! The Vietnam War continues and with my stuttering problem I could not say, “Strategic Arms Limitations Talks.” I used the acronym “SALT talks.” Redundant but still. Because of me, folks in Manitowoc thought there was a shortage of salt.

Friday night I watched “Lilies of the Field” in honor of Sidney Poitier. His professional life was an authentic baptism by fire for a Black performer back then and the movie illustrates it as well. A strong German nun convinces him, every step of the way, to build a chapel when he constantly says, “No.” I tear up each and every time. (Amazon Prime and it’s free!) He even frees himself from the nuns but in three weeks returns to be faithful to those baptismal promises.

We never know when a very scary or a very wonderful exhilarating opportunity presents itself in our lives. Or a daunting obstacle stands in our way. Or a severe challenge presents itself in our lives. Or, we feel tested and tired beyond our controls when baptism has no perimeters. Here’s my short list but feel free to add your own.

A new mom with a colicky baby. Your first speech in front of the class and you swear that you are, indeed, not wearing pants. A mother of two youngsters loses her husband to cancer. A parent is the last to leave the cemetery after burying her son or daughter. A fresh nurse at the hospital is asked to work an additional shift – in the ER. Your husband who always seems to be two drinks ahead of you. Waiting for your doctor’s call about your prognosis caused by your diagnosis. (Or my favorite of all) The sixty-year-old daughter becomes the parent to her eighty-five-year-old mother. “Eat your vegetables!” The daughter-now-a-parent demands. “I don’t wanna!” The former parent replies. Fiery Baptisms. Full of fire and the power of the Holy Spirit.

I said some of this back in 2016. ASC don’t remember that day, only what their parents told them on its anniversary; if they even remember the date. “You were so cute and you didn’t cry,” will be repeated until ASC think they actually remember it. The baptism was performed by a priest whose name will escape the parents. I don’t mind. “What was that guy’s name? Sounded Polish. And, he thought he was funny!”

“Baptism by fire,” when the real of life makes life … real for us. When the water, fire, and the Holy Spirit unite within us providing the fortitude and strength to see us through absolutely and anything. A phrase I often use now as I get older, “what we do to life and what life does to us.”

Just like those three callings of Baptism years ago, we were all commissioned to be a “priest, prophet, king,” each in our own way, for the way of our times. As priest: honoring the “now” for any time is sacred. As prophet: keeping a Christian’s wide eye and a listening ear, for the Godly right and the oftentimes wrong – to what the future may be because of what happens now. As king: to serve the least among us and be constantly conscious for the common good of all, especially the less fortunate.

Tall orders for three infants wondering why their heads are wet on that early morning in 2016. And, also a tall order for us tall people who felt the same sprinkling from John the Baptist and then throughout life rely on Christ’s fire and the Holy Spirit. We slowly (sometimes even reluctantly) but gradually and gladly assumed those same Catholic Christian responsibilities.

Here’s how I ended that November Mass over six years ago. Being good Catholics when time is more important than prayer – three baptisms and a great sermon. This 8:00 a.m. Mass ended at 9:02.

A scroll. A youngster would ask her mom, “What’s a scroll!” Her young mom would say, “Heck if I know.” Yet the unrolled scrolls of Ezra and Jesus Christ today proclaim to us all that the good news of the joy, love, and the glory of God actively lives and resides in our midst.

Not a bad day to attend Mass, don’t you think? Happy and inviting Scripture readings. When I think of a scroll, I picture the town’s Cryer standing in the courtyard with some admonishingly bad news declared by the kingdom’s king. “Hear yea, hear yea,” yelling as loud as he can.

These days we don’t roll out a scroll with announcements about ourselves. These days we hear an often, quiet whisper inviting us more fully into the Body of Christ. “I think you’d be good at this,” says the whisperer. These whispers don’t enter our ears but arrive and arise from our hearts and souls. St. Paul vividly describes that any one gift cannot survive nor serve the whole without the combined gifts of others.

(Slight cough.) “We interrupt this sermon for this very important public service message. If Congress could only heed the St. Paul passage about our many different gifts but the one Spirit. Working only together. The worst part of it is that if we see our civic leaders divided and divisive, then, just like little children (even at adult ages) we begin to slowly imitate that fruitless, ineffective, wasted behavior. ‘Imitation is the highest form of?’ And now back to today’s sermon.” (Slight cough.)

Ezra unrolls it and says, “Today is holy to the Lord our God. Do not be sad, and do not weep.” Jesus declares, The Spirit lives within me, I’ve been anointed to help the poor, liberty to all that holds us down, recovering not our sight but a God-like sight to all we meet, freeing ourselves, as best we can, and others from thinking we just can’t do this or that any longer. To proudly proclaim that the year 2022 is a year blessed by the Lord for each and every one of us.

Whispered to us, “I don’t think your gift is the hand but your feet could do wondrous things within the Body of Christ.” The “Body of Christ,” is never, ever one of us but together, collectively celebrating who we individually are and who we can collectively become.

In no uncertain terms, God whispered me that I’m not allowed to own or operate any power tools but I can write a memorable funeral sermon in thirty minutes. Alright, one hour. My gift. Your gift. Our collective gifts raised to a Godly level.

Our favorite trio! God, Son, and Spirit say to each and every one of us this and every single day of our lives: “You have a special gift to share with someone in need, to share the joy that We’ve given you, to keep our Church active and alive.” So, please ‘unroll’ your gift (I couldn’t resist), so please unroll your gift for the Trinity’s glory and honor and toward the benefit of goodwill to others.”

The three of them also tell us that, “poverty” (not only money but the bankruptcy that so often hardens our hearts), “captivity of any kind” (like Jacob Marley, what chains have we created for ourselves and can find no way out?), “blindness” (selfish, narrow thinking like “I’m always right and you’re always wrong), and “oppression” (keeping any one person or group down in order to keep you remaining on top), “These are not Our words,” says the Trinity, “They are yours to admit, to own, to address, and to solve.

The Trinity finally asserts, “That’s all We have to say to you (pause) … for now.”

(Whispers are said in bold.)

One of the easiest funeral sermons I’ve delivered was an Alexian resident named Joy Divine. (Real name!) It’s not that I knew her well but her name was the key to our celebration of her life. (Can’t do much with Jagodensky…oh well.)

Happiness is a temporary, passing emotion that can quickly change when a car runs a red light. Joy, however, is truly divine. It’s lasting because it doesn’t begin or end with us. That red-light-driver may cushion our joy but it only lasts a short time.

We can all think of examples when joy has been tested like “gold in fire,” according to the Book of Wisdom. There may be singes but never a burnout. Too bad St. Paul didn’t make his inventory a foursome adding joy to faith, hope, and love. I think joy would have completed his list. Joy wraps herself tightly around each of St. Paul’s virtues. (And, yes, with a red bow on top!) The other three are fragile without joy’s enfolding.

Last year’s parish theme was “joy.” Entries were few but I understand that. It’s hard to describe. And being “good Catholics,” we’re never to brag about ourselves. Yet, I guarantee you that joy is not only divinely sent to us but it’s as contagious as our darn virus, mask, or no mask. You can’t help but feel joy when another person just beams full of it. That contagion has a long shelf life when you recall your visit with that person and the exchanges the next day and the following week. A parishioner stopped me after Mass today to say what a great day he had yesterday. His great-grandaughter was baptized. I’m still thinking about his joy late this afternoon.

When Ascension Healthcare eliminated my Alexian Village position several people asked me if it affected my faith. I thought it curious because it never entered my mind. How can a company, Catholic or not, affect a divine gift? It was not their’s to give and certainly not their’s to take away. Rather, I believe my sensitivity and compassion, toward myself and others, grew a couple of inches taller.

Our parish theme of joy last year is truly complimented this year with “our beautiful Catholic faith’s” theme. Like the song sings, “You can’t have one without the other.”

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!

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 Amazon.com

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 Amazon.com

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.