Soulful Muse

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.

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.

(kneeling in front of the manger)

Here they all are again, right in front of us. And here we are all again. They are presented to us for our adoration and our emulation. We and the Church don’t call them “family,” we call them the “Holy Family.”

Looking over here you see “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 in our listenings and hearings?

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

Nearby is tiredly Mr. Donkey whose durable body carries a pregnant young girl 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 please call AAA for directions to Egypt. Can we carry someone, in some way, and do the same?

On top of us all roams those “Hovering Angels.” (What else do angels do except hover!?) The whole lot to them smiling down on us at our irksome, 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, simply a simple name that gains stature because of what she represents and presents to us. Her divinely response is, “Yes” when our “No” would have worked. Simplicity made grandeur, humility finding 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 were all lived through you. May we live with life’s contradictions because of this one mangy manger?

And the newborn? We already know about him, or so we think – but what do we believe? Laid in a manger – a trough meant for animal food in a city whose name means “House of Bread.” The greatest of all metaphors – that grungy trough meant for animal feedings becomes for us the spiritual food to strengthen minds and hearts to live lives that mirror his.

Here they are all together again for our adoration and emulation.

The Marriott was full. They didn’t have enough points for the Bethlehem Sheraton. Uber wasn’t invited yet. And, Tom Bodett forgot to “leave the light on.”

So this mangy, meager manger scene full of unlikely characters, beasts and celestial beings gives us, never a remark like – “I promise you that” or “I hope that you,” and certainly not “good luck with that.” This simple stable scene reenacts for us each year the people we need to be, as best we can.

Who were they? Who are we? Dreamers. Nourishing people. Sharing our food with others, especially the really hungry. Able to carry someone toward the more necessary next step. Accompanied, throughout, by those inspiring heavenly winged-guides who keep us grounded in our earthily lives. Treasuring all of the stuff our lives – those “goods,” “bads,” “indifferents and especially those “forgotten that are really never forgotten” – like just Mary. No matter our age, can we awaken to a new birth, small or huge, to be our tomorrows and all our days after.

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

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 Amazon.com

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 Amazon.com “Letters from My Cats” is letters written by his cats to him about living with him.

“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.

She’s following me. Or, am I following her? Is this a dismissed coincidence or a spiritual engagement? You be the judge.

My mother many years ago gave me the prayer given to us by Our Lady of Guadalupe, patron saint of Mexico.

Years later, I get the chaplain position at Alexian Village. I ask the CEO for a week off between jobs. He said, “No.” They needed me right away because of the aging priest having daily Mass. I arrive on my first day and preparing for Mass discover that it’s December 12 – her feast day. “Hmmm,” I think to myself.

More years pass and the diocese invites me to be a temporary administrator at Queen of Apostles in Pewaukee. The pastor is falsely accused of child abuse but it takes eighteen months for a mistrial. I walk into the sacristy the first day and on the back wall is a huge picture of “you know who.” No “hmmm” this time. This time it was a smile. The 2 1/2 years of waiting for a trial left the parish bereft for obvious reasons. My personality and style helped the parish through those dark months. (They even began to chuckle during my homilies.) Again, who’s following whom?” I called myself “Fr. Doorstop,” keeping the doors open for the hopefully returning pastor. It worked.

The diocese offers me your (our) wonderful intimate parish. After a few months, a parishioner stops me in the parking lot after Mass and proceeds to tell me how much Our Lady influenced and affected her family over the years. I didn’t interject with my run-ins but loved hearing her family stories. This time I walked away with a quiet, broad smile.

Here’s my mother’s handed-down prayer from Our Lady.

“Have you forgotten? I am your Mother. You are not alone. You are under my protection. Anything you need, ask me. Do not worry about anything. Am I not here – I who am your Mother? Have you forgotten? I love you, and you are under my protection.”

It hangs in my bedroom. I haven’t forgotten and I’m confident that I never will.

“Oh, you Catholics…” says the Lutherans about us Catholics, “Why do you worship Mary?” We answer by saying we don’t “worship Mary” but we can understand your confusion.

We are dumbfounded by this carrier of hope in our world. We are awestruck by this vessel which did not doubt but continued moving, as best she could, through this journey we call life. We are terrified that if we emulate her that we will get lost; never find our way back to ourselves, and will lose our identity forever. Yet, in finding Mary we will find our true identity.

It’s called midrash. It’s the possible back story to the story we all know and love. In other words, what happened before all the good stuff we hear about in church?

Mary told the angel, “No,” you’ve got to be kidding as she might have said to that huge winged creature standing proudly in our kitchen. Mary, not knowing the origins of her sinlessness, would still have had doubts, inhibitions; thinking ahead of what her answer would mean without knowing the impact of her answer meant. Mary would naturally have thought solely about herself and what her unknowingly “Yes” would mean. Her knowing response of “No” would have been natural. Saying “No” keeps her young life the way it is and how she plans it to be. Her sixteen-year-old mind would think, “What the heck is going on in my kitchen when I’m only trying to make supper?!”

Later, after that “Yes,” there’s supper with the husband who wants to divorce her (quietly) as Mary begins, as we say, “to show.” Joseph then has a dream and we all know the manger story.
Now there’s a two-year-old in the house and his favorite word like all two-years-old is the two-letter word, “No.” “No” to everything and anything. Keeping midrash in mind, couldn’t Mary, like any mother, teach her child what the “Yes” to the unknown means? As was her “Yes” to what the unknowns meant to her? A bit of admonishment, as any good parent does for the good of the child? Teaching a child that a “No” can often be selfish when a “Yes” leads to something greater; even if, at the time, unknown?

But that’s midrash. Made-up stuff that may be true or it may not be true.

But we know how this story ends and continues to inform and enlighten us. This vessel of love we call Mary vividly illustrates who we are as Church. A Church that possesses the wisdom and humility of all that life is. If Jesus dramatically showed us the fullness of life which is the union of human and divine then Mary shows us how it’s done and lived. Christ erased those two barriers. All the curtains and divisions that separated us from God have been lifted. And, Mary shows us how it’s done.

We have a tendency, no matter what age we may be, to add a magical dimension to our religion. (Burying poor St. Joseph to sell your home?) We have a difficult time letting go of magical thinking and enchanting intrusions into our world by the divine.

“Harry Potter” and religion can, unfortunately, have a lot in common. The magic of Harry Potter marvels us as enemies are quickly destroyed, problems solved through magic potions along with voodoo charms making people do what they would normally not do.

There’s no magic in Mary’s response. Only mystery. Her life begins and ends in simplicity. The mystery of untying our knotted lives and uniting our lives with God is the naturalness of it all. We don’t offen consider it because it was too available to us. We don’t take it seriously because it’s too much a part of our ordinary lives. We keep saying to ourselves that, “It can’t happen without thunderous sounds and ominous clouds, complete with rattling houses and dogs barking loudly at the strangeness of it all. Mary’s response is far too patient, in the quiet, through the sparse. It’s so easy and convenient to hate. It happens quickly and lingers and only grows. To truly listen to each other is natural, it’s human/divine combined. As is forgiveness. As is mercy. As is acceptance.

There is nothing of magic in uncovering what lives within us, our whole lives. The only wonder we can comprehend is why it’s taken us so long to believe it. Why its taken us so long to imitate the simplicity of the path of Mary. Scripture tells us that she “treasured many things in her heart,” and also tells us about a “sword that will pierce her heart” as any setback pierces ours.

Catholics don’t worship Mary but we do honor all of her life’s events … and our own within a spiritual context. All the events that are presented to us every day, in every situation, in each new and old face that we encounter. It is the plainness and the straightforwardness, that humbling and accepting word that Mary hesitantly but willingly whispers back to the angel’s invitation about accepting the birth of Jesus. Mary says, “Yes.” At his end, she holds her dead son perhaps thinking, “No” but once again says, “Yes.”
We say “Yes.” Or, do we? Our first impulse, like Mary’s might be to say “No. Just leave me alone.” A “No” just like Jesus boldly tells God in the garden before being arrested, “No, let this cup pass, I’m not the guy.”

Like Mary and Jesus, we say “Yes” to the divine that lives within us and wishes to become more a part of our lives. During all times of our lives but especially in those dubious and troubling times. Our “Yes” may be reluctant or freely offered to God but it is always humbly offered. Just like those two other folks we know about and honor this and everyday.

Advent: a time of renewal, reconciliation, and moving forward.

Suddenly my Lord was speaking: “My name is I Am.” He paused. I waited. He continued, “When you live in the past, with its mistakes and regrets, t is hard. I was not there. My name is not I WAS. When you live in the future with its problems and fears, it is hard. I am not there. My name is not I WILL BE. When you live in this moment it is not hard. I am here. My name is I AM.”
(Helen Mallicoat)

Mine today is a musical reflection only without the music. Broadway composer and lyricist, Stephen Sondheim passed away last week. Here are excerpts from four of his songs for your Advent reflection.

Sometimes people leave you, Do not let it grieve you, No one leaves for good. You are not alone. No one is alone. Hold [tight] to the light now…see the glow. Things will be alright now. [Ask me how I know!]

No one here to guide you, now you’re on your own…still you’re not alone, no one is alone, truly no one is alone. Sometimes people leave you…others may deceive you, you decide what’s good…People make mistakes…holding to their own, thinking they’re alone. Honor their mistakes, everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes…just remember [our present society] someone is on your side, someone else is not. While you’re seeing your side maybe you forgot, they are not alone, truly no one is alone.

I chose, and my world was shaken, So what? The choice may have been mistaken but the choosing was not, You have to move on. You have to move on…

No more riddles, No more jests, No more curses, No more quests, No more feelings. Time to shut the door…just, no more. Stop worrying where you’re going, Move on, If you can know where you’re going, You’ve gone…Just keep moving on…

You are not alone. No one is alone. Hold [tight] to the light now…see the glow. Things will be alright now. [Ask me how I know!]

Running away, let’s do it, Free from the ties that bind, No more despair, or burdens to bear, Out there in the yonder, Running away, go to it, Where did you have in mind? Have to take care…unless there’s a ‘where’, You’ll only be wandering blind, Just more questions…different kind. Where are we to go? Where are we ever to go?, Running away, we’ll do it. Why sit around, resigned? Trouble is, son, the farther you run, The more you’ll feel undefined, For what you have left undone, and more what you’ve left behind.

Could be, who knows? There’s something due any day, I would know right away soon as it shows, It may come cannon balling down through the sky, Gleam in its eye, bright as a rose

Who knows? It’s only just out of reach, Down the block on a beach under a tree, I got a feeling there’s a miracle due, Gonna come true, coming to me

Could it be? Yes, it could, Something’s coming, something good if I can wait, Something’s coming, I don’t know what it is, But it is gonna be great

With a click, with a shock, Phone’ll jingle, door’ll knock, open the latch, Something’s coming, don’t know when but it’s soon, Catch the moon, one handed catch

Will it be? Yes it will, Maybe just by holding still, it’ll be there, Come on, something, come on in, don’t be shy

Wishes are children. Careful before you say, listen to me. [Others] will listen. Careful the wish you make, Wishes are children Careful the path you take, Wishes come true. Not free.
Careful the spell you cast, Sometimes the spell may last, Past what you can see, And turn against you. Careful the tale you tell, That is the spell…

You are not alone. No one is alone. Hold [tight] to the light now…see the glow. Things will be alright now. [Just ask me how I know!]

“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.