Soulful Muse

It’s a state with counties familiar to us. The name may live within you, making it your “state of mind”.

The northern county in this state is called “Courage” for its brute strength, often vengeful whose county symbol is bulging biceps and tight thighs. Fortunately, “Patience” is the neighboring county which often smiles at Courage’s laws, practices and bar hours. Courage’s only reflection is the morning mirror.

“Fortitude” county is on the opposite side of the state and brags of her gentle persistence and a nod to her sister county, “Hope” which can live fancifully in your mind or can ennoble your faith. Fortitude passed a resolution inviting Courage residents to visit a china store and lift just one object, hold it and then return it to the shelve. Fortitude never heard back.

Below Fortitude is “Wisdom” county which is the state’s oldest and has the lowest unemployment rate. It’s not that Wisdom is that smart but it’s deeper than smart; experiences yield lessons, some small and others that enlarge life.

“Counsel” lies at the bottom of the state asking questions only to receive a new question, just like a rabbi would do. This forces Courage to either rephrase his question or ask a new, clearer one.

In the center of the state is “Understanding” which hasn’t had an easy time of it. Industry’s left and service jobs are now the offerings to its population. She wants to live up to her county’s name and holds out for a dialogue with all the counties.

Directly below Understanding lands “Knowledge,” the state’s second oldest county. Knowledge has so much of it that it appears the other counties are either jealous or just don’t care about history or its past or what he can teach the other counties. It’s a lonely county, mostly older folks sitting on storefront benches throwing dates back and forth to see who remembers the most.

The state’s tiniest county is “Piety,” it’s somewhere in the lower left of the state but I’m not sure of that. Folks there seem to gather in structures with a steeple on top. The “steeple” baffles Courage county because a flat roof would have been cheaper. Neighbors hear singing throughout the day, especially on Sundays. Why Sunday? I’m don’t know because that’s the perfect day to sleep-in with a Bloody Mary at (or for!) lunch.

Oh, I forgot to mention the name of the state. It’s called “Awe.” Folks throughout the state constantly wonder what they’re “awing” about or for but Awe is their name.

I wonder if those counties could have a state (or “state of mind”) meeting. Is that asking too much?

Books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.
Available at Amazon.com:
“Soulful Musings”
“Living Faith’s Mysteries”
“Spiritual Wonderings and Wanderings”

Based on this Lenten Reading

A Hollywood story involves the legendary film director Alfred Hitchcock and one of his favorite leading ladies, Grace Kelly.

Kelly had turned down the chance to star alongside Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront to play opposite Jimmy Stewart in Hitchcock’s 1954 suspense classic, Rear Window. (Eva Saint Marie replaced Kelly.) Kelly and Hitchcock got along famously. But Kelly later recalled in an interview, a minor snag developed on the set regarding Kelly’s wardrobe.

She said, “At the rehearsal for the scene in Rear Window when I wore a sheer nightgown, Hitchcock called for [costume designer] Edith Head. He came over here and said, ‘Look, the bosom is not right, we’re going to have to put something in there.’ He was very sweet about it; he didn’t want to upset me, so he spoke quietly to Edith. We went into my dressing room and Edith said, ‘Mr. Hitchcock is worried because there’s a false pleat here. He wants me to put in falsies.’

“‘Well,” I said, ‘You can’t put falsies in this, it’s going to show—and I’m not going to wear them.’” And she said, ‘What are we going to do?’ So we quickly took it up here, made some adjustments there, and I just did what I could and stood as straight as possible — without falsies. When I walked out onto the set Hitchcock looked at me and at Edith and said, ‘See what a difference they make?’”

All too often we see and hear what we want to hear and see. (And, aren’t we’re always right!)

The gospel is about sin but the solution of sin is what?

The root of sin is about tainted eyes that don’t see clearly and lots of wasted words on wax-ladened ears that can no longer hear. (If I was an Alexian Village today, I’d have fun talking about poor eyesight and deafness.)

When you and I are having a serious conversation especially a political one; while you’re still speaking I’m working on my response. (I do that all the time.) Or while I’m composing my reply in my head, you say something at the end that I agree with. (Now what do I say?!)

Are our eyes wide open to see our differences and seek a common vision? Are these two organs on both sides of our noses wide enough to clearly see God’s message in action, a message that’s often hidden but staring us both into our eyes? (And, God’s message may be completely different than our differing, petty, personal views!)

Are those appendages we call ears on both sides of our faces open enough to hear
—a child’s plea
—the unheard feelings behind her heard sentences
—that “inner voice” that says we’re wrong but we do it anyway
—the whisperings of someone’s grief even when there’s nothing you can do about it but     offer up a silent prayer
—that annoyingly noisy silence in the evening which invites personal reflection but we try to escape it through television, alcohol/drugs, some stupid video game, or telling the world on Facebook what we did today

“Wide Open” our eyes and ears need to be throughout the year but especially sensitive to them during Lent.

The youngest of Papa Jesse’s lot, chosen to be the King of Israel: (is not the smartest or oldest nor the one who raised her hand the most in grade school) was David:  “ruddy, a youth handsome to behold and making a splendid appearance.” For all of David’s profound sinfulness he eventually found redemption by listening more and seeing better the greatness of God, God’s immense forgiveness, David’s place within God’s Kingdom and how David could make that Kingdom real here and now – in his personal life, in his profession, among his friends and reinforced in his thoughts and expressed through his deeds.

Well during this sacred six weeks of Lent and throughout the year; from this man standing before you today: “ruddy, a youth handsome to behold and making a splendid appearance” to all of you –
—keep rubbing those eyes searching for the eyes of God
—and keep cleaning out that wax because God is truly speaking and listening along with us.

books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS, available in paperback or Kindle at Amazon:
“Soulful Musings”
“Living Faith’s Mysteries”
“Spiritual Wonderings and Wanderings”

One of my cats is captured by the bright light of my laptop as I write this and as the cloudy sunset captures mine. (It’s Wisconsin, what can I say? We have lots of “cloudy sun!”)

The experts call it a “transition,” what a nice work to use instead of saying, “You’re in a hole, a deep hole” that doesn’t appear to have a ladder. This is the “in betweens” I’ve loved to write about but this “between” is a bit too pinching when it happened to me.

“Why look to the forward when you haven’t finished the past,” I read somewhere. I wonder what change she was going through and if she “finished” her past.

“Finishing.” No idea what that means. If corporate standards abruptly finished me, my “finishing” is now my forced task? What is there to finish when the finishing was finished for me in one, long sentence with no feeling or appreciation for the many “finishings” I furnished for many years for older adults. (Funerals)

“Give yourself time,” is a comforting reminder from friends when time is all I have to give myself. Time for what? I’m getting pretty good at staring at something for no reason. I click out of it and find something else to stare down. (My apartment has never been cleaner and I promised myself to do laundry three weeks ago. “Tomorrow, tomorrow!”)

The soft word “transition” reminds me when garbage collectors became “sanitary engineers” as though they attended MIT and a secretary became an executive assistant. This is not a “transition” for me because the past would then meld with the present. This period is one-sided: focused purely on the past and what happened.

When I find a new position, then I can use the word “transition” but until then I’m in a hole with lots and lots of time surrounding me.

My other cat is sound asleep in the other room. I think that’s the cat capturing the dream of my next step.

The motion is simply back and forth but to a four-year-old, it’s reaching the stars on the “back” and familiar hands propelling him with the “forth.” Whatever thoughts contain a youngster are exchanged with the glory of this arc-movement. His only responsibility is a slight kick to keep “reaching the stars.”

The “back” are dad’s strong hands that held him for the first time four years ago and now pushes his smiling son toward the sky. “The sky,” it’s only about eight-feet upward and then back to those familiar hands.

What’s dad thinking about? It’s tonight’s pending supper because his wife’s not feeling well. “Weiner’s again? Oh, why not. There’s some macaroni somewhere in the pantry. How long should I keep pushing him? Just look at his smile, it’s wide open when the air hits my small guy with just an eight-foot expansion.”

Is the pliable boy now, at most an astronaut or a gravelly-sounding airline pilot ready to tell his passengers that their upward trip is about to begin? By dad’s clock, the whole event is measured by time but for his son, it’s timeless energy needing to be spent.

The whole experience is over in less than ten minutes but the bonding is forever kept somewhere – within the youngster’s young mind this small event is captured and stored in a mind’s place that is never retrieved but felt, dad’s mind is stored with another chance to be with his son while wondering what college will cost in fourteen years.

The two of them return to the house – son running but dad slowly walking, not because it’s “Weiner-night-again” but what a great son he has and his prayerful hope that his son “reaches for the stars” in whatever he says or does.

books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS, available in paperback or Kindle at Amazon:
“Soulful Musings”
“Living Faith’s Mysteries”
“Spiritual Wonderings and Wanderings”

I’m listening to an “easy listening” station right now that plays instrumental versions of the originals songs. It’s relaxing and I can fill in many of the lyrics.

Those guys like Roger Williams, Percy Faith, Bert Kämpfert, (I think you need to be over fifty to recognize the names) do not produce original music. One finger on a piano with a backup band produces an instrumental variation of the genuine song.

We are all “instrumentalists” attempting to copy the Jesus we follow. His 2,000-year-old lyrics still provides us with a melody for our lives. We can remember the lyrics, at least some them. We especially remember the chorus of any song we hear. Since his time – the names change, new issues arise but the musical notes Jesus left for us remain, amazingly, the same.

“Mack the Knife” is playing now but I can never remember all those weird names. So much for remembering.

Jesus wrote loads of songs for us about total forgiveness, offering the best wine last (the elderly?), a tiny seed becomes huge, asking a blind man what he wants from Him (as though it’s not obvious!), giving into a woman who wants justice and Jesus’ “dog” reference doesn’t cut it, making a big man out of the small-minded man in that tree, and constantly telling the twelve deaf guys that the music is about fishing for the benefit of all. (Jesus meant “fishing” to be a verb and not a noun.)

I can recall the beginning lyrics to, “The Way We Were,” the song playing now. Mem’ries light the corners of my mind, Misty water-colored mem’ries of the way we were…Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind, Smiles we gave to one another for the way we were…

Each of us is entrusted with the beautiful melodies written for us by Jesus. Our task, inside and outside Lent, is to allow that melody to continue. Entrusted to keep those musical notes heard to the rich and from the poor.  There may be flats and sharps along the way the melody of community and reaching out to each other will always have a resounding ending to it. The original composer, Jesus, promises us that.

Whitney Houston’s, “Saving All My Love for You” is playing now. No lyrics but the same melody. The lyrics to be made in our days and times are left up to us.

books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS, available in paperback or Kindle at Amazon:
“Soulful Musings”
“Living Faith’s Mysteries”
“Spiritual Wonderings and Wanderings”