The Glowing Light of Passion

Posted on October 30, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

Now that winter is a moment away the days grow darker quickly. Sitting at my bay window after work I see the clear glow from my neighbor’s garage two houses down from me.

The light can be burning well past 11:00 p.m., the time when most older adults are sound asleep. Yet his light is clearly seen and even his bald head as he roams around. There’s barely enough room for their station wagon surrounded by tools, gadgets and equipment whose names I couldn’t remember if he told me.

Is he making drugs to sell as a supplement for his meager pension from forty years of factory work? A terrorist in our quiet Milwaukee neighborhood? I’ve known him since I moved here and he’s passionately working on his passion. It’s all about wood. Shelves. Bird feeders. Crafted wood from family’s requests or a neighbor who is too cheap to buy something at the store. He doesn’t mind because he’s living his passion.

What his wife does during these afternoon and evening hours escapes me but his garage light has my attention every night. He never lost it or if he did lose it he rediscovered it again and maybe even again during his 70 plus years.

Passion. What you love to do and doing what you love. What keeps you awake at night and whose thoughts thread your day. I know that he’s busy on some demanding project that probably has a deadline and will require the enthusiasm, investment and creativity of a working body and mind. I know this because I just saw his bald head so I know he didn’t cut his hand off. He’s passionate. It’s never left him. It may have been reshaped or redirected but the light is still on. What I meant to say is that his light is still on.

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Car Salesman & The Priesthood

Posted on October 20, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

car-salesmanThe sales guy sits behind a desk for 10-12 hours a day with split days offs.  He waits for someone to come the showroom.  Sales guy once went looking for “someones” but that didn’t work, the method now is to patiently sit behind his desk but making sure he looks busy and overworked at his computer.

A “someone” walks in acting aloof but hoping for an interruption from the sales guy.  He easily approaches “someone” with a beaming smile and extended hand to show a new bond has occurred.  Questions from the “someone” vary from the mundane to even further down from mundane.  He’s already answered them for himself years ago but pretends he’s hearing those questions for the first time.

“Someone” is car shopping and did a little homework online but now wishes to learn more.  “Impress me,” the “someone’s” eyes says to the sales guy when his eyes never leaves “someone.”  “What are you interested in?” says sales guy who’s now happy to at least stretch his legs for a while.  “Something economy?” says “someone” who wishes to only attend religious services at Easter and Christmas and not be bothered with the rest of the year.  “There’s a luxury model available,” says the sales guy because commission is greater and he hopes to begin at the top and then work the way down to that economy car.  “Too much investment,” says “someone” silently as though it’s a lifetime of monastic life or a total commitment to family and friends.  “There’s always midsize,” says the sales guy because then it only means that twice a year religious visit with an option for emergency help.

So now the game begins.

Sales guy cannot make a decision if his life depends on it.  Sales guy needs to consult Sales manager guy (someone who “someone” will never met but only hear about) and “someone” needs to wait for the sales guy to talk to Sales manager guy for an answer.

Waiting can take a long time with each inquiry and waiting becomes even longer when “someone’s” been sufficiently caffeinated by the sales guy.  Each of “someone’s” question receives sales guy’s smiling responses, “I’ll only be a moment,” “I’ll get back to you on that,” “That’s a good question, can you give me a minute,?” “Would you like some more coffee,?” “I need to check on that for you,” “You’re the first one to ask us that question.”   “Someone” would like to peek in the window to see the background workings of this place between the sales guy seen and the never-seen Sales manager.  “Are they just waiting for me to break? “someone” thinks.  “Are they telling jokes to each other?” is another of his thoughts. “Someone” thinks to himself, “I sure hope I don’t have any more questions, it takes forever to get one answer?” and “Why doesn’t Sales manager guy just take care of me and save this place money and dump the sales guy?”

Sales guy returns to “someone” looking fitter than before because of his frequent walks to Sales manager guy and presents a piece of paper to “someone” in a quadrangle presentation of choices featuring economy, midsize, luxury and “just leaving the car lot now.”

“Someone” thinks for a while but decides to “just leave the car lot” but “someone” enjoyed the coffee and asking all of his questions.  The sales guy returns to his lonely desk wondering what just happened.  Sales manager guy thinks to himself, “I would at least have pick the economy car.”

What’s next?  “Someone” will surely look for another dealership next week, next month or in ten years and ask the same questions all over again.

And all the time no one considered the sticker price.

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“The Blind Guy” & Jesus

Posted on October 13, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

blindheitThe blind guy approaches Jesus and Jesus asks him, “What do you want?” as though a laugh track would surely follow if it were a situation comedy.  His disciples keep the blind guy at bay because the blind guy is disturbing the big guy but the big guy requests the blind guy’s presence and asks blind guy the stupidest question ever asked of another human being.  But is it?

Jesus asked a deaf guy what he wanted but was surprised that the deaf guy went away discouraged.  (You may wish to read that sentence once again.)

Perhaps the blind guy is comfortable with his not seeing the lottery numbers he buys each week but now wants Jesus to just give him the winning jackpot numbers.  Perhaps the blind guy is blinded to his many failed relationships and he’s alone yet again.  Perhaps the blind guy is blinded to the many sins he’s committed even though society’s turned a “blind eye” but his faithful gut sees clearly.  Perhaps, and this is the last one, that the blind guy is just blinded to all within him and he’s hit a fork in the road and can’t tell his left from right because…. well, he’s blind.

Jesus, as always, asks the right question and response to the right person.  “Get behind me Satan,” he says to Peter when Peter told him there’s a easier way out for him in this salvation history story.  “You don’t give leftovers to dogs,” says Jesus to the woman on her knees.  “Look for yourself and poke your fingers into my side,” Jesus said to Doubting Thomas – but please wash use Purell when you’re finished.  “Peace be with you,” Jesus says to his troubled apostles as they conveniently hid themselves away after his crucifixion.

Jesus doesn’t ask the blind guy, “Do you want to see?” a question all of us would naturally ask.  Jesus doesn’t ask the blind guy, “Would seeing help you find a wife and win that lottery jackpot?”

The miracles of Jesus are miracles because they begin with him and are then completed within us.  Miracles are not really miracles because it’s the simple acknowledgment that there is more that lies before and lives within us.  With the help of Jesus, we are able to accomplish it.

Our blindness is about being side-swiped, back-ended or hit head-on and our sight is dimmed if not diminished.

The miracle of Jesus is that they are not miracles. Miracles are something out of nothing. That’s not the Jesus MO.  Jesus empowers us to uncover what already lives and breathes within us.  Jesus reawakens our slumbering sleep.  Jesus wakes us up.  Jesus invites those sleepy qualities of peace that we thought we lost but can truly never lose – perseverance, strength, wisdom, prudence, knowledge and fear of the Lord breaking the Rip Van Winkle patterns of our lives and perform the un-miraculous but miraculous gift of awareness.

Blind guy doesn’t need sight, he needs insight.  Blind guy doesn’t need Lasik surgery but needs divine qualities to help him stop those fruitless lottery purchases and to seriously consider who he is and who he is with when he meets a prospective mate.

There is nothing magical about it.  It’s a miracle between you and Jesus and then honored and celebrated and offered back to God with all of us in this church.

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

Posted on October 4, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

WESOpened for three weeks, the store is packed with people like me on a cloudy Saturday afternoon.  Loads of people in need of containers to contain their stuff at home; stuff that’s not use a lot… like that mother-in-law gift or something that’s important to you but you can’t remember what its importance is anymore.  (How much stuff can we stuff?)

The first thing that I noticed is that the store is packed with stuff and more stuff but it’s empty.  Empty.  There’s nothing in the container store but empty stuff.  And folks around me are excited about viewing empty stuff.  “Look mom, this could hold that thing that you have in your closet,” says the awakening young daughter to her mother.  For she know now that she lives in a country that sells empty things to be filled with things are already living within your homes.   All sizes of empty containers are staring at you, to be purchased by you to place already purchased things within it.

There are even very large empty containers to place purchased things so you are able to place them in your storage vault that you purchase on a monthly basis to contain those things that you need to keep because “this or that” may creep up in your unforeseen future (which is redundant, by the way) and you’d be left without the “that or this.”   But alas.  We are safe now because we have our very own “Container Store” located right next to Mayfair Mall.  So, you see all those things we now buy at Mayfair Mall now have a place for themselves.  We buy at the mall and then walk over to “The Container Store” to buy something to hold them in.

“Under the bed containers” for $35.00 amused me the most because that’s the last place crooks will look after grabbing our 72″ flat screen TV and laptop.  What’s in those containers under the bed?  Sweaters, gloves preparing for Wisconsin’s long and even longer winters?  During wintertime do those hidden-under-the-bed containers contain bathing suits and t-shirts that yearn for you to let them out?  “Please let me out, let me out!” says the bathing suits and t-shirts.

Containers of every kind fill shelves and more shelves and rows and more rows.  (For a store that sells empty objects it is amazing how many there are.)  All of these containers are empty now waiting for you to fill them up with those necessary things that are rarely used (read that phrase once more please) but need to be contained and then re-contained somewhere within your home.

Shelves are also for sale but I don’t consider a shelve a “container.”  A shelve holds or houses things but it does not contain them.  You can, however, place a container on a shelve.  I meant to speak to the manager about this corporate oversight but she was busy explaining this store to fellow neophytes.

The pope’s eleventh commandant was not a joke, “If you don’t use it, see it or need it in six months – then give it to the poor.”

It seems we are able to contain the stuff we use and the stuff we barely use but wouldn’t you agree that we have difficulty with the stuff of our lives we seem unable to contain.  Such as past pains, hurts, regrets, setbacks, remissions and regressions.  (I’m a priest, where did you think this was leading?)

“A place for everything and everything in its place,” my 8th grade nun told us repeatedly.  At 12 years old it didn’t mean much but her words have echoed.  She was probably referring to dirty socks when we got home from playing but I’m referring now to all the mishaps, misfortunes, mistakes and minuses of our lives.  Those just seem  to linger, sometimes haunt or otherwise just lay in wait to wreck a happy moment.

Faith is a container for all the roamings of our past life.  The definition of religion is to organize.  It is our personal faith that leads us to this religion.  No matter if it was a slip of the tongue or a tragedy (for we know that the past can never be undone…it can only be “contained”) read that last phrase one more time – finding a place to place hurts and wounds empowers and invites us to continue on with our lives with new insights, new hopes or new resolves.

Find a place for those useless past events that hold you back.

Under your bed sounds like a good place for them all.  You will truly sleep better at night because as the Psalmist says, “You set a table before me in the sight of my foes.”  This way you will always know where those hurts and wounds reside – carefully and securely contained beneath you where you are able to guard over them “all the days of your life.”

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NFL & Restaurants

Posted on October 4, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

indexForget your favorite NFL team and the millions gathered and spent.  And forget your favorite symphony orchestra, if you have one. Just visit your local low end “family” restaurant to see perfect harmony and synchronization. Meals are ordered and prepared in record time. Amid all the hustle and bustle there is ballet feel filling the whole place. To the customer’s eye, everything appears chaotic, disorderly.  Tables are quickly bused clean before you exit the door, peculiar orders are honored and your coffee cup is never half empty. (There is a class system to these places as though it’s a government of its own. Only women wait on you. Only young Hispanic men bus your table.  Only Hispanic old men cook your food.  No other ethic or gender group. The cashier is always an older man unless it’s a female relative. Those are the rules, spoken or otherwise.

There are no “official” rules, just the routine that became a habit. The perfunctory, “How was your meal?” (without caring what your answer is) is met with my usual response, “Fine.” I’m scared to delve deeper and share my personal feelings or thoughts about the meaning of life and so upset the order of things making the cashier look up and see me.

The only referee I see is the old guy sitting in a booth next to the cashier.  I don’t think he really cares about anything more than that beautiful sound when the bill is registered.  The whole event seems “sudden death” to me as each order is written down, hooked to the carousel and swung around for the old cook to find, finding the prepared dish and swinging it carefully to the table along with plenty of smiles.  The only “time out” is the distance between breakfast and lunch and then  between lunch and dinner.  Even during those times, time is spent filling up salts and peppers and rolling utensils into paper napkins.

The entire staff could easily be called the “working poor.” Did you ever think you’d hear an expression like that in a First World country? A bumper sticker reads, “Instead of spreading the wealth, why not spread the work ethic.” Were is that easy. The work ethic I witness there in one shift is more energy that I expend in a week’s time. It is constant, unending.  All for the meager tip given by the working poor who eat there (minus one) for the working poor waitress who serve them.

If the whole experience were shown in slow motion with a beautiful symphony in the background, it would make your jaw drop as you try to say, “Wow!” There is a perfection of work by these “working poor” folks that would envy any “ethic.” The rhythms and the cohesiveness to all these workers who, for a short time, become a unified whole.

How much do they make an hour? How much do tips bring it? Do then have their own bathroom? Locker?  I don’t know. But for a $7.00 breakfast along with her smile, my hat is tipped to them all, along with a nice tip for a game well played.

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Airplane Story, American Style

Posted on September 28, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

3NumberThreeInCircleHeard another airplane story but this one intrigued me.  If you fly enough, I’m sure you have one or two juicy stories of your own.  It’s bound to happen with 300 strangers sharing knees and elbows for two hours or more and having watched far too many airplane movies where only Bruce Willis and the cute kid you see at the beginning but then forget about survives.  Each passenger, of course, has a reason whether it’s going home, signing the divorce papers, visiting the son who never visits you, the long awaited vacation, the job interview, the death of a good friend, continuing the affair you promised your wife was ended, buy/sell something, a last minute flight because it’s free because you work for an airline (that’s the one I like), finally going to propose after a five year engagement.  I guess you get the composite of diversity among 300 strangers.

The flight attendant kindly announces that a mother and child are standby and were not able to find a seat together.  Nothing big about that, must happen all the time.  “If anyone is interested in switching seats to accommodate this mother and child, it is appreciated.  The plane is complete silence as though a moment of prayer was called for before the departure.  Pause and a longer pause.

(32B) “He looks old enough to me to be alone.”
(27A) “I planned this window seat and I’m not giving it up for ‘standby’.”
(2A) “I’m in Business Class, this doesn’t concern me.”  “Another drink please?”

The attendant returns to the microphone and says, “It is important for this mother and child to fly together.  We are asking if anyone is willing to help us make this trip more enjoyable.”  Silence returns with heads bowed as though a second prayer is offered before departure.  Pause and a longer pause.

(55D)  “I hate this seat so why would she like it?”
(12C)  “The kid has to grow up, what better time than now.  Stop coddling the kid, mom.”
(38A) “I’m ‘standby’ and you don’t hear me doing this.  It’s entitlement once again, plain and simple.”

The mic is turned on again and the captain’s voice is heard, “This mother and child would very much like to travel together.  We’d like some volunteers to switch seats to make this happen.  This airplane will not leave until it happens.”

I’m told a couple of people got up to give up their seats.  I suspect it was “the adulterer” who wishes to reach his destination and “the death of a good friend.”  (I’m trying to balance this story.)

It took St. Peter three times to hear what he was saying about Jesus.  Jesus was buried for the same amount, 10 times that and you have Judas’ payoff, every joke has three parts, the Trinity is well that, and we have the “ready, set” formula that also seems to work.

I’m sure they were all happy that mother and child remained united (cue Paul Simon) and that they participated in a grand act of kindness that did not involve them.

Time for a movie?

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“It’s Just Not Me”

Posted on September 27, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

imagesIt’s not me,” we all say to ourselves at different points or predicaments in our lives.  “It’s just not me.”

  This statement, “It’s not me” is declared (or yelled!) because our well carved out plans we’ve all planned for and have diligently made happen for ourselves in both our personal and professional lives are being un-carved by something or someone.  This “It isn’t my stuff” is not supposed to happen to our carvings.  Other people’s, yeah, but not ours.

Yet.  It’s those unexpected and intrusions that define and redefines who we are as men and women, or add an adjective…as man and women in the Christian tradition, if you wish.

“Unintended consequences” is our society’s cute, nice phrase for those not-so-nice but awkwardly, necessary intrusions.

I knew that it was me but nobody else thought that way about me while in my high school seminary after 8th grade. How’d that happen?  Picking scrimmage teams in high school the reluctant picker’s response was, “Well, okay, We’ll take Joe.”  (I was the last one standing!  Choice?!)  Concession or choice?  Pity?  I think you get the message.

Observe your life from afar for a moment and now this small, living, breathing thing is in front of you and needs to be feed, cared for and watched over.  And feeding is far more than once a day.  And don’t tell me that you sometimes think to yourself, this is just “not me.”  “It’s just not me.”  But it is.  And this kid looks up to you as if you are the beginning and end of life (which at this point you are!) – through a child’s eyes you are entirely the beginning of everything and the arbitrator of all things important that relate to this small thing that consumes most of your household foods.  Do you know what happens to consumed food?  It suddenly becomes do-do. And why is it called “do do” when it’s “done done?”

So not only is feeding your child a daily task but your kid’s cleansing of that food only to have it repeated tomorrow. So you say to yourself, “This is definitely not me” while holding out for those future Brewer games or someday visits to the Zoo.

Your child’s eyes only see purity or clear vision – it’s a clarity of love that only God envies. Because you see, God only holds your child’s attention in the Bible stories you tell at night but you get to touch those tiny hands and those awakening eyes and those endless questions beginning with “why” and ending with your useless responses.  And you say to yourself, “It’s not me…but, but.”  “It’s just not me.”

But back to me.  In my seminary high school there were sixty of us guys sleeping and snoring together in a huge dorm and only one of them became a priest.  Quess which one? Is it an historical fluke or is it God’s fluke?  In graduate school I learned terms like the “hypostatic union,” “hermeneutics,” “I Thou” relationship; I was taught quick defenses when “justification by faith alone” arguments would be launched at me by protestants, Latin terms that would dazzle you…but only after you had a few cocktails…yet…I discovered that at cocktail parties these things never, ever came up.  Wasted graduate money when the question most asked of a pastor is about postponing that raffle because it conflicts with our Friday Fish Fry.  “It’s not me.”  “It’s just not me.”

(Alas, if only you knew that I, personally, hold answers to questions you’ve never asked.)

And yet Your aging father is in a nursing home and his life decisions are all yours now along with his weekly laundry and his constant complaining that he never sees you and you say to yourself, “It’s not me.”  “It’s just not me.

”

The neighbor’s hedge is way too high as you pull out of your driveway each morning and you’ve reminded her countless times about them and she thinks to herself, “It’s not me.”  After all, “it’s not me” affects other people as well as yourself.

“It’s not me,” you say to yourself as your 50 year old body begins to talk to you.  You didn’t even know that it could talk but it’s talking now – every day.  Your body says that “It hurts here; no, I meant there; no, I mean behind and near there.”   You clearly discover now that it was much easier talking to your young child than  talking back to your body.  The kid listened intently waiting for the Bible story’s ending, your body now has a mind of its own and you dread the ending.  “It’s not me.”  

I guess you get the point.

I’ve been doing this preaching stuff for 35 years and I’m the guy who worries about my stuttering in front of you, every single Sunday.  I’m supposed to be standing before you each time and deliver something of substance and meaning. Well, they said that it wasn’t me but it ended up with you listening to my ramblings about stuff I think about. I love it.
(And really, I was taught the answers, just ask me the right questions!)

When we say “it’s not me,”…could it be that perhaps, maybe, luckily, providential that God… perhaps, maybe, luckily or providentially had something to do with it?

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“The Others”

Posted on September 18, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

imagesI kindly told them not to look at me when they pass by me.  Those seated around me may think that I either know them or pity them but that’s not the point of being in Business Class.  They are to walk with eyes straight ahead carrying all their superfluous carry-ons and maximum-sized bags because $20.00 was far outside their price range.

They all parade ( or “corral” would be a better word) to their tiny seats in the back of the plane.  I’ve forgotten what that area of the plane looks like.  I think it’s closer to their bathrooms.  And I mean “their” bathrooms.  Sometimes, in the boring-beginning-flight attendant lectures some say “please use the bathroom closest to you” which means when the First Class curtains are closed we’d prefer (or insist) that your bathroom be in your area.

I’m stopped at a red light and a black person at a bus stop looks at me and instantly looks down as though there’s cotton to be picked.  I just smiled at the person.

My sisters and I will laugh about this whole travel thing when we arrive and wait for our cruise.  They saved money and I didn’t care.  The black person I care about and truly wished the head would now stand high.

Their my sisters, by the way and I love them but divisions is what helps us comfortably divide the divided.

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A Simple Sentence or Phrase

Posted on September 17, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

indexIt’s the way we connect to each other.  It’s been said that the shoes noticed first but it’s the words than endure.  A simple “that was good” can carry the day for you, perhaps even a few more when recalled and appreciated.

St. Peter says to Jesus in a sheepish voice, “Lord, to whom can we go when you have the words of eternal life?”  Focus turns on Jesus and the words that follow.  Eternal life may be a bit off for some or closer for others but there are “eternal life” words we can use every day with those we meet.

“That’s a pretty dress on you” will not produce a law suit unless you’re the boss.  Us lower folks can get away with that phrase but the recipient will wear that dress again and again and remember those words.  Even an odd question like, “You don’t seem yourself today?” can unleash the sick son story or the belligerent daughter tale and you’ve just invited her to taste the “eternal life” of a kind phrase allowing her to share some troubles with you.  A friend told me one day that I seemed sad.  I didn’t but appreciate the concern and insight.  It made me rethink if indeed I was sad or just reflective.  I chose reflective.

You didn’t need to provide a solution of provide a silly Dr. Phil soft comment.  You’ve offered “eternal life” for a tomorrow to someone struggling today.

What’s the timing on your consumed time?  Ten seconds to say it and a couple of minutes to listen?  Or ten seconds to say it and 1.2 seconds to see the beaming smile.

Eternal life, thought of as that place after we die denies its pleasures here in the Kingdom of God Jesus won for us.  That kingdom is truly here.  That quick observation is sacredly shared and amazingly received.  If that’s not the glory of something bigger than us then I don’t know what is.

So, I guess it wasn’t the shoes after all.

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The Backward Clock

Posted on September 16, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

young__middle_aged__old_by_happybunnyboyShaving one morning I glanced through the mirror at the clock behind me and noticed that it was moving backwards.  I turned around and the spin of the second hand was correct but through the mirror it was the opposite.

Throughout that day I was “backwarding” myself beginning with July, ’52, then November, ’63, then September ’69, May, ’75, June, ’76, June ’79, September, ’79, May, ’80, September, ’82, February, ’92, June, ’92, December, ’94, December ’14.  Those dates mean nothing to you because you have your own “back” dates.  Mark your times and those circumstances along with that smell or sound, what you were wearing and who you were with and what you were thinking and what the future or the past meant by that date.

Shaving reminded me that my “back” is now far longer than my “forward.”  In our U.S. culture preoccupied with youthful stuff this “back” is lamented to its utmost extreme but to one who has a “back,” I find it both comforting and fulfilling.  The “forward” now is pure fluff, extra innings, sudden death, the extra mile, the last herrah, the fat lady will eventually sing her song, the party’s close to ending, close the door on your way out, pick up your stuff before you leave.  It’s the “back” that fills me up because it has filled me up.

Just listen to someone over 80 who is up to date on today’s topics but will just as quickly shave herself quickly back to her “back” and her loving, deceased husband of sixty-five years or the five bedroom home of 45 years she needed to sell.  We all listen to her and think to ourselves how sad her life turned out when her life turned out exactly and un-exactly as she planned.  As only life has been and will continue to be

I was interviewed by a young person for a podcast and he asked me about my ups and downs.  At his young age he asked me if I would change anything.  I smiled and said, “Absolutely not because I would not be the person I am today.”  He didn’t respond but smiled at me as though he thinks he knows what his future holds.  “Stay tuned, young man,” I wanted to say but didn’t.

Shavings a tricky business for us guys.  I don’t know what it’s like on the legs but the “backward” works with all its memories – remembered slightly remembered, somewhat remembered or reinvented. The “forward” stretches of my razor are now a cinch because I always know I have my “back” covered.

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