The “Poor Widow”

Posted on November 6, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

Jesus said, “This poor widow cast in more than all they that are casting into the treasury: for they all did cast in of their surplus but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”

unnamedOn one of my airplane trips I noticed a guy with a carry-on bag that was nicer than mine.  “Ummm,” I thought to myself.  Then I also spotted that he had nicer shoes on and an expensive looking haircut, unlike mine.  It made for a lousy trip to Florida. When I got home the bag was easy to replace but no luck with those shoes or haircut.  I never saw that guy again but it doesn’t matter because he now lives within me.

Is it possible to hate someone you’ve never met?

If I asked you now to raise your hand if you think that you’re rich, not one of you would do it.  You’d instantly think of folks with more money than yourself.  If I asked you if you were well above the poverty line than your hand would sheepishly go up.  (I think that makes you rich.)

We all do it whether we admit it or not.  A prettier blouse on her, a smarter looking suit on him, a baby grand piano at that dinner party and you return to your home and your used out-of-tune upright.

If you’re older, just try telling me that you didn’t want a leisure suit and Neru shirt.  If you’re younger, just try telling me that “mother” tattooed on your arm was a smart idea because you saw that your friend had one.  (But just remember that “mother” tattooed at 18 becomes “mmmmmmmm” at 50!)

The “poor widow” wasn’t poor at all.  She was wealthy in knowing who she was, what she could do and what she couldn’t do.  The “poor widow” was poor on cash but rich in personal insight.  She stopped playing games with herself and proudly stood before others as the “poor widow.”  She may have had personalized stationary with the “poor widow” at the top of it, if she could only afford it.  She gave from what she had.  She gave from her heart.  It was not the amount of her giving, it was from what she had to give.  She knew who she was and provided accordingly to help the poor.  Go figure the “poor widow” is helping out those who are poorer.

I’d love to send Pope Francis $10,000 but I fear the check would bounce, the bishop would hear about it, it’d be printed in your parish bulletin, this would be my last Mass here and years later you would ask each other, “Who was that priest who used to help out here and bounced a check to the pope?”

When does this personal realization stuff occur and finally take hold in our lives?  When does it finally kick in “who we are” and “what we are about?”  When do we own the parameters of what we own.  It’s not just money; it’s energy, enthusiasm, personal investments and interests.  I fear to tell you but I think it happens through experience and age.  If you’re that rare young person with these insights than “God bless you,” you are both fortunate and way ahead of this game called life.

For the rest of us life whittles down to a growing age of personal knowledge and wisdom.  Do you get it?  You “whittle down” in order to grow.  You go on a retreat to “empty yourself,” you go out with friends for dinner to “empty yourself” of the woes of work, you take quiet time at home to “empty yourself” of whatever’s filling you down.  When empty again, you slowly begin to refill and fill some more and then the time will come again to “empty yourself.”  That’s what “poverty” means in our present affluent society.  If life is a “gift,” then growing older and wiser is our return of this “gift” to God.

If life is a “gift,” then growing older and wiser is our return of this “gift” to God.  It’s that simple.  Each of us can only act honestly and sincerely as Jesus says, “from our poverty.”  We are truly rich in so many wonderful ways because we’ve learned to teach ourselves the poverty of nothing. To give of yourself – whether in money or deeds from your surplus is what Scrooge did.  It’s meaningless because it means nothing to you.  When I’m paying a bill in a restaurant I think to myself when signing the slip, “If I can leave a $5.00 tip then I can leave a $7.00 tip.

I’ve stopped comparing myself to other people a long time ago.  It was very difficult but I truly, finally believe that I’ve succeeded.

Except you should know that unlike other priests, I drive a nicer car and preach good…and I finally have a nice carry-on bag.

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(Un)Decision Time Between “Me, Myself & I”

Posted on November 5, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

meA decision needs to be made and I already decided months ago but Me and Myself haven’t concurred. I hates collaboration, it just takes up too much of I’s time and seems meaningless since the decision is such an easy one to make. Me thinks that things just have a way of working themselves out if you let they be. Myself, on the other side of the mind, believes strongly that options need to be weighed against what happened before to predict future predicaments. (Myself sounds like an investment broker but that’s beside the point, or is it?)

I insists, Me holds out for waiting and Myself is busy with charts, graphs and a colorful PowerPoint presentation that no one watches because PowerPoint is today’s typewriter.

The battle can linger over this pondering decision for such a long time that I’s forgotten about it because I is now on the current issue. Me just keeps patiently waiting because a solution will unfold when it, well, unfolds. “Waiting is a good thing,” Me keeps saying to me-self. Myself, the other mind’s third which has never been active, at least in this writer’s mind, clearly sees what I and Me ignores. (Can the mind take a coffee break right about now and reconvene?)

Reassembling I takes over, as only I can, and demands immediate action. “The waiting needs to stop,” I says with fists on the table for impact. Legs crossed and relaxed, Me simply says, “It’ll work out, just you wait and see.” “There’s been a slight change in this chart if you turn to page 32, subsection B2,” Myself says handing out handouts to I and Me.

“If you look back over our history,” Me says, “You’ll see that postponing and even forgetting gets us ahead the best results. Something or someone will decide for us and then our decision will be made. Simple.” Myself rolls his eyes as all his data runs through his head, “I just can’t get over why an easy decision persists in this un-deciding.” There’s a quiet in the mind’s meeting room. Me, Myself and I seem in a quandary. No quorum, no union; just Me, Myself and I looking at each other except Myself is dutifully collecting his handouts.

I says, “I said my peace.” Myself replies, “All you need to know is right here in front of you.” Me smiles to himself and softly says, “This has happened to us countless times so let’s just wait and see.”

And so ends a quiet thirty-minute personal reflection on my couch on a rainy November night.

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Action Movie “Hero”

Posted on November 5, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

imagesA “hero” in action films always works alone and it always a man, sorry other gender.  At least four minutes into the film a damsel needs to be killed, we don’t need to know who she was but it sometimes helps the hero’s motivation.  Now that a conflict has been identified the hero’s job is clearly set for the audience.  (If you’re watching a DVD you can make popcorn now, if in a theater than you can stop fidgeting because the plot’s been plotted out for you.)

Seemingly acting alone, hero sets out to right a wrong with whatever wrong methods he can use to make it right.  The obstacles before hero in this two hour journey are insurmountable which makes viewing exciting.  Law enforcement of all stripes need to bungle up hero’s journey by following the rules and missing clues that only hero uncovers.  Early in the film hero may be eating pie, minding his own business in a cafeteria and exhibits an idiosyncrasy that can reoccur at times throughout the movie to show he’s still one of us although he is the projection that none of us will ever be.

He’s able to shoot more bullets than a service revolver can release and fight a bunch of men to get past four steel doors to reach the culprit in a cinch using quick movements we cannot see or off camera to keep the movie’s PG rating.  The culprit, by the way, is usually Eastern European because U.S. folks don’t care about that region anyway so why not have the bad guy have a bad accent and want to destroy the world by killing the damsel mentioned earlier. (A woman stands in the way of world destruction?  Interesting.)  Hero does this whole movie without help from anyone except the obligatory geek friend who offers technology and strategies that we don’t understand but accept. Hero uses his cell phone, a lot in movie these days, throughout the film without a dying battery unless dying battery helps the plot.  Hero travels from country to country in search of clues leading to culprit with great ease, unlimited passports and lots of cash in spite of his lack of employment. (Hero is most often a “former” someone in some enforcement capacity, misunderstood, unfriendly but always attractive.)

Hero’s past can be vague or relevant – it depends on the storyline.  He’s either divorced or his wife died of a disease none of us can pronounce.  His children never see or hear from him but he loves them dearly.  (In other words, hero is simply a misunderstood adolescent in an adult body with a gun in an action film that rarely exceeds two hours.)

Bad guy always has a middle-bad-guy who stands between hero and Bad guy.  So, hero needs to chase middle-bad-guy through heavy traffic in either a BMW or Audi.  Multitudes and I mean multitudes of drivers are driven off their path in an effort to have hero meet and kill middle-bad-guy before reaching Bad guy.  This can take a long time because the chase involves tunnels, four lane roads and jumping into the other four lane road in the wrong direction which sets “multitudes” of more cars and especially big trucks to collide, crash and burn.  Slowly during this chase hero needs to receive head wounds to show risk and sacrifice and sometimes even a bullet in his stomach which apparently someone can live for hours and hours with.  Hero may give a slight sigh or in movie these days provide a self-conscious statement that makes us laugh but never deters him from getting middle-bad-guy.

Middle-bad-guy soon dies a horrible death but not before giving hero either the credit or disdain that hero deserves.  With middle-bad-guy out of the way, hero can now proceed through those four doors and countless guys in suits who either die, made unconscious or given serious head injuries.  Finally Bad guy is alone with hero and they talk way too much about their individual goals, aspirations, favorite foods, women they love and shoes they like.  Bad guy may even offer hero a drink knowing he is about to kill Bad guy.  Bad guy’s death is either quick or slow depending on the film’s remaining time, usually 12 minutes.

At the end of the film, hero is alone again gazing at a picture of his loving children in his wallet that he doesn’t support or sees and exhibits the idiosyncrasy the writers concocted for him.  The movie can now easily conclude in the same cafeteria with a piece of pie.  There is now no mention of the judicial system, the mess of cars and bodies that need cleaning up and there is no mention of the “multitude” of AAA, State Farm, Allstate insurance claims that need to be claimed by folks on the their way to work when a semi suddenly bursted into flames.  “Oh, you were with that group,” the agent would say.    Law enforcement is not heard from again unless it’s an alcoholic with only a year left on the force who secretly helped hero during the film.

Such is the hero film formula that’s been used for numerous years with numerous stars playing the same role.  Too bad that our U.S. “hero” isn’t a community of people that says it respects the wealthy but is always aware of the less fortunate and that the “hero” in our society is “us” working together.  Having the assistance of a good geek also helps.

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A Cat’s Life

Posted on November 1, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

Brown Cat With Brown Eyes Face CloseupYou never shoplift anything nor choose between two choices.  You live in the same house for your entire life and each day you rediscover what you discovered the day before.  You sleep for 22 1/2 hours each day and take a nap before going to bed.  You don’t mind being alone but love interrupting What’s his name’s computer typing.  You have a name but it doesn’t matter what What’s his name calls you.  You eat when you are hungry and effortlessly release it hours later.  (What’s his name knows what to do with it.)  You love sleeping on What’s his name’s legs as he watches a movie.  He thinks you’re dead when bliss is your feeling.

Your territory is imminent domain to you but you are not jealous.  You will run and chase your female counterpart but it is done in fun since What’s his name’s veterinarian took away your urges.  You envy no one because you are a cat and you are proud of it.  You’re on What’s his name’s lap right now purring away concerns that may bother What’s his name for days, if not months.  You stare at nothing for hours, processing nothing but possessing everything.  You cannot smile but your eyes tell What’s his name how you’re feeling.  What’s his name uses too many words to express himself when all you need is your wagging tail that tells your many tales.

Your day is predictable because you’ve created a routine, a routine not to be tampered with.  Tampering with your life’s schedule prompts you to yell out a cry that sounds like What’s his name is severely abusing you.  What’s his name learned that your plea means that a schedule is a schedule and to keep his hands off of it.

You clean yourself more than any living thing What’s his name can think of.  The careful cleaning of each appendage is a tribute to your self-esteem.  Sleep comes easily after cleaning because you’ve prepared yourself for your next bed – is that couch where What’s his name is sitting and needs to leave or is it your special place where only you can dwell?  There can be fourteen resting places in What’s his name’s place; on the floor or on any furniture but you will always, inevitably choose where What’s his name is sitting.

What’s his name no longer needs an alarm clock because, give or take fifteen minutes, your whiskers touch his whiskers and the brush on the cheek gets What’s his name out of bed.  You alert What’s his name to a new sound since you hear it at least ten seconds before him.  You are the cheapest to please, a simple piece of yarn periodically holds your attention for years.

The only paradox of your life is whether the home belongs to you or What’s his name.  What’s his name is now wondering whether this little yarn is about him or about you or could it rather be about “us.”

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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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