B.O.A.D.

Posted on May 19, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

question-markWe live in a world full of acronyms, clever little ditty’s intended to entice us by their singular bold letters that mean something and we need to guess what it is.  Just like meeting someone for the first time and our radar is in full motion.  I see D.A.R.E. on license plates every day and there’s M.A.D.D. which expresses both the name and the sentiment.  A.A.R.P. keeps asking me to join but once they became politically conservative the circular file found their materials. (Since I’m aging I can still think for myself!) D.O.A. we all know from TV and R.S.V.P. is for weddings but don’t ask anyone to spell it out.  (We’re still not sure about the French since they were the smart ones who stayed out of Iraq.)  Healthcare has A.D.L. which means you are no longer able to perform simple tasks when left alone.

I bored you with the first paragraph to introduce a new one and it even makes a pronounceable word which is helpful for its repetition.  It’s “Benefit Of A Doubt.”  We often surprise ourselves by the behavior of someone but is the surprise not in the person but in our judgment?  We seemed to have this person weighed and measured and, viola (another French word), we are surprised.  Surprise should actually be replaced with our narrowed definition of that person, “I thought that she was…” “He seemed to me to be…”  So there’s no surprise but only more insight that our sight failed to capture the first or second time.

It’s milliseconds in our appraisal of someone.  The way the hands shook, the lost eye contact, the low-cut dress, the wrinkled shirt or loose tie are all surveyed, stored and retrieved for the next time we meet.  It’s such a handy tool for us to keep people in this camp or that category.  Our simple minds become the proverbial filing cabinet which flips to our remembrance of someone and their now fixed personality.

That lazy single mother with two small kids turns out to have a second job with helpful neighbors to watch her toddlers.  That mean-spirited grouch from accounting suddenly dies and leaves a sizable gift to the charity that helped his son before his son died.  That little brat who stuttered and blinked too much in grade school became a priest (I couldn’t resist).

“Just when I had you figured out,” is the familiar line before the surprise is revealed when it was no surprise at all.  Whatever it was, it was there all the time.

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The “Mothers” Of All Inventions

Posted on May 15, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

the-word-mother-index2_01She was late. An important day for me and the Church. You’re only ordained once in a lifetime and she decides to take a walk around the block with a priest friend. They must have walked slowly. The choir was ready, everyone sat silently waiting for the 5 o’clock bells. She’s not in sight or standing next to my dad for the entrance procession. The retired bishop whispers,”Where’s the mother?” and priests shrugged their shoulders. Long minutes pass and she arrives telling me that they “got talking.” The opening song begins, they all stand, the ceremony begins and the task is accomplished, complete with prostration and oiled hands. It all worked out.

Mother. Doesn’t it always work out? Hardly, when you multiple biological mom with life’s other “moms” you’ve either created or learned. There’s the mom of the earth whose nature appears to have destined you toward a fixed purpose. There’s the mother of entitlement to take advantage of whatever society offers or is available to you. There’s life’s mother lode when all appears to others to fall together for you which only creates envy and jealous. There’s the self-nourishing mother you’ve earned only through many years of practice. There’s the mother you attempt to substitute for the biological one which now gives you someone to blame when you don’t get what you want.

Mothers surround our lives daily. Being able to recognize and name her each time may help and assist us in our journey of self-discovery.

She wasn’t late that day. Mother was present all the time. I just didn’t know which mother it was.

Books by Fr. Joe Jagodensky, SDS. All available on Amazon.com

“Soulful Muse,” inspirational reflections on the Catholic Church and U.S. culture
“Living Faith’s Mysteries,” inspirational reflections on the Christian seasons
of Advent/Christmas & Lent/Easter
“Spiritual Wonderings and Wanderings,”
inspirational reflections on the Catholic Church and U.S. culture

Newest books include:
“Letters From My Cats,”
a collection of letters written by my cats over twenty years
“Bowling Through Life’s Stages with a Christian perspective,”
Bowling as a metaphor for religion and growing up

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Ascension: “Best Foot Forward”

Posted on May 14, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

jesus-ascension-091It’s the last thing the land locked apostles saw as He left them to their own wits.  (Don’t worry, the Holy Spirit is en route right on cue:  (“Jesus leaves first, then Spirit enters the stage but not before,” says the director’s notes.)

It can be considered to be the worst part of us.  It’s the pair of us that we hide, at great expense and for women the price can be higher than men but that may be changing these days.  3,000 pairs of them to hide hers was claimed by Imelda Marcos.  (What?  Hammer toes?)  Observers say of ours that they are sometimes unsightly, somewhat smelly – the leftovers of our bodies yet nothing beats walking in the sand without any of her 3,000 pairs.

It’s been said this pair at the bottom of us is the first thing people notice so I guess during your first important interview make sure to hoist those suckers on the table to make the best impression.     

What third grader says, “I want to be a podiatrist when I grow up?”  How does one stumble or walk into that field?  There’s probably ten good reasons but spiritually I’ll give you one.

The last thing the apostles see of Jesus is his feet.  They’ve misread, misunderstood, underestimated, underrated, questioned and wondered about this guy from the very beginning while all the time…

His feet were on the ground, he stood firmly, his steps never faltered, she washed his feet and then dried them with her hair, his foot did not slip, his steps did not deviate from His way, he guided our feet in the way of peace, he did not stand in the path of sinners, he would shake the dust off of his sole, all who were ill were placed at his feet and he healed them, the synagogue official fell at his feet and implored him to come to his house, Mary fell at his feet and said her brother would not have died, Mary again seated at the Lord’s feet listened to his word, he walked blamelessly, he did not need to cut one foot off to save the other, water could not stop his movements, his pair were nailed together and now it’s the last thing we see of him.  His feet.

Wash the feet of others He tells us before his arrest.  Peter goes nuts and wants a complete body wash but Jesus calmly tells him, “It’s the feet, dummy, just the feet.”  Jesus asks us to touch a vulnerable spot in someone or ourselves and wash it with his sincere mercy and in his genuine love.

They all had dirty feet in those days so before entering a guest’s house or their own would naturally wash off the street’s dirt.  (If only Imelda could have parted with only twelve pairs then the apostles might have gotten the message.  Alas.)

We need the pair of them to get us from the kitchen to the living room.  We need this pair of them to get us to work and safely back home again.  As we age we may find we need a third prop to aid our aging feet, maybe even a fourth prop (with tennis balls at the ends.)  We need the pair of them to remind us of those vulnerable parts of our own lives before we judge the feet of others.  Let’s not be afraid to touch and soothe aching arches and tired soles.  Let’s not be afraid to look for the hidden lint between ten things that can keep us from getting closer together.

Is the real event and meaning Jesus being raised to heaven or is it the last thing we see of him?

PS.  Let’s pray that he was wearing pants.

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The Streets of Life, Traveling “Blah or Joyful?”

Posted on May 13, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.
Palm Desert, California, United States, Coachella Valley, east of Palm Springs,

Palm Desert, California, United States, Coachella Valley, east of Palm Springs,

We’re very comfortable and even encouraged to tell tales of anger, disappointments, frustrations; even bitterness in generalizing or personal statements about religion or a
specific church.  We even attempt to one up the preceding story told by a friend with our tale of woe.  (“Oh, so you thought your story was sad, just listen to mine!”)

It is the unspoken permissions that bring out stories about that priest who said or did the wrong thing, the church situation that wasn’t to your liking, the promising church change that never happened, the songs you couldn’t include in your wedding, that unhappy nun in second grade, rules and regulations that are torn apart because either they didn’t suit you or you don’t understand; they are all dished out, laughed about or ridiculed while all the time providing us a personal catharsis to be both judge and jury. The conversation ends and you walk away feeling the same frustration that your storytelling about frustration was meant to eliminate.

That was a pretty blah and bland experience between friends over drinks and about this great gift of faith whose practice doesn’t always match its promise.

Bland is Milwaukee streets with these directions, “All right, you take North Avenue over to Center Street and continue on until 37 Street and it’ll be on the corner.” Wow, was that an exciting trip or what?  Now ask for street directions in Palm Springs, CA. and you’ll hear, “All right, you take Bob Hope Drive until Dinah Shore Street, if you pass Gene Autry Trail you’ve gone too far so just head back slowly on Gerald Ford Drive.” (Ford wasn’t sure about his presidency either.) That’s the fun route to follow because it’s full of memories, past successes of famous people and an enjoyable journey toward your final destination.

Now back to the bar, drinks and the unsatisfying conclusions from the previous visit and change those church stories of isolated situations into faith stories full of surprises and joys, setbacks and recoveries, peaceful feelings and perhaps even a little ecstasy thrown in. We are so comfortable sharing church stories of woes which always stars us as the victims.  What happens when the shared stories become ones of faith and transformation that features God as the star and us as the co-stars?  (Co-starring can lead to bigger roles, by the way.)

When you arrive home after drinks with friends that night your feelings have now been revived, nourished and confirmed through sharing and reinforced in your mind and soul. You’ve now experienced the fun and joy of religion and the rest is thrown aside as much as the dullness of North Avenue is replaced with the exciting journey along Bob Hope Drive.

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I Was “In My Own”

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

acorn-06-535x535Sounds like a selfish title unless it represents your life both forward and backwards.  The month of May is graduation time and all the caps are thrown up in the air as are their many undecided futures.  “The future is yours,” says the school’s president as though it’s a blank sheet of paper waiting for your own, personal words.  (All that “cut and paste” during those college years has its consequences.)

James Hillman, psychologist, talks about our “acorn” or “diamon” which we commonly call the soul.  An acorn becomes an oak and a diamon will find its way within you.  Hillman suggests parents are chosen for your life’s task, even parents who get in the acorn’s way is part of its plan.  His thoughts are inspiring yet ring of a predetermined destiny that’s more Calvin than Catholic.

He uses famous people to make his point while I reflect back to 1964 in my bedroom alone holding a stick with a golf ball nailed to the top and a string running to nowhere.  All four walls are covered with TV Guide pictures of celebrities and their TV programs.  My 60 minute weekly task was to entertain my imaginary audience in front of me with wit, music and more wit.  It’s not easy filling 60 minutes alone holding a stick but I did it faithfully for two years.  My dad bought me a small Sony reel to reel recorder which I can perfectly describe today.  I thought he bought it for me because it was cheaper than child therapy.

Jump ahead two years and four of us seminary guys escape at night and hitch hike to my hometown to visit the local radio station and visited Big Boy, the big restaurant in Manitowoc, WI.  The announcer begrudgingly runs down the stairs to see teenagers who request “We Gotta Get Out of This Place,” by The Animals which he dutifully plays for us.

One more year forward and I’m milling around that same local radio station.  (How does one “mill” anyway?)  Bothersome may be a better word but I got to know the announcers and learned that a weekend opening was available from an announcer who’s off to UW-Maidson.  I meet with him and he’s the announcer who played “The Animals” song for four refugees from a seminary.  With his final instructions on a Saturday night in September 1969 and giving me the station’s key, he’s off to college and I have “Lay, Lady, Lay” by Bob Dylan rotating on one or two turntables with the other one empty.  2:00 minutes until my first words are sprouted in an empty building to an unknown (imaginary?) audience somewhere in the radio signal’s listening area.  My remaining two years of high school is on the radio, Saturdays, 6:30 p.m.-Midnight and Sundays, 7:00 a.m.-3:00 p.m.  (Sunday morning meant a taxi stop first at the police department for any overnight Manitowoc action, often a fruitless trip.)  I was a rock-jock on Saturday nights and a mellifluous beautiful-music-provider on Sundays until the live Lutheran church service.  With the church service complete, I became the Polish Polka Prince.  I was in my own.  What prompted, promoted or propelled me to this eluded me then but intrigues me now.

Now it’s 1965 and the empty bedroom in the back of the house becomes a sacred space for my sacred, private Sunday Mass held after the real one.  Wearing plastic vestments gotten from a magazine, a dictionary for my priest’s prayers and the parish bulletin for my sermon, I was in my own along with paper hosts and my mother’s vases for the vessels.  I mumbled softly what was hardly Latin but it didn’t matter, what only mattered was that I was doing it, it counted, I looked forward to it and I repeated it faithfully every week.

The acorn somehow found its powerful way to make this all happen.  60 seminarians in my high school class and one becomes a priest.  People today stop me and say, “You should be in radio, you have that voice.”  I thought I was doing this on my own with my own will and persistence but thanks to Hillman I wonder about an ancient word like “diamon” (Plato), or a natural one like acorn (earth), or the spiritual one like guardian angel (Catholic).

I tossed my college cap into the air and I knew where it would land and if I didn’t know than perhaps something or someone else did.

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They’re My Age

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

anti-aging-creams-1It took many of my years to catch up to them but most of them are gone and now I find myself among the “them.”  Does age do that?

I’m older than the president of the United States, 10 years closer to the pope and 20 years older than that Florida upstart who hopes to govern the country.  (Not the real “Mario” from New York whom I miss, bless his soul, but the other Mario.)

It was so easy growing up and blaming all those “oldsters” who either didn’t understand or were just old.  “Just wait until I grow up!” we said solving all the world’s problems in our slowly growing brains.  (Did you know the brain is still growing at 20 years?)

I was with a Catholic bishop today who’s twelve years below me but way higher than I job I would want.  That surprised me.  He’s supposed to be that old guy with little hair and wearing a belt he hasn’t seen in years with a young priest accompanying him.  If I was telling him a story and used a song as an example, like the “Five Staircase” singing, “Ooh, Child,” I fear he would give me that bishopric smile suggesting it’s time I find a nice home in the second Mario’s state and call it quits.

This short flirt is not about that bishop but my awareness that age does make a difference now that I continue this aging thing.  Age uses experience to teach along with lots of anecdotes and cute, often long stories that few care about.  Wise aging (adjective carefully chosen) is always accomplished in the assimilation, discernment and reflection of life and its deeds.

Assimilation: like a puzzle taking history’s pieces and assembling and reassembling them that forms a formula for the future.  To miss one piece can be hazardous. (Jeb: “Let’s do Iraq one more time since my dad’s still alive!”)

Discernment:  a word rarely used but often in religious life.  Thinking of your past, your present and then projecting.  Weaving through your life to uncover your life.

Reflection: after any event or person has occurred this is the most difficult, to be able to look back as objectively as possible and see the mistakes and the successes and to identify the gaping holes that need to be filled the next time around.  (And to always begin reflection’s reflective sentences with “I”.  That “him/her” or “it” are far gone by now.)

My brain is no longer developing, most days I suspect it’s starting to shrink but then I realize that “they” are no longer “they” but they are me.  I may not enjoy their authority and prestige of the younger “they” but all this aging stuff I truly enjoy.  After all, I just came up with three good “three’s.”

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Who Are You?

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

Who Are You?.

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Wisconsin: “It’s Home”

Posted on April 24, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.
"Oh well, it's home."

“Oh well, it’s home.”

February
You’ve felt a sore throat for a couple of days now but dismiss it saying to yourself, “It’s nothing.”  (Funny how we all become doctors when it comes to our health.)  The next day arrives and you know you’ll not make it through the day as the congestion is in full swing.  For the good of fellow employees and yourself you make the phone call that puts all your duties on hold for at least one day.
“Now what?” you say.  It’s 6:00 a.m., work has been alerted and the entire day lays before you.  “Too early for the ‘Price is Right’ and ‘As the World Turns” hasn’t been on the air since your grandmother died.  Bundled up in your bathrobe you make some tea and add honey, the brandy is saved for after 5 p.m.  The living room corner is a good spot where you spot snowflakes that grow in number.  The mystery book you’ve half read is on the ottoman.  “Ummm,” you murmur.  You easily get back into the book’s seedy and heroic characters and the snows continues to fall.  Three hours passes including the nap just when the book’s action was getting good and the snow falls faster.
You repeat taking your over-the-counter stuff that’s supposed help the stuff in your head and nose and it’s time for lunch with the afternoon holding what ever is ahead.

July
It’s your turn to host the neighborhood party.  Fifteen people responded and you’ve been looking forward to this since summer began.  The backyard’s been mowed and the grill is warming up as the warm air offers a periodic breeze to balance the day.  Evenings are always the best when the sun sets and another kind of the day begins.  The neighbors are full of neighborly happenings and the punch is slightly spiked to give a slight zing without all the expensive bottles.  The smoke and smells remind you of a Catholic Church on a happy feast day but this time the sights and scents are brats and burgers.  7:00 p.m. the neighbors are jovial and strengthening connections keeping the neighborhood safe and strong.  It’s a full moon but that was not planned nor was it planned that the last group would leave at 2:00 a.m.  That’s okay, you had enough punch to see you through night.

or

February
You have an important meeting at 7:00 a.m. and corporate is expected to be there awaiting PowerPoint and Excel explanations of everything that needs explaining.  It’s been snowing all night with eight inches already on the group and you don’t have time to shovel and hope the mail carrier doesn’t curse your mother.  You plow your car backwards through the snow and out of the driveway and make it to work on time but you forget a second pair of shoes might have helped.

July
After the long wintry snow-filled months you are anticipating that all fifteen of your neighbors will arrive, each bringing something to share from their specialties or a favorite family recipe.  The weatherman said the high would be 95 today but they’ve been wrong how many times before.  The neighbors arrive and you finally admit that if it’s not the temperature, it’s the humidity.  Discussion about the weather goes on for much longer than necessary because everyone feels the hot weather through their sweaty shirts and shorts.  “The dining room will work!” you say after mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges for nothing.  The fifteen plus your family huddle together surrounded by the wonders of AC and enjoy the punch meant for the outside.  You sweat your way through the brats and burgers all by yourself.  The evening proceeds well in the confines of your otherwise winter confines and the neighborhood-jokester suggests, “How about a fire tonight?”  The next day is sunny, pleasant with a high of 75 degrees with low humidity. 

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It Takes “Two”

Posted on April 23, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

57144There’s something about combining 1 and 1.  Three Dog Night told us over forty years ago that “One is the loneliest number that you’ll every do.”  They are only “terrible” when your teeth are growing otherwise it is the combination of ones we cannot resist.

No, this isn’t about marriage and that one and one are madly in love.  Two marriages is common these days with even three creeping in as in, “ready, set, go.”  The “go” seems to be the final one although I got to know and like one and two.

“One” just doesn’t seem enough.  “Let’s have one for the road,” doesn’t mean one but means the one added to the previous numbers.  I have two cats.  Seems right just in case one, you know, experiences that ninth live.   For vacation I pack at least two of almost everything in case one proves to be not enough.  I began to watch the current “Noah” movie but stopped when hoards of animals are let on the ark when only two were permitted.  (The only biblical part of that film was its title.)

I keep a cloak in my car trunk in case someone asks me for my cloak as Jesus demands of me, “Sure, here you go” as I walk back to my car.  Insincere or wise planning?

We have two arms and legs which suits us well in life’s travels.  You cannot have a war with yourself, even the Civil War was clearly divided into, twos.  Forget the distractions of sports when one team shows up for the match and you’re left with your second cup of beer with your second wife, your two children (one hers, the other yours), remembering that second mortgage on your home which explains the second job you have and your in-laws (two) visiting for the weekend (three).

There’s two sides to every story which we all refuse to believe in our rigid, single-minded views (Three Dog Night anyone?)  We should all have two friends when one takes a second look at us.  (Women seem to be much better at increasing friend size than guys are.)

All of our simplified-making life is based on that magic number: sin/grace, heaven/hell, God/devil, plaid/solid, up/down, inside and you already know, democrat and we don’t wish the second on anyone, Ecclesiastes and its solemn list of twos that most funerals seem to include and I’ve heard more than twice.

Stephen Sondheim gets his two cents worth with “Into The Woods” and the song, “It Takes Two”
“I thought one was enough, It’s not true: It take two of us You came through When the journey was rough.  It took you.  It took two of us.”

Your crisis needs to be shared and you call your first friend who has the message waiting for you.  You instantly call your second friend who answers never saying that it’s your second call.  The second friend listens and you smile at the caring advice.  Friend One calls back and you say, “It’s alright, I have it taken care of.”

Before this gets to be too (couldn’t resist) much, I end my tribute to twos.  Although I need to add for a second time the importance of twos in our lives.  I found a sale online and bought two shirts.  They arrive in…guess? – two weeks.

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“Walking With Jesus”

Posted on April 21, 2015 by Rev. Joe Jagodensky, SDS.

goChristWithChild 001That is what a church sign shows me driving to work each morning.  I thought how difficult that is for us.  I don’t mean the usual stuff of sacrifice or dedication.  I mean it’s difficult because we know how his story ends.  It’s not fair walking with someone when you know how the someone and something turns out.

I’m at an age where the first few words of hearing the gospel, I say to myself, “Oh, it’s that one again” and my mind wanders toward lunch.  I’m able to do the same thing with songs of my era, four notes into it is my best and I can tell you the artist, title and sometimes the record label. (Church repetition and radio days do have some things in common.)

Traditional piety is in knowing the end of Jesus’ story in order for us to copy it as best as possible.  Isn’t it more enriching and rewarding to question Jesus along side with those doubting apostles we hear about on Sunday?  If you notice, after the resurrection Jesus tells his disciples the good stuff when no one else is around.  (Ohhh, I just wrecked it for many of you…now you know that he resurrects.  Darn it.)  Can we identify with any of those biblical needy folks who approach Jesus looking for something but not knowing if he’s able to help?  My favorite biblical story is the blind guy who approaches Jesus for a cure and Jesus asks the most profound question to him: “What do you want?”   Isn’t it obvious?  But it is not until the seeker knows what to seek.

Understanding Jesus is to look back at his whole story including the ending.  We can only look back at our lives without sugar coating our parts and then look forward without knowing the ending.

All the Jesus movies are viewed with its sensational ending in mind.   Scourging, thorns or the final spear, we know what happens next.  He comes back to life, scares the guys with his “peace to you” statements, eats a lot of fish, ascends up and away and sends the Holy Spirit while he assumes his position at the right hand of his rightful position.

I want to walk with Jesus.  I’d love to have him beside me, above me, behind and within me.  Sometimes I wish that I did not know his ending so that my walk with him might be truly a mutual walk toward a surprising and unknown end.

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