Soulful Muse

“Stop it,” I keep saying to myself as the years pile on and retirement slowly becomes a real word for me.

“I want to be 18 again with all the silly questions and worries that preoccupied me then.  All my hesitations and doubts at that age as best I can recall now instead of the confidence and assurance that experience has taught me, sometimes in spite of myself and other times through thoroughly practice.”

“Stop it.”  Another aging spot appeared today when yesterday my skin was smooth and taut.  My 20’s was a time wondering how I would succeed and the tests in school, endless tests that tested only what I remembered the teacher said in class instead of the comfort age has given me of knowing what happened years ago and not repeating the same mistake.

“Stop it.”  I think I need a larger belt but I refuse to buy one.  In my case it was being endlessly asked “When will you get your own parish” as though I’m wasting my time in this parish doing all I need to do as an associate pastor.  For you it may have been the failed marriage because you thought you knew it all and discovered, sadly, the opposite.  For me, there was often in my head that Saturday night confusion about tomorrow’s sermon, “You don’t want to say that,” “This is weak stuff,” instead of the assurance I know enjoy that I have something to say and Saturday night has returned to being a fun night.

“Stop it.”  Alas, my thighs seem to be disproportional to the rest of my body.  My 30’s brought out childhood questions like “Will they like me?” “Will they accept me?” (I think of “A Knights Tale” movie where it’s said, “You’ve been weighted, measured and found unworthy”) instead of the hard earned peace that surprises me often now when I experience it.

“Stop it.” “What’s with this grey stuff that sticks over my natural head of hair?”  Do I really miss my early humor that was often at the expense of someone else instead of the self-effacing humor that I easily throw out today?

Was all that turmoil and young confusion that attractive to me that I now yearn for a repeat performance?  I smile to myself when thinking about it because I then say, “You’ve got to be kidding.”  (pun intended.)

I think they’re looking out the window and admiring creation –  squirrels and birds this quiet morning when they’re actually planning an escape.  I provide their food each morning before going to work but they expect it whether I remembered to do it or not.  They jump up on my lap to show me their thanksgiving for my kindness, toys, vaccinations, and two tumor removals when they just want some attention from time to time.  (And, always on their time, by the way.)  I open the door after work and they are right there to greet and welcome me back home while they believe I was just standing outside the door for eight hours to taunt and tease them.

Pets.  You love ’em and wouldn’t go without them but you wonder what they’re thinking in their small, limited heads  –  far below my superior and informed head.

You think to yourself, “you know, if only I could become one of them then I could show and tell them what it’s like to be me and how much I love them.  Then those lovable, adorable creatures would know how I’m feeling and what I believe about them.”

It worked with humanity, so why can’t it work with my cats?  Didn’t it?

These two guys had eight, handy tools surrounding them for easy access.  I know because I’m watching them and count the tools they need wrapped around their waist as though preparing for a gun fight with the town’s villain.  Sometimes this tool is used but now this smaller tool is needed for that sharp corner.  In tandem, one outside and the other inside they perform their task and warn the other if that smudge is his or his partner’s.

I watch them while waiting for an appointment (never read magazines in a doctor’s office; who touches them except sick people!) as they diligently complete one before moving to the second.  Their faces are task orientated and focused, this completed job only leads to the next set down a ways.

I walk into a hospital room knowing only an unknown name and possibly a diagnosis that I may know or not.  Another enters a prison cell wondering how he/she will be received.  Another stops the woman on the street who appears lost.    I open the door to an anonymous appointment and she walks into my office.  I’m stopped after Mass and a stranger says, “May I have a word with you right now?”

I don’t even have John the Baptist’s leather belt or the eight tools that my window washer friends so easily used.  I only have that “Hi” followed by anything and everything that follows; rarely with a solution especially for that tough corner no one’s been able to reach.  I’m searching for tools in my head in milliseconds only to find that my eyes are listening and my ears are seeing the conflict or turmoil or pain.  I can only hope that her/his window to the soul may be ready to be seen through and somehow realize that all will be okay.

“There is a time for everything under the sun,” says Ecclesiastes.  John Houseman made famous the phrase, “We will serve no wine before its time.”

There are specific tasks for every stage of life, according to psychologists.  To miss one stage is to delay the next; to skip one is dangerous not only to the individual but to all those around him/her.

Like a Monopoly game, you simply cannot pass “Go” until you go around the board.  Along the way, you pay a little tax, perhaps St. James Place, New York Avenue, or one of the railroads; and God-forbid Boardwalk or Park Place.  (Big rent areas!)  There are no short cuts to playing Monopoly, only strategy.  We in the U.S. love short cuts.  If there’s an easier way to do something, we will not only find and use it but we will brag about it for weeks to come.

“I bought this suit for only $75.00, it’s regularly $350.00!  Isn’t this a deal?”  We all marvel at the suit wearer’s good fortune.  “Boy, if that could only happen to me,” we think to ourselves.  “Why does he get all the deals.”

“Short cuts and something for nothing” could be an American theme.  You’ve successfully bypassed what the rest of us schmucks needed to endure.

Faith needs to be transposed into our daily lives.  After all, we only have our daily lives to organize and work with.  So, faith can easily become a commodity.  “I can’t come to Mass today but can I still get a host?”  I think only an American would even think of asking that question.  “I’m in a hurry Father, can’t I just make a general confession?” asks the businessmen during his lunch hour.

There is a wedding feast.  It is prepared for each of us.  Doesn’t the image of a wedding surpass all other events in our daily lives?  It is so special, everyone is dressed up, everyone is filled with hope and happy.  We want to make the potential of this newly wed couple our own.

How “prepared” we are for this special wedding feast depends on each of us.

•    You cannot be a mature adult and still harbor petty, childish thoughts.  There was a time for that and it has passed.
•    You cannot be a mature adult and think that the world bows at your feet.  There was a time for that and it has passed.
•    You can’t be a mature adult and believe that everything works out for the good with a flick of a magic wan or a secret potion.  There was a time for that and it has passed.
•    You can’t be a mature adult and feel that your needs are above the needs and concerns of others.  There was a time for that and it has since passed.
•    You can’t be a mature adult and feel that God is waiting for you to slip up so that He can punish you.  There was a time for that and it has, indeed, passed.
•    You can’t be a mature adult and feel that God looks at all the stuff that you’ve accumulated and calls it “good.”  There was a time for that and it has, happily, passed.

Yours and my list can contain a long list of things which we hold on to and just can’t let go of for dear life.

God’s wedding feast is ready and prepared, just for you.  Are you ready?  Have you passed “Go?”

If only I could do it again, it’d be much different from the first time.  The first time I was drowsy from the early morning hour until recess when I perked up and then drowsy throughout the afternoon from lunch, and then I went home.  This went on for eight years.

Grade school.  Those formative years that somehow formed me in spite of myself.  I could say the same for high school and college but for different reasons.

If I returned now?  Now, I’d awake sharpened with my No. 2 pencil and iPad in tow, only without the backpack.  (I refuse to carry a backpack, too heavy at my age.)  I’d have my homework completed and double spaced.  I’d wear a nice suit and tie.  I’d have a healthy lunch prepared.  I’d sit in front.  I would not gossip about the class “geek” or the hero-quarterback.  I’d be silent waiting to absorb what the teacher carefully prepared for me that day. I wouldn’t mind sitting in a small, cramp desk with no ink well but I’ll be able to fit underneath it in case of a nuclear attack. (How was a desk supposed to be protect me from a nuclear attack?!)

Would this all be an act to impress her?  No, that was the first time around, this time I’m serious about this education stuff.  My grade school nuns had me pegged as an “empty vessel” waiting to be filled even though my spout was not very open. (see “drowsy” above.)  This second time my vessel is already filled, sometimes overflowing, and I want to make sense of it all.

Is education wasted on the youth?  I guess it is, in spite of what might sift through to get them going in life but my second time around would be challenging, cleansing and assimilating to my 62 years.

Now, when I raise my hand it is no longer to go to the bathroom to kill time but to ask a haunting question looking for life clues.  I no longer need to impress the teacher, I need her to impress upon me how education integrates facts and knowledge into a synthesis that can refill and refine this aging vessel.

Yes, I would bring an apple to school only to nourish and not make her think better of me than the rest.  I want her to survive another day to smooth out my rough edges of how history can be distorted and misused, how the U.S. empire is different from Rome’s (perhaps a leap for grade school education, but it’s worth a try!), what is important in life and what needs to be labeled relative.

After school, I’d dutifully go home (my own house since my parents are heavenly) and lay out the day’s assignments that need my attention.  I would delight in this second time challenge and I would luxuriate in the task before me that calls for critical thinking and discernment.

The following day (different suit, of course) I’d proudly present my carefully prepared analysis to my grade school teacher who would softly but firmly tear it apart piece by piece.  The first time around I would have walked home wounded scared to show my parents.  This second time around I would return home and eagerly start it all over again.

(a funeral sermon for a 94 year old named Hank)

I don’t like saying “goodbye.” For whatever reason it just seems awkward to me. I know that I’ll see these folks again so perhaps the “goodbye” stands as a “thank you” for the time spent together.

Women, I suspect, have an easy time with departures. There’s a new conversation that begins at the exiting door after they’ve said “it’s time to leave” in the living room. Those conversations can extend for long periods of time. Just a name unmentioned before and everyone need to be caught up in the her latest happenings. Just say “goodbye,” I say.

I had a wedding with over 200 people over the weekend and after dinner decided to discreetly leave but only saw a few key people around. I “thanked” them to their surprise that I was not staying longer. A final look around for the newly married couple was futile and I exited. The next day I wondered if I should have stayed longer for the “thank you”/”goodbyes” but I like that someone may say, “Oh, he left awhile ago.”

So, if you invite me to your home for supper and go to another room, please do not be surprised when you return and find me gone. I had a nice time and did not want to say “goodbye” only to hear, “oh, don’t go, stay awhile longer.”

And so it is with death. We don’t say “goodbye” even if we had the rare opportunity to say that word to someone we love. Saying that “goodbye,” I think, is really a way of saying that I’m here with you now and I want you to know that.

I bet if you read a social worker’s report or doctors’ notes on Hank it would list feelings like “withdrawn,” “quiet,” “keeps to himself” as though they are not human qualities and need to be rectified through talk or cured through pills. You see, for Hank, he never said “goodbye” to Isabelle. It wasn’t going to happen and it did not happen. I’d guess he felt the same about his first wife but Isabelle and Hank are the ones that I got to know. Even in Isabelle’s confusion, Hank was always beaming to be with her and take her, as often as possible, to play darts in the morning. When Isabelle left this world, she never left the world of Hank. She remained within and around him throughout his last years.

“Goodbye?” Ugh. The five of us kids have our parents and grandparents stuff surrounding our respective homes. A nicknack on this mantle, a vase in that bathroom, embroidered table cloths that once covered Thanksgiving meals. (A robber can have the flatscreen but not the vase!) The Church offers memorial cards, Mass intentions, (angels in our curio cabinets), joining a purgatorial club (I wouldn’t suggest that way, by the way), cemetery plots needing flowers throughout the year along with holiday cemetery Masses. (I guess I’m not the only way who doesn’t say “goodbye.”)

The social worker’s report may have reported that Hank is failing in completing the five necessary steps of recovery following a death or tragedy. There’s five of them and I have a hunch that Hank was stopped by the first one: denial. And you just can’t beat denial in our culture because if you deny that you’re in denial then you’re in denial. (Just try convincing a counselor otherwise!) The popular spectrum of the five is first denial with number five being acceptance. I think that Hank wavered between number one to number five often and then devolved from five back to one, but not because of those clinical words but because he just simply would not say “goodbye.” She was too much a part of his life to say that word.

To return to my singular yet dual meaning word, I imagine Hank said “thank you” a lot to both his wives and to the long life that he lived but I do not think he ever said “goodbye,” after all, he’s a guy. I bet we all say “thank you” more than that other word. Good for us. I believe our faith calls us to say “thank you” more than once daily but never to say that other word.

And there’s another guy, the Big Guy in heaven who I believe sings the old Beatles’ song to both Hank and to everyone He greets, “I don’t know why you say ‘goodbye,’ I say, ‘hello'”.

A friend of mine talks about her daughter’s work in Dubai, United Arab.
Her daughter lives where the tallest building in the world resides. It reaches up 2,722 ft. with 58 elevators, 900 apartment homes, 304 hotel rooms and 2,957 parking spaces. I read it was based on a design by Wisconsin’s own Frank Lloyd Wright design for Chicago that was never built and constructed by a South Korea company.

The interesting thing that she told me though is that the building has a movement, either way, of some five feet because you see a building that huge needs some room to stretch and maneuver in order to stand and withstand its height. Rigid and firm does not make it for structures and it does not make for us humans as well.

Today we honor two “pillars” of the Christian church, Peter and Paul (or is it Paul and Peter?). Note the word “pillar.” Strong and secure, pillars are meant to last forever.

But like the heat and strong winds of Dubai, this steel structure needs some room to bend, buoy and manage itself. Five feet, in both directions, is quite a stretch for a structure that size, don’t you think?

In our strong and true opinions, how do we secure ourselves? We think to ourselves, “If I talk the loudest, then they will hear me and listen,” or “I can’t compromise on anything or else my cause will be lost.”

Like a steel structure thousand of miles away to us in our small Chapel – something is about to crack and not be able to sustain itself…unless we give at least “five feet” to each other.

The current social issues are always before us and we quickly take our corners with our ultimate and absolute truth. (Often times based on what we hear from friends without doing our own homework but that’s a different sermon.) We hold firm, “never give an inch” because that would be mean weakness, compromise, “selling out” or misrepresenting, in our case, the Catholic Church.

Those “pillars” we honor today, Peter and Paul (or is it Paul and Peter?) held firm beliefs for our Christian Church. Please note that I did not say “Catholic” because they are pillars of Lutherans, United Church of Christ, Methodist and how many other Christian churches.

Paul knew the Christ (in other words he knew the “faith” of Jesus but not the man. Peter knew the “man” Jesus and was learning the “faith”.) Both had the gifts of inclusion and negotiation. Both knew that the “steel structure” of their faith needed at least five feet, give or take.

Paul learned that lesson through his amazing story of killing before teaching; traveling from town to town and working with hundreds of different views and opinions and perceptions and experiences; and all the time trying to piece them together. That’s at least “five feet.”

Peter learned that lesson through his words, he brilliantly acknowledges Jesus as the Son of God and then tells Jesus he may want to back off a bit because of the risks involved. He does the same by the fire with the Roman guards. Jesus asks Peter three times for his love and for each of those times Peter denies he knows him to the guards. That’s “five feet” the other way.

Both learned that the words “absolute” and “truth” do not always go together. There is always that grey (in religion) and that five feet (huge, big steel buildings.)

The beauty of this day is not in its solution but its challenge to each of us. The certainty of our beliefs needs a little breathing room in order for us to live among those who do not believe what we believe. The quest for “truth” is always and at least “five feet” to the right and then “five feet” to the left.

That’s not political, that’s practical. That’s the feast we honor today, Peter and Paul or it is Paul and Peter?