To Consume or Be Consumed, That is the Question!

What a bizarre time this is; the Christmas season.Never is there a period of such polar opposites as there are at this time of year. All around us we are bombarded with the imperative to consume, collect, gobble, and grasp. There are lines of impatient, honking, beeping, cranky souls snaking through the shops and malls all around us. Incredible pressure is laid on people to find this or that gift for this or that niece or nephew, cousin or coworker. It can bring out the absolute worst in people. I watched a woman in her 50s sitting in her car with her elderly mother curse out a car behind her for honking at her... one honk. And it was one of those friendly little honks too. Grandma just kinda slid deeper into her seat, clutching her purse.Then comes Sunday, and we roll off to Church and hear just the opposite. "It is better to give than to receive" - "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son..." - "wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger." The radio plays as we whiz through the thousands of cars in the parking lot, like vultures looking for an open space... "Away in a manger, no crib for his bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head."We drive home flustered, past little glowing, plastic nativity scenes of a man and a woman kneeling in the snow, gazing down at a little plastic Child. A whole plastic, glowing mob of souls gathers round the Babe; kings and shepherds, the rich and the poor (and occasionally a big plastic Snowman or the Grinch, which is a whole other story). What do we make of all this? What is this all about? Yesterday I was out shopping and trying to stay focused, trying to recall what we are moving towards in these next couple of days. Standing in a massive snake of a line at Borders, with Mr. Cranky Pants on his cell phone behind me, a youth in angst blurting "Merry (expletive) Christmas" to my left, as only a youth in angst can do, I prayed for a great awakening.I prayed it would all vanish and we could all find ourselves kneeling in that cold cave in that backwater town of Bethlehem. Unplugged, unknown, and alone.... looking down at a very poor couple who had to find a place to rest their newborn baby... and the only "space" they could find was a feeding trough for animals in a stable.Scandalous. That would make the news, wouldn't it? Wouldn't that stop us in our tracks? We're told to be good consumers, to boost this failing economy. But this consumption of things will no more help our country than it will satisfy our souls. Someone else has come with a better plan for our salvation. He lays in a manger (the word means "to eat") and he is born in Bethlehem, which means literally "house of bread."And he looks at us all, racing about stuffing our stockings and stuffing our trunks with things. And he says, "Take and eat, take and drink; this is my Body, given up for you." We are invited to consume, to eat and by eating become one with the Love that has become our Food.This is the Love that truly satisfies! This is the Feast of Christmas!

An Inconvenient Truth

The following is from an e-mail that began circulating in March of last year. I received it yesterday from a friend. It was checked on snopes.com for authenticity and is in fact accurate! Kind of funny, kind of sad. I put it here on the blog because it puts a new spin on the spin doctors. They never tell us this stuff.... and I just wonder why. Two Houses House #1 A 20 room mansion (not including 8 bathrooms) heated by natural gas. Add on a pool (and a pool house) and a separate guest house, all heated by gas. In one month this residence consumes more energy than the average American household does in a year. The average bill for electricity and natural gas runs over $2400 per month. In natural gas alone, this property consumes more than 12 times the national average for an American home. This house is not situated in a Northern or Midwestern 'snow belt' area. It's in the South. House #2 Designed by an architecture professor at a leading national university. This house incorporates every 'green' feature current home construction can provide. The house is 4,000 square feet (4 bedrooms) and is nestled on a high prairie in the American southwest. A central closet in the house holds geothermal heat-pumps drawing ground water through pipes sunk 300 feet into the ground. The water (usually 67 degrees F) heats the house in the winter and cools it in the summer. The system uses no fossil fuels such as oil or natural gas and it consumes one-quarter electricity required for a conventional heating/cooling system. Rainwater from the roof is collected and funneled into a 25,000 gallon underground cistern. Wastewater from showers, sinks and toilets goes into underground purifying tanks and then into the cistern. The collected water then irrigates the land surrounding the house. Surrounding flowers and shrubs native to the area enable the property to blend into the surrounding rural landscape. HOUSE #1 is outside of Nashville , Tennessee ; it is the abode of the 'environmentalist ' Al Gore. HOUSE #2 is on a ranch near Crawford, Texas; it is the residence of the President of the United States , George W. Bush. ___________________________ You can verify it at snopes.com

Hugging the Universe

I was reading the latest edition of Islands Magazine the other day (which we get for FREE for some strange reason which I don't object to at all because of the beautiful pics), and I came across a curious story. It was about a young woman who resides on one of the "10 Best Islands to Live On."  

Meet Kate: She grew up in Georgia, graduated from college in 1991, and then spent four years traveling the globe, working in hospitality and tourism in the USA, Europe and Australia. "I have never really had any 'plans,' so life just seems to happen around me," says the 38-year-old. "I just grab ahold occasionally."  

The article continues: But it seems Kangaroo Island grabbed ahold of Kate during her first visit in 1994. "I could have just kept moving, but I heard what my mind and body were telling me, and it was, 'Stay!' " says Kate. The following year, she moved to the island full time.... Overall, Kate's philosophy is to go with the flow. "Life takes us on strange and wonderful pathways to get where we are going," she says. "I think you have to be open to what the universe gives you. Listen to your heart." Now at first glance, Kate's philosophy seems rather inviting; it's about being open, receptive, adapting to the vicissitudes of every day living, the ups and downs, with a certain grace. And listening to your heart, well, isn't that what Disney has been telling us to do since we were seven years old? (Although, Jiminy Cricket actually defaulted to the conscience, which was nice).  

A QUICK DIGRESSION... Did you know that Disney gave this appellation to that little grasshopper? "Lord High Keeper of the Knowledge of Right and Wrong, Counselor in Moments of Temptation, and Guide along the Straight and Narrow Path." Wow! I wish Jiminy C. would pop in on some of Disney's latest works.

BACK TO KATE... "Life takes us on strange and wonderful pathways to get where we are going," she says. "I think you have to be open to what the universe gives you. Listen to your heart." Now... I am not begrudging Kate her island dream, nor am I trying to toss a soggy blanket on this whole "follow your heart" philosophy.... in fact, I'm all about it. It's just that my spidey senses are tingling at that line: "I think you have to be open to what the universe gives you." The universe? How can I be open to a cluster of stars or swamps of microbacteria? What if I'm on top of an erupting volcano and lava comes spewing towards me. Is this a gift from Mr. Universe? I may have my Cranky Pants on tonight, but I think sometimes we forget who we are, and Whose we are. We love the earth too much, and we forget Who it's pointing to. Remember Wisdom 13? "For all men were by nature foolish who were in ignorance of God, and who from the good things seen did not succeed in knowing him who is, and from studying the works did not discern the artisan... For from the greatness and the beauty of created things their original Author, by analogy, is seen."

Let's give credit where credit is due. There is a Face shining behind this thin veil of a universe! I get enraptured by the beauty of the world every day, but I know He is peeking through the curtain. So, unlike the Wizard of Oz, let's pay attention to that Man behind the curtain! The wonders of this earth quite literally take my breathe away sometimes. But when the THANK YOU wells up in my heart, its trajectory arcs beyond the simple heavens towards the Presence in Heaven. Or it bends low, onto this very earth, towards the tabernacle, or to the core of my own feeble and trembling body, where He said He would abide if I opened the door of my heart to Him. My thanks doesn't spin out into the Milky Way. I'd get no signal of a response. I can't hug the universe to express my gratitude, but I can get a hug and a kiss from Abba Father and Jesus the Savior in every encounter with the Eucharist. So one of the best islands to live on for me is my local Catholic church; it's a little slice of heaven floating in this sea of time! Of course, if there was a chapel with the Blessed Sacrament on Kangaroo Island, I mean, that would be pretty awesome... 

Carry, Push, or Draw?

Well, my nephew and I have returned from a refreshing and simultaneously exhausting trip up North.... yes, even the word North conjours up sweet memories.... of mosquitoes.

For some cosmic reason out of my control (what is in my control anyway?) the usual blissful, warm days, cool nights, birches, balsam, and sea breezes that I was accustomed to tasting in my trips to Maine at the end of July were... gone. Thanks to some Tropical Storm hundreds of miles away, we were sogged with fog, rained on by rain, and hugged with humidity. And those winged harbingers of doom... oiy!

Mosquitoes the size of small mammals were everywhere. They could bite through jeans! JEANS! I'm not making that up! I think they've been genetically manipulated or something... but why? and by whom? Ah, that's a thought for another day.

Seriously, the trip was great. It wasn't all rain and pain. What's life without bugs and suffering anyway? My dad says the skeeters are here to remind us that "this ain't heaven." Fair enough. We still hiked, and biked, and kayaked; swam, jumped, swatted, laughed, ate, sang, ate some more, spoke of deep mysteries and prayed... so that's pretty good stuff. Here's the blog link if you care to peruse the pics!

Now this experience of seven days with my 14 year old nephew (and Flapjack, our mascot) got me thinking about the ways we encounter life... I mean Life. I mean the Truth and Beauty and Goodness and Unity that Life contains deep within because God planted it there. It's an encounter which many of us (14 to 38 to 98 years old) have sometimes achieved, missed, ignored, or still seek. So how and when do we "get" it? And can we facilitate the encounter?

I had some serious plans for last week. Perhaps too many. You know the old saying "How do you make God laugh? Tell Him your plans." Well, I came to realize that the invitation to such mysteries has to always remain just that.... an invitation. It can't be forced, faked, or fabricated. It's best if it's simply unveiled, pointed to, released simply with a look or a silence. You drive and you look out the window, and there's life. And you watch it unfold like a road before you.


I was reading a fantastic book called Three Philosophies of Life by Dr. Peter Kreeft this summer (for the second time 'cause it's that good) and I came across a line about this encounter. He said that there are three ways to enter into life:

1. We can be carried. No work involved, no will, just lifted here and there like a pile of heart and bones. We don't learn much or stretch our spiritual muscles this way. We're like jello, and we simply fill the mold we're carried into (Realistically, we need this until we're oh, ten or eleven... I think. And other times too, it's flexible).

2. We can be pushed. Just do it because I said so. It's not always pleasant but it gets the chores done. It's kind of like the Purgative Way of the spiritual life. I don't wanna but I gotta.

3. We can be drawn. Oh here it is.... this is the moment when the alabaster jars of God's fragrance, stored up in the things of earthly life, break open and lift our eyes to Heaven! This is more akin to the Illuminative or Unitive Way of the spiritual life. To be drawn is to give in to the tractor beam of Grace, to let down our shields and allow ourselves to be taken in by that Death Star that is the Pierced Heart of Jesus. Yes, death to self, death to self-absorption, and to what others think of me. That's a trap with a strong gravitational pull. But everything created by our Loving God has a stronger magnetic property. We just have to orient ourselves towards it. "To see the miraculous within the ordinary is the mark of highest wisdom." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)


My prayer for Sean, as he enters high school this fall, is that he surrenders more and more to this magnetism of grace and truth and goodness, in his friendships, his studies, his prayer, his looking at life as it unfolds before him. I was privileged to be drawn to God by Sean's easy laugh, quiet peace, crazy quotes from Nacho Libre, and his willingness to journey into the unknown with me. This is one extraordinary young man; I know he'll navigate well through the trails ahead!

Just bring some bug spray, Sean. There could be mosquitoes.

Pai'y!

Bill and Sean's Excellent Adventure!

What's This All About?

This weekend (and all of next week), as a gift for his recent Confirmation into the fullness of the Catholic Faith, I'm taking my nephew on a journey of biblical proportions. He doesn't know where we're going, but he knows it's a leap of faith and a walk closer to the Lord (sometimes a hike;)

In order for family and friends to keep abreast of our journeys, I've created a blog, aptly named "Bill and Sean's Excellent Adventure!" This will allow us to post messages and pictures and for everyone else to read about and envy in the good sense of the word some of the deep (and not so deep) thoughts and conversations we'll be having as we travel into the wild! All are welcome to pop in for a virtual visit! The blog will be the canvas on which we paint our travels!

HERE IT IS AGAIN IN ALL IT'S GLORY: http://billandseansexcellentadventure.blogspot.com/

Please say a prayer for our safe travels and good weather!

True Beauty

Last night, Rebecca and I saw the above ad for Dove's Self-Esteem Project. Now I don't watch a ton of TV so I may be coming in late on the game here. The ad almost knocked me out of my seat. With the beautiful song True Colors playing softly in the background, it called out the distortions and exaggerations of femininity in the media, throwing the spotlight on their obsession with certain physical traits as ideals for "real" beauty. So many fall into the trap of thinking that this model is the model for what is beautiful! Statistics say that only 2% of women consider themselves beautiful. Tragic! So to help girls recognize their intrinsic worth before the media gives them a distorted lens to look through, Dove is proclaiming that true beauty lies deeper than the skin-deep deceptions of air-brushed super-models and surgically altered body parts. Thank God for these ads. St. Peter once wrote that a woman's beauty was not so much an "external one: braiding the hair, wearing gold jewelry, or dressing in fine clothes".... but went much deeper, into "the hidden character of the heart, expressed in the imperishable beauty of a gentle and calm disposition, which is precious in the sight of God." (1 Peter 3:3-4) Isn't this what the young should be led to, developing the interior? The character of the heart, should always precede thoughts of outward appearance. The heart of a person is what illumines the body and gives it real glory. That's what made Mother Teresa so gorgeous, wrinkles and all!

Cosmo or the Cosmos?

Think for a moment of all of the seeds of human knowledge that have been poured out into our hands; thoughts that have filled whole libraries can now be accessed through our cell-phones. All the yearnings of the human heart, the unquenchable thirst for knowledge of the human mind is just a click away. And yet, so often it seems, we shy from these depths, and stick to the shallows. We avoid Thoreau’s advice to “Read not the Times, but the Eternities.” We’d rather flip through Cosmo than gaze in wonder at the cosmos. For some reason, the staggering achievements and absolute wonders of technology achieved in the last few years have not drawn our hearts into deeper truths, but left us numb in mind and heart. We’re not just couch potatoes, glued to the tube, but pew potatoes, hearing the fire of the gospel at church on Sunday and barely catching a spark. Our depth perception is off.

Deep down I think we know this. We know that an authentic human life is one that steps into those shallows in order to launch out into deeper discussions, richer thoughts, into mysteries as infinite as the sky. Into the questions of our origins, our history, our destiny.

One step beyond mediocrity and we are saved.
- Unknown

Summer + Rope Swing = Happiness

Maybe it's the fact that summer is here, or that school is finished, or the fact that at 6:31 am this morning it was already 89 degrees, but I'm going back to my salad days for today's reflection. Let's talk about ROPE SWINGS!

Ah yes, I remember it well.... The year was 1980something, and the summer broke over us like the peel of bells, and our freedom flashed like light from brandished swords, and the slamming of our lockers was definitive! Peaceout Mr. Biscardi! Your jokes were lousy! And thanks for the B - in Algebra! Yeah!

For my brother and I, and our motley crew of friends, it was to the woods that we would go, to live deliberately. And so it was, one fateful day in June as we slithered down the Rancocas Creek in canoes, as furtive as Iroquois, as reverent as the Sioux, that we stumbled upon a single strand of rope, dangling down from heaven like a silken cord, suspended over the water like a magic wand.

"Holy crud!" we all cried in unison.

There is something magnetic, something even cosmic, that occurs when youth and rope swings encounter each other for the first time. Weary as we were from paddling, a new fire coursed through our adolescent veins, and in seconds we were clambering up the grassy knoll to this Tree of Life. What we found (pictured above in a snapshot with my cousins Mike and Tommy, circa 198osomethingish?) was a platform that was apparently built by lumberjacks in the 1800's. At least 15 feet off the ground, with a second platform for the real thrill seekers another 6 feet higher, was the launchpad into summer that became a second home to us.

We'd waste away the hours, discovering new ways to fly off of the rope, freestyle moves, the Jumping Jack Johnny (expertly done by John Moyer), the Classic Cannonball, the Triple Lindy... you name it. Gazing up at the green canopy, dappled sunlight streaming through, laughing, exploring, looking deeply into the cedar water of the Rancocas, the color of sweet tea, the smells, the sound of the hermit thrush, the chickadee, eating store-bought hoagies and Cool Ranch Doritos while batting away green flies. Ah summer! What a gift, and we knew it all along.

I dream of this freedom for kids today. Some have it. Some have never tasted it. Some find the virtual world of video games and media more appealing (a tragedy). And granted, the world seems a more violent place than ever. I know the risks. I know it's scary out there. But I thank God I had the chance to run through this playground, to taste it and savor that taste. Those were the salad days and I'll never forget them.

I think fear and comfort can lock us in, but what a price to pay. The freedom we had formed us, the risks we took made us stronger, and I'm so grateful for this....

Let me turn off your TV before you go crazy.
Come out for a while with me. No, don't be lazy.
Tall trees whose shadows fall along Sheep's Meadow.
Never know what we will see. Come take a walk with me.
- Edie Brickell, Take a Walk

If Jesus Preached Today...

New Year's Resolution #3 - Get Dirty

When I was in college, they called me "Nature Boy." I had an adverse reaction to pavement. I would never walk on the sidewalks. This is true.

It wasn't exactly a conscious endeavor on my part. I just found myself off the beaten path (well, pavement) en route to another building in the middle of the day, or heading towards chapel as the sun was tipping over and spilling its liquid light over the horizon. Then a guy would yell out, "Hey Thoreau! See any slate colored juncos lately! Ha hah!" ... and stuff like that. I'd just smile and keep on.... meandering.

FLASH TO THE FUTURE!!
Just yesterday, I was contemplating the sad fact that I don't wander as aimlessly as I used to. I travel from Point A to Point B.... POW! Mission accomplished. I'm running over concrete towards a linoleum floor, then back to the asphalt for the ride home. At the illustrious private boys school where I teach, the students are not allowed to walk on the grass because, get this, this would make the grounds "unpleasant" to look upon. You see, when you walk on grass a lot, it goes away.

FLASH BACK TO THAT COMMERCIAL FROM THE 70's
Remember that image of Chief Iron Eyes Cody looking out on a sprawling modern mess of pollution, and a single tear runs down his ancient face? I loved that commercial! How far we've come from that respect for the land, from that love of the earth in all it's beauty. Who doesn't feel refreshed at the scent of spring rain, rich soil, fallen leaves, and the thick, warm breath of a garden or greenhouse crammed with life?



This Christmas, Santa got me a new pair of shoes (is that a song?). Oh they're nice. All leathery and cushiony, great for standing on your feet all day teaching too. Smithsonians or something. The other day I was walking around campus and I felt the call to wander up the hill and along the path that circles Malvern. Like Sirens, those countless hours growing up in the pine woods of south central Jersey, the hikes, the walks, the ritual journey into the silence and the serenity of the cranberry bogs and cedar creeks of Browns Mills was whispering to me, tapping me on the shoulder with long flowery fingers.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION #3 - DIRTY SHOES...
Why do we choose a hard, slick, "artificial" surface when God has designed a soft, grassy carpet for us.

The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.
- J.R.R. Tolkien

I think the sign of a happy soul can be found on the sole. So let's walk today, away from the things of man, and when duty calls, go back again.... but take the long way!

New Year's Resolution #2 - No False Gods

Now if out of joy in their beauty they thought them gods, let them know how far more excellent is the Lord than these; for the original source of beauty fashioned them.
- Wisdom 13:3

We're moving through Exodus in my biblical studies class (yes, I like to move slowly through the beginning of the Bible, everything happens in Genesis and Exodus anyway. The rest of the Old Testament right up to Malachi is just a vicious circle... until Jesus breaks in!).

So... presently we're looking at the idolatrous practices of Egypt, and Israel's addiction to false gods too. After all, it was the very air they breathed for 400 years, and the moment they are out of Egypt and left alone for a few weeks, they go and build a Golden Calf (aka, a tribute to the Egyptian cult of Apis, which is basically an obsession over sex, power, and wealth for the ancients). Israel falls right back into Egypt!

I like to tell my students how refreshing it is, how ennobling, that we can all look back and laugh at those silly ancients, worshiping frogs and the Nile River and bulls and sheep and stuff. Ha! We've certainly learned from their mistakes, eh what? My how we've progressed! No false idols here, no sirree. No physical wrappings or trappings enshrining strength or virility, control, power or sex for us moderns. As the old Virginia Slims ad used to say, "You've come a long way baby!"

Right...

I'm not gonna lie to you. I have my addictions, my own list of idols. I love my Mac, my ipod. I look at my cell phone about 124 times a day. That's why they call it a "crack"berry. I wonder if I could go a day without the internet, how 'bout a week? Yes yes, I know, it's a part of life now. My work is IN the internet. It's a tool, a platform for teaching, for information, etc. etc.

All true.

I'm not saying the iPhone, the internet, Blackberries, Blueberries, ipods, whatever are BAD. Don't you know me? And guess what... for ancient Egypt, Assyria, Babylon and yes, our dear Israel, the stuff they slipped into wasn't bad in and off itself either: the beauty of the stars, the paragon of animals, their strength and virility, their power and cunning, the life-giving waters of the Nile; these really did bring them life after all.... and yet.

"... If they were struck by their might and energy, let them from these things realize how much more powerful is he who made them. For from the greatness and the beauty of created things their original author, by analogy, is seen." - Wisdom 13:4-5

How easily I slip into excess. From moderation to undulation, and from seeing the icon (a light-flooded sacrament of a thing), to twisting it into an idol. Into my precioussssss....

Sound dramatic? Well... if I end up spending more time looking at my techno-gadget than I do the person in front of me, or around me, than that ipod has become an igod! Is this a real kick in the pants for you? It is for me! I stink at fasting! LENT IS COMING!! I jokingly said to my students yesterday that I was giving up the internet for Lent...

"Impossible!" they cried in unison.

"It can't be done!" they shouted.

"Is this going to be on the test?"

Poor us, so addicted to electricity, gadgetry, ease and comfortability. It's been called "technolatry" - the new idolatry for the 21st century.

AND NOW THE SMACKDOWN...

St. John of the Cross once wrote "It comes to the same thing whether a bird be held by a slender cord or by a stout one; since, even if it be slender, the bird will be as well held as though it were stout. . . . And thus the soul that has attachment to anything, however much virtue it possess, will not attain to the liberty of divine union."

Ouch. Time for some soul searching and a little more letting go. I just have to turn to my wife Rebecca for inspiration. So grounded is she in the person before her, it astounds me. When I try to show off some new fireworks, bells and whistles I've found on the "Machine"... she just smiles and makes some tea.

New Year's Resolution #1

Well, we never made it to the Outback Steakhouse this past Wednesday. It was Dad's birthday and we left the choice up to him. He chose simplicity; a night at Casa Donaghy with catered food from Paul Revere's (the local pizza place that Rebecca and I do in fact "revere." Man those Greek fries!).

But alas, the other night we were determined to hit the hallowed halls of Aussie Steakdom ('cause that gift card is burning a hole in our collective wallet!). So there we were, all gussied up and proper: and the sheila (that's Aussie for colleen, which is Irish for young girl) that took our name said, in her finest non-Aussie accent "It's a 2 hour wait."

Yup. 2 hours...

Consisting of 60 minutes each, by the way, for a grand total of 120 minutes.

Now you may be thinking, dear reader, that anyone in their right mind would 86 the place for a reasonable alternative (to which I reply, "Have you not tasted the Outback Special?"). But several factors like tent pegs helped us stand our ground:

1. the fact that we were already out,
2. ready to eat,
3. holding a gift card to said establishment.
4. and the Olive Garden (other gift card, thanks Mom!) was about 30 minutes away with its own wait.

So we waited. Rebecca actually split for Target down the street to return something, so that killed time. I walked around outside, perused the Office Max, the back of the buildings where the dumpsters sat gloomily (hey, they come in lots of different shapes...who designs those things?), and I finally grabbed a stool at Baja Fresh for some $1.60 chips and salsa to tide me over. When I returned to the non-Aussie hostess and inquired about our progress, I got a little frown and a "One hour, 17 minutes."

"Is that it! Cool."

Does this sound ridiculous?

NO! Because it got me to thinking... globally...

Back in 1987-ish, a Polish family stayed with us at the Browns Mills domicile in NJ. The Sikorsgies had a beautiful little boy, not yet a year old, who needed open heart surgery. Browns Mills is home, not only to Alba's Pizza (oh man those Sicilian pies), but also to Deborah Heart and Lung Center, world-renowned for their expert cardio-care. So old Joe Frazier from the Holy Name at St. Ann's asked if we could set them up for a few weeks. It was more a blessing for us, as often is the case in serving others, than it was for the family from Poland. For we got to see our life through their eyes, and their life through their stories.

The fact of the matter is, most Americans live like kings and queens. We have so much more than we need, and compared to the rest of the planet, most of us are spoiled beyond comprehension. A two hour wait for food was half the wait for them back in the late 80's in Poland. They could wait up to 5 hours for their meat, or dairy, or meds. When we took them through our local Acme they staggered about like drunkards, like kids on Christmas morning. All of this food! All wrapped up for you, and COLD? And the cold air is just leaking out onto the floors as we walk by, and the refrigerators are packed and everything is so fresh. You can buy as much as you like? This was unheard of.

Move your hand over the spinning globe to Haiti, to the slums of Cite Soleil, to Africa, to the fear filled streets of Darfur, to any number of places where daily life is a real sacrifice and a physical, sweat and blood and bone, life and death struggle.

So we waited in the cozy strip mall of Springfield Township, and there were no guns, no pollution, no dictators, no death squads, no malaria. And the meal was wonderful, and the service was a gift, and there is soooo much more to be thankful for.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION #1: No more complaining.

The Christmas House

Do you get all goosey when you see Inflatable Christmas Lawn Art? Does the glow of lights on an otherwise drab house set your heart pumping? Do you find yourself driving the long way home from work in the winter just to catch some extra yuletide wattage? Well we've got the house for you! Getting there is a real journey, but for those intoxicated by Christmas lights and 6 foot Frostys, you can't beat the "CHRISTMAS HOUSE."

It's nestled, oddly enough, on a dark street in a quiet little town called Washingtonville, NY. The house to the left has a porchlight and a wreath, the neighbor to the right is cloaked in shadowy shrubs. But it would take a city of Wal-Marts to beat out the brightness of the CHRISTMAS HOUSE!

And that's just the outside of the house... Every room inside is loaded to the gills with Christmas doodads and whatzits. Classic stuff too; trains, little villages, a hall of thematic trees like the Irish Tree, the Sports Tree, the Penguin Tree, and... the Creepy Singing Tree Which Has Lips and Big Eyes (my personal favorite. I'm not going to explain it to you. Just go! You'll find it downstairs and to the right. Or should I say, it will find you!)

Yesterday, before heading home from NY, my wife, myself, and a bunch of the family made a pilgrimage to this mecca of music and lights. It's open from December 20 to the 30th, from 7pm to 9pm, so time is running out if you want to make the trip!

The CHRISTMAS HOUSE: It's mind-boggling, it's sensory overload, it's Christmas on steroids! The Palmer family will greet you, dressed all in North Pole attire. And donations are gratefully accepted to help offset the electric bill, which I would guess is somewhere between $139,082 a day!

PS - the CHRISTMAS HOUSE happens to be a beautiful family tradition for many in the area and beyond, dedicated to the memory of Christopher Palmer, who LOVED Christmas like craaaaazy, as you'll see. Check out a rough little snatch of video I took below...

The Exploding Whale Incident - A Bizarre and True Story

OK, this one is not for the faint hearted. I'm actually on the fence about putting in on my blog, which so often seeks to inspire and uplift its readers. OK, I'm off the fence now. This is too bizarre to pass up. It's a true story that truly took place in Florence, Oregon, USA, on November 12, 1970. A news crew, led by a REAL reporter known as Paul Linnman was on hand for this bizarre and TRUE event. They have the thing on tape. And so without further ado, here is the true story of the dead and beached whale that the Oregon State Highway Division decided to blow up with dynamite because it was really smelly. Your comments would be appreciated, because I'm speechless.

Bad News vs. Good News

I don't like watching the news. It's creepy. The talking heads are lovely and articulate, but somehow robotic. How else can we explain the cold and seemingly effortless shift from a man who murdered his baby to the home run "so and so" scored last night, and then neatly close with some footage of Boofie the Pirate Dog? Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once wrote that "Hastiness and superficiality are the psychic disease of the 20th century and more than anywhere else this disease is reflected in the press." (Hmm, that one is worth reading again). Is this how I'm going to end my day? Reflecting on a hodge podge of happenings that happened while I was working? I was just fine until this pile of depressing things was poured into my living room (and I include Boofie the Pirate Dog here). I know, I know.... we have a responsibility to know what's going on; to enter into the world around us and experience things as a big 'ole human family. I agree; that's what I was doing all day. News is just sometimes so..... newsy. How many times do we hear or see news programs that find 5 instances of the same crime, neatly bundling them up for us as a recipe for panic and hysteria? Global warming is behind this. Solzhenitsyn continues; "In-depth analysis of a problem is anathema to the press. It stops at sensational formulas. Such as it is, however, the press has become the greatest power within the Western countries, more powerful than the legislature, the executive and the judiciary. One would then like to ask: by what law has it been elected and to whom is it responsible?" I think the power of the media can be likened to the power of Dr. Frankenstein. We've created a monster and we've zapped it with electricity and now it's taking over. Let's try and be a little more discerning about the stuff we "eat," with our brains as well as our bellies. Let's find news sources that are less sensational and a little more humane. We can really silence this media beast if we band together with the torches of truth and compassion. And if the monster feeds off of electricity, well, we can defeat it by... unplugging it. Now there's an idea... YIKES!

A Trip to the Video Gore, I Mean Store!

My dad's down from Maine and he stayed over our place this past weekend. On Friday night, we decided to "rent a movie" and just kick back casual style at the domicile. A little pizza, a little cinematic diversion... what could be more relaxing?

Now "renting a movie" at the video store is an activity practiced ritually by millions of Americans every day (and especially on Friday), even with the advent of Cable TV, Netflix, and those spy satellite dish thingees that you sometimes see resting ominously on people's homes, which allow you to access 348,431 channels ("I wish we had that Eskimo Cooking Tuscan Style Channel.... wait! We doooooo!")

Regardless of the plethora of programs available to us here, we still make our pilgrimage to "Movie Land Rentals!" in the hope that perhaps there we will find what our hearts are longing for... the quintessential "great movie." And some Jiffy Pop.

But what we find nearly every time we visit the video gore, I mean store, is an assault on our senses, and a degradation of the human person that one would think of finding only in a concentration camp. Here's where I get really serious... and angry.

- About a third of the DVD covers I perused in the "new releases" section had a twisted and bloody face, severed limbs, or a weapon of some sort on them (needles, chainsaw, axe, bombs, guns guns guns!)

- Another third showed half-naked women in various positions on them.

- Several movie covers had demonic faces peering out at us.

- Many of these were placed about twelve inches from the "children's section"

- The covers were nearly all at a child's eye level; some I had to stoop to investigate in my study of what Pope John Paul II aptly named a "culture of death."


Now, I'm sure none of this diet of violent or sexually explicit films has anything to do with the bad news we've been fed recently or with the ever increasing statistics of domestic violence, child porn, hate crimes, or homicides: the second grader who brought the handgun to school (right here in Philadelphia), or the teenagers who beat a homeless man to death a few months ago "for fun," or any of the school shootings that have taken place in the last decade:

Moses Lake , Washington 2/2/96
Bethel , Alaska 2/19/97
Pearl , Mississippi 10/1/97
West Paducah , Kentucky 12/1/97
Stamp, Arkansas 12/15/97
Jonesboro , Arkansas 3/24/98
Edinboro , Pennsylvania 4/24/98
Fayetteville , Tennessee 5/19/98
Springfield , Oregon 5/21/98
Richmond , Virginia 6/15/98
Littleton , Colorado 4/20/99
Taber , Alberta , Canada 5/28/99
Conyers , Georgia 5/20/99
Deming , New Mexico 11/19/99
Fort Gibson , Oklahoma 12/6/99
Santee , California 3/ 5/01
El Cajon , California 3/22/01
Blacksburg, Virginia 4/16/07


I mean, we all realize that what we see in the movies is just fantasy, right? And the games we let the kids play are just vehicles for them to get their anger out, or just have "fun" or relax; doing things in video games they can't do in the "real world"?

Hmmm... I remember learning, back in my art school days, that art always reflects the spirit of the age in which we find it. In other words, we can come to know a people by the art they make (like a window into their soul); through poems, paintings, music, and yes, the movies they create. If this is true, and I know it is, then what we can glean from our culture today is that we have reached a level of obsession with sex and violence that parallels if not surpasses the late decadence of the Romans before the fall of their empire. That's a sobering thought.

Ever hear of the expression "You are what you eat"? I wonder sometimes, as I see us perusing the isles of the Blockbusters across America, numbly leafing through piles of celluloid gore and sexual gratification, I wonder if it is the "thought that counts"?

I wonder sometimes if I should go cold turkey and unplug the beast. Go plant a tree. Watch a sunrise. Look at people and wonder about their lives.

Or maybe we need a return to the classics, to films that portray stories that are not violent for violence's sake, but redemptive in their portrayal of human love and suffering.

We ended up renting Blood Diamond, coincidentally a very violent film inspired by the bloodbaths in Sierra Leone where child soldiers and so many innocent were (and are) sacrificed for money and power. It was a powerful film that left the three of us in a reflective silence. It was ultimately redemptive.

So.... just a thought:

What are we eating with our eyes and ears? What are we "clicking on" and spending time with before we surf on to the next channel? Is it good for us? Does it build us up? Does it lead me to the light, or does it leave me in a fog and darkness?

"Pearls Before Breakfast"

I find myself gravitating towards the same thoughts and ideas lately; the concepts of wonder and awe, a sense of the sacred and the beautiful. I think it's because I'm hungry! I've been left hungry by the glitz and the shallowness of the media. And I hear real Beauty beckon, offering food for my soul.

I think many of us are hungry these days. We're fed so much garbage from our fast food culture. A friend of mine sent me an article from the Washington Post that for me was a total confirmation of these thoughts and inklings. The article (attached below) absolutely confirms what many feel is an illness, a malignancy, a cancer of the modern mind: that loss of a sense of wonder. An ignorance of beauty.

The Washington Post pulled off this incredibly sobering stunt a few months ago. The full article is here, with video clips from the hidden camera: http://tinyurl.com/29k6hu

The short of this very long article (so worth the read) is that we are moving too fast, living too fast, and passing by beauty sometimes without a second glance. In the case of this story, many of us are not only NOT stopping to smell the roses, but we don't even remember what a rose is anymore!

Joshua Bell, one of the world's great musicians, was asked to slip incognito into a D.C. Metro station during the morning rush hour, open up the case of his violin, and play some of the world's most beloved classical music of all time for the masses. The point? Would the people notice? Would beauty stop them cold, or would they coldly pass beauty by in the rush to "other appointments"?

Shakespeare once wrote that it was "strange that sheep's guts should hail men's souls from their bodies." Do they still? Can music still calm the savage beast in us and raise our minds to what is above?

I'd love to know your thoughts on this one! So read on!

http://tinyurl.com/29k6hu

I'll close with a favorite poem of mine. I was introduced to this one by listening to Bishop Fulton Sheen, who often quoted it in his talks. I think you'll see the parallel when you read the article. For what is the sound of music, even the most beautiful, when we discover that the Musician Himself has been with us all the while?

"When Jesus came to Golgotha they hanged Him on a tree,
They drave great nails through hands and feet, and made a Calvary;
They crowned Him with a crown of thorns, red were His wounds and deep,
For those were crude and cruel days, and human flesh was cheap.

When Jesus came to Birmingham they simply passed Him by,
They never hurt a hair of Him, they only let Him die;
For men had grown more tender, and they would not give Him pain,
They only just passed down the street, and left Him in the rain.
Still Jesus cried, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do,"
And still it rained the wintry rain that drenched Him through and through;
The crowds went home and left the streets without a soul to see,
And Jesus crouched against a wall and cried for Calvary.

- G.A. Studdert Kennedy (1883-1929)

Paintball is .... Fun?

My friend Joe is getting married in 6 days....

Yesterday, in an effort to celebrate this life-changing, grace-filled event wherein Joe will give himself and at the same time paradoxically find himself in marriage, committing to a sacramental communion with another human person, imaging the union of Christ and the Church in a real and mystical way, we decided to shoot paintballs at each other for 3.5 hours in Phoenixville.

Yup. We figured this was a "manly" activity worthy of Joe, who is a LionHeart of a soul. I tried to convince the boys that we should splash blue paint on our faces beforehand, and wear kilts like in the movie Braveheart... FREEEEEDOM!!!!!

Anyhoo.... before the Bachelor Party Dinner and high stakes poker began yesterday evening, a small band of brothers (4 of us who did not get the memo on the hazards of this "sport") gathered before the blue glow of the Internet at Joe's place. We typed "paintball" in the address bar and in 2.7 seconds, a whole new world of adventure and hideous pain opened up before us.

BELIEF: "Paintball is safe, fun, and inexpensive."

FACT: Paintballs are shot at your body and HEAD from semi-automatic airguns at roughly 200 miles an hour by perfect strangers who have "Paintball ROCKS" bumper stickers on their large camouflaged trucks. These people sprinkle paintballs on their cereal every morning.

BELIEF: Paintball is "an action game that is played by all walks of life."

FACT: Paintball is WAR and played mostly by teenagers who have been trained by Rambo himself and other special forces icons from our nation's history via very realistic video games.

BELIEF: This will be fun for Joe and quite a break for us all. A little fresh air and good times... good times.

FACT: I am completely exhausted and have muscle aches where I do not have muscles. Our activity served only to convince me that the expression "mind over matter" is like saying "cheese over planet earth."

Before each game, the referee (who wore a helmet and pads all over. Hmmm, curious...) would shout "Left side ready! Right side ready! Game starts in 10 seconds!!!!" They said this creates an eerie silence wherein we stare across the field of concrete bunkers or trees or large inflatable thingees, respectively, and get an "adrenaline rush." I would affirm that.

I will now describe my death-defying experiences of yesterday as a series of storyboards or sketches for your amusement, and as a warning to you. Take heed people. Take heed!

+ I'm crouching beneath a wooden bridge, in mud. Paint pellets whiz past like angry bees. The flag I need to capture is within reach. I toss up my hand for the prize and a splatter of pain ignites on my naked hand. In the distance, a 12 year old squawks victoriously from behind a concrete cylinder.

+ Leaping for life through a tangle of fallen trees, thorns and mud, I nearly lose a shoe before reaching a wooden door resting on a tree. Pellets pound and spray on its opposite side, knocking like the Big Bad Wolf. "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!!!" I toss my life to the wind and run, spitting paintballs at my "friend" Joe, my old housemate, my comrade for nearly ten years... and the groom-to-be. "EAT THIS!!" A paintball lands squarely in the middle of his mask, right between the eyes. His plastic face-shield looks like a breakfast of eggs, sunny side up.

+ With laser precision, Bob hurls a pellet at my gun hand and I drop it nozzle first in the mud. Anthony tore his flesh on a slab of concrete. I nearly shot a referee. By day's end, Bob's sweater looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. And then Joe sweetly ended the last round with a victory by reaching our "dead zone" unscathed!

+ I have welts the size of Rhode Island. They formed, curiously, an exact replica of the constellation Orion, the Hunter. The funny thing is, I felt more like the Hunted.

In all seriousness, it was a great day. Would I recommend this activity to others? HECK YES. Just be sure to take off work the next day!


_________________________________________

FROM ERIC SIBLEY'S WEBSITE
Paintball is an action game that is played by all walks of life. It is game where people are shooting a soft-shelled paintball that breaks, causing a mark on an opposing player. When a player is "marked" by a paintball, that player is out for the game. The rules section will help you to see the basic rules that are used by almost all fields. Paintball is played in wooded areas or on fields filled with giant colorful inflatable obstacles. Many people call what is used to shoot people a paintball gun, but as this sport tries to become more mainstream, there is a movement to call it a "marker" as it helps make the game seem less violent. You don't have to be rich to play paintball. If you want to go out for a first time then you can just rent equipment and have fun....

Jimmie vs. Creepy Bunny Man

When you stand back (or sit back on a bench like I did last night at the Cherry Hill Mall) and look at the wacky stuff we do in our culture, you might wonder why things aren't actually worse than they already are.

Case in point...
We had a FANTASTIC dinner and conversation with mom last night in NJ (Bahama Breeze, 5 stars!). Afterwards, Rebecca and I just popped into the mall for a "quick walk." As I was waiting for my lovely bride to exit a store, a six foot rabbit (Harvey?) walked past me and disappeared behind a large outcropping of plastic plants.


I was in the mall's "oasis" area - this is where you can find large palm trees, various ferny plants, goats, and water coalesced in fountains or in pools, which are full of coins (why do we throw our money into their stores AND into these pools?). In the "oasis" you can hide from the heat of great sales and the storms of intense shoppers, finding peace, and sometimes large rabbits. I guess I had forgotten all about the Easter Bunny thing. Or maybe I repressed it. Well, here he/she/it was, hopping back into my life, and into little Jimmie's life too. Poor kid.

There was a huge Bunny Throne Room set up in the "oasis." Here kids could come and pay homage to the Great Rabbit. The throne had all sorts of colored streamers on it, and plastic flowers and gummi worms. Jimmie's dad strode confidently through the fernage and exchanged a secret sign with the Easter Bunny's henchwoman, who was crouched behind a podium, clutching a neon whirly toy in her hand like a weapon (This torture device was later used to make Jimmie, how did she say it?.... "smile.")

"Smile, Jimmie! Smile!" They danced and jumped around, the dad and the Nasty Sidekick Lady, waving the torture device like a dagger. I thought of the old western movies where the bad guy's yelling "DANCE!" Pow! Blam! Then it got serious, because Jimmie for some strange reason, caged in the furry embrace of Creepy Bunny Man and being taunted with a neon swirly to "smile" wasn't smiling.

"Now why don't he smile?" growled the Henchwoman.
"Daddy!" Jimmie cried.
"Smile, James! For the love of all that's holy!! Just smile!!"

Whew.... spring and all. I know we get excited about the changes in the weather to come. I know rabbits are cute and candy is sweet. But the Easter Bunny is like... cute on steroids. It's like a Cute Monster that's grown out of its cage. I wonder if the things that are holy and sacred, like the true meaning of Easter and Christmas, I wonder if once we take away the holy we're left with a mutated substitute? And we feel we have to keep feeding it every year. But it doesn't have to be this way!

We wonder why kids start to doubt their faith and question us as they grow. Why not? Think of all the things that peel away as they grow up; Tooth Fairies, Santa Claus, Easter Bunnies.... who can blame them when they ask "Is God for real or just made up?"

Hmmm, we just hit deep waters. To be continued! In the meantime, "Smile America! SMILE!!"

Sometimes "Stinky" is Good

Years ago, I spent some time working as a groundskeeper at a beautiful garden estate in New Hampshire. It was a lush little plot of earth set right on the rugged New England coast, a stone's throw from the sea. Every day I'd drive the 'ole Chevy "Eurosport" Wagon (aptly named the Eggplant) down the winding ocean road to the gardens, to a place that was crammed with life: dozens of hybrid roses, delicate iris, a greenhouse packed with bougainvillea, cacti, ferns and flowers. The sea air was rich and fertile, pouring over us and into us from the Atlantic. The music of the waves was always soft and near. The irony was that in the midst of all this life, I was going through a kind of death.

It was a kind of "dark night of the soul." A deep fog surrounded me then, and life seemed suddenly like a pathless void. So, finding no clear path, I took to the soil. I tossed hay and trimmed roses. We hauled dirt and cut grass, kept the greenhouse green, and the plants well watered. It turns out the simple rhythm of the work in that rose garden was just what I needed. Sometimes I can think too much.

On the way home one day, I found a little church, coincidentally named for St. Therese, the Little Flower. It was right off the ocean road, just minutes from work! So I'd pop in time and again and lay my troubled heart on the altar. "Where am I going? What do I do now?" Things never got any clearer, but there was at least this daily act of the will to "lay things at His feet." Sometimes I think that's all we can do; like little kids with shoelaces all knotted up from running around, we go to Daddy to fix it. Some knots take longer to work out than others.

I see now His timing was perfect. I spent a few months with my brother, which was priceless. We had a rundown little apartment we jokingly named the "Palace," right next door to Sander's Fish Market. Right upstairs was the coldest, meanest old lobsterman you ever laid eyes on. He had his traps all over the backyard, never said a word to us. We called him "Mr. Happy."

Walks at night along the river between Maine and New Hampshire, to a pub for a pint or just out for fresh air, were so good for the soul. And our conversations were bonding. I'm so grateful for those days when the younger brother became the older. Looking back, there were lessons all around me. I was amazed to learn about the practice of trimming the rose bushes at just such a precise angle to prevent mold, or the covering of them with thick burlap when a chill was due. Don't we need to do as much, trimming our desires, and knowing when to conceal and when to reveal our hearts in the midst of this often cold world?

My favorite lesson might seem the most ridiculous. In the early days of spring, we covered those scented rosy beauties with..... horse poop. Now that's a fun job. What a parable there is in this one. Here's a flower famous the world over for its scent, and I'm putting horse poop at its roots? The lesson - Sometimes the stinky stuff is just what we need to help us grow. This puts a new twist on the experience of having a crappy day! Maybe we should actually wish for it! Any gardener will tell you that dark, smelly compost is so often what generates the most fertile, nutrient-rich soil. And horse manure for a good gardener is like gold... nuggets.

The question then, as we continue the Lenten journey: what's crappy in your life? What's the poop with you? Maybe it can turn into something efficacious? It depends on how we respond to the soil in which we're planted...