If The Crucifixion Was The Cure?

 If Christ’s crucifixion was the cure…then how bad was the sickness?

If the severity of the sickness is measured by the immense cost of its cure, then the sickness…the sin has to be considered a catastrophic, terminal, and all-pervasive spiritual disease afflicting all humanity.

 

It’s hard for me to grasp God’s thinking. If I were in God’s shoes this world would be on its own. It would be a sink or swim situation…your screw ups are your problem.

 

I’m glad not to be in charge. I am so thankful Jesus took the medicine for me. As a late arrival to the vineyard, I am grateful for the full day’s wages. That undeserved reward is my goal. 

 

Dear Lord 

Help me to understand your ways

When you come to set the world ablaze

Protect me from the evil one

Who strives to do your work undone

 

Thank you for your abundant grace

Please help me run and finish the race

I do not have to understand 

Why your love is so grand

Amen

Extinguishing Fires and Counting Candles

I huffed and I puffed and I blew out a few candles.  I coughed and I wheezed and I motioned for help.

It was only with the aid of my Echo leaf blower that I was able to extinguish the blazing inferno.

 

As I sit pondering the enormous number of smoldering candles it occurs to me… 80 candles…80%...80% done and 20% to go.  Perhaps 20% might be a bit optimistic. Not many folks live to be 100. Maybe 90 would be a bit more realistic.  Wow!  Do the math.  At 80 I’m almost done. 

 

According to a reliable source:

“Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”

Psalm 90:10

 

I’m having some concerns about the here-after. Not like the here-after when you go to the kitchen for something and when you get there you wonder what am I here after.

 

Why is it that the reality of the here-after is seen more clearly thru a plume of candle smoke? 

I need to make plans for the future…plans for the here-after…plans for eternity. Precisely where do I want to spend it? 

 

Dear Lord Jesus; 

When I look back at my definite lack

Of the attention I have given you 

It is sorely clear that I should fear 

The reward that I am due. 

 

If it’s not too late at this untimely date 

I’d like to change my tune

Could you please spare in your loving care

This selfish arrogant buffoon. 

 

Amen.

Happy Anniversary

On this very date Dec 23^rd1967, the eve of Christmas Eve, I remember being spoon-fed these words “for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health…” 

With youthful optimism I repeated the phrase.  At that time I did not truly grasp the true meaning of those words.  

Thank the Lord for fifty-seven years of better, fifty-seven years of richer, and fifty-seven years of health and thanksMiss Mary for all your patience, perseverance and pleasing personality.  Maybe the worse, the poorer and the sickness are yet to come.  But from this day forward I promise to love you and honor you all the days of my life.

Thank you Lord, for putting Miss Mary in my life. Thank you for such a wonderful blessing. 

 

Dear Lord, Jesus

 

It is you I thank for this marvelous life

It is you I thank for a wonderful wife

It is you I thank for all the years

Filled with joy and very few tears

 

And on this date I thank my mate

For she has made the journey great

Now I can see when looking back

You're the one that kept us on track 

 

There is no way I can repay

For the blessings you've sent my way

So on this day I do pray 

You hear this “Thank You” that I say

 

Amen.

 Dec 23, 1967-Dec 23, 2024

 

Turning My Nose Up

I‘ve never considered myself to be very sophisticated.  I’m more of the “wipe your nose on your sleeve” type of fellow.  But still I find the language on TV shows like “Yellowstone” or “Landman” a bit too rough for me.  

Believe me I know all the bad words and I’ve been guilty of using them in my younger years.  

 

But I wasn’t very good at cussing or cursing. It just didn’t roll off my tongue as it did with the other guys in the service.  They could use the “F” word in the same sentence numerous times and as numerous parts of speech: noun, pronoun, verb, adjective, adverb, preposition, conjunction and interjection.  It was quite amazing. 

 

At the time my decision to quit wasn’t a morality thing but I felt it showed a lack of command of the English language and a dreadful deficiency in my vocabulary.

 

I’ve gradually come to believe that what comes out of my mouth shows the condition of my soul.

 

If you take the bible seriously it seems to indicate that what is spoken with the tongue comes from the heart...and there you have it.

 

I must be getting old and times must be changing. Now day’s women’s lexicon has become worse than any Marine I ever know.

 

Dear Lord, help us return to a more classy time with softer tongues and softer hearts.

 

Amen. 

Mom’s Ole Pan

 Tis the season to drag out the ole vintage two piece aluminum Ware-Ever fruit cake pan that collects dust in the dark reaches of the lower cupboard.  This is the same pan my mother used to bake that fascination of my childhood memory.  I’ve never found her recipe but each year I try to duplicate her masterpiece of candied fruits, raisins and spices. Unfortunately I’ve never quite achieved her level of perfection. Perhaps the secret lies in the meticulous process of seasoning. Each day for months she would remove said cake from the sealed tin and apply a dose of old #7 Tennessee sour mash to that ring of goodness. 

Come Christmas the aroma of “fruitcake” left one reeling in anticipation of each bite.  
So I’ll try again… remembering mom and all the love and care she put into all her endeavors.  

Today, June 11

 Today 58 years ago is the day I lost my parents and sister in a plane crash. Today would be Mom and Dad's 58th wedding anniversary. They were married for 27 years and I was present for some 20 of those years. They were a team that could not be separated. Although I try my childish best to play one against the other it never worked. My dad was a disciplinarian and I was a rebel. It is only as I look back in time that I appreciate my father.

Today’s Sunday Mass intentions were for the three souls of that plane crash. 

I love you Dad, Mom and Susan. 

 

PS. My Father’s sister’s birthday is also today. Happy 101st birthday Aunt Vivian. 

Mother’s Fruit Cake

Each year I search my mother’s old cookbooks in vain looking for that Christmas fruitcake recipe, a recipe lost in time. I remember as a child that once a year she would prepare this culinary delight that took a couple of months to properly season. Each day she would remove the round tin from it’s hiding place, pour a jigger of Jack Daniels best over the cup towel wrapped cake then return it to the closet’s top shelf, out of the reach of children.  

This year’s attempt at replicating her masterpiece again fell short of my expectations.  Maybe I have embellished my recollections or just perhaps it is missing the love and care mother bake into this special treat.

Merry Christmas, 

Mom 

Young Women and Classic Cars

 I find myself attracted to young women and classic cars with their timeless body style and stunning appearance. 

 

But then I have to remind myself that both are a source of unending problems.

 

Under that bonnet…that hood…looms a monumental amount of maintenance.

 

That’s when a grin creeps across my face and I realize that I’m perfectly content in the company of my older wife with her fantastic personality and my newer car with no personality.

 

And so it is…my on going battle with concupiscence.

 

Thank you Lord for all my blessings.  Especially the amazing Miss Mary you put in my life…not to mention a reliable vehicle.

  

Amen.

The Graph Of Knowledge vs. Ignorance

As I perused the sheets of my notebook tearing out pages, lots of pages, of incoherent thoughts, scribbling and half-baked ideas…I came across this musing.  

 

I have always considered myself a person of logic or at least tried to be. Everything should make sense.  There should be a formula or axiom explaining all phenomenon…like Newton’s law.  Proven axioms like the gravitational pull between two bodies. Rules like…for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Formulas like Einstein’s law of relativity. 

 

I like math.  Math has a set of rules that always remain the same. Two plus two is always four, now and forever. Liberal arts, language and history are all far too nebulous.  In my little OCD brain I want everything to be two plus two, no fuzzy math for me, thank you.  I just can’t handle that abstract stuff.  I believe that on the imaginary chart of knowledge versus stupidity there is a point where the lines cross and knowledge is equal to a big zero. 

 

Where knowing everything equals knowing nothing.  Where wisdom and foolishness equal the same thing.  

 

Perhaps this is where faith and hope come in. Where there is no real understanding of the principles involved.  I like to think I understand stuff like how airplanes fly.  But do I?  What is all that mumbo-jumbo about air moving faster over the top of the wing creating a low-pressure zone that sucks the wings up into the sky?  Really? I can’t see the air molecules or what ever it is doing whatever…but I know it works.  Why?  Why should I believe that gibberish?  I have proven that it works… many times I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.  I have no need of faith; I have the proof…even though I don’t understand how it works.        

 

I have decided to go with the belief in God.  I accept God and his Word…hook, line and sinker…all on blind faith...whether I understand or not.

 

Clearly, I don’t have to understand something for it to be true. 

 

  

High Flight   by  John Gillespie Magee Jr.

 

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings,
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

 

FLYING BACK IN TIME

Like a magnet attracts iron my eyes are pulled skyward when I hear the distant droning of an aircraft engine as it passes overhead.  My thoughts are drawn back into the past as I recall the trips, adventures and marvelous sights I experienced over my years as a pilot.  The challenge of planning flights, dealing with navigation, prognosticating the weather and communicating with ATC (Air Traffic Control) was a source of unexplainable euphoria.  

 

In the summer there is something about weaving your way through columns of cumulus clouds as you watch the warm moist air condense into snow-white cotton balls as it rises above the dew point.  

 

I can’t explain the peaceful joy of cruising the winter skies in flawless smooth air with the steely blue extending into outer space.   

 

There is nothing like the feeling of a silk smooth landing.  I always preferred to credit it to skill rather than luck. 

 

Flying was a hobby but a hobby like a cancer that I could not cure.  Getting the ratings: private, instrument, commercial, instructor, floatplane, multi-engine, and aircraft mechanic was all consuming.

 

The floatplane license in Alaska was an incredible experience.  I had a hard time concentrating on the flying for all the amazing scenery; crystal clear lakes rugged mountain cliffs and pristine forests cluttered with wild life.  

 

Moose Pass, Alaska

I enjoyed instructing students.  Getting the student to land the plane without killing us was the ultimate accomplishment.  The challenge of sitting on my hands and telling them what to do and when to do it was more fun than actually doing it myself.

 

They say flying is hours of mind numbing boredom punctuated by moments of stark terror.  Those moments, those “Never Again” lessons, those mistakes are learning experiences, but small mistakes can be fatal in aviation. The more I learned the more I realized how much I didn’t know.

 

I had the privilege of logging something north of 4000 hours without killing myself or anyone else.  I loved ever minute of it, all 240,000 minutes of it, but it was time to quit.

 

I’m old and gray, I look to the sky

Where eagles soar and angels fly

I have to thank the Lord above

Who kept me safe in all His Love.

Amen.

 

Nashville, TN

My 1st Airplane, C-150

Fort Yukon, Alaska

Traveling The Back Roads Of My Childhood Memories

  At the suggestion of my sister we decided to visit our soon to be one hundred year old aunt who had fallen and broken her hip.  In spite of the obvious statistical probability of a poor outcome…she came through the surgery fine. 

So, we set off on a trip to the land of my ancestors, Hessmer, Louisiana…the land of swamps, rice fields and bad roads.  Aunt Vivian, my father’s youngest sister, was so glad to see us, so gracious, so warm, so welcoming but she had no idea who we were.  Time had erased her memory.  Our visits were short as she tired quickly.  The fact that she had no clue who we were made it difficult to carry on a conversation.  Even a conversation of days gone by challenged Aunt V’s memory.  She could not remember her brother, my father, or even her own son.  But when we recited the Rosary she never missed one word…not one prayer did she forget.  

  Between several short visits we went about looking at the old houses of our grandparents, aunts and uncles recalling fond memories of the days of my childhood.  

  We poked around in the cemetery digging up recollections of all those relatives with all the different personalities, quirks and idiosyncrasies.

We wondered about the people and events of the past wishing we had asked more questions back then.  And now there is no one around to give us the answers.

  We had questions about Aunt “Zoe”, Uncle Dennis, Momma’s house and lots of questions about Papa.  Papa, my dad’s dad, my grandfather, Papa Sam the man we didn’t know and no one talked about.  I always wondered if he was some sort of government secret agent. And now we’ll never know.

  And then on to Crowley, LA, my mother’s side of the family, the home of Grandpa, Grandma and Aunt T.  For my entire childhood I thought her name was “T” only to find out they were saying “Auntie”.  Her real name was Ophelia. 

Anyway we toured the cemetery and checked out the headstones.  We drove past the old boarded up appliance store (214 2^ndSt) grandpa used to own and (2nd and N Ave) where Auntie's house used to be. Sadly her house had burned to the ground some years ago.  We meandered passed the Rice Hotel, no longer in operation, but the sign still announcing it’s existence.  Aunt Ophelia worked there as the switchboard operator as long as I can remember.

  Traveling the back roads of my childhood memories is always an introspective journey.  Now I’m the one approaching the end of the road and wondering if I should leave some sort of bread crumb trail, some documentation, something more than a patronizing tombstone epitaph. Possibly some of my descendants might have questions. 

Hessmer, LA

Papa 

Auntie

214 2nd Street

Grandma & Grandpa

The Other Side Of Maturity

I find myself regressing back to a child like state.  Both mentally and physically I am aging,  getting old, becoming elderly. 

I catch myself wondering if my fly is unzipped in the middle of church.  

 

My birthday count has exceeded my moronic IQ.  All my conversations are about aches and pains or my latest medical operation.

 

No matter how you put it…when your brown hair turns gray and your gray matter turns to a mushy brown substance you have to start wondering about what comes next.

 

I’m not really worried about leaving this world…as most of the items on my bucket list have been checked off.  I’ve never missed a meal…I’ve definitely been blessed.  But…my concern is “Judgment Day” and the all-just God.  I am not interested in receiving a just reward.  I am hoping that an all-merciful Jesus will step in and give me an undeserved reward.  

 

 

Selfishness is not the thing to do.

Of your rules I had no clue.

I wanted to have and eat my cake.

Finding true happiness far too late.

 

Forgive me, Lord, for what I messed up.

Give me courage to drink from the cup.

When I arrive on that big day.

Mercy is for what I pray.

 

Amen

Philosophy and Funerals

As my birthday count gets closer to the three-digit category I’m starting to recognize more names in that section of the paper toward the back.  

 

As of late I’ve attended a plethora of funeral and perused numerous obituaries of folks in my age group.

 

All of this has given rise to thoughts of my own departure from this planet and how my obituary will read.

 

I can only imagine it will be nothing more than a blank page with two dated separated by a dash and a small footnote than reads.

 

“He came into the vineyard at the very last hour of the day in the hope of receiving an undeserved reward…even though he had no grape picking shills.”

I’m Not OK

Rain or shine I get up every morning and do the same routine. I stumble to the bathroom, climb onto the scales in the hope that I’ve lost a few pounds during the night, dress myself and ingest that handful of pills required for old people. Then I’m off to 6 AM Mass. Maybe it’s just a habit because I seem to do lots of daydreaming and thinking about everything under the sun instead of paying attention to what is going on at the altar. 

Then from out of left field, without fail, I’m jerked back into reality by some uncontrollable feeling that washes over me causing me to hold my breath and clinch my teeth while a tear creeps down the crevasses of my wrinkled face.

 

I may be crazy but it is in that moment that I realize that I’m NOT OK but God loves me anyway. 

Thank you Lord for your love

I’m so glad you sent that Dove

I am week but you are strong

So always let me sing your song. 

Amen.

Aches and Pains

When I get these little twinges…these little reminders of my age…I can’t help but think of my grandmother, my father’s mother. She wanted us kids to call her “Mama” because she said “Grandmother” made her feel old. I was just a child at the time while Mama was probably in her late 50’s. I recall her constant complaining about aches and pains. Us kids thought she was just a grumpy old lady. 

 

But now as I approach my 80’s I can really appreciate exactly where she was coming from. The mere process of getting up from a chair requires a lot of mental determination. 

 

I’m convinced these little aches and pains are God’s way of making me to think about the future…the eternal future…and where I want to spend it. Do I want to spend eternity without aches and pains or the place of aches and pains…a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth?  

 

I say I believe…but…am I doing God’s will or am I just saying “Lord, Lord”?

 

Mathew 7:21

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.

 

A child was I with no need of the cane

I ran about and knew no pain

But now as I circle the drain 

This old body is my bane. 

 

It seems a bit insane to me

To spend a painful eternity

When The Lord has paid my fee

By hanging on that dreadful tree. 

Amen.

Theology?

To me it seems there is a difference between knowing about God and knowing God. 

 

I knew about God…because I was born into a church going, rosary saying, dyed in the wool Catholic family.

 

But, from an early age I was a skeptic.

I can’t say that I didn’t believe there was a God.  

But, l didn’t get it. 

God seemed like a judgmental potentate living in some galaxy…far faraway…or like some “pissed off” pasha who wanted to send me to a fiery hell for not following all the “impossible to keep” rules.  Besides church was boring.  

 

To me…Church consisted of a lot of finger waging, guilt tripping and a lot of unnecessary pomp and circumstance.

 

I certainly did not feel the love.

 

I recall the incident, with vivid clarity…the Sunday I decided I was not going to church…and I didn’t.

 

A second grader at the time, I can still see myself sitting on the back porch steps…shined shoes, combed hair and that shirt my mother made from a chicken feed sack. 

 

That was when the feed store sold feed in 50# cotton sacks with really nice prints.  The feed store was a…    

Oh!  But I digress.  

 

There I sat…on the back porch step pondering the possible consequences of my actions.

 

When my folks returned from Mass my father administered some parental discipline…the kind he wore around his waist to hold up his trousers. 

 

I attended Mass after that…but only physically...mentally, I was who knows where. 

 

And so it was...I spent the next 40 years of my life trying to hide from God… wandering in a desert of secularism…lost in a sea of selfishness…trapped in some self-serving black hole. I went to church because it was less painful than the alternative.

I wanted to run with the big dogs…turning over trashcans and sticking my nose into places it didn’t belong…but my parents kept me on a very short leash. 

 

I’m not good at remembering dates but I remember this one.

June 11, 1965…the day a private plane crash took both my parents lives. 

 

Events like this will cause you to stop and think.  One of my thoughts was: “nowI can do what Iwant to do”.  How self-centered is that?

I never told my father “I love you”.…I love you Dad…

I married.  Married for selfish reasons…it was more lust than love. I had no clue about the real definition of love, unconditional love; which is willing the good of the other without any consideration for what you will get out of it.

 

 I went to church because she expected me to…I did notlike sleeping in the doghouse. 

 

But 40 year of doing things my way...40 years of trying to hide from God…my house of cards collapsed.  It was a house built on sand…the house Jesus talks about inMathew 7:27

 

My life was an absolute mess.

 

My business was going down like the Titanic, my marriage was on the rocks, and I was sinking in debt.

 

My ship had sailed…and I was left sitting on the dock of doom and gloom. 

 

At that point living had no meaning.  All my dreams of success and living “happily ever after” had been washed away.

 

I wanted to die.  I didn’t have the courage to shoot myself. But, I felt like dying. 

 

Bemoaning my situation…I sat beneath that orange and white striped roof trying to drown my troubles with a “What-a-sized” double meat/double cheese and extra fries.

 

Despair and depression must have been written all over my face...

 

Because, this fellow, I barely knew, came over and asked me “Are you OK?”

 

Strangely, I dumped my entire load of troubles and tribulations on him. 

 

After patiently listening he asked me    and I quote.

 

“Have youever taken Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?” 

 

“You have to say it out loud.” He emphasized.

 

Dumbfounded and speechless...I nodded politely and thought to myself “I’m Catholic...

That sounds like some Billy Graham stuff.  

But…wait…this guy is Catholic.

So what’s going on?

 

Now…I’ve never been accused of being the brightest student in the class (believe me I’ve got the report cards to prove it.)

 

So…for the next two weeks I struggled with this Jesus thing. 

I just could not get Him out of my head.  

 

I couldn’t sleep.  I started to say the only prayer I knew by heart…the “Our Father”… I would repeat it over and over until it put me to sleep.

 

I had tried doing things my way and it was an utter disaster.

 

Finally…out of options…and reckoning I had nothing to loose.  

 

I swallowed hard and in a sheepish, quivering voice…making sure no one was listening...I said it. 

 

“Jesus, I take you as my Lord and Savior”

 

Words cannot express and I cannot describe the feeling of relief and liberation that came over me. 

Some how I knew I was going to be OK…I didn’t understand how but I knew. I could see a glimmer of light; Jesus had rolled back the stone from my grave.

 

Gradually one problem after another was resolved in ways I could have never imagined…  in a way I could not have possibly brought about myself…it had to be some supernatural power.

It was as much of a miracle as the blind made to see, the lame to walk or the leper healed. 

But life continued...with all its trials and tribulations, problems with children, problems with everyday life. 

These were trying times. And I will have to admit that my prayer life would not be what it is today if it had not been for these challenges. I can’t imagine enduring these times without Jesus.

 

I have come to realize that some of the worse disasters turn out to be our biggest blessings.

 

When I look back on my life I now recognize that Jesus has always, always taken care of me…even when I would not have given HIM as much as the time of day. 

 

Jesus literally saved me…saved me from myself.

 

Like the Psalmist says:   “Give praise to the Lord, for he is good: his mercy enduresforever.”  Psalm 118:1  (Retreat theme)

 

Now.  Do I really know about God?  Do I really understand God?   Do I really believe in God?  

 

My God is an unbelievable God…my God does unbelievable things.

If I don’t fully understand Einstein’s  (E=mc2), calculus or chemistry then how can I really understand the Crucifixion? 

Understanding and believing are two different things.

I choose to believe…I choose to trust in God.

I choose to believe in an unbelievable God because he has done unbelievable things for me. 

I believe because, deep down in my bones I know God loves me. 

 

I know because when I think of Jesus hanging on that cross…I have to bit my lip to hold back the tears.

 

At Mass…

While my body tries to maintain a pious posture…my eyes stray to a pretty face, a palomino ponytail, or some inappropriately tight dress. 

 

In spite of my mental inattention and daydreaming…there is always that moment …that moment when I realize I’m the one at the Last Supper dipping my hand into the same the dish with Jesus…I’m the one warming myself by the fire in Caiaphas’ courtyard as that cock crows…I’m the one at the foot of the cross hearing the words “forgive him, he doesn’t have a clue”…these are the moments when this feeling washes over me like a giant wave that comes crashing down leaving me gasping for air, 

chocking back tears, 

and struggling to keep emotions afloat. 

 

The thought that Jesus loves me…selfish me…is overwhelming.

 

Listen to Isaiah chapter  55 verse 8 & 9

For My thought are not your thoughts,

Neither your ways my ways,

Declares the Lord.

 

As the heavens are higher than the earth,

So are my ways higher than yours ways

And my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

 

God’s ways are not my ways. His ways are a paradox. His ways seem backwards, counterintuitive…but I can tell you

 God’s ways work.

So what do I know about theology?

Not much…but I do know this:

 

Jesus, If not for You I would be lost.

For You have died and paid the cost. 

It is Your love I truly savor.

So here’s to You my Lord and Savior.

 

Amen.