Playing the Back Nine

Some days there seems to be only one or two incidents that fuel the flame of awareness of something greater happening deep within us. Some days it takes a digital file full of ideas that come from a variety of sources to create one spark that will fuel a post for this blog. Just recently a couple of friends have lobbied to have their names mentioned in one of my blog entries.No matter how hard I tried to explain that I do not have a hierarchy of preferred companions to pray for and write about they continue to insist on having their names mentioned. I hate to tell them but I have been trying to follow a loosely defined plan and road map for this blog.Though it is quite obvious that sometimes there are people, situations and events that surface and influence some rethinking and editing of these entries.

Trying to select a single person or event to reflect on seem to form pages of ideas and events and choosing can become almost as difficult as a "Sophie's Choice" or as befuddling as selecting music or readings for my eventual potential memorial service(if folks aren't too busy.) So by the art and science of coin flipping and prayer for inspiration I have narrowed down the subject of this post to ...

Playing The Back Nine.

If, how and where we might worship God is really a private matter. I am a believer that God is in all things and God is everywhere all ways. Yes, I have experienced God on a golf course as well as in church or sailing on the bay or playing a catch with my girls. .But, if I am sure of anything about worship and prayer it is that The Loyola House of Retreats in Morristown , NJ is built on Holy Ground . http://www.loyola.org/default.php It is a place that one must experience to understand the power of grace and peace that exists there. It is the place I go to worship.

At a recent mass at Loyola, Fr. Bill used a phrase in his homily,sermon, "playing the back nine" as he discussed the finishing out of one's life, the last phase of our existance so to speak. The more I have thought about this the more I want to write a book about all the images that this prospect conjures. As a less than average golfer and humbled meandering pilgrim , the vision of having the energy, focus , skill and temperament to complete what I have started has haunted me for the past few days.

The older I get and the more experience I have at "playing the game" one would think that perfection or at least a bogey free round is in sight. But a funny thing about age is that with the accumulated awareness comes with the knowledge that youthful strength - filled muscles are weaker and of course there is a slight decrease in visual capability.Not to mention my hearing or listening loss that annoys the heck out of my daughters.

( Recently I purchased a sporty looking convertible and my daughter Leigh suggested that I am have an "Old Life Crisis" as compared to a "mid-life" one.)

Then there is the fear of my losing my "authentic swing" and second guessing about how I played the game and can I continue to play. But as with this golf course of life I have been slow to learn how to pace myself and to enjoy the beauty of nature surrounding me and the companionship of good friends with whom I have met and "played" . Somewhere along the way I have tried to learn not to take mistakes, bad swings and missed putts seriously. But time has left some wear and tear and some days fatigue sets in quicker than I anticipated. "It's age" my doc says. Some days I am not sure if I have the strength to finish . Some days I am afraid that I have lost my authentic swing . Some days I will look back and second guess "how I played" the game. Some days and some rounds are better than others. But I am learning to be grateful for the opportunity to play "this game" and do what I can to finish the round with joy, integrity, truth and dignity.

I used to advise a good friend, George, that "Golf is Golf," as he seemed to act as if the act of playing this game was a measurement of his personal success and pleasure . He seemed to take the "game" so seriously. Little did he know that I also had to learn that same lesson. Of course there are aspects of this experience that we need to take seriously ...how we love and serve God and others - are at the top of my list. But there is no doubt that I have had difficulty with adopting this principle and it seems appropriate that I had my first significant angina attack on a golf course over a year ago.A lesson I refuse to forget as it was the event that would lead to my bypass surgery and launch me into the new season of my second chance .

Last week another friend , Bernie , invited me again for one last round of golf before we "fall back." I know he was speaking about the changing of the clocks(getting dark earlier) and the anticipation of colder weather as markers of the end of another season of golf gone by.

I don't want to "fall back. " I want to move forward . I was reminded of the fictional character Bagger Vance who reminds the struggling talented young golfer Rannulph Junuh ...

"Inside each and every one of us is our one, true authentic swing. Something we was born with. Something that's ours and ours alone. Something that can't be learned... something that's got to be remembered..."

Bagger continues to advise Capt. Junuh

"...Put your eyes on Bobby Jones (the most prolific golfer ever)... Look at his practice swing, almost like he's searchin for something... Then he finds it... Watch how he settle hisself right into the middle of it, feel that focus... He got a lot of shots he could choose from... Duffs and tops and skulls, there's only ONE shot that's in perfect harmony with the Field... One shot that's his, authentic shot, and that shot is gonna choose him... There's a perfect shot out there tryin' to find each and every one of us... All we got to do is get ourselves out of its way, to let it choose us... Can't see that flag as some dragon you got to slay... You got to look with soft eyes... See the place where the tides and the seasons and the turnin' of the Earth, all come together... where everything that is, becomes one... You got to seek that place with your soul Junuh... Seek it with your hands don't think about it... Feel it... Your hands is wiser than your head ever gonna be... Now I can't take you there Junuh... Just hopes I can help you find a way... Just you... that ball... that flag... and all you are...

...Yeah the rhythm of the game just like the rhythm of life...

...Golf is a game that can't be won only played... "

The narrator Old Hardy Greaves summarizes for us -

"God is happiest, when his children are at play."

Then the character Old Hardy Greaves dies while playing his last hole and he goes home. Now there is another topic for another post.

amdg

Discerning - A New Season

"525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes - how do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life? How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love. Seasons of love...."
- Seasons of Love

Sometimes I get pleasantly surprised by the most simple yet beautiful events.
Recently a friend surprised me by recalling an old favorite quote.

"Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness. And they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy... or they become legend."
- Jim Harrison

I don't know why I get surprised so often , but I do! I guess I am easy. Sometimes I guess I don't have a great expectations for myself and am humbled by the wonder-filling surprising gifts I receive daily. The surprises begin sometimes as early as the pre-dawn hours when I decide to go out on my deck for some solitude and prayer. Recently there have been occasions of significant torrents of never-ending rain and increasing autumnal cold winds in the afternoon and evening hours. Then waking up the next morning I am filled with disappointment as I have an expectation to be relegated to sitting inside the comfort of my safe harbor for my quiet time. It is at that moment a new awareness surfaces as that the Noah type rain is gone and as I peer upward and the heavens are clear and filled with a million stars. Ginny calls me "Buddha" as I light a small candle, as it is still dark as night and ready my coffee and prayer journal next to my chair facing the forest that surrounds our yard. The momentary disappointment evaporates as peace and consolation wake within . The new day day and the new season are being born.

But it should be no surprise to the average pilgrim that surprising blessings come in all forms.Not too long ago I met a student who informed me and the class I was teaching that he was leaving the world of work to enter the monastery and to become a Capuchin Friar. Ironically the class is called "The Nature of Work." At our first class session he introduced himself by discussing his past and in general terms his vision and plans for the future. He had everyone intrigued. "Who in their right mind would leave the business world for religious life?",they thought. Though I really didn't know him well I don't believe I ever had a student who was quite open about his faith journey and who decided to answer the call of religious life. The student and I had a few side bar exchanges during class session breaks about faith and discernment. He seemed to delight in the fact that I am sort of a "Jesuit-phile"(as he called me) and he was curious that a lay college instructor would read and be interested in some of the similar books he reads and that we would have a mutual admiration for similar saints, well known religious and spiritual scholars.

(I read somewhere that the term "vocation" comes from the Latin "vocare" which was meant to indicate "To listen to the voice (calling) within." Sometimes I think there is a shouting deep within me calling"Wake up!" Sometimes I think I hear a whisper that is barely discernible saying "Trust me.".)

This college course would be his final class before his departure to begin his official postulancy and formation. He shared his excitement and anxiety as he began to embark on this journey into a new season in his life. When we said farewell we promised to keep in touch. But it seems that we always commit to staying in touch with new acquaintances we encounter along our journeys. This seems to happen a lot between instructors and their students. I had hoped that this would be different in that we would stay in touch. After a few weeks of no emails or calls I gave up on hearing from him. I didn't want to make the first move. I didn't know if he stuck with his personal pilgrimage or split for the outback in Australia. Then there was the second surprise with this encounter.Without notice months after he had departed I was a recipient of a broadcast email he sent to his former classmates. He was assigned to his postulancy in NY and he said he would appreciate hearing from us.

So a new season would begin for me also. The delightful surprising initial correspondence has now evolved into a mutual formation journey of sorts.I responded to his email. He responded to my response.Then I replied to his communique and so on and so on.He would write me at night and I have made reading his email and writing back to him part of my prayer exercise each morning after my reflection on my deck.We share experiences of the day, current readings and thoughts about life, struggles with faith, and our postulant odysseys . We pray for each other. I think his prayers are much more substantial and effective than my own attempts at humble contrition and supplication.

Here is a link that tells you a little more about my former student, Ron, and his journey. Since it is publicly posted , I am hoping that he won't object.

http://capuchin.org/vocations/stages/Reflections_FriarsinPostulancy

Here is a sample of what I have written to him recently

"...Sitting out on the deck this morning experiencing the first real chill of the autumn that is about to enter our lives the crickets' chorus reminds me of an old Joni Mitchell song:

'And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game'

The once bright greens are fading to yellow, orange and brown
some flowers seem to make a last statement before their demise
or is it that this is their time to celebrate ?
The sky appears more clear than usual and
the geese squawk their
way in formation home.
The ashes from the fire that burned the night before
bring consolation in the reflection and recollection of what was.
But the heart is sobered wth the awareness that what was will not be again.
The spirit needs to be filled with the gratitude
of the morning song of nature for the gift of the present...
as well praising with trust the great anticipation of what is to be.
My self centerdness drives me to desire to be transformed
and to welcome by celebrating the new season in my life.
Though grateful for waking to another day
I am hope-filled that my heart and spirit
are awakened to the presence of grace all ways. "

For all my family and my friends ..."listen to the voice of the great wonder of a new day and the gift a new season.May Peace constantly surprise you and be with you all-ways!







amdg