For some there comes a time when a second chance is given.That time then becomes a celebration of the unrecognized gifts of the past and humble gratitude for the wonder of present.
This then is a collection of reflections and comments on life,work,love and faith to be sung ,and danced to, in thanksgiving for a second chance.
"Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems. " - Ranier Maria Rilke
March moving slower than a flight of geese against a north wind to an end of a season conjures a final avalanche of memories and great expectations. This is the time when the sun is supposed to proclaim reconciliation. This is the time of the restrained sacred celebration of once barren trees. This is the time crocuses pop pointing heavenwards through the once frozen landscape.
Birds of last summer return choraling praise and gratitude sweetly interrupting the early morning silence. Wakened bear thirsts for the promise of fresh nourishment after months of darkness. Humans believe their springing clocks forward will buy them extra time of holy light and warmth. Sixty-four hardwood warriors battle down to a final four.
Garden tools sharpened. The soil is tilled. Seeds are planted. Faith is restored. That which is sown will be reaped. Flowered bonnets adorn storefront windows calling out to prospective owners seeking something new in their lives. Hoards of coeds invade southern climate beaches renewing ancient Greek traditions of Dionysian celebrations of the vernal equinox. Fear of the Ides comes and goes without drama. St. Patrick’s teachable shamrocks line windows of taverns pouring pints of stout. The Smell of linseed oiled gloves and the appearance of cleaned spikes signal that diamond parks are ready to be invaded.
Rose Sunday, “Rejoice oh Jerusalem!” The vessel prepped for launching. Flicks of blue bottom paint from youthful spirits find their way to their smile gifted faces and a newly winter cleansed car.
“Don't worry. It’s just a car , right dad?’
The voice of innocence, seed of truth penetrating the aging pilgrim with purpose, bringing gifts to the altar. The snow that seemed as if it would never leave slowly succumbs to the Easter that is just a horizon away.
This morning
two birds
fell down the side of the maple tree
like a tuft of fire
a wheel of fire
a love knot
out of control as they plunged through the air
pressed against each other
and I thought
how I meant to live a quite life
how I meant to live a life of mildness and meditation
tapping the careful words against each other
and I thought—
as though I were suddenly spinning like a bar of silver
as though I had shaken my arms and lo! they were wings—
of the Buddha
when he rose from the green garden
when he rose in his powerful ivory body
when it turned to the long dusty road without end
when he covered his hairs with ribbons and the petals of flowers
when he opened his hands to the world
“The lesson lies in learning
by teaching I will be taught
For there is nothing
Hidden anywhere
It is just all there
To be sought”
- Look to your soul, Procol Harum
Who would think that the joy of the Super Bowl trophy returning to Titletown would be short lived?
The heart started breaking when it saw how those who are of the “noble profession” are being treated in various parts of the country. Proof positive that ignorance is the enemy. Maintaining the status quo in this blog and being silent about this issue would be compliance. There is a persistent fear that the oft idealized profession and teachers portrayed in books and movies such as The Blackboard Jungle, To Sir with Love , Dead Poets Society , Mr. Holland’s Opus, Dangerous Minds, Mona Lisa Smile , Music of the Heart, Freedom Writers and so many many more may become fantasies and ineffable anomalies to future generations.
(The job posting and conditions of employment below appeared in a nightmare about what is happening in Wisconsin, Providence , RI , New Jersey and New York.)
Needed individuals who are compassionate and caring. They will be passionate about their “work” and their clientele equally. These employees are to open doors so their clientele may recognize and use their own God-given gifts. These clients then can, without fear, identify their own verse in the great play and make their own lives extraordinary . Candidates will go out of their way to mentor their charges by freely giving their expertise as well as being a role model demonstrating a positive attitude about aspects of life . These individuals will be expected to always be enthusiastic.Their personal values will meet the highest moral and ethical standards where they will be admired by peers , supervisors and the general community. It is expected that the significant candidates in this career will maintain a high level of subject matter expertise as well as intellectual rigor for their own continued growth and development.
Candidates will be innovators and creative in their delivery of their services. Core competences required for the position include flexibility and adaptability to the changing environment inside and outside the organization. Successful employees then must be adept with leading edge technology and how it impacts their profession and their clientele. Terms such as “sherpa”, “coach”, “encourager”, “servant”, “counselor” and “facilitator” will be defining qualitative factors of their role. The ability to communicate on all levels at all times and in all circumstances will be an essential measurement of success. Assuring that their charges are equipped with the appropriate tools, knowledge and skills at the completion of their relationship will also be considered to be a minimum performance standard for all hired.
There will also be some basic conditions of employment that must be subscribed to, including but are not limited to:
• Individuals in these positions will have a specific schedule but must be available at all times for emergencies and other organizational considerations. (24/7)
• It is expected that qualified candidates will take a personal interest in the needs and achievement of everyone of their charges personally
• They must be 100 % responsive to all groups who have a stakeholder interest in the success of their clientele as well as the overall institution.
• These individuals will work under all conditions, positive , mediocre and adverse.
• If any level of management exhibits any type of incompetence the candidates are expected to remain silent about their concern.
• Compliance and silence will be expected when basic personnel practices and procedures are violated by supervisory personnel.
• Candidates challenging any action of supervisors or management will be considered disloyal to the clients and the overall mission of the organization.
• Membership in any organization that attempts to protect the interests and integrity of the employees will be considered a disloyal and rebellious act.
• If these employees are ever suspected of violating any real or perceived law they will be dismissed summarily without due process.
• Their day to day and continued employment is completely at the will and discretion of others and can be adjusted in the blink of an eye.
• Assignments and job duties can also be altered at the whim of management.
• Expression by the employee of any political or religious view that might considered contrary to that of management is considered a dismissible offense.
• Total compensation including benefits for all college degreed candidates will always be less than the compensation of comparable careers for college graduates in the private sector.
• Additional supplies and tools needed to successfully complete the job performance will be paid for in full by the employee.
• Management can add to or subtract from these conditions of employment without any notice to anyone anytime.
Each of the above required competences and conditions of employment will be multiplied by a factor of ten for all employees for at least 40% less pay in private and parochial schools.
Teaching is the only major occupation of man for which we have not yet developed tools that make an average person capable of competence and performance. In teaching we rely on the "naturals," the ones who somehow know how to teach.
~Peter Drucker
Teaching is the profession that teaches all the other professions. ~Author Unknown
A good teacher is like a candle - it consumes itself to light the way for others.
~Author Unknown
“We sanctify all we are grateful for” – A. DeMello SJ
I am grateful for the teachers who encouraged me to be me.
I will never, ever forget !
“…Use my body like a car,
Taking me both near and far
Met my friends all in the material world…”
-Living in The material World, George Harrison
“To everything there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under heaven…”
- Ecclesiastes, 3: 1-2
Sometimes the world changes in the blink of an eye, the taking of a breath or the beat of a heart. Before one has a chance to have another thought everything that was has been transformed. It is almost as if that everything that was is now a memory and that which is to come is a new challenge and experience ineffable until it too has been experienced and then is past. Suddenly that source of comfort, security and familiarity is swept away. That long winding road ahead takes a sudden turn and everything is new again.
It is guaranteed that if you were to suggest to Hawk Hill Girl number 2 that her eyes welled up with tears as she said a final farewell to her faithful friend she would deny it, once, twice and even a third time. Her companion and protector for the past few years would no longer be a part of her. Digital representations online and in photographic journals would become the prompts to conjure the memories of journeys taken together and how they survived unforecasted storms. One day they were cruising along together on the roads of life to work, to school and to play with blasting beats and harmonies when suddenly without warning the companion stopped as if to say “Please, no more.”
The grateful eulogy about those incidents when she was protected from harm poured forth from her heart. There is no greater gift but to give one’s life for a friend. Her mother contributed her voice to the lament of the requiem, but she is also one proud not to show too much emotion, she reverently touched the cold resting body as if to say “Thank you for being good to my daughter and farewell good friend.”
“We are known by our friends,” a homilist suggested.
Isn’t it interesting how we let attachments to people and things define or influence who we are? We all know we are not those things or people and they are not we but some how mystically and maybe magically a unique bond is often made between us that of this world. Sometimes it seems that these things or people have been coincidentally placed in our path to help us along until we can strike out with our own voice. Maybe it is true that there is a purpose to all things. Maybe the divine intervention is greater than we can imagine. Ignatius says God is in all things. Some eastern teachers suggest Buddha comes in all forms.
So it was for number 2 and her companion, they became one…bold, adventurous, independent, no terrain forbidden, hope-filled, confident and ever strident. If you saw the companion it was easy to think number 2 and often the opposite was true. Then that unforeseen moment surfaced when the old friend would say farewell. All that had gone before was a formation process. Some behaviorists call this individuation while others suggest that as the universe constantly expands nothing stays the same. “Impermanence is life” write the cloistered Tibetan monks. The body, mind and spirit simply evolve say others.
Sometimes human nature often struggles to hold onto what has been and who has been with us during our experiences of maturation. That attachment to those and that which have been an essential part of the molding our own being can sometimes fetter us from becoming who we are meant to be. Some of us need more time and help in the art of becoming that we are. Then there are a few of those who seem to have been planted in holy ground and blossom with amazing grace.
It was in this situation that her once reliable friend had aged quickly. The miles traversed together were beginning to show their wear and tear. Tried, true and tested it was time. She was the vessel that delivered freedom and now she was being set free, her mission fulfilled. Her name appropriately described her purpose - Liberty. As the family departed leaving her behind in her stillness she somehow broke the silence and said, “And, Thank you.”
A new journey with new adventures awaits the rogue warrior as she is welcomed to who she is to become. Though we are aware that things and others do not define who we are, we are sometimes fortunate to be cognizant of role others have played in the birthing of our own identity. The formation taken place and complete there comes that moment when it is right to be grateful for the blessing and move on to the next chapter.
She gave one last glance farewell to her resting black Jeep Liberty.
"For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning."
—T.S. Eliot
Where is Joseph Campbell when we need him? Great myths remain to be explicated!
So many queries need to be resolved and a substantive discernment is imperative in order to examine the convoluted origins of purpose.
Some unpublished storyteller continues to weave the fable about that lost boy pilgrim dreaming of canvas tightening to catch the breeze just right to head out onto uncharted waters. Another myth had that boy watching in wonder the effortless soaring of God’s favored feathered friends. “To be free” was the oft whispered mantra .”An inner voice said “Just think good thoughts.” Maybe these storyteller are just confused .
Paintings of sloops and ketches would stop the boy dead in his tracks. His trance would transport him into the painting on the shore or even on the deck with the salted wind brushing his face as he prepared to come about on a starboard tack. When in the actual presence of real vessels either moored or under sail offshore he felt as if he was standing at the gates of heaven. Though surrounded by lakes, ponds and bays he remained landlocked as those odyssean dreams dissolved.
Beguiling guitars and girls gradually goaded the pilgrim into another world.
He was also quick to break his covenant concerning passing that math test and committing to priesthood. No one explained to him how God does not forget and how God also forgives. There was a plan, or at least an outline of a potential chartered course that would remain a mystery. What the lost boy didn’t disclose was that the fears, the gratitude and peculiar perceptions concerning these dreams and distractions would be secretly recorded in once virginal volumes. The storytellers said that they may hold the key…but again the musings within those pages might be a diversion.( maybe the Hawk Hill girls will eventually decide the veracity and worth-whileness .)
But it was the admiration of the freedom of the flight of the feathered friends that changed everything, or so it seems. Growing into a classical type “A” , things needed to be controlled and the pilgrim decided to take things into his own hands. Student of DaVinci and Audubon the lessons commenced on the art of flight. He quickly learned that it took more than “thinking good thoughts.” It was more like $50/hr for lessons in a Cessna 172! After a few hours of freedom coasting with the angels a day of reckoning called “power off stalls” arrived. The plane would intentionally lose power and lift and fall from the sky. “Relaxation and response”, everything was almost counter intuitive – such as pointing the nose of the plane down. The next week the lost boy was found wondering at the docks of the local lake looking at weekend sloops. So much for taking things into one’s own hands! “Well, the principle of Bournelli’s Theorem applies to flying and sailing” he rationalized. He finally fulfilled that boyhood dream of discovering the Southern Cross of peace in the wind on the water.
Though the earth has turned more than a thousand times since that day, the wind still speaks to him through the song of the chimes of freedom . The words now flow effortlessly into the new freshly opened journal with wonder in gratitude about how often he has been distracted and how he accidentally comes back to the point where he belongs .
“Another year gone by. Another year begins tomorrow.”
“Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained”
- The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, The Voice of the Devil, William Blake
Now and then it keeps you running It never seems to die The trail's spent with fear Not enough living on the outside Never seem to get far enough Staying in between the lines Hold on to what you can Waiting for the end Not knowing when May the wind take your troubles away May the wind take your troubles away Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel, May the wind take your troubles away Trying to make it far enough, to the next time zone Few and far between past the midnight hour [ From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/s/son-volt-lyrics/windfall-lyrics.html ] Never feel alone, you're really not alone... Switching it over to AM Searching for a truer sound Can't recall the call letters Steel guitar and settle down Catching an all-night station somewhere in Louisiana It sounds like 1963, but for now it sounds like heaven May the wind take your troubles away May the wind take your troubles away Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel, May the wind take your troubles away.
(A while back I began the mental and emotional exercise of drafting a Christmas themed posting for the blog ; Christmas , angels, friends , special gifts , and suddenly found myself getting diverted into writing about another one of those “earthly angels” who have influenced me and even saved me. What follows is an accident and is about a surprising gift I received ..the gift of friendship and the gift of love ….if the truth be known…this is just the tip of the iceberg of memories and gratitude.)
Did you ever think about why certain people were placed in your path at specific moment in your life? Sometimes I fantasize that certain folks were really angels sent back to complete some great task in order to earn their wings. Sometimes I wonder if that person I met along the road was really the Buddha who needed to put on another face for me to pay attention to a great lesson he would teach me . Sometimes I think that God just thought it beneficial for me to intersect with this other creation so this the both of us might become complete . Often these accidental interveners are characters from which great myths are born. Sometimes these questions and reflections really frighten me, as I believe I have experienced all of the above and more. I guess the heavens believed I need some extra help.
In one particular case I did find an Obi Wan Kenobi, who like to be called Kirk, but who’s real name was John. He used to wander up and down the rivers of life Sherpa-ing pilgrims or wayward adventurers who were too proud to seek assistance to find their way to the open sea. . His unassuming demeanor was part old salt, part working class hero and part absent-minded A.W.O.L. professor from the Institute of Advanced Studies in Princeton.
One can only imagine what happens when we are not prepared for a particular voyage. Whether it is a river raft or well crafted sailing vessel, being adrift can be stressful especially when your partner abandons ship because she lost confidence or trust in your seamanship. On one of the occasions, yes there may have been more than one, when I was adrift and floundering a friend threw me a lifeline and said I should meet this river master/sailor - teacher – counselor, who seemingly was a twin to Kris Kristofferson. I wondered if I would learn some new songs. Little did I know I would learn a lot more than anticipated and the songs I would learn would be my own?
The first encounter with this old salt guru in disguise was purely transactional. He became navigator for one defined leg of my odyssey. His methodology was obscure as we conversed about how the universe was in a constant state of change . He said he would assist me to chart a course to be present to the universe, to change, to just being. He noted that I remained disoriented during our setting out together as he whispered “the secret was to let go!” In order to do this I discovered that I had to trust…myself, the universe and yes…God.
Our mentor/mentee relationship slowly transformed to become companions striving, seeking , finding and not yielding on our way to find out..
My familiarity with the classics helped me realize that a characteristic of most gurus, mythological and real , is that they have some retreat place hidden off away from the busy-ness and distractions of the world. Kirks’ was a house on a lake in the woods. For all I knew there might have been a steady stream of pilgrims who visited him at this holy ground but his welcoming made me feel as though I was the only one who was ever invited into his sanctuary in the woods. Books of all kinds and subjects adorned his table and floors. His yoga mediation pillow faced the window overlooking the lake with his professional astronomer’s telescope just a short grasp away in case he needed to get a closer witness of a meteor blessing the heavens at night.
My visits were almost a religious ritual. Upon entering his inner sanctum he began with a short silent tea ceremony that transitioned to quietly soaking in the solace and solitude of the waves on the lake reflecting the gold and red rays of a sun bidding farewell beyond the mountain. Words eventually flowed like the streams that fed to and emanated from the lake. We spoke of poetry, nature, relationships, sailing, spirituality and more poetry. Teacher was student and vice versa. He shared how he was at times awestruck with contemplations of contemporaries like Joseph Campbell, Frederick Franck, Robert Bly, and David Whyte and how he humbly admired his old friend and classmate, Robert Kennedy SJ. , who had become a true Zen master priest .
Our time together was part Zen sesshin and part story telling. He loved it when I brought my girls to visit. His smile sprouted from deep within and easily blossomed to become a contagion to all those in his presence.
In gratitude I invited him to accompany me him to a gathering of the great poets at The Dodge Poetry Festival. It was the first time I witnessed tears fill his eyes while intently soaked in the verses and images of the likes of Billy Collins and Mark Doty. But it was when Kunitz peeled back the layers for the pilgrims gathered on theat mountain when Kirk touched my arm and whispered, “listen.” I wasn’t sure if he meant to Kunitz or the wind swaying the leaves. It doesn’t matter.
Though a lapsed Catholic his personal office was decorated with paintings of French cathedrals. He had studied in Paris and rationalized that the pictures helped him recall a special time of his life. I said “You can take the boy out of the church but you can’t take the church out of the boy.” He nodded “not bad, a good one.” That phrase would echo the retort of another Buddha I have met , Fr. Tom , Hmmm? During the course of Kirk’s own early voyage he retreated with this own Yoda, Robert Kennedy SJ, for perspective. Kirk reported that he told his master that he had trouble with prayer and faith. His master said, “Well at least you tried.”
Since the Jesuits schooled him he seemed to be sincerely respectful and genuinely interested in my own spiritual exercises with my newly found priestly companions. I think he was relieved that there were others who could take on the task of trying to teach me. He would often reflect on the similarities of the great spiritual masters. I shouldn’t have been surprised at his adroitness in the quick quoting of Ignatius of Loyola, Thomas Merton, Teresa of Avila and Lao Tzu, the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh and a litany of other saints. Every so often he would also quote a line from some long lost poem or repeat a phrase of a French philosopher, in French of course, that would illustrate his point. Though an avid meditator he would query me about my own prayer and my experiences of centering prayer, which was much like his Zen meditation. I gave him a book of Jesuit prayers, Hearts on Fire. He was delighted but smartly critiqued the gift “these are poems!”
As if it were a common quality of great teachers and companions he, like my friend Herb, would give me books to read. Usually they would be collections of poetry or Haiku. These would be well used and devoured texts ,dog eared , pages slightly falling from the binding and marked with his own notes . I wondered , “maybe the notes were intended for me?”
I can see and hear him now in his Stickley leathered Mission armchair musing about how Tibetan monks would create great works of art out of millions of colored grains of sand. These intricate works of art, he explained, are called Mandalas and once the wonderfully colored piece of art was complete the monks would sweep away the grains of sand and the artwork was gone. He would softly conclude, “You do know things change and besides the real art is in the doing.” Sometimes I believe he really was a Buddha in disguise always focused on the present. He was a real artist…an artist of life. http://www.mysticalartsoftibet.org/Mandala.htm
At a more vulnerable time he retrieved a collection of handwritten pages that were being typed by one of his daughters. These were his own memoirs. It was interesting to realize that he too was intrigued by the “accidental” encounters in his life and where these seemed to lead him. He smiled when I suggested that the title of his tome be “The Accidental Therapist.” We discussed how he really never had a “career plan” he said he just let go and followed his heart.
He never stopped speaking about his wife and his children. Even when his wife passed he continued to speak of her as if she were still present. I think she was. A mantle was passed right after one of our tea ceremonies at the lake retreat. He requested that I spend sometime with one of his sons. His confidence in my ability to counsel and chart a course for his son about career matters was humbling. It was also around the same time when my own business life began to rapidly unravel. I sought him out at the sanctuary and requested his consolation. All he gave me was one word “courage.” Of course it was the right prescription.
But as all things change eventually his time had come to leave this world. I am still angry as I was filled with busyness trying to do whatever I could to get out of a hole I had dug and not staying connected with him. Ignoring or denying his failing health it was the longest period of silence we had experienced since we first met twenty some odd years earlier. But he had not forgotten as he had left my phone number with his children so I could be told he was gone. His son left a voice mail message with the news of his passing. I cried and read a David Whyte poem as if it would help me reconnect with him one more time.
News of Death
- - - - - - - - - -
Last night they came with news of death
not knowing what I would say.
I wanted to say,
"The green wind is running through the fields
making the grass lie flat."
I wanted to say,
"The apple blossom flakes like ash
covering the orchard wall."
I wanted to say,
"the fish float belly up in the slow stream,
stepping stones to the dead."
They asked if I would sleep that night,
I said I did not know.
For this loss I could not speak,
the tongue lay idle in a great darkness,
the heart was strangely open,
the moon had gone,
and it was then
when I said, "He is no longer here"
that the night put its arms around me
and all the white stars turned bitter with grief.
At the wake I met one of his daughters who said that her dad spoke about me often.
My eyes filled. She wanted me to know that just before he would close his earthly eyes forever he said to her “teach me to pray ” I said to her…”his life was a prayer.” His own Mandala complete , he was swept away.
Sometimes one has to wonder what some Division of Motor Vehicles clerks put in their coffee in the morning! It is as if someone has given some basement-cured drug that helped him or her remain in Dr. Jekyll’s Mr. Hyde state for a full eight-hour shift! After meandering in serpentine lines at the local DMV I had finally made it to the final gate where I carefully and anxiously confronted the Cerebus of the DMV! The rights of passage attaining the golden prize of a renewed driver’s license were about to be consummated. This bureaucratic beast gave a burning gaze at my previously pre-approved documents and said, “Your name is different on certain documents. You can go no further!” (Which meant that I would not have a renewed state driver’s license!)
Scrambling for an answer or believable excuse I recalled how I had changed the spelling of my first name from “JOHN” to “Jon” while in my rebellious years and then converting it back to “John” when an illumination sparked a spiritual metanoia. I lied to this administrative guardian of the gate of hell “it was a clerical error made on my marriage license application years ago and I never changed that mistake.”
I avoided explaining that back when I was born children seemed to be named after grandparent’s .So being a good mother my mom selected John after my paternal grandfather. My father’s family story was that Jadec (my grandfather) was reported to be a descendant of a King John of Poland in the 16th century, who was infamous for being the hero saving the Holy Roman Empire from an invasion of the Ottoman Turks! Rumors grew to mythical proportions of how the Viennese people celebrated their salvation from the Turks by creating a pastry in the form of a halo in support of King John’s saintly effort. They say that pastry was the birth of the bagel. However, this King had fathered a child out of wedlock and had an illicit affair while married. Maybe that’s why he was never “sainted”. (Nice namesake huh?) But I realized that this King spelled his name “J-A-N”, not the common everyday
J-O-H-N.
The real “A- Ha “ moment sparked as I became aware of how my good ole bachelor uncles had nicknamed me “Janko.” Coincidentally it was also the same nickname given to my ancestor King John was given as a boy. Somehow my connectedness to this ancestor was being confirmed.
Yet, it is Janik that is a familiar form of Jon in Polish as it is an affectionate term loosely translated as “Johnny.” But then Janko in Polish was also a different adaptation of the name Jon. Its been said that this nickname of Janko is an affectionate term loosely translated to mean “John the Troublemaker.” That ancestor king was noted as being so mischievous even in his early days and that he was called “Janko.” Hmmm, again I felt a sense of connectedness! So without further forethought of any possible legal implications fifty years hence I changed the spelling of my first name to “J-o-n. “ I thought that this would be some affirmation of my roots and distinguish me as being a little different from my contemporary “Johns.” Like I needed the help of a new sir name to do that!
So before I could further qualify my remarks about the different spellings of my first name to this formal control freak DMV clerk she retorted instantly, “No, that’s not it. You se on some of the documents you have a middle name, Francis, and on most documents there isn’t any mention of a middle name. “
I danced, bobbed and weaved and the clerk finally said, “well I’m just saying…you might run into a problem with social security.” Quickly I answered “Why do you say that as I am collecting social security now.” She took my picture, where my smile looked more like a grimace, produced the picture and handed me my new license and I think I heard her say “See ya in four years - Janko!” http://www.about-poland.com/polish-history.html
But the truth be told is that over the years I have been given several other nicknames or labels by others. During a Catholic ceremonial rite of passage called confirmation, Sr. Philomena of the Sorrowful Sisters of No Mercy asked what name I had chosen as my confirmation name. I was proud as I thought I had put some serious thought into this exercise and selected the name Dismas, the good thief on the cross next to the crucified Jesus. While hanging on the cross next to Jesus the thief attests to his belief that Jesus is the Son of God and then Jesus says to the thief that he will be with Jesus in Heaven that day. I believe that Dismas is the only person other that Jesus who is mentioned in the scripture as being in heaven. I thought that this was not too shabby for a thirteen year old to figure this out. But Sister countered that Dismas was a mythical name and not a saint. Catholics were supposed to select a name of a saint (a lot happens in thirty years as Dismas is now a saint) and therefore I needed to select another name. Immediately I shouted “St. George”, the hovering nun responded just as quickly “Why? “ and quipped, “Because he was known as the dragon slayer.” Janko rides!
During my first year of high school I accidentally won a persuasive presentation competition in taking the pro side of the argument that the Confederate States of America separated from the union over preserving states rights (too long to argue e that perspective here and I don’t want to give ant Tea Party members any further ammunition,) In reality I recall being more obstinate than persuasive. As a result of this victory my friends labeled me “Reb. ” The girl I was dating at the time thought the nickname was “cool” and meant something else. She gave me the Shirelle’s single “He’s a Rebel” as a Christmas gift. Reb , Janko …at least I was consistent.
When working in Copperhill, Tennessee some of the locals labeled me “The Reverend” as I seemed to preach more than speak with them. Of course the sports teams I coached called me “coach” and some students I have taught called me “Captain” (but you will have to watch the movie the Dead Poets Society or read “Oh Captain, My Captain” by Walt Whitman to understand that nickname.) They also like to call me “Mr. S. O. B.”(I thought it meant “soft ole bugger.”)
But out of all the nicknames and names I have been called and have chosen for myself I prefer one. It is a name that makes me melt every time I hear it said. It is a name that reminds me of how an imperfect pilgrim can be blessed(by the gift of my two daughters) It is a name that I would change my first name to if I could legally. Out of all the names and nicknames I have been called it is a name that describes how I would like to be remembered. Every time I hear this name called out by someone else I cannot help but to look up and believe the person who was saying the name was calling me. I know many others who have been called the same. However, the one name I love to be called is “dad.”
I wonder how the DMV clerk will react in four years if I come in with a new sir name – “Dad.”
But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
