Tag: faith

My Panties Fell into My Coffee!

“Oh No! My panties fell into my coffee!”

Hmmm… wasn’t expecting to hear anything like that.

“Uh, actually, it’s tea. I’m drinking tea this morning.”

Makes a difference, I guess.

Helen and I were in the middle of our usual Sunday morning sprint, racing to get dressed and out of the house for early Mass. She was overloaded with teacup, clothes, shoes and who knows what else when the mishap hap’d. I was yielding the bathroom to her and was also overloaded – tea mug, phone, bottle of water, Bluetooth speaker, hair brush, beard brush, styling wax, towel and morning meds. Microcosms of two overloaded lives.

Something’s gotta give.

Like Dagwood and his sandwich-makings, most of us tend to overload ourselves – too much to carry, too much work, too many tasks.

Helen and I seemed to be living in a constant maze of tasks. Day-to-day work, family, and home responsibilities have snowballed. Much like most Americans; probably very much like you and your family. Even when our bodies force us to take a break, our minds are still dizzy with an increasing number of items on our to-do lists – at least some of which will never get to-done.

At Mass, just an hour later, that sense of overload was affirmed. The gospel reading was the story of Jesus cleansing the temple of the merchants and moneychangers. Solomon’s Temple was heart and soul of Jewish society, and it had become polluted by far too many extraneous elements that robbed it of its singular focus.

Fr. Jhon Guarnizo’s insightful homily hit a perfect bull’s eye, comparing the ancient Jerusalem temple as the dwelling place of Yahweh with our own hearts as home for the Holy Spirit. Just as Jesus drove out everything that did not belong inside the walls of that holy place, Fr. Jhon cited our need to dislodge “the rush of busy-ness, where we measure our days by productivity instead of prayer.”

Jesus cleansed the temple to put the focus back where it belonged. Today, it’s a metaphor for us to focus on the true substance of our lives.

No, we can’t ignore the laundry or the dishes. But maybe we can make a little time – ten minutes – for reading a daily devotional or Bible verse, and then offering a quick prayer for a loved one, either living or gone. Yes, we must still go to work, but maybe in the car we can stream “Let Me Be Frank” instead of “Howard 100.” And, overall, less doing and more reflecting. Something, anything, that reminds us we are human beings, not human doings.

Still, I don’t expect Helen and I will be changing our well-choreographed Sunday morning sprint. Just please don’t forward this post to her. The last thing she said before heading for the shower Sunday morning was, “And I don’t want to read about it in your blog!”

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Did He Just Call Me Ma’am?

“Can I help you ma’am?”

I was at the end of the bottled water aisle, stretching my 5’4” frame, trying to reach a gallon of distilled water on the top shelf. I looked down the aisle and wondered who the ma’am was, because I didn’t see anyone who needed help.

“I can get that for you, ma’am!”

I turned to see who in the world was seeing things. As soon as the stock boy saw the quizzical look on my bearded face, he was mortified.

“I’m sorry sir,” he babbled. “I’m really so sorry.”

I had no idea my hair had gotten this long
over the many months I had kept my
head away from styling scissors.

Hmmm… maybe I do need a haircut.

Time out for an explanation: I only cut my hair twice during the Covid year. After that, I let it go; I’m retired – and it’s only hair. And now, for the past couple of months, my stylist has been in and out of the hospital. But that’s not the point. Here’s the point – Things aren’t always as they seem. And sometimes misperceptions leave lasting impressions.

Youngsters are especially impressionable. I remember my first grade “church school” class – every Wednesday, the Catholic kids, almost all of us in our entire public school, would get out early and be bused to St. John the Baptist for our weekly religious instruction. The parish’s pastor also happened to be the auxiliary bishop,

Any fully-robed bishop would have a
tendency to intimidate a 7-year-old
boy – and many people much older, too.

One Wednesday, the bishop – the Most Rev. David Cunningham – glided through the classroom door. He was stunningly resplendent in his red and black regalia, complete with skullcap (zucchetto) and flowing cape. As our teacher, a tiny young blonde woman, tentatively approached the bishop, he held out his hand, palm down. The woman dropped to her knees and kissed his ring.

For a seven-year-old Catholic boy, the message was loud and clear – priests, especially old, white-headed priests, were pretty much on the same level as God.

That impression lasted about seven years. But it was another old, white-headed priest who sowed the doubt. He was a visitor saying Sunday Mass in my boyhood church of St. Daniel in Syracuse. The rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar had been released a few weeks earlier. The priest spent a large part of his homily condemning the album, calling it heretical. So what do you think a 14-year-old boy steeped in popular music up to his ears is going to do? Yup, you guessed it.

Fifty-Six years after the rock opera’s release, Jesus Christ Superstar still provokes controversy among many Christians.

The experience was transformational. It wasn’t just the music, it was the message. Most impactful was The 39 Lashes. Each successive lash was increasingly intense, eventually causing me to flinch with each crack of the whip. The Passion was no longer a concept. The two-dimensional, black and white whipping jumped off the page of the gospel as the music exposed the profound reality of Jesus’ suffering.

Jesus Christ Superstar is not heretical – the Vatican endorsed it in 1999. Priests are not God. And I’m not a ma’am. But the stock boy reminded me the necessity for reassessing long-held beliefs, challenging tenets that may be the result of wrong impressions or misguided teachers. Maybe you’ll discover business as usual can become better, smarter and more rewarding business as usual – without having to endure any lashes.

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… But Sometimes “No” is a Good Thing

No, this headline is not a mistake, despite the title of my last post – Escaping the “No Place.” A dear, insightful, faithful soul, Jim Goodell, music director at Our Lady Star of the Sea Catholic Church in Ponte Vedra Beach, made a keen observation. He noted that sometimes it’s necessary to say “no” in order to say “yes.”

Here’s one example that may sound familiar: If I had said “no” to those couple of late-morning chocolate chip cookies I just scarfed down, it would help to eventually say “yes” to the jeans hidden in the back of the closet for the past several months.

In addition to his duties at Our Lady Star of the Sea, Jim Goodell (left) is also founder, producer and singer for the Bella Voce Cabaret.

Yeah, that’s a pretty trivial example. But it clearly illustrates how getting rid of one roadblock can make possible something even better. Saying “no” can be a critical part of our everyday lives in ways that enrich us and those we love.

Maybe this one time, guys, it would be prudent to say “no” to watching the game at a sports bar with your buds so you can say “yes” to a relaxing day trip to reconnect with your wife. And ladies, can you say “no” to that grocery run? If so, you can say “yes” to a glass of wine and some “remember when” time with your husband.

Sometimes spending time with family or a spouse is worth watching a game at a sports bar with friends.

Yes, I know – gender stereotypes. But easily understood stereotypes make points quickly, and gender roles isn’t the main topic, so maybe you can cut me a little slack? Hey, it’s not like I don’t cook and clean too. Right Helen? (Uh… Helen??)

So Jim is right – saying “no” can lead to many more rewarding yeses. And he notes these things aren’t limited to our daily routines. Saying “no” can also apply to more significant aspects of our lives.

No one likes being the “odd man out,” the one nonconformist who becomes the center of attention by being different. The one holdout on an 11-1 jury vote. A lone Dallas Cowboys fan at a Philadelphia Eagles’ home game. Wearing a tux to a toga party. Our tendency as humans is to blend in, not be “that guy” or “that lady.” But that’s exactly what Jesus commissioned us – through the Apostles – to do: “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation” (Mk 16:15).

Jesus commissioned all his followers, through these
12 apostles, to spread the Good News of salvation throughout the world.

Engaging the Holy Spirit, the Apostles and their successors were so successful, Christianity became the societal norm through much of world over the past 2,000 years. As such, it wasn’t so tough to talk about God, Jesus, and religion. Today, the popular American “normal” is shifting to “no God.” Even a former president’s son is widely promoting the Freedom from Religion Foundation, saying he’s “not afraid to burn in hell.” So when you have to fight against the tide of society, it’s easy to say “no.”

This is the “no” we have to overcome to say “yes” to Jesus’ commission. That “yes” may bring ridicule and embarrassment. You may even alienate a few friends and family members. That’s a big risk. Then again, countless spiritual predecessors risked – and lost – their lives for saying “yes” to Jesus. In that context, risking embarrassment and ridicule isn’t so bad. It’s good timing, too. With Lent fast approaching, sacrificing our pride may be easier than giving up cookies – even chocolate chips!

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Escaping the “No” Place

It’s one of the first words we learn as a new human – right after “Ma-ma” and “Da-da.” The word is “No.” It’s built into our DNA.

“No” is easy – We don’t have to do anything. “No” is smart – We can keep our money in our pocket. “No” is safe – we risk nothing. “No” is like hunkering down underneath a great big, thick, security blanket on a cold winter night.

Babies generally say “Mama” at about six months of age. “No” often follows closely behind.

Our country was founded on “no:” No ridiculous British rules, no unfair British taxes, and definitely no British-imported tea – English breakfast or otherwise. That little disagreement with King George III instilled quite a contrary streak into our national fabric, and probably was the American advent of the petulant admonition, “You’re not the boss of me!”

Our laws are largely defined by “no” – things we’re not supposed to do, such as exceed the speed limit, cheat on our taxes and beat up other people. There’s only one inescapable “yes” law we have in the United States – one thing we’re all required to do – and that’s pay our taxes. All the other pro-active laws and regulations arise from optional activities we choose, such as drive a vehicle, open a business or attend an event.

The Boston Tea Party was a very loud “no” that carried all the way across the Atlantic from Boston to Windsor Castle.

Still, the “no” psyche is not confined to Americans – not by a longshot. “No” is an inbred human survival instinct. In fact, one of man’s first documented moral codes, the Ten Commandments, is dominated with things we’re not supposed to do. Only two of the ten are pro-active – the Fifth, directing us to remember the sabbath, and the Sixth, commanding us to honor our parents. The rest make up a list of some serious no-nos – including other gods, murder, adultery and stealing.

While the Ten Commandments are specifically associated with Judaism and Christianity, the concepts are universal to nearly every religion and culture throughout history. These directives promote safety and order, keystones to the stability of all societies. While they keep us safe and secure, they also create a “No” place, a place of sterility dominated by nothingness. That’s not a very desirable place to live.

A much better place is… well, you already know. Think about one of your nicest, bestest, most excitingest moment in your life. Was it a product of saying “no?” Probably not. Most good things come not from saying “no,” but from saying “yes.” “Yes” to that first kiss. “Yes” to the new job offer. “Yes” to your First Communion. “Yes” to that concert, or that ballgame. Saying “yes” opens doors. Saying “yes” gives meaning to life.

Among God’s greatest gifts are friends and family
who let you know they always have your back.

Saying “yes” creates relationships, both on the human level and even on the spiritual level. Jesus, during his time on earth, breathed life into the Ten Commandments and the 613 Jewish Mitzvot by consolidating them into the two Greatest Commandments: “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments” (Mt 22:37-40).

Both of these greatest commandments are “yes” commandments, pro-active, directing us to do something – love! – not just sit back and say no. Admittedly, “yes” is harder than “no.” Doing nothing is easier than doing something. But we aren’t called to an easy life. We are called to a life with others, to love and care for each other, and to be loved and cared for. Jesus commanded us to “love one another as I love you” (Jn 15:12). If you think about it, knowing that the people you love have your back is like being wrapped a great big, thick, security blanket on a cold winter night.

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Sliding in Safe at Third – and Home

Our eyes were locked; his arms up with palms out. As John lowered his arms, I trusted him enough to follow, dropping my body in perfect synch with his motion. It was almost as though John, the third base coach, was controlling me with a video game joy stick. Just as John dropped his arms straight down, my foot hit the bag, sliding in to beat the tag from the third baseman. My focus on the coach was the reason I was safe, successfully taking the extra base from first to third on a single to center field.

In one of his Syracuse Senior Cyclones softball games, Dad wasn’t able to tag the runner out at third in part because
of the help of the third base coach.

It was a softball game in the Media League – a league composed of employees of several media outlets. It was your typical beer league. I opted for coffee in my to-go cup, though, as just the thought of chugging PBRs at 8:30 on a Saturday morning made my stomach churn.

The type of focus John and I had between us at that moment doesn’t happen very often. Still, most of us have experienced it, some more than others, me more than most. You see, I was named Peter, after the apostle, because my mother intuitively recognized I’d be an impetuous hardhead, just like Jesus’ No. 1 guy.

Yes – Here comes the analogy.

I recently had the occasion to stumble upon the story of Jesus walking on water (Mt 14:22-33). I like to think Peter was able to get out of the boat and walk toward Jesus on the stormy Sea of Galilee only because of his trust, and an extreme laser-like focus on Jesus. Being a mere mortal, though, at some point Peter had to look around and think ‘This is crazy! What am I doing?’

It’s hard to imagine what was going through Peter’s mind when he jumped out of the boat and started walking toward Jesus. It’s easier to understand his fear after he did.

That was the moment Peter sank into the angry sea, only to cry out, ‘Lord, save me!’

Peter was a human no different from you and me. How many times have I lost focus on Jesus and started to drown? A lot. Way too often.

I know you’ve been there, too. That’s just how life is. So, if and when you start sinking when trying to walk on your own raging waters, there’s a rescuer you can trust. A coach to get you home safe. A lifeguard. A savior. Once you slide across the plate, or are you’re back on dry land, go ahead and crack open a cold one to celebrate – even if you don’t play softball.

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An Argument Against School Prayer

I’m assuming there’s a good chance, after reading the title, that you’re ready to put up your dukes. That’s okay; I get it. But before this gets personal, let me re-establish my bona fides: I am a devout and lifelong Catholic who went to public school K-8 before moving to a private, Catholic high school where we prayed at the beginning of every school day and before each and every class. We even had special Masses. Things you would expect in a Catholic school.

And, really, that’s my point. We all shared a common religion – except for my friend Howie Rothstein, but he chose to be there so he was cool with it. Students who go to public schools, however, have no choice. There’s no common religion. So why do school prayer advocates want to require prayer in public schools?

Advocates say school prayer reminds students of a higher power and can help remedy societal ills such as bullying, violence, teenage pregnancy and more.

“Our nation has lost its way in having lost a belief of a higher power,” said one local school board member in Florida. “I hope it brings back our country to its foundation.”

Other advocates say school prayer can address maladies such as bullying, increased violence, mass shootings, teenage pregnancy, illegal drug use and more.

Okay. So which religion has such blanket transformative power? Remember, in public schools, all religions by law would enjoy equal favor. Most religious people in the U.S. belong to one of the many various branches of Christianity, so obviously Christian prayer would be included. What about a Jewish prayer? That should be okay – our Christian heritage is rooted in Judaism. Would parents welcome Islamic prayer in this political climate? Moreover, required school prayer would also legitimize atheism, Wiccan, and even Satanism, giving them a seat at the school-prayer altar. Do we really want our kids to pray “Dear God” on Monday and “Dear Satan” by Friday?

It’s doubtful this is what school prayer advocates
have in mind, yet this is what is possible if
prayer is ever required in public schools

If our Christian majority claims requiring prayer in public schools is necessary to remedy the ills of society, then we must not be fulfilling our responsibilities outside the classroom. Does that sound harsh? Well, it is harsh. But it’s also harsh to hear a 14-year-old boy defy me in the classroom by saying, “I’m not going to let some minimum-wage substitute nobody tell me what to do.” It’s even harsher when a police officer has to ask my wife, a full-time school teacher who’s been physically pushed around in class, “Do you want to press charges, Mrs. Casella?” Is school prayer the best way to address these bad behaviors?

It’s not the 1950s any more. Requiring prayer in public schools will not bring Wally and the Beaver back to the classroom. Heck, even Beavis and Butthead are long gone.

It’s ironic that a people blessed with free will by our Creator wants to force its will on other people to whom God has also granted free will. Forced prayer is the equivalent of beating someone until morale improves. It’s not just counter-productive; it’s contrary to God’s plan for us. So where does that leave us?

This truism probably dates back to the first schoolhouse exam.
We are blessed to be in a nation in which no one can
prevent us from praying,

When parents send their kids to school, teachers act in loco parentis; in the absence of parents, teachers must act in the best interests of the kids. But parents still need to act like parents when they are there. And we all need to act as Christians all the time.

Jesus, commenting on the Pharisees, told his followers to “do what they say, not what they do.” As adults, we can distinguish that difference. Our kids can’t. Children do what we do; what we say matters less. And, because the largest single religious group in America is “None,” too many kids are not being exposed to the most important influence in our lives – actually, in the universe. That makes our example so much more important than ever. We must spread God’s love, peace and joy through our actions – not by force – to everyone we encounter, especially our children.

We want people to think “I want what they have.” That’s meaningful evangelization. That’s our commission straight from Jesus.

And that will have a far greater affect than any required school prayer ever could.

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Trading Questions for Answers

I saw the listing for a two-day substitute teaching opportunity and couldn’t help but smile. I just had to take the job. It wasn’t the subject – English – that grabbed me, although I do tend to prefer subbing for English and music teachers. It wasn’t the timing either – a Thursday-Friday assignment to close the week. Nor was it the expected ease of the assignment – likely handing our worksheets or proctoring tests. In truth, what attracted me to the job was irony, specifically the teacher’s last name – Welch.

My original last name.

I asked the office to edit the “trusted adult”
sign while I was subbing here, still unsure of the “adult” status. They said only chronological age counts, not maturity.

As you may know, I am an adoptee with an atypical origin story. I only learned it a few years ago and could only reveal it last year. My biological mother’s name at the time of my birth was Welch. She changed her name to Barone when she married my biological father; my name became Casella shortly after I was born when Connie and Tony Casella adopted me. (Good thing. I really don’t think I look like a Welch!)

The irony of the sub job wasn’t just the Welch name, however. It also the timing.

Part of my Lenten routine has been a daily audio reflection that asks participants to seek God’s plan for each of us. Discernment has never been one of my strengths. Trying to determine where God wants me to go and what He wants me to be inevitably raises a couple of basic life questions – Who am I? and How did I get here? I’m sure these are questions you’ve asked yourself, too. For me, the questions are reminders that I come from two families – one responsible for nature, the other for nurture.

I share biological traits and influences with my birth parents and siblings. My attitudes, ideas and values were instilled by the parents and extended family who raised me.

The Barone side – the “nature” – gave me my appearance, my height (or lack of it), my walk, and the sound of my voice. Nature also seems responsible for many of my preferences and ways of doing things: tea (bag in!) instead of coffee, affinity for hair (it’s actually vanity – thanks Dad!), guitar, and other inclinations. And, as with all of us, I also share congenital issues with my biological parents and siblings.

The nurture side, behavioral influences, came from Connie and Tony Casella, the parents who raised me. These include my moral code, including my religion and my attitude toward God. Their example helped me define society and my place in it – my attitudes towards education, government, sports, finances, and other routine aspects of life. They also modeled interpersonal approaches – how one treats others and navigates relationships on every level of society.

Lent is a time for us to discern that path
God wants us to take to become the
person He wants us to be.

It is from these deep-seated influences – biological and cultural – that I must reassess in order to fully discern and accept God’s will for me. That’s what God is asking all of us to do – to risk the person we have become, to become the dynamic person God wants us to be. That’s unnerving. But that’s faith – all of us trying to replace “me” with “He.”

In the meantime, I’m exceptionally grateful for the imprints from both families. I’m also grateful for God’s patience with me. I hope that, one of these days, I’ll finally discern His plan for me. I don’t know if I’ll get there. I often doubt that I will. But as long as He doesn’t give up on me, I’ll keep trying. I hope you do, too.

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I Am a Person

“Do you have any idea what her mother would have done if she knew?” my cousin asked my sister. “She would have killed her!”

My sister Bobbie Lynn Featherstone didn’t
know her mom had another child – me –
until we connected in 2017.

I had only known my cousin Grace for about an hour. I first met my sister Bobbie – a biological half-sister but a complete sister in every other sense of the word – only the day before. It was a beautiful, sunny July day on Bobbie’s back deck. I listened as the cousins talked family history. Bobbie had said she was mad at our mother Lynn for keeping her out-of-wedlock pregnancy – me – a secret. Grace argued my pre-natal existence was a secret she had to keep.

I was born in 1956 and, contrary to nostalgic belief, the number of out-of-wedlock pregnancies was not insignificant. But it was still not socially acceptable – not by a mile. Families sent daughters to “visit out-of-town relatives.” Others, including my birth mother, hid their pregnancies. A few pursued so-called back-alley abortions. But mostly, adoption agencies suffered no shortage of available newborns to place with couples who could not conceive themselves.

My birth mother, Lynn Welch, was still married to her abusive husband when she fell in love with co-worker Angelo Barone, my father. She hid the pregnancy from everyone – possibly even him – and put me up for adoption with Catholic Social Services. Lynn and Angelo married after her divorce, and they later had two more sons – my brothers Joe and Marc. Angelo raised Lynn’s two previous children, Bobbie-Lynn and son Dana, as his own. My birth parents remained deeply in love until Lynn’s untimely death by heart attack in 1992.

My biological mother, Lynn Welch, married my farther, Angelo Barone, after giving me up for adoption.

I dearly wish I would have had the opportunity to tell my birth mother how eternally grateful I am that she made the excruciating choice to give me up for adoption. That I grew up in a wonderful family that would have otherwise been childless. That I had careers as a journalist and an educator. That, while I didn’t cure cancer, I impacted lives as a husband, father and friend.

If I had been conceived 17 years later, however, there would have been a much greater chance I would never have been any of those things. I would not have existed. Not after the Supreme Court legalized abortion in 1973.

Before that ruling in Roe v. Wade, abortion was quietly available, yes, but as socially forbidden as an out-of-wedlock pregnancy. Today, abortion has been normalized in our society, as acceptable as buying a toothbrush. To believe otherwise is to be an unenlightened, paternal Neanderthal, dedicated to denying women the freedom to make decisions about their own health care.

This is what I looked like about six weeks after I was conceived. You, too!

Why did I have a right to live in 1956, but a person conceived after January 22, 1973, does not?

When I hear the argument that abortion is a legitimate choice to an unwanted pregnancy, this is what I hear: My humanity, my membership in the human race, is invalid. I am beyond any significance. Simply – I have no value. In the balance of nature, the world would be better off if I had never been born. In the politics of pro-choice, the person most affected has no choice at all.

I know all the arguments in favor of abortion. Many of them seem reasonable and sensible. But I have not yet heard one that matches nullifying my existence. Do I take it personally? Yes. Because I am, and always have been, a person.