Something in the back of my brain had been muddling around, bumping into other things in the back of my brain. (I must confess that I probably have more stuff rattling around in the back of my brain than are accessible to me on a moment to moment basis. I would blame age, but it's always been that way, it seems to me. I have a very active storage room of a brain and not much up front neatly lined up on shelves.)
Anyway, I kept half-thinking (which isn't as good as thinking but a bit better than not thinking--I had a poster once with a picture of a chair and the words "Sometimes, I sits and thinks. And sometimes, I just sits."--though 'not thinking may be close to meditation and Zen and stuff....) I kept half-thinking I should go into my blog and notice when I wrote the first one. Since I'm lost in linear time, I did not think "It might have been March, 2009". I could not, for the life of me, have given a month or even a year to that first blog. But I checked and I'm only a couple of weeks late.
I'm glad I did that because today, checking the statistics of my blog space (I may be an anti-nerd but I've figured out how to do a few things by luck) I realized that for the first time ever, over 100 people viewed my blog yesterday. I'm kinda amazed since I'm not sure who would want to read the stuff I write here, but I'm also humbled that over a hundred people read something I wrote yesterday.
If you were one of them and had any positive feelings about what you read--if it made you ponder or laugh or think--I'd be very appreciative if you'd email or text or tell friends of you to check it out. I love doing it and I don't think it's bad, I think it's pretty good and since I'm writing it anyway, no matter if anyone reads it, I'd like to have it shared.
I think ("think" only being an anti-nerd) that someone could access it by googling it at castoroiltree.blogspot.com. Or just googling "under the castor oil tree" and some link might come up. This is tearing me apart, asking for you to risk recommending people check out my blog. But once I saw over a hundred people viewed it yesterday, I got greedy!
I guess it's like the book, The Hundredth Monkey by Ken Keyes, Jr. He tells the story of the Japanese monkeys, Macacuca fuscata, that were on an island called Koshima in 1952. Scientists had been providing the monkeys with sweet potatoes since Koshima was still devastated by WW II and natural plants were not available to them. The monkeys liked the taste but the dirt where they were dropped was unpleasant.
An 18 month old female the scientists called Imo, discovered she could wash the potatoes in a nearby stream. She taught her mother and friends to do this. The scientists watched between 1952 and 1958 as all the young monkeys learned to wash the sweet potatoes. "Only the adults who imitated their children learned this social improvement. Other adults kept eating the dirty sweet potatoes."
In the fall of 1958, "a certain number of Koshima monkeys were washing sweet potatoes--the exact number is not known. Let us suppose that when the sun rose one morning, there were 99 monkeys on Koshima Island who had learned to wash their sweet potatoes. Let us further suppose that later that morning, the hundredth monkey learned to wash potatoes. THEN IT HAPPENED! By that evening almost everyone in the tribe was washing sweet potatoes before eating them. The added energy of this hundredth monkey somehow created an ideological breakthrough!"
Keyes' book is a great book. It is not copyrighted on purpose so my sharing it with you is what Ken Keyes wanted.
There is, I believe, 'a critical mass' that shifts the paradigm of our lives. It happened painfully and over a long time and not completely in the Civil Rights movement. It happened, again painfully and over a long time and not completely in the Women's movement. But the hundredth monkey of the movement for GLBT rights has moved, as painfully, but a little faster and is not completed.
It's just that I saw my hundredth viewer in one day for the first time and began to imagine the whole tribe might begin to shift.
I apologize for asking. But, if you would, let people know about Under the Castor Oil Tree. Just invite them to wash their sweet potatoe.
I'll be watching the statistics to see if this works.....
And I thank you for considering the possibility of sharing this blog with others--with humility and gratefulness.
Shalom.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
anniversary
I missed the anniversary of my first blog. March 8, 2009
Here it is.
Here it is.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sitting under the Castor Oil Tree
The character in the Bible I have
always been drawn to in Jonah. I identify with his story. Like Jonah, I
have experienced being taken where I didn't want to go by God and I've
been disgruntled with the way things went. The belly of a big old fish
isn't a pleasant means of travel either!
The story ends (in case you don't know it) with Jonah upset and complaining on a hillside over the city of Nineva, which God has saved through Jonah. Jonah didn't want to go there to start with--hence the ride in the fish stomach--and predicted that God would save the city though it should have been destroyed for its wickedness. "You dragged me half way around the world," he tells God, "and didn't destroy the city....I knew it would turn out this way. I'm angry, so angry I could die!"
God causes a tree to grow to shade Jonah from the sun (scholars think it might have been a castor oil tree--the impications are astonishing!). Then God sends a worm to kill the tree. Well, that sets Jonah off! "How dare you kill my tree?" he challanges the creator. "I'm so angry I could die...."
God simply reminds him that he is upset at the death of a tree he didn't plant or nurture and yet he doesn't see the value of saving all the people of the great city Ninivah...along with their cattle and beasts.
And the story ends. No resolution. Jonah simply left to ponder all that. There's no sequel either--no "Jonah II" or "Jonah: the next chapter", nothing like that. It's just Jonah, sitting under the bare branches of the dead tree, pondering.
What I want to do is use this blog to do simply that, ponder about things. I've been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years. I'm approaching a time to retire and I've got a lot of pondering left to do--about God, about the church, about religion, about life and death and everything involved in that. Before the big fish swallowed me up and carried me to my own Nineva (ordination in the Episcopal Church) I had intended a vastly different life. I was going to write "The Great American Novel" for starters and get a Ph.D. in American Literature and disappear into some small liberal arts college, most likely in the Mid-Atlantic states and teach people like me--rural people, Appalachians and southerners, simple people, deep thinkers though slow talkers...lovely for all that--to love words and write words themselves.
God (I suppose, though I even ponder that...) had other ideas and I ended up spending the lion's share of my priesthood in the wilds of two cities in Connecticut (of all places) among tribes so foreign to me I scarcly understood their language and whose customs confounded me. And I found myself often among people (The Episcopal Cult) who made me axious by their very being. Which is why I stuck to urban churches, I suppose--being a priest in Greenwich would have sent me into some form of shock...as I would have driven them to hypertension at the least.
I am one who 'ponders' quite a bit and hoped this might be a way to 'ponder in print' for anyone else who might be leaning in that direction to read.
Ever so often, someone calls my bluff when I go into my "I'm just a boy from the mountains of West Virginia" persona. And I know they're right. I've lived too long among the heathens of New England to be able to avoid absorbing some of their alien customs and ways of thinking. Plus, I've been involved in too much education to pretend to be a rube from the hills. But I do, from time to time, miss that boy who grew up in a part of the world as foreign as Albania to most people, where the lush and endless mountains pressed down so majestically that there were few places, where I lived, that were flat in an area wider than a football field. That boy knew secrets I am only beginning, having entered my sixth decade of the journey toward the Lover of Souls, to remember and cherish.
My maternal grandmother, who had as much influence on me as anyone I know, used to say--"Jimmy, don't get above your raisin'". I probably have done that, in more ways that I'm able to recognize, but I ponder that part of me--buried deeply below layer after layer of living (as the mountains were layer after layer of long-ago life).
Sometimes I get a fleeting glimpse of him, running madly into the woods that surrounded him on all sides, spending hours seeking paths through the deep tangles of forest, climbing upward, ever upward until he found a place to sit and look down on the little town where he lived--spread out like a toy village to him--so he could ponder, alone and undisturbed, for a while.
When I was in high school, I wrote a regular colemn for the school newspaper call "The Outsider". As I ponder my life, I realize that has been a constant: I've always felt just beyond the fringe wherever I was. I've watched much more than I've participated. And I've pondered many things.
So, what I've decided to do is sit here on the hillside for a while, beneath the ruins of the castor oil tree and ponder somemore. And, if you wish, share my ponderings with you--whoever you are out there in cyber-Land.
Two caveates: I'm pretty much a Luddite when it comes to technology--probably smart enough to learn about it but never very interested, so this blog is an adventure for me. My friend Sandy is helping me so it shouldn't be too much of a mess. Secondly, I've realized writing this that there is no 'spell check' on the blog. Either I can get a dictionary or ask your forgiveness for my spelling. I'm a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa ENGLISH major (WVU '69) who never could conquer spelling all the words I longed to write.
I supose I'll just ask your tolerance.
No comme
The story ends (in case you don't know it) with Jonah upset and complaining on a hillside over the city of Nineva, which God has saved through Jonah. Jonah didn't want to go there to start with--hence the ride in the fish stomach--and predicted that God would save the city though it should have been destroyed for its wickedness. "You dragged me half way around the world," he tells God, "and didn't destroy the city....I knew it would turn out this way. I'm angry, so angry I could die!"
God causes a tree to grow to shade Jonah from the sun (scholars think it might have been a castor oil tree--the impications are astonishing!). Then God sends a worm to kill the tree. Well, that sets Jonah off! "How dare you kill my tree?" he challanges the creator. "I'm so angry I could die...."
God simply reminds him that he is upset at the death of a tree he didn't plant or nurture and yet he doesn't see the value of saving all the people of the great city Ninivah...along with their cattle and beasts.
And the story ends. No resolution. Jonah simply left to ponder all that. There's no sequel either--no "Jonah II" or "Jonah: the next chapter", nothing like that. It's just Jonah, sitting under the bare branches of the dead tree, pondering.
What I want to do is use this blog to do simply that, ponder about things. I've been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years. I'm approaching a time to retire and I've got a lot of pondering left to do--about God, about the church, about religion, about life and death and everything involved in that. Before the big fish swallowed me up and carried me to my own Nineva (ordination in the Episcopal Church) I had intended a vastly different life. I was going to write "The Great American Novel" for starters and get a Ph.D. in American Literature and disappear into some small liberal arts college, most likely in the Mid-Atlantic states and teach people like me--rural people, Appalachians and southerners, simple people, deep thinkers though slow talkers...lovely for all that--to love words and write words themselves.
God (I suppose, though I even ponder that...) had other ideas and I ended up spending the lion's share of my priesthood in the wilds of two cities in Connecticut (of all places) among tribes so foreign to me I scarcly understood their language and whose customs confounded me. And I found myself often among people (The Episcopal Cult) who made me axious by their very being. Which is why I stuck to urban churches, I suppose--being a priest in Greenwich would have sent me into some form of shock...as I would have driven them to hypertension at the least.
I am one who 'ponders' quite a bit and hoped this might be a way to 'ponder in print' for anyone else who might be leaning in that direction to read.
Ever so often, someone calls my bluff when I go into my "I'm just a boy from the mountains of West Virginia" persona. And I know they're right. I've lived too long among the heathens of New England to be able to avoid absorbing some of their alien customs and ways of thinking. Plus, I've been involved in too much education to pretend to be a rube from the hills. But I do, from time to time, miss that boy who grew up in a part of the world as foreign as Albania to most people, where the lush and endless mountains pressed down so majestically that there were few places, where I lived, that were flat in an area wider than a football field. That boy knew secrets I am only beginning, having entered my sixth decade of the journey toward the Lover of Souls, to remember and cherish.
My maternal grandmother, who had as much influence on me as anyone I know, used to say--"Jimmy, don't get above your raisin'". I probably have done that, in more ways that I'm able to recognize, but I ponder that part of me--buried deeply below layer after layer of living (as the mountains were layer after layer of long-ago life).
Sometimes I get a fleeting glimpse of him, running madly into the woods that surrounded him on all sides, spending hours seeking paths through the deep tangles of forest, climbing upward, ever upward until he found a place to sit and look down on the little town where he lived--spread out like a toy village to him--so he could ponder, alone and undisturbed, for a while.
When I was in high school, I wrote a regular colemn for the school newspaper call "The Outsider". As I ponder my life, I realize that has been a constant: I've always felt just beyond the fringe wherever I was. I've watched much more than I've participated. And I've pondered many things.
So, what I've decided to do is sit here on the hillside for a while, beneath the ruins of the castor oil tree and ponder somemore. And, if you wish, share my ponderings with you--whoever you are out there in cyber-Land.
Two caveates: I'm pretty much a Luddite when it comes to technology--probably smart enough to learn about it but never very interested, so this blog is an adventure for me. My friend Sandy is helping me so it shouldn't be too much of a mess. Secondly, I've realized writing this that there is no 'spell check' on the blog. Either I can get a dictionary or ask your forgiveness for my spelling. I'm a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa ENGLISH major (WVU '69) who never could conquer spelling all the words I longed to write.
I supose I'll just ask your tolerance.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Rape is a bad thing...period. Full Stop.
So, what's up in Ohio? Sunday the 2 young men in Stubenville convicted of rape were sentenced and today the crazy kid who killed and wounded 6 people in his high school was given three consecutive life sentences. He showed up for his sentencing in a tee-shirt that he'd written "Killer" on in magic marker and when given a chance to speak (with his lawyer begging him not to) he stuck up his middle finger to his family and the families of the victims and said "F*ck You!"
This is Ohio, for goodness sake, the Heartland of America, the symbol of what the Tea Party want's to bring back--the Real America.
Ohio bordered West Virginia, where I grew up (West Virginia, by the way, owns the Ohio River where it flows along the state line). We always thought of Ohio the way I think about Canada now. What bad could come from Ohio?
One of the jokes of my childhood was this: "how do you get 14 West Virginians in a VW bug? Tell them it's going to Cincinnati...."
Well, the point is, CNN started a fire-storm on the internet with their coverage of the rape trial of the two young men. You can look it up, but, in short, the CNN coverage was very biased toward the two young men--high school students with good grades and athletic abilities. One of the commentators, a woman, by the way, said something like: "I can barely stand to hear this verdict. The lives of two young men have been ruined...."
Something like that. The point is, whatever good those two high school students had going for them (one black one white) Rape is a really bad thing, no kidding, honestly. It is a crime of domination and power, having little to do with sex, mostly having to do with brutality and a caveman view of who is stronger and more powerful.
When are people going to get the truth: Rape is simply wrong, horrible, despicable and can, in no way, be explained away. It is evil.
There were at least 3 candidates in safe House and Senate seats who lost last November because they got odd and squishy about rape.
I just don't get it. If Francis of Assisi had raped St. Clare it would have been indefensible and evil, no matter how much good Francis had done before or after.
Look, I'm a left-wing nut. I am ambiguous about most everything. But this I know: Rape is purely wrong.
How difficult is that to understand?
This is Ohio, for goodness sake, the Heartland of America, the symbol of what the Tea Party want's to bring back--the Real America.
Ohio bordered West Virginia, where I grew up (West Virginia, by the way, owns the Ohio River where it flows along the state line). We always thought of Ohio the way I think about Canada now. What bad could come from Ohio?
One of the jokes of my childhood was this: "how do you get 14 West Virginians in a VW bug? Tell them it's going to Cincinnati...."
Well, the point is, CNN started a fire-storm on the internet with their coverage of the rape trial of the two young men. You can look it up, but, in short, the CNN coverage was very biased toward the two young men--high school students with good grades and athletic abilities. One of the commentators, a woman, by the way, said something like: "I can barely stand to hear this verdict. The lives of two young men have been ruined...."
Something like that. The point is, whatever good those two high school students had going for them (one black one white) Rape is a really bad thing, no kidding, honestly. It is a crime of domination and power, having little to do with sex, mostly having to do with brutality and a caveman view of who is stronger and more powerful.
When are people going to get the truth: Rape is simply wrong, horrible, despicable and can, in no way, be explained away. It is evil.
There were at least 3 candidates in safe House and Senate seats who lost last November because they got odd and squishy about rape.
I just don't get it. If Francis of Assisi had raped St. Clare it would have been indefensible and evil, no matter how much good Francis had done before or after.
Look, I'm a left-wing nut. I am ambiguous about most everything. But this I know: Rape is purely wrong.
How difficult is that to understand?
Monday, March 18, 2013
Holy Week Meditations 2
(Read the passage slowly, twice, waiting to see something you haven't seen before in these familiar texts. Ponder them for 5-10 minutes in silence, read the meditation and conclude with the Collect for the Day. Listen in the silence....)
MAUNDY THURSDAY John 12.1-35
The thing I've noticed over 30+ years of Maunday Thursdays is how awkward it is for us 21st century westerners to wash each others' feet.
Feet, in our culture, are very private things. I am, like most people, embarrassed by my feet--my little toe toenails are stunted and odd looking while my big toe toenails are gnarly and thick. I love to get a pedicure but seldom do because I'm humiliated by having Asian women massage my feet--though it feels so good!
I've tried, over the years, to institute foot washing as part of the Maundy Thursday liturgy and it has never been comfortable and moving. Socks and pantyhose don't help--but one thing I believe is this: it is easier to wash someone's feet than to have someone wash yours.
Which brings us to Simon Peter and his protestations that Jesus shouldn't wash his feet, even though washing of feet in those days was as much of common hospitality as hanging up a coat and offering a drink to guests is our day. However, in spite of Peter's objections, Jesus wins him over.
Why is it so hard for us to be 'served'? Is it out culture's 'self-reliant' obsession? Is it the embarrassment of being made to feel 'special'? Why is it so difficult for us to let someone wash our feet?
Maundy Thursday is a day to ponder our inflated pride and privacy. It is a time to ponder the relationship of our fierce 'individualism' to the invitations of 'community'. It is a time to wonder how vulnerable we are willing to be in order to receive service and love.
COLLECT: Almighty Father, whose dear son, on the night before he suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood: Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
GOOD FRIDAY John 18.1-40--19.1-37
A long reading today. Today is a long day, unrelenting in its sadness. Haven't you ever wondered why we don't call it Bad Friday instead?
John's gospel is the best for the detail and the gore, the agony and the suffering and the touching moments (giving his mother to John to be his mother; naming the slave whose ear was lost to Peter's sword--Malcus; the care of the soldiers for Jesus' cloak, things like that.)
So, the Passion, in all it's glory and all it's misery is lived out today. Over the years, I have presided many times over the traditions 3 hour liturgy of Good Friday, beginning at noon and ending at 3 p.m. It is wrenching and cleansing. When we most nearly got it right, nearly 2 hours of the the 3 were in silence with on occasional readings and prayers and the receiving of the reserved sacrament in silence as well.
My predisposition toward silence become highlighted and enhanced this week of the year. There is an old saying: "Do not speak unless your speaking can improve on the silence."
Good advice this day or any day. We fill our lives with so much noise that it is often difficult to hear the still, small voice of God over the chaos.
Keep silence this day: honor it, adore it, listen to it, ponder it.
COLLECT: Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
HOLY SATURDAY (EASTER EVE) Matthew 27.57-66
Sealing the tomb was a big deal. Jewish funeral practice involved going to anoint the body for two days before the tomb was sealed away. Part of that was honoring the dead but a big part was because medical science was practically non-existent and there were occasions when coma had been mistaken for death and there was a chance someone might 'wake up' who was thought to be dead. But in that climate of Palestine, by the third day, death was made obvious by the smell of decomposition and the tomb was sealed for good. (Remember the complaints of those Jesus asked to roll the stone from Lazareus' grave: in the wondrous King James Version it was, "Lord, he stinketh!"
The guards feared someone would steal his body and claim he was alive. So they sealed the tomb.
I sometimes ponder the things I haven't 'sealed the tomb' on in my life. There are resentments and anger and guilt and regrets that I have kept artifically alive long past their endings. I should have 'sealed the tomb' on those things and moved on with forgiveness and gratitude in my heart. But I haven't. I've kept the stink of those unreleased, unfinished emotions around for sometimes years, decades.
Ponder what emotions, thoughts, feelings, regrets and resentments you need to 'seal the tomb' on and move on, forgiven and refreshed and renewed. Ponder that on this day when we remember Jesus was dead and the tomb was sealed. Who knows how those painful things we seal in their tombs might be transformed on the Third Day....
COLLECT: O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
THE FEAST OF THE RESURRECTION (EASTER SUNDAY) Luke 24.13-49
The Emmaus Story is my favorite passage of all scripture! I love it not just as gospel truth but as a paradigm for life.
Often we flee from the pains of life and try to go to another place. Often, if we are open to possibility, it is a 'stranger' we meet on the road that will teach us and reveal truth to us. Often, hospitality to the stranger results in remarkable and wondrous insight into the burning in our hearts. Often, most often, we find that if we return to the place of suffering and pain, it is there we will be healed and made new.
On this day, I urge you to simply rejoice and be glad and party! And, as the darkness of Easter night closes in, ponder in your heart how insights come in strange ways, how returning to the place of pain brings healing, how hospitality and welcome is the gift most needed for us to give and receive.
And then say the collect and close by proclaiming once more: "Alleluia! Alleluia!! Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed, Alleluia! Alleluia!"
Collect: O God, who for our redemption gave your only begotten Son to death of the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the powers of our enemy: Grant us so to die daily to sin, that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
(Dear Friends, have a profound and wondrous Holy Week and Easter. Let this week be for cleansing and healing and new life. Feel free to share these reflections with friends and family and acquaintances. Share the journey of this week with others and 'let them see Jesus' in you love and compassion and gentleness and silence and hospitality. Shalom, jim)
Jim BradleyMAUNDY THURSDAY John 12.1-35
The thing I've noticed over 30+ years of Maunday Thursdays is how awkward it is for us 21st century westerners to wash each others' feet.
Feet, in our culture, are very private things. I am, like most people, embarrassed by my feet--my little toe toenails are stunted and odd looking while my big toe toenails are gnarly and thick. I love to get a pedicure but seldom do because I'm humiliated by having Asian women massage my feet--though it feels so good!
I've tried, over the years, to institute foot washing as part of the Maundy Thursday liturgy and it has never been comfortable and moving. Socks and pantyhose don't help--but one thing I believe is this: it is easier to wash someone's feet than to have someone wash yours.
Which brings us to Simon Peter and his protestations that Jesus shouldn't wash his feet, even though washing of feet in those days was as much of common hospitality as hanging up a coat and offering a drink to guests is our day. However, in spite of Peter's objections, Jesus wins him over.
Why is it so hard for us to be 'served'? Is it out culture's 'self-reliant' obsession? Is it the embarrassment of being made to feel 'special'? Why is it so difficult for us to let someone wash our feet?
Maundy Thursday is a day to ponder our inflated pride and privacy. It is a time to ponder the relationship of our fierce 'individualism' to the invitations of 'community'. It is a time to wonder how vulnerable we are willing to be in order to receive service and love.
COLLECT: Almighty Father, whose dear son, on the night before he suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood: Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
GOOD FRIDAY John 18.1-40--19.1-37
A long reading today. Today is a long day, unrelenting in its sadness. Haven't you ever wondered why we don't call it Bad Friday instead?
John's gospel is the best for the detail and the gore, the agony and the suffering and the touching moments (giving his mother to John to be his mother; naming the slave whose ear was lost to Peter's sword--Malcus; the care of the soldiers for Jesus' cloak, things like that.)
So, the Passion, in all it's glory and all it's misery is lived out today. Over the years, I have presided many times over the traditions 3 hour liturgy of Good Friday, beginning at noon and ending at 3 p.m. It is wrenching and cleansing. When we most nearly got it right, nearly 2 hours of the the 3 were in silence with on occasional readings and prayers and the receiving of the reserved sacrament in silence as well.
My predisposition toward silence become highlighted and enhanced this week of the year. There is an old saying: "Do not speak unless your speaking can improve on the silence."
Good advice this day or any day. We fill our lives with so much noise that it is often difficult to hear the still, small voice of God over the chaos.
Keep silence this day: honor it, adore it, listen to it, ponder it.
COLLECT: Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
HOLY SATURDAY (EASTER EVE) Matthew 27.57-66
Sealing the tomb was a big deal. Jewish funeral practice involved going to anoint the body for two days before the tomb was sealed away. Part of that was honoring the dead but a big part was because medical science was practically non-existent and there were occasions when coma had been mistaken for death and there was a chance someone might 'wake up' who was thought to be dead. But in that climate of Palestine, by the third day, death was made obvious by the smell of decomposition and the tomb was sealed for good. (Remember the complaints of those Jesus asked to roll the stone from Lazareus' grave: in the wondrous King James Version it was, "Lord, he stinketh!"
The guards feared someone would steal his body and claim he was alive. So they sealed the tomb.
I sometimes ponder the things I haven't 'sealed the tomb' on in my life. There are resentments and anger and guilt and regrets that I have kept artifically alive long past their endings. I should have 'sealed the tomb' on those things and moved on with forgiveness and gratitude in my heart. But I haven't. I've kept the stink of those unreleased, unfinished emotions around for sometimes years, decades.
Ponder what emotions, thoughts, feelings, regrets and resentments you need to 'seal the tomb' on and move on, forgiven and refreshed and renewed. Ponder that on this day when we remember Jesus was dead and the tomb was sealed. Who knows how those painful things we seal in their tombs might be transformed on the Third Day....
COLLECT: O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
THE FEAST OF THE RESURRECTION (EASTER SUNDAY) Luke 24.13-49
The Emmaus Story is my favorite passage of all scripture! I love it not just as gospel truth but as a paradigm for life.
Often we flee from the pains of life and try to go to another place. Often, if we are open to possibility, it is a 'stranger' we meet on the road that will teach us and reveal truth to us. Often, hospitality to the stranger results in remarkable and wondrous insight into the burning in our hearts. Often, most often, we find that if we return to the place of suffering and pain, it is there we will be healed and made new.
On this day, I urge you to simply rejoice and be glad and party! And, as the darkness of Easter night closes in, ponder in your heart how insights come in strange ways, how returning to the place of pain brings healing, how hospitality and welcome is the gift most needed for us to give and receive.
And then say the collect and close by proclaiming once more: "Alleluia! Alleluia!! Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed, Alleluia! Alleluia!"
Collect: O God, who for our redemption gave your only begotten Son to death of the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the powers of our enemy: Grant us so to die daily to sin, that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
(Dear Friends, have a profound and wondrous Holy Week and Easter. Let this week be for cleansing and healing and new life. Feel free to share these reflections with friends and family and acquaintances. Share the journey of this week with others and 'let them see Jesus' in you love and compassion and gentleness and silence and hospitality. Shalom, jim)
padrejgb@aol.com
Holy Week Meditations
Thought I'd share the Holy Week Meditations I wrote for the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry churches: St. James, Higganum; Emmanual, Killingworth; St. Andrew's, Northford.
(rest in next post)
(If you would like, read the gospel passage twice then ponder it for ten minutes or so, then read my meditation and close with the collect for the day. A good discipline for Holy Week. jim)
PALM SUNDAY Luke 19.28-40
Just before things go wrong, they sometimes go oh so good. Jesus is welcomed by the cheering crowds, throwing palm fronds and their clothing in his way as he enters Jerusalem on a donkey. A strange parade at best. But strangely moving and powerful. A humble prophet welcomed into the city that murders its prophets on a regular basis. They welcomed a King on a donkey who would, in short time, become a criminal executed and dead. When you're on top, there's a long way to fall.
Ponder the 'good times' of your life and the 'bad times'. Notice the chronology of it all and ponder that. When the 'highs' are really 'high', sometimes the 'lows' are really 'low'. So it goes. Know that it all holds meaning....
Jesus has 'come home' in triumph to die. The "Hosannas!!" the crowds cry out will morph into "Crucify him!" in less than a week.
Life has a way of treating all of us to ups and downs. It is a roller coaster ride of sorts. But for Jesus (and for us!) as bad as it's going to get, the best is yet to come....
COLLECT: Almighty and everlasting God, in your tender love for the human race you have sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and the suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
HOLY MONDAY John 12.1-11
The English word 'anoint' derives from the Latin ungure--which means, 'to smear'.
The Greek word for 'anoint' is chrio and the noun Christos--'Christ' is English--means 'the anointed one'.
So, a few days before he dies, Jesus is 'anointed' by Mary for his burial.
And 'the poor' are always with us. Perhaps the most 'true' of all the sayings of Jesus is that: "the poor are always with us."
Spend today noticing what you eat and how full you are. When I say, "I'm hungry" there is no relationship between my hunger and the hunger of half the planet, including millions (mostly children) in this, the richest country in the world.
As Jesus is anointed for his burial by Mary, we need to remember those who will die from starvation or malnutrition on this day. Just hold those countless ones in your heart today. As we fill ourselves, we should always remember those who hunger and we should pray for them and pray that we may, day by day, hunger more and more for God.
COLLECT: Almighty God, whose most dear Son went up not to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen
HOLY TUESDAY John 12.20-36
Notice how difficult it is to hear the Voice of God? Some of them thought it was thunder while others heard it correctly as an angel speaking.
It was only when the Greeks, non-Jews came to him that Jesus announced that 'his hour had come". For a moment he wavers ("Father, save me from this hour...") then he embraces his destiny ("No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.") The Greeks--non-Jews--were the key. Notice they came to Philip, who had a Greek name. And what they said was this: "Sir, we wish to see Jesus."
One of the interns, then deacons who worked with me was Michael Spencer, who was then chaplain to Taft School and is not chaplain at St. Paul's school in New Hampshire. When an Episcopal Chaplain dies and goes to heaven, it looks a lot like St. Paul's school!
At some point in his several years at St. John's in Waterbury, Michael taped a typed out piece of paper to the pulpit that said, "Sir, we would see Jesus." I don't think I ever used the pulpit after the first time I saw that little note. And I never removed it. He and the note were both right, when anyone preaches it should be so people could 'see Jesus'. But the request was too daunting to me. I simply couldn't live up to it Sunday after Sunday. But it did inspire me and humble me and give me hope that someday, somehow, someway I might say something that would allow someone to 'see Jesus'.
But for Jesus, he somehow knew that since even the Gentiles were asking for him, the hour had come for him to be 'lifted up'. His mission to 'all the world' was finished. Now it was time to die.
Ponder, if you will, how you would like to help people to 'see Jesus'. Don't be, as I often am, to embarrassed to imagine showing Jesus to others. You can, through simple acts of kindness, through just being there, through a hug and love and support. Ponder how you might help people 'see Jesus' through your life....Give it a go, really....
COLLECT: O God, by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
HOLY WEDNESDAY John 13.21-32
This reading is out of time, out of space. Out of sync. Tomorrow we will read the 13th chapter of John from the beginning and hear this passage again. So we jump ahead 'proleptically' (one of my favorite words!) to a time before the time that we are yet to come to.
But on this day we need to ponder the betrayal of Judas.
BETRAYAL. What a bee's nest of problems that is. I ponder the betrayals of my life--and they are many, a multitude of betrayals.
When I was silent when protest was called for. When I misspoke in anger or confusion or to make myself look good at the cost to others. When I betrayed those who loved me out of self-serving instincts or desires. When I didn't flinch at a racial or ethic or gender demeaning joke.
Judas is my brother.
Your might, in this holy week, ponder your betrayals. It will be painful and full of angst--but worth it, because God will love you in the betrayer you are. Really. It is the dark places of our lives that God's love shows up most clearly. I'm not kidding. I truly believe that when Jesus said to Judas, "do quickly what you are going to do", he said it with love and forgiveness 'proleptically", even before his actual betrayal. So, ponder who you have betrayed, knowing that even before you betrayed them, God forgave you. Imagine accepting joyfully the sufferings of this present time, knowing your betrayals, when acknowledged are already forgiven.
How good is that? Forgiven before the act. Not bad, as things go.
COLLECT: Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and to be spit upon. Give us the grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen
(The rest of the Holy Week meditations are to follow)
Shalom, jim
PALM SUNDAY Luke 19.28-40
Just before things go wrong, they sometimes go oh so good. Jesus is welcomed by the cheering crowds, throwing palm fronds and their clothing in his way as he enters Jerusalem on a donkey. A strange parade at best. But strangely moving and powerful. A humble prophet welcomed into the city that murders its prophets on a regular basis. They welcomed a King on a donkey who would, in short time, become a criminal executed and dead. When you're on top, there's a long way to fall.
Ponder the 'good times' of your life and the 'bad times'. Notice the chronology of it all and ponder that. When the 'highs' are really 'high', sometimes the 'lows' are really 'low'. So it goes. Know that it all holds meaning....
Jesus has 'come home' in triumph to die. The "Hosannas!!" the crowds cry out will morph into "Crucify him!" in less than a week.
Life has a way of treating all of us to ups and downs. It is a roller coaster ride of sorts. But for Jesus (and for us!) as bad as it's going to get, the best is yet to come....
COLLECT: Almighty and everlasting God, in your tender love for the human race you have sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and the suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
HOLY MONDAY John 12.1-11
The English word 'anoint' derives from the Latin ungure--which means, 'to smear'.
The Greek word for 'anoint' is chrio and the noun Christos--'Christ' is English--means 'the anointed one'.
So, a few days before he dies, Jesus is 'anointed' by Mary for his burial.
And 'the poor' are always with us. Perhaps the most 'true' of all the sayings of Jesus is that: "the poor are always with us."
Spend today noticing what you eat and how full you are. When I say, "I'm hungry" there is no relationship between my hunger and the hunger of half the planet, including millions (mostly children) in this, the richest country in the world.
As Jesus is anointed for his burial by Mary, we need to remember those who will die from starvation or malnutrition on this day. Just hold those countless ones in your heart today. As we fill ourselves, we should always remember those who hunger and we should pray for them and pray that we may, day by day, hunger more and more for God.
COLLECT: Almighty God, whose most dear Son went up not to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen
HOLY TUESDAY John 12.20-36
Notice how difficult it is to hear the Voice of God? Some of them thought it was thunder while others heard it correctly as an angel speaking.
It was only when the Greeks, non-Jews came to him that Jesus announced that 'his hour had come". For a moment he wavers ("Father, save me from this hour...") then he embraces his destiny ("No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.") The Greeks--non-Jews--were the key. Notice they came to Philip, who had a Greek name. And what they said was this: "Sir, we wish to see Jesus."
One of the interns, then deacons who worked with me was Michael Spencer, who was then chaplain to Taft School and is not chaplain at St. Paul's school in New Hampshire. When an Episcopal Chaplain dies and goes to heaven, it looks a lot like St. Paul's school!
At some point in his several years at St. John's in Waterbury, Michael taped a typed out piece of paper to the pulpit that said, "Sir, we would see Jesus." I don't think I ever used the pulpit after the first time I saw that little note. And I never removed it. He and the note were both right, when anyone preaches it should be so people could 'see Jesus'. But the request was too daunting to me. I simply couldn't live up to it Sunday after Sunday. But it did inspire me and humble me and give me hope that someday, somehow, someway I might say something that would allow someone to 'see Jesus'.
But for Jesus, he somehow knew that since even the Gentiles were asking for him, the hour had come for him to be 'lifted up'. His mission to 'all the world' was finished. Now it was time to die.
Ponder, if you will, how you would like to help people to 'see Jesus'. Don't be, as I often am, to embarrassed to imagine showing Jesus to others. You can, through simple acts of kindness, through just being there, through a hug and love and support. Ponder how you might help people 'see Jesus' through your life....Give it a go, really....
COLLECT: O God, by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
HOLY WEDNESDAY John 13.21-32
This reading is out of time, out of space. Out of sync. Tomorrow we will read the 13th chapter of John from the beginning and hear this passage again. So we jump ahead 'proleptically' (one of my favorite words!) to a time before the time that we are yet to come to.
But on this day we need to ponder the betrayal of Judas.
BETRAYAL. What a bee's nest of problems that is. I ponder the betrayals of my life--and they are many, a multitude of betrayals.
When I was silent when protest was called for. When I misspoke in anger or confusion or to make myself look good at the cost to others. When I betrayed those who loved me out of self-serving instincts or desires. When I didn't flinch at a racial or ethic or gender demeaning joke.
Judas is my brother.
Your might, in this holy week, ponder your betrayals. It will be painful and full of angst--but worth it, because God will love you in the betrayer you are. Really. It is the dark places of our lives that God's love shows up most clearly. I'm not kidding. I truly believe that when Jesus said to Judas, "do quickly what you are going to do", he said it with love and forgiveness 'proleptically", even before his actual betrayal. So, ponder who you have betrayed, knowing that even before you betrayed them, God forgave you. Imagine accepting joyfully the sufferings of this present time, knowing your betrayals, when acknowledged are already forgiven.
How good is that? Forgiven before the act. Not bad, as things go.
COLLECT: Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and to be spit upon. Give us the grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen
(The rest of the Holy Week meditations are to follow)
Shalom, jim
(rest in next post)
Jim Bradley
padrejgb@aol.com
padrejgb@aol.com
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Fish sandwiches
I seldom like fish sandwiches even though I love fish of all kinds. I think I figure out why fish sandwiches disappoint me so--it was the fish sandwiches at the Central Cafe in Anawalt, West Virginia.
The Central Cafe was about a block from where I lived (if Anawalt, pop.400) could be said to have blocks. In fact, it was a parallelogram twice as long as it was wide. There were no cross streets. The street where I lived was Front Street--though there were no street signs, we just knew it and there were no numbers on buildings since everyone got their mail at the Post Office which was next to my
Dad's Nationwide Insurance office, across the street from my Uncle Del's Esso station (spell check just underlined Esso so I tried Exxon and that was fine...time passes...names change, and one door down (my dad's office) from my Uncle Russel's H & S grocery store which was next door to Uncle Russel's Anawalt Dime Store.
The street parallel to Front Street, across the creek behind where I lived, was, what else, Back Street. The two shorter parallel streets connecting Front Street from Back Street were, to the north, Side Street and to the south, Jenkinjones Road because it you stayed on it long enough you'd come to Jenkinjones (named, not ironically after a man named Jenkins and another named Jones who started the coal mine there). Jenkinjones was the last coal camp in West Virginia just across the state line from the first coal camp in south-western Virginia. You could get to Virginia on any of the two roads through Anawalt (state Rt. 7--Main Street, and whatever Rt, if it had one, was Jenkinjones road. By going east or west or south you would eventually run into Virginia across mountains called Elkhorn, Peel Chestnut and Jenkinjones. McDowell County (pronounced, if you were from there MACK-dowell and you referred to it as 'the Free State of MACK-dowell') poked down into southwestern Virginia so far that you hit Virginia, after crossing at least one mountain in three directions from Anawalt.
None of which has much to do with fish sandwiches and the Central Cafe.
The Central Cafe was one of the three beer joints in Anawalt that were legal. The others were Paul's place, named after the owner Paul Greek (whose real name was Genendopolis but no one is Anawalt could speak Greek so they just called him Paul Greek) and a beer joint on the corner of Front Street and Jekinjones road that once belonged to Clovis and my dad. My dad sold out to Clovis after dad was forced to pull the pistol from its hiding place to get one of his cousins, who was pretty drunk, to leave the premises without violence. The next day, dad sold out to Clovis at a loss and started working in the H&S with Uncle Russell. Then he became a dry cleaner route driver, then an insurance salesman. When he came back from WW II his lungs were shot and he couldn't go back into the mines, which was, I think, a blessing in disguise. Clovis sold out to someone else, I don't remember who though I think it was the two barbers who owned the barber shop next to the beer joint. The little restaurant changed hands and names a lot after that. (None of these places still exist and Anawalt has a population of about 150 these days. The last time I was there, about 12 years ago, my dad's old office was a beauty parlor and the H&S was a 7 day a week flea market and there were no other businesses on Front Street. When I grew up there were two groceries, a hardware store, a clothing store, a Gulf station, my dad's office, the post office and my two uncles' three businesses.
I could still weep when I think of Anawalt and the whole state where I grew up. Sad and tragic.
Finally, the Central Cafe's fish sandwich: a fried fish filet, haddock I think, about as long as a hot dog bun which it was served on with mustard, onions and chili. I swear to God, it was the best think I've ever eaten! The fish was deep fried in the french fry oil until it was so crisp it cracked when you bit into it and yet it was moist and flaky inside. It was, in fact, the only fish I ate as a boy since Anawalt was so far from anywhere that there was never fresh fish. And putting it on a hot dog bun with hot dog ingredients was, as horrible as that might sound to your sophisticated pallet, shear genius. God it was good!
I've tried to get places like Frankie's and other places that serve both hot dogs and fish sandwiches to prepare it for me. But it's not the same. And I've tried myself but just couldn't come close.
If I were on death row, I'd ask for a Central Cafe fish sandwich as my last meal. (If they can't find your last meal do they have to let you live???)
The Central Cafe was about a block from where I lived (if Anawalt, pop.400) could be said to have blocks. In fact, it was a parallelogram twice as long as it was wide. There were no cross streets. The street where I lived was Front Street--though there were no street signs, we just knew it and there were no numbers on buildings since everyone got their mail at the Post Office which was next to my
Dad's Nationwide Insurance office, across the street from my Uncle Del's Esso station (spell check just underlined Esso so I tried Exxon and that was fine...time passes...names change, and one door down (my dad's office) from my Uncle Russel's H & S grocery store which was next door to Uncle Russel's Anawalt Dime Store.
The street parallel to Front Street, across the creek behind where I lived, was, what else, Back Street. The two shorter parallel streets connecting Front Street from Back Street were, to the north, Side Street and to the south, Jenkinjones Road because it you stayed on it long enough you'd come to Jenkinjones (named, not ironically after a man named Jenkins and another named Jones who started the coal mine there). Jenkinjones was the last coal camp in West Virginia just across the state line from the first coal camp in south-western Virginia. You could get to Virginia on any of the two roads through Anawalt (state Rt. 7--Main Street, and whatever Rt, if it had one, was Jenkinjones road. By going east or west or south you would eventually run into Virginia across mountains called Elkhorn, Peel Chestnut and Jenkinjones. McDowell County (pronounced, if you were from there MACK-dowell and you referred to it as 'the Free State of MACK-dowell') poked down into southwestern Virginia so far that you hit Virginia, after crossing at least one mountain in three directions from Anawalt.
None of which has much to do with fish sandwiches and the Central Cafe.
The Central Cafe was one of the three beer joints in Anawalt that were legal. The others were Paul's place, named after the owner Paul Greek (whose real name was Genendopolis but no one is Anawalt could speak Greek so they just called him Paul Greek) and a beer joint on the corner of Front Street and Jekinjones road that once belonged to Clovis and my dad. My dad sold out to Clovis after dad was forced to pull the pistol from its hiding place to get one of his cousins, who was pretty drunk, to leave the premises without violence. The next day, dad sold out to Clovis at a loss and started working in the H&S with Uncle Russell. Then he became a dry cleaner route driver, then an insurance salesman. When he came back from WW II his lungs were shot and he couldn't go back into the mines, which was, I think, a blessing in disguise. Clovis sold out to someone else, I don't remember who though I think it was the two barbers who owned the barber shop next to the beer joint. The little restaurant changed hands and names a lot after that. (None of these places still exist and Anawalt has a population of about 150 these days. The last time I was there, about 12 years ago, my dad's old office was a beauty parlor and the H&S was a 7 day a week flea market and there were no other businesses on Front Street. When I grew up there were two groceries, a hardware store, a clothing store, a Gulf station, my dad's office, the post office and my two uncles' three businesses.
I could still weep when I think of Anawalt and the whole state where I grew up. Sad and tragic.
Finally, the Central Cafe's fish sandwich: a fried fish filet, haddock I think, about as long as a hot dog bun which it was served on with mustard, onions and chili. I swear to God, it was the best think I've ever eaten! The fish was deep fried in the french fry oil until it was so crisp it cracked when you bit into it and yet it was moist and flaky inside. It was, in fact, the only fish I ate as a boy since Anawalt was so far from anywhere that there was never fresh fish. And putting it on a hot dog bun with hot dog ingredients was, as horrible as that might sound to your sophisticated pallet, shear genius. God it was good!
I've tried to get places like Frankie's and other places that serve both hot dogs and fish sandwiches to prepare it for me. But it's not the same. And I've tried myself but just couldn't come close.
If I were on death row, I'd ask for a Central Cafe fish sandwich as my last meal. (If they can't find your last meal do they have to let you live???)
Saturday, March 16, 2013
No joy in Mudville
I've been watching Louisville play Syracuse in the championship game of the Big East basketball tournament. It is a piece of history and an occasion of great sadness. After this game, the Big East will be no more, kaput, finished, over. What a shame.
The first defections from the Big East were Virginia Tech and Boston College to the AAC (ok, if you don't follow college sports enough to know AAC is the Atlantic Coast Conference then the rest of this is going to get more and more arcane and un-understandable....) Boston College is in a conference that all the other schools are below the Mason-Dixon line in Confederate states. God help us.
Notre Dame was a part of the Big East in everything but Football. If they'd played football in the Big East the Big East would still be the Big East. You see, lot's of what was the Big East were Roman Catholic Schools that didn't play big time football--St. John's, Georgetown, Seton Hall, Providence, like that. But MONEY (from here on out to be signified by $, runs college sports. So football schools like Virginia Tech and Boston College left first. That's why if Notre Dame, a part of the Big East except for football had played football with the other Big East football schools--West Virginia, Cincinnati, Louisville, Boston College, Rutgers, UConn and Virginia Tech, the Big East would be a healthy Football conference and an incredible basketball Conference. Why didn't Notre Dame do that? Need you ask, $. They stayed 'independent' in football and had their own TV contract with CBS.
So, all the football schools started looking elsewhere for $. VT and BC jumped. My school, WVU, joined the Big Twelve, which makes no sense since all those schools are in the heartland and WVU is, for god's sake, in West Virginia. Pitt and Syracuse are gone after this year to the ACC. Get serious, Pittsburgh and Syracuse is about as on the Atlantic Coast as Tennessee. So, college sports, that should be about regional rivalries has become 'continental' because of, well you know--$.
Georgetown's basketball coach, John Thompson III, who followed his father, John Thompson, Jr. as coach of the team, said something that made more sense to me than almost anything else coming out of Washington, DC (where Georgetown is) than I've heard in a long time. "For a few more dollars," he said, "this amazing conference could have been saved."
There's the rub. A few more $ seems to control, not only college sports, but most everything these days.
What happened to being a part of a community, a part of a region? WVU plays sports with people in Texas and Oklahoma and Iowa rather than people in PA and VA and DC and CT and MA. Makes no sense at all...unless 'what makes sense' these days is $ and ONLY $.
Which, beloved, I believe, much to my chagrin, is true, true, True, TRUE....like really true....
My wife, Bern, who is a bigger sports fan than me, has adored, almost worshiped the Big East every year for year after year. She couldn't watch the end of the Louisville/Syracuse game tonight because Reality will never be the same again.
What a shame.
It is a shame when $ dominates geography, rivalries and traditions. It really is.
We are diminished when all that we love is driven by nothing more than $.
Poor UConn, our state team who is dominate in basketball (both men and women) and seeking to make an impression in Football, what are they to do....?"
"The world is too much with us,
getting and spending...."
College sports don't have the same attraction they did a few years ago. And that is sad.
The first defections from the Big East were Virginia Tech and Boston College to the AAC (ok, if you don't follow college sports enough to know AAC is the Atlantic Coast Conference then the rest of this is going to get more and more arcane and un-understandable....) Boston College is in a conference that all the other schools are below the Mason-Dixon line in Confederate states. God help us.
Notre Dame was a part of the Big East in everything but Football. If they'd played football in the Big East the Big East would still be the Big East. You see, lot's of what was the Big East were Roman Catholic Schools that didn't play big time football--St. John's, Georgetown, Seton Hall, Providence, like that. But MONEY (from here on out to be signified by $, runs college sports. So football schools like Virginia Tech and Boston College left first. That's why if Notre Dame, a part of the Big East except for football had played football with the other Big East football schools--West Virginia, Cincinnati, Louisville, Boston College, Rutgers, UConn and Virginia Tech, the Big East would be a healthy Football conference and an incredible basketball Conference. Why didn't Notre Dame do that? Need you ask, $. They stayed 'independent' in football and had their own TV contract with CBS.
So, all the football schools started looking elsewhere for $. VT and BC jumped. My school, WVU, joined the Big Twelve, which makes no sense since all those schools are in the heartland and WVU is, for god's sake, in West Virginia. Pitt and Syracuse are gone after this year to the ACC. Get serious, Pittsburgh and Syracuse is about as on the Atlantic Coast as Tennessee. So, college sports, that should be about regional rivalries has become 'continental' because of, well you know--$.
Georgetown's basketball coach, John Thompson III, who followed his father, John Thompson, Jr. as coach of the team, said something that made more sense to me than almost anything else coming out of Washington, DC (where Georgetown is) than I've heard in a long time. "For a few more dollars," he said, "this amazing conference could have been saved."
There's the rub. A few more $ seems to control, not only college sports, but most everything these days.
What happened to being a part of a community, a part of a region? WVU plays sports with people in Texas and Oklahoma and Iowa rather than people in PA and VA and DC and CT and MA. Makes no sense at all...unless 'what makes sense' these days is $ and ONLY $.
Which, beloved, I believe, much to my chagrin, is true, true, True, TRUE....like really true....
My wife, Bern, who is a bigger sports fan than me, has adored, almost worshiped the Big East every year for year after year. She couldn't watch the end of the Louisville/Syracuse game tonight because Reality will never be the same again.
What a shame.
It is a shame when $ dominates geography, rivalries and traditions. It really is.
We are diminished when all that we love is driven by nothing more than $.
Poor UConn, our state team who is dominate in basketball (both men and women) and seeking to make an impression in Football, what are they to do....?"
"The world is too much with us,
getting and spending...."
College sports don't have the same attraction they did a few years ago. And that is sad.
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