WHEN DOES LIFE END?

The balding, punchy, bent over guy seated at the
last fish fry of Lent looked –old. No other way to phrase it-
He looked old, tired, beaten, defeated. Prosperous but defeated.
Discussion topics drowned on about physical maladies – his bad feet,
and by-pass surgeries. How he had to ride a golf cart instead of walk the
flat local course.
“ Next month I am eligible for medicare” he proudly announced.
And oh yes – he enjoys doing nothing most days since retiring.
Attempts to discuss positive events such as the Green Bay Packers
winning the Super Bowl turned to – what if they have injured players
next year and can’t repeat. It sounded like a fear of enjoying the moment:
out of a dread that something terrible might soon follow.

Armageddon is on the horizon? The grim reaper is in the next room.? The bubonic plague is returning in all its indescribable horror? Life is a video about Russian roulette.

Twenty years ago we had a similar negative tinged conversation with
this same gentleman. At that time he was “ looking forward to “retirement”.
Life was a drag. Work was a bore. And the main topic of discussion
was the awesome 45 minute to work each day. Such self-pity.

His shirt swallowing the increasing girth, jaws swollen with flesh, shoulders bowed, what happened inside the soul of this once energetic, athletic ,
successful financial executive more than 20 years ago?

As a society, we collectively marvel at those who are “mature beyond their years – those who Have the insight and perception of a  50 year old when they are 25.
A gift which many embrace and cherish.

Conversely, why do some people have the premature demeanor and attitude of agers?
Seemingly before the time of their peers? In may ways they seem to carry
the mantle of a 65 year old when they are 35 or 40. A lifetime spent missing the
many joys and opportunities of middle age. No middle age crises here – he drives a Chevy Nova.

One wonders which came 1st – physical ailments or the loss of zest for life?
What causes people to cash in their chips when in their 40’s and 50’s?
Are they happy? Is their main objective in life to hope the race ends sooner
rather than later?

Is life merely an endurance contest rather than a gift to be enjoyed during the limited time we have on this earth? We hope the days of wine and roses are more prevalent than the gray skies portending gloom and doom.

When does life end?

“ BROTHERS AND SISTERS, HEAR MY PRAYER

The great religions of the world have their special holiday seasons.
Whether it be Lent, or Ramadan or Passover.
All require commitment, sacrifice, and prayer.

A common query of our family “ What did you give up for lent?
Is it chocolate, or booze, or television?

Muslims give up food from sunrise to sunset during Ramadan
Truly a sacrifice in the energy depleting sacrifice heat of the desert.

And so, we look inward during this period leading up to the torture
Mockery, and death of Jesus on the cross.
Ever put a crown of thorns on your head – painful to say the least
Let alone nails in your hands, hanging from a tree for hours.
So our sacrifice is indeed minimal.

Sunday services are imbued with somberness. Dark, blood red is the prevalent color.

And so, we begin.

The cantor sings: “ Brothers and sisters hear my prayer, for I have sinned”
Followed by many verses of this same pleading, melodious chant.
Look around. The 80 ish lady standing next, adorned with jewelry and coiffure with elegance
rises alone, by herself. Face crisscrossed with deep dark lines, back straight
Tears running down her proud cheeks: “ Brothers and sisters hear my prayer, for I have sinned.
One wonders, what malfeasance could be so great that her heart is torn?

Garish, frightening tattoos decorate the neck of the young father .
Leather jacket, dirty jeans, well worn sneakers
Holding his daughter tightly, showing he will protect her against all evil.
Straight as a marine on guard, he faces the altar
Grim, determined, he sings “ Brothers and sisters hear my prayer, for I have sinned”.
What does his appearance tell us about his past and present.
Here he is standing before the crucifix
Let’s hope he gets the benefits of forgiveness.

Amazing what happens to a group of people praying for forgiveness.
Eyes front, no one glances to see the face of the person next to them
A very focused congregation, desiring their own space, their own private thoughts.

Silence. A all quietly settle into the benches.
Even the small children seem to be entranced by the body love of their parents.

The priest, a 50ish something Irish guy, large enough to have played for the Packers is
A loud laughing, hand slapping, love everyone guy. He always has a smile and a kind word.
Seemingly encircled by his blood red stole he strides to the front of the altar.
Strange, this is not the usual format of the service. The congregants shuffle in their seats.
Steal a questioning sideways glance at their pew mate.
After all, in each Catholic Church throughout the world the format is the same.
THIS IS NOT THE FORMAT!!

Loud, booming, trembling the priest proclaims: “ Brothers and sisters hear my prayer, for I have sinned”.
Laying prostrate on the altar, he slowly, deliberately, in obvious pain, removes the sacred clerical
vestmants.
Again he faces his flock, those who have trusted him for 5 years: Louder and with anguish he proclaims:
“ Brothers and sisters hear my prayer, for I have sinned”.

He not so subtly nods towards the back of church.
Lovingly he holds his bible close to his heart
Eyes front, not looking at anyone, his shame apparent to all.
He begins the slow walk down the aisle.
Indeed a walk of public shame, A walk he chose to make.
“Oh my God “yells the fainting woman as she collapses..
“ No father” say it isn’t so cries a young mother.
“You dirty bastard “screams a man of 50, a former altar boy.
The walk reaches the end of the church,
An embarrassed, shy state trooper, also a parishioner, escorts the sinner to the waiting car.

It is over, another chapter in a seemingly endless saga.
The people have been sacrificed. Faith is again questioned. Shock and awe .
In the words of an old hymn. Where were you when they hung him on the cross?

A time for reflection and sacrifice