This Soldier is Roamin’ Away from Battle

About a month ago, I wrote about my tender feet and expressed surprise that the Roman Empire conquered most of the known world 2,000 years ago using soldiers who wore only skimpy sandals. I observed that I never could’ve been an effective Roman soldier, unless some military contractor quickly invented and then supplied me with a pair of regulation Army boots.

If I had to go into battle wearing what they wore — flip-flops with a thin strap around the ankle — I would’ve limped over to the aid station within five minutes of the first shot being fired. Oh wait, that was 2,000 years ago. I mean, within five minutes of the first arrow being launched.

I can just see it now: after assisting soldiers who had limbs chopped off, arrows lodged into their necks, and various other battle injuries, the Roman doctor gets to me and says, “Where are you wounded?” and I reply, “Well, you see, I have kind of a hot spot on the ball of my foot, and I can just tell it’s gonna turn into a blister if I keep walking on it. So, I think I’ll hang out here for the rest of the day and soak my foot in water, OK?”

Yeah, I’m sure that would’ve gone over really well with the commanding officer, as soon as Dr. Hawkeyeicus Piercius turned me over to the MPs.

Anyway, after that essay appeared in the paper, a reader sent me an email and agreed that I never would’ve made it as a Roman soldier. However, he said it would not have been because of my sore feet. Instead, he pointed out that long before my feet started to hurt, my fair Irish skin would’ve been burnt to a crisp by the harsh Mediterranean sun.

That’s a good point. There probably were very few Roman soldiers who got sunburned from sitting next to a 60-watt light bulb. Oh wait, this was 2,000 years ago. I mean, from sitting next to a 60-watt oil lamp. (Yes, I’m exaggerating. I’ve never gotten sunburned from a 60-watt light bulb. But I did turn ruby red after sitting by a pool in Florida for no more than 20 minutes. I spent the remainder of the vacation hiding indoors applying Noxema to my shoulders with a kitchen spatula while everyone else had fun.)

If the military back then did not even have halfway decent footwear for the soldiers, I’m pretty sure they were not handing out bottles of SPF-50 sunblock to the troops.

There are actually many reasons why I never would’ve made it as a Roman soldier. I suppose the most obvious reason is the fact I was born in 1957 while the Roman Empire collapsed in the year 476. But assuming I happened to live back then, I still would’ve washed out of Roman boot camp. Oh wait, that was 2,000 years ago. I mean, Roman sandal camp.

First, I’m a wimp. I get squeamish at the sight of blood, especially my own. Next, I get very cranky if I happen to be in a place with poor wifi service, and I understand Roman soldiers rarely got online with their iPads. That would’ve driven me nuts.

Also, I am lactose intolerant. If the Roman soldier diet 2,000 years ago was anything like Italian restaurants today — that is, loaded with formaggio — I would’ve spent most of my military enlistment in the men’s room. Oh wait, that was 2,000 years ago. I mean, in the woods.

I am very glad I was never a Roman soldier. And I’m sure the Romans are glad, too, since if I was fighting for them, the Empire would’ve collapsed a hundred years sooner.

Honor the Lord’s Day

The Catechism of the Catholic Church discusses our Sunday obligation. In addition to the requirement of attending Mass, it says this: “On Sundays…the faithful are to refrain from engaging in work or activities that hinder the worship owed to God…and the appropriate relaxation of mind and body” (CCC 2185).

The Catechism goes on to say that if certain people are required to work on Sunday—for example, medical professionals, law enforcement personnel, retail or food service workers—then it’s OK to go to work, as long as these folks set aside some time to worship God.

But for the rest of us who do not have to go to our regular jobs on Sundays, what’s all this talk about “appropriate relaxation of mind and body”? Do we even pretend to do that anymore? Sunday has become the day of sports and traveling and yardwork and shopping and a zillion other activities that are anything but restful or relaxing for our minds and bodies. And we wonder why we’re so exhausted all the time?

If you’ve been around as long as I have, you probably remember when Sundays were indeed a day of rest. If you went downtown, nothing was open. I can remember getting ready to go to church on Sunday morning and my father exclaiming, “Oh no, I forget to put gas in the car yesterday! I hope there’s enough in the tank to last until tomorrow morning.”

That’s right, even the gas stations were closed on Sundays. And back then, there were no self-serve pumps with built-in credit card readers. You had to pay up front, usually in cash, and then the attendant pumped the gas for you. (He also often cleaned your windshield and checked the oil, things I forget to do nowadays for years at a time.)

Anyway, Sundays may have been a little boring back in those days, but our culture was still respectful of Christian traditions, so Sunday was understood to be a “day of rest.” Most of society willingly went along with it. Now, Sunday is just the second day of the weekend, and if you ask the average person in our culture this question, “Did you know Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest?” I suspect his or her reply would be something like, “Umm, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I gotta go. We’re late for little Jimmy’s soccer practice!”

In the beginning, God took six days to create the heavens and the earth, and then He rested on the seventh day. God set the example for us. After working hard for six days, we should take a day off. You may think this story from Genesis is merely symbolic, and it probably is, but God made sure mankind preserved this story because it tells important truths about Him and about us. First, it tells us that God truly loves us and cares about us, so much so that He wants us to be refreshed and well-rested. And it tells us that we are not machines. We cannot go full speed day after day after day without eventually breaking down. We need a day off.

Modern medicine has confirmed that one day of rest every seven days is an ideal system. It’s a terrific method for keeping us refreshed and strong. It prevents us from getting worn out and depressed.

Our culture no longer respects Christian traditions, so closed stores and empty streets on Sunday are not coming back anytime soon. We need to create the “Sunday rest” on our own. There are two things we need to do: first, read Scripture and the Catechism to assure ourselves that the Sunday rest is indeed a divinely-ordained blessing. Second, we need to develop the habit of saying no. We need to say no to invitations to shop or travel or go to a ballgame. We should stay home and rest. We can read the Sunday newspaper, take a nap, talk with our loved ones, and simply enjoy the rest God wants us to have and our body desperately need.

Honoring the Lord’s Day is one of the Ten Commandments. If we really do it, we’ll be amazed at how much energy and optimism we have, which enables us to deal successfully with the rest of the week.

*    *    *

By the way, coming up soon is the annual Connecticut Catholic Men’s Conference, one of the most exciting and uplifting events of the whole year. This day-long celebration of faith is on Saturday, October 20th, at St. Paul’s High School in Bristol, CT. Go to CTCatholicMen.org to order your tickets. It’s a great day with great speakers, great food, and great fellowship. I hope to see you there!

Is the Movie Better Than the Novel?

Sometimes I find myself lost in thought, pondering the many deep and philosophical questions facing humankind. Recently, this is what I spent a few hours contemplating: Has there ever been a movie that was better than the original novel?

After much rumination, I concluded the answer is “no,” there has never been a movie that was better than the original novel. And I’m not alone with that opinion. Novelist John le Carré famously quipped, “Having your book turned into a movie is like seeing your oxen turned into bouillon cubes.”

(In the 17-plus years of writing this weekly humor column, I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve had to type the phrase “bouillon cubes,” which would make a great name for a rock band.)

Admittedly, my personal sample size is rather small. I estimate I’ve seen about 30 movies over the years where I’ve also read the novels on which they were based. Even very good movies — such as “Jaws” and “The Godfather”— can’t hold a candle to the original novels.

For example, Steven Spielberg did a terrific job creating the film adaptation of Peter Benchley’s best-selling shark terror story. He inserted some clever Hollywood-style moments of surprise and humor. And the big bang ending was emotionally cathartic for the audience, but completely ridiculous. However, the film never captured the powerful social class undercurrents of the novel. Instead of a short, bearded smart-aleck (Richard Dreyfuss), the oceanographer character, Matt Hooper, was in the novel a tall handsome upper-class preppie. Hooper’s presence in town triggers suppressed resentments in Chief Brody’s wife, who many years earlier gave up her social privilege to marry a middle-class cop. (I won’t give away how Hooper and Mrs. Brody dealt with this tension.)

 Anyway, good movie, better book.

Same thing with “The Godfather.” Francis Ford Coppola’s award-winner classic is a great movie, in large measure because it stayed so faithful to Mario Puzo’s novel. It even added some of my all-time favorite movie lines: “Leave the gun; take the cannolis,” and, “Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.”

Like all movies, there was simply no time to explore the back stories of interesting characters, such as Johnny Fontaine, Jack Woltz, Lucy Mancini, Al Neri, Moe Green, and the aforementioned Brasi. Again, it was a wonderful movie, but the novel was better.

So, imagine my surprise when I found an online article, published by Variety magazine, titled, “Ten Movies That Are Better Than the Book.” Right at the top of the list were these films: “Jaws” and “The Godfather.” Wait a minute! I know “Variety” is a Hollywood industry publication, but did those guys even read the novels?

By the way, the other movies on the list were: “Psycho,” “Planet of the Apes,” “The Spy Who Loved Me,” “Die Hard,” “The Bridges of Madison County,” “Jackie Brown,” “The Notebook,” and “Fifty Shades of Gray.”

“The Spy Who Loved Me” is the only one where I’ve seen the film and read the novel. It shouldn’t even be on a list like this, because other than having a central character named James Bond and the same title, the movie’s plot is 100-percent different than the novel’s story. (And both were mediocre at best. Ian Fleming acknowledged it was one of his worst Bond books.)

I’m curious what you think about this subject. Do you agree that the movie is never as good as the novel it’s based on? Or do you think there are movies that are better than the novel? Feel free to contact me at MerryCatholic@gmail.com and let me know. If you make a good argument for your point of view — or at least write something funny — I’ll include it in a future column.

What God Has Joined Let No Man Separate

Occasionally, people will use an interesting debate tactic. They’ll say, “Jesus never talked about [blank], so how can anyone claim to know what he really thought about it?”

Most of the time this technique is not sincere, and it’s meant to muddle the discussion about an uncomfortable topic. Well, in this week’s gospel reading, Jesus made a clear statement about an uncomfortable topic, and there is no need to speculate about what He really thought about it.

Jesus said this about marriage: “What God has joined together, no human being must separate.” Then He added, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her.”

This is a very uncomfortable subject nowadays because every single person in America now either is divorced or has a very close friend or relative who is divorced. Even people who are blessed to be happily married for many years find this topic uncomfortable. (In my case I am very, VERY blessed. My darling wife of over 36 years is patient and loving and patient and kind and patient. Did I mention that she’s patient? She has to be; she’s married to me.)

Divorce is one of the most difficult topics in our society. On the one hand, Jesus’ words are quite clear: divorce is wrong. If we’re honest with ourselves, we’ll agree that the high rate of divorce in our culture is not a good thing. The breakdown of the family has produced millions of kids who are now being raised by single parents, or by a series of step-parents, or by mom’s boyfriend-of-the-month. Not good.

On the other hand, we all know of situations where the relationship between spouses has simply collapsed. If they don’t get away from each other soon, someone is likely to end up in the Emergency Room.

So, if you think I’m going to offer a quick solution to this problem, then you must think I’m a lot smarter than I am. I don’t have a solution. All I know is that divorce is sad. It’s like a death in the family. Quoting this week’s first reading from Genesis, Jesus said, “A man shall…be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”

When two people are married, a new single organism is created, the “one flesh” Jesus spoke about. A divorce is the death of that “one flesh.” Like all deaths, it is terribly sad.

Although I don’t have any solutions, I’d like to make an observation. In the gospel reading, when the Pharisees asked Jesus, “Is it lawful for a husband to divorce his wife?” He answered their question with a question, “What did Moses command you?”

They replied, “Moses permitted a husband to write a bill of divorce and dismiss her.”

And that is true. Moses, the great law-giver of the Old Testament, allowed a man to dismiss his wife (Deuteronomy, chapter 24).

But then Jesus offered His amazing statement, explaining why Moses did it. “Because of the hardness of your hearts he wrote you this commandment.”

Wow. Moses actually gave a specific law to the people of Israel, not because it was God’s will for them, but because they were so stubborn and selfish.

I wonder how many of our laws today—whether criminal laws, civil laws, or church laws—exist not because of what is right and just, but exist because of our stubbornness and selfishness?

If people spent a little less time looking inward and saying, “My will be done,” and instead looked heavenward and said, “Thy will be done,” maybe our culture would be just a little less stubborn and selfish. And maybe our marriages and families just might stay intact at a higher rate than we now see. I suspect if that happened, it would put quite a smile on Jesus’ face.

‘Bye-Bye, and Be Careful!’

Quite often, whenever someone is about to leave the house, someone else in the family will say, “Bye-bye. Be careful.”

If you don’t happen to hear that when you leave the house, it means either your family members don’t care about you, or you belong to the Flying Wallendas family, where the standard expression is, “Bye-bye. Be dangerous.”

It also could mean you’re home alone and no one is around to say “Be careful” to you. In those instances, when there’s no one in my house to say “Be careful” to me, I take on that duty by having a conversation with myself. As I walk out the front door, I say, “Be careful, Bill. Oh, thank you for your concern, Bill. Don’t mention it, Bill. OK, Bill, maybe you should stop talking to yourself now because the neighbors are staring at you. No, they’re staring at you. Nuh uh, they’re staring at you!”

Anyway, what exactly does “Be careful” really mean? Is it simply a way of saying, “I care about you, so have a safe journey”? Or does the expression have some deeper meaning? In some cases, saying “Be careful” as a person leaves the house also could mean:

“You’re not smart enough to realize that driving an automobile on our congested highways these days is risky, so unless I say, ‘Be careful,’ you’ll surely drive recklessly and end up plowing into a bridge abutment at 80 mph.”

Or it could mean, “I’ve said ‘Be careful’ to you every time you’ve left the house for the last 30 years and you’ve never had a car accident, so the one time I don’t say it you probably will have an accident and everyone will blame me, so I’m gonna keep saying ‘Be careful’ whenever you walk out that front door, even if you’re just going to get the mail.”

Or it could mean, “One of these days you’re going to have a fender-bender, and when that happens I’ll be able to say, ‘I told you to be careful! Why weren’t you careful? You never listen to me! I go to all the trouble of reminding you to be careful, and what do you do to show your gratitude? You smash up the car! Thanks a lot, pal!’”

For decades my wife has said “Be careful” to me each time I’ve left the house. Being the snarkaholic that I am, I would usually reply, “No! I’m NOT going to be careful! Just because you said that, I’m going to put on a blindfold and drive 100 mph and steer with my feet!”

Then she would roll her eyes and say, “Well, when you’re driving to work, at least don’t have any of those distracting conversations with yourself, OK?”

For many years I thought I was being such a carefree smart-aleck, and then something truly frightening occurred: our two daughters became teenagers and got their driver’s licenses. Now, this happened a long time ago, but I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Every time one of the girls walked out the front door, I leapt up from the couch and pleaded, “Be careful! I mean it, really. BE CAREFUL!!” And then as I returned to the couch, I could feel another patch of hair on my head turning white.

Then, a little while later, in case she had forgotten, I called her cell phone and said, “Hey, it’s me. Just be careful, OK?” My daughter would reply, “Dad, I swear I’ll be careful — as soon as you hang up so I can back out of the driveway.”

Well, I’m no longer a snarkaholic (at least on this particular issue). So, everybody, please, do me a favor: be careful!

Fruits of the Spirit or Bitter Fruits?

In his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul lists nine “fruits of the spirit” (not to be confused with Fruit of the Loom). The fruits of the spirit are the attitudes and attributes of a person who is fully in tune with the will of God and who lives a very Christlike life. The fruits are: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

If we are honest, there are very few people nowadays who embody all of these nine characteristics. Actually, there are fewer and fewer people these days who embody ANY of these nine characteristics.

Some of the fruits of the spirit are the foundation of the Christian worldview: faithfulness and love. If we don’t have faith, if we don’t believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ, then we are not going to know that love must be the essence of a Christian’s life. A quick look at our modern culture makes it very clear that many people no longer have faith in God, and as a result, true sacrificial love has been replaced by selfish lust, and the results are not pretty.

Other fruits of the spirit are the direct result of having faith and expressing that faith through love. These are: joy, peace, kindness, and generosity. These fruits are not things we can set out to achieve and then work toward them. They are the byproducts of doing other things properly, that is, of having faith in Christ and being filled with His love. If someone has true faith and demonstrates an abundance of love toward others, that person also will be filled with joy and peace, with kindness and generosity soon following. Two-thousand years of Christian history proves beyond a doubt this is true.

The three remaining fruits of the spirit are the ones we have the most control over: patience, gentleness, and self-control. Unfortunately, our modern culture practically demands that we do the exact opposite of these three fruits.

First, let’s consider patience. We live in an instant gratification society. If people do not get what they want immediately, they go bonkers. Just think of all the modern products and services available that emphasize “instant relief,” “same-day service,” or “overnight delivery.” This reminds me of my favorite prayer: “Lord, please give me patience—and I want it RIGHT NOW!”

Next, let’s look at gentleness. Our culture rewards aggressiveness and mocks anyone who is quiet, reserved, and polite. “The squeaky wheel gets the grease!” we hear constantly, as we are encouraged to “stand up for our rights” and “demand satisfaction.” Which usually means: throw a temper tantrum and badger others until you get what you want. Not very attractive, and not a likely source of peace and happiness.

The final fruit is self-control. Oh boy, where do we even begin? Our modern culture—with a big boost from the advertising industry and the sexual revolution of the 1960s—had conditioned contemporary citizens to give in to every urge that comes our way. Do you have an urge to buy something? Cha-ching! Do you have an urge to eat something? Chow down! Do you have an urge to have sex with someone? Go for it! Our national anthem during the past 50 years has been: “If it feels good, do it!”

So, is the average American happy and joyful and serene as a result of ignoring the nine fruits of the spirit? Not even close. Instead of fruits of the spirit, our culture is harvesting bitter fruits. It’s time for us to be counter-cultural. It’s time to reject the self-centered attitudes of our modern society and instead embrace the eternal truths of God. St. Paul knew what he was talking about. The nine fruits of the spirit are the key to a happy and fulfilled life. Let’s give them a try.

The Five-Second Rule

Everybody knows about the “five-second rule” for food. If you drop food on the kitchen floor, as long as you pick it up within five seconds, it’s still OK to eat.

The only exception to this rule is if you live in a house with pets that shed a lot. If you pick up, say, a fallen Hostess Fruit Pie within five seconds and it resembles one of those Troll dolls with colorful hair sticking out in all directions, then maybe you shouldn’t eat it. I say “maybe” because I realize that if it is the last Hostess Fruit Pie in the house, you cannot just throw it away and be satisfied snacking instead on Saltines or a rice cake. You simply have to try and salvage some of that hairy little fruit pie.

Anyway, the five-second rule comes in very handy if you’re like me: an enthusiastic eater with occasional butter fingers. And speaking of butter fingers, try not to drop a Butterfingers candy bar on the kitchen floor because they tend to shatter. A Three Musketeer bar, on the other hand, is the best. It only dents when it thuds against the floor. You can reach down, pick it up, pop it in your mouth, and all is right with the world.

Wouldn’t it be nice if there were a five-second rule, not for things we want to put into our mouths, but for things that come out of our mouths, namely our words? Wouldn’t it be nice if each time we said something really stupid or hurtful, as long as we said within five seconds, “No, I didn’t mean that!” then everyone would instantly forget what was said and carry on as if nothing happened?

It’s not like we even need the full five seconds. Judging from my own experience, most of the time when I say something stupid or hurtful, before the words have even come out of my mouth, the rational part of my brain is yelling to me, “Don’t say it, pal! Please don’t say it!”

But it’s usually too late. The emotional part of my brain replies to the rational part, “Shut up, twerp!” Then the emotional part of my brain clicks the send button, causing the stupid or hurtful words to spew forth from my mouth. (Often these words also include the phrase, “Shut up, twerp!”)

The instant the words are spoken, the emotional part of my brain suddenly turns rational and remorseful — a few moments too late. This is because the emotional part of my brain hates to see someone cry. At this point, no matter how sincerely I say, “I didn’t mean that” and “I was just kidding,” the damage has been done. The other person somehow is not convinced I was just kidding, possibly because people who are “just kidding” don’t turn red and have veins bulging in their necks and spray spittle across the room while shouting the word “twerp.”

Just think how much better our lives would be if we had five seconds to take back our words. The divorce rate would be cut in half, the Saturday night barroom brawl rate would be reduced, and the dreaded H.F.F. — Hard Feelings Factor — would be practically eliminated. C’mon, you know what I mean. The H.F.F. is what keeps family members from speaking to each other for decades at a time, because of a snarky comment no one can even remember anymore.

Best of all, if we didn’t have to spend half our lives trying to make up for the stupid and hurtful things we say, we would have more time to snack on Hostess Fruit Pies and Three Musketeer bars — on or off the floor.