Fuddy-Duddies vs. Look-at-Me Generation

Of all the wise lessons about life I learned from my father, the most important thing he ever taught me is this: “When you score a touchdown, just hand the ball to the ref, as if you do it every day.”

This was not simply advice to avoid being one of those embarrassing end zone celebration buffoons. Have you seen those guys? They score a touchdown — often in a meaningless pre-season game in August, which means their team now trails by only 21 points — and then they start jumping and strutting and pounding their chests as if they just won the Super Bowl. I’ve seen receivers do the same thing after catching a 3-yard pass at midfield. Hey knucklehead, it’s now second-and-seven. Get back in the huddle and stop wasting all your energy jumping around and pointing to yourself.

Or the scene I witnessed recently on TV: a guy hit a solo home run in the 8th inning, and while the ball sailed over the wall he stood at home plate admiring it, then made his way around the bases ever so slowly, all the while pointing to the crowd. When he finally touched the plate, he pointed both arms heavenward in thanksgiving for his remarkable achievement. To be honest, though, I don’t think God was terribly impressed that a guy playing for a team 14-1/2 games out of first place, hit one out in a mid-July game, which meant his team now was losing by only six runs not seven. I don’t know if he got plunked the next day, but if my father or I were pitching, he would’ve been drilled in the ribs with a tailing fastball.

So why is my dad’s wise advice important? At my age, it’s not like I’ve scored any touchdowns lately. In fact, the last one was 40 years ago this fall, in a jayvee game at a small college. And no, my amazing catch did not make Sports Center’s top ten highlights that evening. (ESPN didn’t exist back then, but even if it did, well, let’s put it this way: there were more players on the field than there were fans in the bleachers that day, and none of them thought to preserve the historic moment by bringing a Super-8 movie camera.) However, in case you were wondering, I did just hand the ball to the ref as if I did that every day, as long as you define “every day” as meaning: one single time during an entire four-year period.

My father’s advice is important because it’s not about sports; it’s about character. The “just hand the ball to the ref” way of thinking emphasizes humility, teamwork, and discipline. These character traits are not exactly in abundance nowadays. This way of thinking is the exact opposite of the “Selfie mentality.”

Oh man, I’m glad my father is too old to know or care about digital technology. If he had any idea what young people are up to on social media these days with the deluge of “look at me!” selfies, he’d be drilling guys in the ribs with tailing fastballs all day long.

Sharing these thoughts right now makes it quite obvious that I am a member of the rapidly shrinking “fuddy-duddy generation.” We are fading into the sunset, and we are routinely mocked by the know-it-all, look-at-me whippersnapper generation. (Oh my, did I just use the phrases “fuddy-duddy” and “whippersnapper” in the same paragraph? Yeow, I am a dinosaur.)

Well, all I know is: humble confidence is better than prideful boasting. And just handing the ball to the ref is cooler than you might think.

The ‘Good News’ Is for the Whole World

The Scripture readings at Mass this weekend focus on a common theme: the salvation of the Lord is not just for a select group of people; it is available to everyone, even foreigners.

In the gospel reading, a Canaanite woman, a foreigner, came to Jesus and begged for help. Her daughter was gravely ill, and she knew that Jesus had the power to heal people. Up until this time, Jesus had focused His efforts on the people of Israel, but this foreign woman had so much trust in the Lord that Jesus actually changed His plans and said to her, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

Throughout most of the history of Israel, the people of the covenant believed that Yahweh was their God alone. Since foreigners were born into the “wrong” nation—that is, not Israel—the belief back then was that they were not part of God’s Chosen People, and therefore, could be ignored.

When Jesus came and fulfilled all the prophecies of Israel, everything changed. It was now possible for any person—regardless of race, creed, or nationality—to be in a covenant relationship with God. A person was no longer thought to be either blessed or cursed based on which nation he happened to be born into. Now any person could be blessed by having a personal faith in Christ.

At the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus gave what is known as the Great Commission: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations…teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.”

This means that as Christians, we have been commanded by the Lord Himself to spread the Gospel message to all the world. There are countless places around the globe that have NEVER heard the Good News of the Gospel. Some places are located in foreign lands 12,000 miles away; others are in cubicles at the office 12 feet away.

For many centuries, Christians took the Great Commission very seriously. Missionaries spread the Gospel message to the far corners of the globe. In our day and age, however, sharing the Good News has become very politically incorrect. Discussing your religious beliefs with others is now defined as “imposing your intolerant values on others,” which violates the most important modern-day world view: moral relativism, the idea that all beliefs and values are equal.

The ancient Israelites did not share their knowledge of God with foreigners because they thought Yahweh did not care for those people from other countries (although He surely did). Nowadays, many Christians do not share their knowledge of Christ with others because it’s considered impolite.

The moral relativists and their doctrine of “all views are equal” have done a fabulous job of shutting up the average Christian. And I just can’t help but think the Lord is shaking His head and muttering, “What’s the matter with you people? Do you believe that I am the ‘way and the truth and the life,’ or not?!”

So let’s start with baby steps. First, let’s practice some low-key approaches to evangelization, such as St. Francis’ teaching: “Always preach the Gospel. If necessary, use words.”

Actions do speak louder than words. Living a moral, decent, unselfish life will make other people curious, especially in our immoral, indecent, self-absorbed culture. It might even create an opportunity to share the Good News of Jesus Christ…with actual words.

Another concept that should help is: “You don’t have to proclaim to everyone that you are a Christian. But if they happen to find out, make sure they’re not surprised.”

So please, do not let whiny politically correct moral relativists silence you. The Good News of the Gospel is indeed for the whole world, as clearly stated by the Scripture readings this week. We have been commanded by Our Savior to help spread the message.

Major Faux Pas in Le Mart du Wal

Embarrassment is incredibly painful. I wonder how expensive it will be to move to Montana and have plastic surgeons give me a whole new identity? After my recent blunder, that’s the only viable option.

It started out so innocently. On a Saturday morning, I went to a local big box store to buy a replacement showerhead. The store was very crowded. The checkout lines were huge. The place was a bustling beehive of frenetic activity. 

And that’s when, out of shear frustration, I did the unthinkable. I still can’t believe I did it, but at that moment, not thinking clearly, I actually —

Hey, wait a minute. You’re anticipating what I’m about to say, aren’t you? You think I’m going to admit that I shoplifted the showerhead because I didn’t want to wait in line, and then got caught red-handed sneaking out of the store, and had to endure the shame of being arrested and see my name in the police blotter section of the newspaper, aren’t you? Ha! I only WISH that’s what happened.

What really occurred is far more embarrassing. Out of frustration, I walked up to a store employee and said, “Excuse me, ma’am. Where can I find the replacement showerheads?”

The startled woman stared at me in disbelief. After a long pause, she slowly backed away. When she caught sight of a fellow employee, she quickly waved her over, and said, “Shirley! What am I supposed to do? A customer asked me for the location of an item.”

“Well, Marge,” the other employee laughed, “Just tell the customer where she can find it, of course.”

“You don’t understand,” Marge said as Shirley came into view. “The customer is, is a MAN!”

Shirley stopped in her tracks. The two employees stood frozen like a pair of blue smock-clad deer, standing in the center of the road staring at oncoming headlights. Finally, Shirley spoke. “They, uh, they never prepared us for this at the training seminars. I’ve never had a, a man ask for help before.”

By now a crowd had gathered, not unlike curious rubberneckers trying to get a glimpse of a terrible car wreck. I noticed that some of the onlookers were men. Their faces were twisted with looks of pure disgust and loathing. I heard one guy mutter, “What a loser. Jerks like him give all men a bad name.”

Another man added, “Yeah, we come here knowing we’ll have to wander the aisles for two or three hours before we find what we want. Who does he think he is, anyway?” He then held his hand in front of his young son’s face and said, “Don’t look, Tommy. You’re too young to be expose to something like this.”

I tried to defend myself. “But I did wander around, for over half-an-hour. I just want a stupid showerhead.”

In reply, jeers and shouts rose up from the crowd. They pressed in closer to me, approaching from all sides. I think I saw some pitchforks and torches.

Just then a tall white-haired security guard waded through the crowd. “OK, break it up!” he shouted. “Nothing to see here! Move along!” As the mob dispersed, the guard said, “What’s the problem?”

Shirley spoke up. “He, he asked Marge for help finding an item.”

The guard’s shoulders slumped. He looked at me and shook his head slowly. “You’d think working Homicide for 30 years would prepare you for anything,” he said sadly. He grabbed my arm and said, “C’mon, I’ll escort you to your car for your own safety.”

As I drove home, I wondered which would annoy my wife more, the fact that I never found a replacement showerhead, or our impending move to Montana.

Jesus Is NOT Angry at You

Years ago, I remember hearing a story about people trying to get into Heaven. In the story, Jesus, the stern judge, was holding court at the entrance of Heaven. Everyone who wanted to get in, first had to stand before Jesus and listen as He loudly proclaimed all their sins. One after another, each person would quiver in fear as Jesus angrily declared him or her unworthy, and then cast them into Hell. The remaining people waiting their turn were terrified. But then a guy tip-toed over to the crowd and whispered, “Psst, follow me. Jesus’ mom is letting people in through the side door.”

I’ve heard other stories (true ones, by the way, not silly tales) from folks who attended parochial schools, especially during the 1940s and 50s. Exasperated nuns, trying to maintain order in a noisy classroom, would yell, “Jesus is so angry at you, he’ll NEVER let you into Heaven!”

So, the main lesson to be learned from both semi-humorous stories and exasperated nuns is that Jesus is really angry at us. The conclusion, therefore, is that unless our behavior is pretty much perfect, we have little chance of getting into Heaven.

Off the top of my head, I can think of three or four people I know who are faithful to the teachings of the Church, but who are genuinely so worried about their chances of getting into Heaven, they are depressed and miserable about it. They truly believe they have committed so many sins over the years, Jesus is really mad at them and most likely will cast them into Hell for all eternity. These people are genuinely frightened of Jesus.

This attitude is the complete OPPOSITE of what the Good News of the Gospel teaches. Yes, Jesus loves righteousness and hates sin. Yes, Jesus is the judge of all the world. Yes, Jesus told us, “Be perfect, as my heavenly Father is perfect.” Yes, Jesus said, “Go, and sin no more.”

However, we can’t take those quotes in isolation and out of context. Those quotes must be understood within the entirety of the New Testament. And here is the main message of Scripture: 1) we ALL are sinners and fall short; 2) but God loves us so much He sent His Son to pay the price for our sins; and 3) if we trust in Him and accept His forgiveness we can enter into Heaven, even if we really don’t deserve it.

That’s why they call it the Good News. It’s not very complicated. It’s all based on love. God loves us, and if we love Him in return, He will wash away our sins.

If you want to look at specific Bible verses, try this one: “Love covers a multitude of sins” (1 Peter 4:8). Or this one: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life” (John 3:16).

This famous verse from John’s gospel summarizes God’s entire plan of salvation. The Lord created each and every one of us out of love, and He loves each and every one of us with an intensity we cannot comprehend. He would never willfully send anyone to Hell. Regrettably, many people refuse to accept His love and His offer of forgiveness, and choose instead to separate themselves from God for all eternity, and so the end result is the same. But it’s not God doing it.

If you’re one of those folks who was told years ago that Jesus is angry at you, it’s simply not true. That’s a false view of Our Lord, which was invented by, among other people, frazzled nuns and frustrated parents who wanted to keep kids in line. (I’m not saying you didn’t in fact terrorize those poor nuns. I’m just saying Jesus still loves you despite your behavior then—and now.)

If you’re afraid you’re not good enough for Heaven, join the crowd! Everyone in Heaven (except Mary) was not good enough either. But they are there right now because God loves them, and they loved Him back in return.

Vacations Can Be Hard Work

We are now in the heart of the vacation season. During this time of year most people set aside a week or two to take a much needed break from the tedious grind of work. Unless, of course, these people happen to be school teachers, in which case they are entering the fifth week of an eight-week break from work. (Relax, I’m not slamming teachers. Some of my best friends are teachers. I’m just, um, I’m just really jealous, OK?)

Anyway, the problem with vacations is that people have very differing views about the purpose of this much needed break from work. Some people think a vacation is the opportunity to do all the things there is no time to do while working, such as: travel to exciting destinations, visit tourist sites and amusement parks, take a million photographs (and upload ALL of them to Facebook), dine in exotic restaurants, visit long lost relatives and friends, and forego sleep, if need be, in an attempt to cram as much fun as possible into a one- or two-week period.

Other people, however, think a vacation is the opportunity to do all the things there is no time to do while working, such as: sleep late and hang around the house.

For people in the first category, a vacation is considered successful if they visit every possible attraction in a dozen different locations — and take at least 125 selfies at each attraction. For people in the second category, a vacation is considered successful if they are still wearing only slippers and boxer shorts at 3 p.m. every afternoon. And this goes for the men, too.

There is actually a third category. These are people who think the purpose of a vacation is to do major home improvement projects, such as repave the driveway, put new shingles on the roof, or paint the entire house. I’m not including this group of people in my discussion of vacations because, frankly, they are emotionally disturbed. People who look forward to working HARDER while on vacation than they do while at work make me nervous.

Problems arise when people in the first category — the “let’s do EVERYTHING while on vacation” folks — are married to people in the second category — the “it’s time for my third nap of the day” folks.

Let’s just say for discussion’s sake that in a particular family, it is the wife who wants to travel and see all the sites while on vacation, and it is the husband who wants to sleep late and startle the Jehovah Witnesses by answering the door wearing only slippers and boxer shorts. (Not that this represents any particular family of which I am aware — especially mine. No, really.)

If this family decides to make the husband happy by staying home doing nothing during the vacation, the wife will become very frustrated and depressed, and for the next 50 weeks the husband will find that certain things he’s taken for granted, such as food and clean boxer shorts, may no longer be forthcoming.

On the other hand, if the family decides to make the wife happy by frantically traveling across North America and seeing the sites, the husband will become frustrated and depressed (not to mention exhausted), and start to wish he had done something less strenuous during the vacation week, such as repave the driveway, put new shingles on the roof, and paint the entire house. 

There is a solution to this dilemma. The couple can get divorced each July, take separate vacations, and then re-marry each August. If this is not practical, there is another solution. Both spouses can go back to school and get their teaching certificates.

Prayer Notebook and The Rem Dog

Last year I started writing prayer requests into a small notebook. Whenever a friend, family member, or fellow parishioner had a need—usually health related—I would enter his or her name in my notebook and pray for them each morning. Within months, the list of people became quite large. I think that’s because most of the people on the list are in my age range, and I’m at the stage of life where EVERYBODY has health issues.

My little prayer notebook is a wonderful way to help me remember who needs prayer, and just having it prompts me to pray on a daily basis. I recommend a prayer notebook for anyone who wants to pray for others but can never remember who exactly needs prayer.

Recently, I heard that Jerry Remy has cancer again. If you don’t know him, he’s the former all-star second baseman for the Red Sox, who has been broadcasting Boston baseball games on TV for the past 30 years. My first impulse was to write his name in my prayer notebook. But then I said to myself, “No, wait a minute. My notebook is already getting full with just the people I know, plus friends of friends. If I start praying for every celebrity or public figure with a health problem, I’ll have to pray 24 hours a day.”

So, I made a conscious decision NOT to put Jerry Remy’s name in my prayer notebook. Then a couple of weeks later, God decided to show me that He has a terrific sense of humor. I was in Kansas City on a business trip. It just so happened the Red Sox were in town to play the Royals. (OK, it didn’t “just so happen,” since I booked the business trip three months earlier knowing the Red Sox would be there. As it turned out, I was able to attend one of the games. They lost, but it was a great experience.)

Also, it just so happened the Red Sox were staying in the same hotel I was staying in. (This was indeed a “just so happened” situation, since I had no idea where they would be staying.) As I walked through the hotel lobby one day, who was sitting there, having a conversation with two other people? None other than Jerry Remy.

Now, as a big Red Sox fan, who vividly remembers the “Rem Dog” from his playing days in the 1970s, I could’ve left him alone, since he probably gets pestered by fans all the time. Or I could’ve been a jerk and bothered him. I, of course, chose the latter. I walked over to where he was sitting, and as soon as there was a brief lull in his conversation, I blurted out, “Jerry! We’re praying for you! Don’t worry, you’ll beat it again this time!”

He smiled and waved, and then, as I walked away, I said to myself, “‘We’re praying for you’? Did I really say that? Oh man, I specifically decided NOT to pray for him, and then I say THAT? Wow!” At that point, I looked up toward Heaven and said to God, “You are too funny, Lord. I see what you did there. You put Jerry Remy in my path to show me how foolish I was to leave him off my prayer list just because ‘I don’t have time for everybody’.” Well, I get the message, Lord. I’ll put him on my list.”

I went upstairs to my room, wrote Jerry Remy’s name in my prayer notebook, had another good laugh at the way God works, and then offered up a prayer for healing for the “Rem Dog.” 

As I mentioned earlier, a prayer notebook is a great way to organize your prayers. But if you decide to use one, watch out, God might surprise you. And in the process give you a good laugh.

National Hot Dog Day

As I write this, it is July 19th, one of our nation’s most sacred holidays. Today is National Hot Dog Day. However, by the time you read this, the special day will have come and gone. I hope you remembered this wonderful holiday and celebrated it like all true Americans by calling in sick to work and enjoying a hot dog omelet for breakfast, a heaping serving of franks and beans for lunch, and a few grilled wienies with mustard and sauerkraut for dinner.

If you missed this holiday on the 19th, a part of me questions your patriotism, but mostly, I feel sorry for you. But don’t despair, you can have a belated celebration — and avoid being called before a congressional committee investigating Un-American activities — by calling in sick to work right now and enjoying a hot dog omelet for breakfast, a heaping serving of franks and beans for lunch, and a few grilled wienies with mustard and sauerkraut for dinner.

News reports cite figures from the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council, which claim that Americans will eat approximately 7 billion hot dogs during the summer season — from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day.

Those news stories prompted two immediate thoughts: first, there actually is such a thing as the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council? Wow, I wonder if they’re hiring?

My second thought was: 7 billion?! Really? I love hot dogs more than life itself, but that number seems awfully high. If you divide the number of people in this country, about 320 million, into 7 billion, that works out to almost 22 hot dogs per person during a 14-week period. Of course, one-and-a-half hot dogs per week in no big deal for someone like me. But there are millions of people in this country (including the lovely lady to whom I’m married) who wouldn’t eat a hot dog if they were starving and it was the last morsel of food on earth. I question the patriotism of each and every one of these people (including the lovely lady to whom I’m married).

Additionally, there are many infants and elderly citizens who cannot eat hot dogs. So, it’s up to the rest of us to do our patriotic duty and make sure America reaches that 7 billion figure. Doing some quick calculations in my head (always a questionable move), I figure each of us needs to wolf down close to 50 doggies during these summer months. Well, as Patrick Henry said, “Give me wieners, or give me death!”

And speaking of death, there is someone besides my lovely bride who thinks I should cut hot dogs completely out of my diet. That’s right, it’s none other than my primary care physician, Dr. Phineas T. Killjoy. The situation is so depressing, I was forced to write new lyrics to a blues song. Although when I was finished, it turns out the lyrics go to the tune “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” not exactly a standard in most Chicago blues clubs.

(With apologies to Judy Garland)

Somewhere on a new gas grille

Sizz-ling hot

There’s a dog that I dreamed of

Mustard and ‘kraut on top

Somewhere near that new gas grille

I am blue

And the dreams of my stomach

No longer will come true

The doctor said, “You’re gonna die

Your eating habits make me cry

Can’t you see?

“Those hot dogs are made out of junk

Your arteries are full of gunk

They are not health-y”

Somewhere by a new gas grille

People smile

They are eating some weinies

Why then, oh why, can’t I?

If other people do not die

While eating hot dogs

Why, oh why, can’t I?