Journeying Into Mystery

Yesterday, I celebrated the 67th anniversary of my birth. I am still stuck in my chair, convalescing from a broken ankle, hopping with the aid of a walker to the bathroom, to my chair, and to bed. Ruthie bemoaned that I had a “suckie birthday”. The truth be told, it was a wonderful day.

I had the opportunity to edit a collection of poems I composed in 2011 about when I began to court Ruth up through the first year of our marriage. I spent the whole day with Ruthie, who is a birthday present to me everyday. She went out and got me a burger from the Fishtale Bar and Grill (the best place for hamburgers in New Prague). While she was waiting for the food to take home, she sat in the bar, and Wendy, aka Sugar Momma Bakery, was waiting on her making Ruthie Long Island Ice Teas. When Ruthie told Wendy it was my birthday, Wendy gave her two wonderful cupcakes she had baked. So I had a wonderful hamburger, a wonderful cupcake, a brandy manhattan, a salad for my birthday supper. I told Ruthie, that I had a splendid day. I think I expressed this best on a poem I wrote to Ruthie on the occasion of my 61st birthday.

TO RUTHIE, ON MY 61^ST BIRTHDAY

The waning of long awaited days,
time off from long toil
culminating on this day,
my birth anniversary,
my last full day
with you for a while.
Long have you been
the beginning and end
of a dream that began
when first I saw you,
the first day of days
in that high school
nestled along Rice Street.
In you, my beloved,
have I entrusted my love,
my faithfulness, enclosed
within my heart of flesh,
given to you to nourish,
to protect with that of your own,
our hearts as one have grown.
With what could you present  me
that would add
to that already given?
No embellishment could you bestow
 the increase of happiness
within me flow. Just you,
as when first you bade
me sit down beside you,
that first day of days,
ever will I need.
You, the beginning and end
of my every dream.

© 2013, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

The picture above is the one of mom taking me home from the hospital after my birth. Because of the RH factor (something Mary Ruth and I did share), I needed a blood transfusion as a new born infant. I finally came home from the hospital about 6 weeks after I was born. Mom, Dad, and Bill lived in a third floor apartment on South Shore Drive, Chicago. I remember that apartment distinctly, especially the wooden porches/decks on the back of the apartments and the wooden steps leading up to those porches and decks. My earliest memory is that of an infant, on that day coming home from the hospital and being passed around to our neighbors who gathered in Harold Burress’s apartment on the second floor. Harold, I very nice man, smoked and liked beer. He had that smell of a smoky bar on a hot, humid day, stale cigarette smoke mixed in with the smell of stale beer. I remember being passed to Harold and making a fuss because I did not want to be around that smelly, old man. I was soon passed back to the safe arms of my mom.

Often times, with my birthday falling on August 12th, my family and I were on our annual vacation to visit family in Pittsburgh. Or, as the picture shows, we would go to a resort for several days. I remember celebrating my birthday in Washington D.C. when we were visiting our cousins who lived in Virginia. It was extremely hot and humid. the Walt Disney show had a program about Johnny Tremain, a revolutionary war tale. I wanted a tri-corner hat like that which the revolutionary army wore. I called it a Johnny Tremain hat. When we visited Williamsburg, that had many actors and shops that resembled Colonial Williamsburg, I got as a present my “Johnny tremain” hat. I was so happy getting that hat. I almost lost it when I stuck my head out the window as we traveled down the highway and it blew off my head. Dad stopped backed up and got it for me (this was when most highways were two lane highways prior to the advent of the freeway). When we got back to Downers Grove, I didn’t wear it too much though. Not many kids in Illinois were wearing Johnny Tremain hats.

The other memory this picture evokes is when mom made me a rubber cake. She was busy putting together the ingredients of the cake, when she was interrupted by something, and when she returned to finish the cake she forgot one ingredient. the consistency of the cake was like that of rubber. You could chew but it was hard to swallow it. We ended up throwing it in the trash. From that point on, mom made us birthday pies.

One last memory. During this time, Catholics always abstained from meat on Fridays. I hated having my birthday falling on a Friday. We often had fishsticks on Fridays to eat. Gad! No amount of tartar sauce makes a fishstick taste good (It is any wonder many Midwesterners hate fish). In true Wimpy fashion, I always wanted a hamburger on my birthday. We would often then postpone Friday birthdays to Saturdays when we wouldn’t have to eat crap on our birthdays.

As many of you know, in the summer of 2011 I had a left hip replacement that developed MRSA. the infection did not go away. In fact, because of the incompetence of a infectious disease doctor at Fairview Southdale, I almost died from an allergic reaction to vankamycin (he refused to believe I was allergic to the antibiotic) on August 10th, the same date my sister died on. After 2 days in ICU (including the 10th), I went into surgery on my birthday to have my artificial hip replaced. I would not get another hip until late January 2012. When I got out of surgery, hanging on the bar over my bed was this windchime. It was a present from Ruthie. There are a lot of butterflies in the windchime, a symbol of hope and resurrection. She knew the perfect gift to give me on one of the most hard days in my life. We still have that windchime hanging in our kitchen.

I have composed much music as gifts for other people. I have only reserved one of the songs for myself. It is one of my earliest piano compositions. As an aspiring pianist/composer, the German composer Hindemith had a great influence on me. One of my favorite Hindemith compositions was from his piano collection, Ludas Tonalis. Unlike many contemporary composers, Hindemith’s music was not quite as atonal (dissonant sounding) than some of his contemporaries e.g. Arnold Schoenberg (who composed much “serial” or 12-tone music). Hindemith experimented with tonality, but like the composer, Bela Bartok, created very interesting sounding music. The song I composed for myself, evokes the tonality of Hindemith and his Ludas Tonalis.

God has blessed me with 67 years. I have been so fortunate and blessed in so many ways. The greatest blessing in my life has been Ruth, our kids, and our grandchildren. I have had the great opportunity to perform music professionally for 42 years. I have had the opportunity to created and compose music I truly love, and consider a part of me as “children of mine”. I have studied and advanced educationally, having the opportunity to receive a MA in Pastoral Studies. I have had the opportunity to be ordained a deacon, and serve with and to very diverse communities. I have been an educator. I have had the opportunity to become a spiritual director. My life, in spite of some health difficulties, has been very extraordinary and fulfilled. The last couple of years, with the deaths of some very significant people, and Ruth’s injuries, and now mine, have been challenging. But, like many people, Ruthie and I are not immune from these events. God continues to accompany me and guide me through the tough parts and the joyful parts.

I don’t know how many years still lie ahead for me, which is fine with me. But I am grateful for the life that my mom and dad gave to me, and with Ruthie, has evolved. On my 67th birthday, I know that I have been very wonderfully and greatly blessed.

Reflection for the 19^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, 2019

For those of us who are nearsighted, have you ever had to drive without the aid of your glasses or contact lenses? Our good vision is limited to only what we can see directly in front of us on the dashboard. When we lift our eyes to peer through the windshield, all we see are fuzzy images. To drive this way without our vision corrected by glasses or contact lenses is very dangerous for us and for all who share the road with us. The likelihood of us being involved in a collision or causing harm to others is very great.

Living a faith life that is nearsighted is equally hazardous. If this is the way we live, the readings today should shake up our lives greatly. Our faith lives must be as farsighted as they are nearsighted. The author of the Book of Hebrews states this very clearly. “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1, NAB)

The Book of Wisdom reminds the Jewish people that their ancestors enslaved in Egypt were given the vision of the Passover, so that they would have the courage to free themselves from their enslavement in the present and to fulfill the promise that God made to Abraham many years before. The reading from the Book of Hebrews, picking up from the first reading, explains how Abraham and Sarah’s faith allowed them to see into the future and believe what would come long after they had passed into history. “All these died in faith. They did not receive what had been promised but saw it and greeted it from afar.” (Hebrews 11:13a-b, NAB)

Jesus calls his disciples to emulate the farsighted faith of Abraham and Sarah. “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your belongings and give alms. Provide money bags for yourselves that do not wear out, an inexhaustible treasure in heaven that no thief can reach nor moth destroy. For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.” (Luke 12:31-34)

We live in a society that is nearsighted. Our happiness is based on only what satisfies us in the present without any consideration for our happiness in the future. This pursuit of short-lived convenience, this lack of vision, this unconcern for a future, fills our landfills, our oceans, our environment with toxic waste, destroying life on our planet. If our faith life emulates that of our society, our eternal life is equally doomed.

The scriptures call us to be people whose eyes and lives are set on the future to come, and to plan and build in the here and now, that future. This is applicable not only for our society, but most importantly to our faith life as disciples of Jesus. As Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians, “we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Cor 4:18, NAB).

August 10th is a rather loaded day. Officially, it is the feast of St Lawrence the Deacon. However, the feast I celebrate on this day is not Lawrence’s (enough people in the Church are doing that), but the feast day of my sister who died early on the morning this day from complications of Crohn’s disease. When Mary Ruth died, mom and dad, my brother, Bill, Ruthie and I, and our daughters Meg and Beth, and Mary Ruth’s best friend, Dr. Bob Conlin were present. Bob Conlin cradled her head in his lap as she died.

I have written much about my sister in the past. Till the time I met Ruthie, Mary was one of my best friends. Ruthie and Mary were sisters to one another.

Mary Ruth excelled in everything she did. She was an outstanding occupational therapist. She was a wonderful Aunt to my children. As I have written before, she never let her illness get in the way of anything.

On this feast day of my sister, I present three prayer songs I composed for my sister, Mary Ruth. As you listen to these recordings, you can hear the progression of my composing skills over the years.

This first song, Psalm Offering 5 Opus 1, was composed for my sister in 1973. She was 18 years old at the time. It is a short piece of music, a waltz, composed in the key of G minor.

This second song, Psalm Offering 3 Opus 4, was composed for my sister as a birthday present in 1988. It is in the key of F major. It was a handwritten score that I gave Mary back then. Over the years, I lost my own handwritten score. In 2016, going through a tote in which I kept notes and bits and pieces of music I composed, I came across a partial copy of her song. I was overjoyed because I thought I had lost it forever. With the help of a cassette tape recording I made of the song, I was able to reconstruct her song, and then saved it for posterity. The recording is the reconstructed score of her song.

Lastly, this third song, is a piano reimagined composition of a psalm I composed for Mary in 1990. The Psalm, Psalm 31, “Into Your Hands I Commend My Spirit” is sung in the Good Friday service of the Lord’s Passion. I recomposed this song for Mary in 2018.

TRANSFIGURATION

We recall to memory
the Transfiguration,
aglow with dazzling white
like Gandalf the White,
you, the Christ, depart
from humanity’s day to day
appearance to reveal humanity’s
true face, true nature
to the startled three.
Low toned conversations
with ghosts of Hebrew past
painted in wisps of white,
about paths of pain, paths
of disillusionment yet to be.
These whispers, as pale
and cryptic to the ear
as the pale outline of the ghosts.

I step to the mirror,
searching for that glimmer,
that glimmer of white light
hidden behind my eyes.
Not the white that streaks
my ever thinning hair,
but that dazzling white,
that aura assigned by
artists to the memory
of heroes and heroines
of past history and ancestry.

I await my own transfiguration,
yet, here I stand at the mirror
and peer at the reflection
of the same person,
the same baggage and sins,
I struggle to carry with
great exertion up the
slopes of my own Mount Tabor.
Does my transfiguration,
my promised true human self
await me at the top?
Or, just the thin, wispy,
pale ghosts of my past
carrying on a conversation
in whispering tones?

I think most of us remember the child verse, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Many of us who use to shout this back at taunts from other kids, believed firmly in this sentiment. However, given the events of the past two years, we have experienced the emptiness and falseness of these words, especially in light of the gun massacre of innocent people of color at the Walmart in El Paso, Texas, and the shootings in the synagogues of San Diego and Pittsburgh.

Words have consequences. They always have had consequences. Words do hurt. You may not always see welts, the wounds, on the surface of the skin. They often drive deep inside beyond eyesight and inflict wound on a person’s soul that may never heal, may fester, and grow worse. I have seen this in people who have been verbally abused. Its most acute on children who have been verbally abused by a parent.

Words have consequences and long after the wounds from sticks and stones have healed, the wound caused by words may never heal.

Historically, words of people have led to homicide and genocide. The lives of people have been seriously impacted and destroyed from the words of political leaders of all political ideologies and governments and religious leaders from most religions.

Most recently in history, look at the impact of the words of Hitler on the German nation. His words led them to carry a horrific war that killed millions on the European continent. His words led to the systemic murder of 6 million Jews. His words had such a horrific impact on the European continent, that they have left their mark on every country as far north as Norway and as far south as Libya, as far west as Great Britain, and as far east as Russia. His words crossed the Atlantic Ocean and impacted the lives of many American families, most of whom opposed his words, but some, like aviator, Charles Lindbergh, embraced them. To this very day, Hitler’s words continue to incite violence especially so among white supremacists.

Much has been made of the words of President Trump speaks to reporters at his impromptu press conferences, walking to and from the Marine Helicopter. The words that President Trump speaks at his rallies incites the people present, mostly Caucasian in origin, to anger, to strike out at others not like themselves. We have seen the impact of his words painted in the blood of the victims on the sidewalk and floors of Walmart in El Paso, in the synagogue of San Diego, and in the synagogue of Pittsburgh. It is true, the President did not squeeze the trigger of the guns that killed these poor people, but his words inspired the killers to go ahead and perpetuate violence against the people they targeted.

Words have consequences. But it is foolhardy and false to condemn those incited to violence by the violent rhetoric of our President, without looking deeply at how those words impact our own selves!

In Roman Catholic religious formation, we are taught to avoid “near occasions of sin.” If something or someone inspires us to act sinfully, we are to avoid that something or someone. Some examples of this might be if you are alcoholic, you avoid places that might tempt you to take a drink. Or, if you have difficulty with pornography, you avoid websites, entertainments, and company that might tempt you to engage in immoral acts.

It is no secret that I have no respect for President Trump. Long before he was president, I disliked him greatly. I have always thought he was an empty human being, a complete phony. It was apparent from his words and his actions that he was a narcissist. If he had a conscience, he kept it well repressed as he engaged in multiple adulteries, sexually assaulted women, and cheated and lied to keep his ill found financial empire.

What I did not know about him was his compulsive lying. The President has revealed himself to be the worse of liars, from the very moment he placed his hand on the Bible at his inauguration and vowed to Almighty God to support the Constitution of the United States.

I have a strong aversion to those who lie, especially those who lie knowingly. This aversion applies to all people regardless of their place in life, whether they be bishops, politicians, or the guy in the street. I hate liars. I find that in just listening to the President speak, even for as small a time as five minutes, I find myself incensed to rage when President Trump gets enraged at reporters who catch him lying and hold him accountable for his lies.

I have ministered to and with Mexican and Ecuadorian Latino families, and outstanding Muslim people. I have nothing but respect and love for these wonderful human beings. When the President starts to denigrate and incites violence against these honorable people, who like me, are just wanting the best for their children and to follow their religious path to God, I find myself getting very, very angry! I find myself, speaking/shouting words to the image of President Trump on the television, words I usually reserved for installing and fixing plumbing (something that has always been a near occasion of sin for me).

Observing my visceral reaction to the spoken words of President Trump, the question I ask myself is, “Why do I give him the power to incite me to violent verbal rhetoric?” He may be president, but his power is limited to himself and those in his administration. The only power he has over me is that which I give him. We heard in the scripture reading of Paul to the Colossians this past weekend, that we, who have been baptized in Christ, have been called to a higher way of living, no longer subject to the subhuman way of living in our world. “Why should I let this subhuman man any power over me? By my baptism, by my ordination to the diaconate, I have been called to be Christ, to live the law of love to which Christ has called all his disciples.”

I cannot avoid the near occasion of sin of President Trump. For as long as he is president, he will always be a part of the news feed on our television, radio, newspapers, and social media. I am able to have power over how I respond to his words of violence and the feelings that those words invoke within myself. I also realize that I cannot do this by myself. I have to call upon the presence of Christ within me to help stem the violent visceral reaction I have toward the President and his followers.

These words from the first letter of John stay with me. “

⁷ Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. ⁸ Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. ⁹ God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. ¹⁰ In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. ¹¹ Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. ¹² No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. (1 John 4: 7-12, NRSV)

Whoever does not love abides in death. ¹⁵ All who hate a brother or sister are murderers, and you know that murderers do not have eternal life abiding in them. ¹⁶ We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. ¹⁷ How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? (1 John 3: 14b-17, NRSV)

Words have consequences! They can incite us to curse others as we have witnessed at the political rallies of President Trump and to kill others as we have witnesses at the massacre of people in El Paso, in our synagogues and our churches.

Words, especially those of Jesus, can inspire us to love in ways we never thought possible!

God has given us the gift of free will. It is our choice.

Sadly, I have posted this prayer song, far too many times. I initially composed this song for the high school children of Parkland High School, who were viciously mowed down by gunfire. And while it was specifically composed for them, the structure of the song applies to all slaughtered by gunfire in mass shootings throughout our nation.

There are four parts to this prayer song. The first part, is a slow walk by the parents, spouses, children, friends, and partners of the victim as they process with their loved one’s dead body to the cemetery. The second part is the shooting incident that killed them, the fast tempo, the confusion of people running for their lives, and the suddenly realization of the victim who has been wounded and/or killed. The third part, is a recap of the first part, slightly faster as the victim walks alongside his/her loved ones and friends to the cemetery. The fourth part, the redemptive love of God embracing the victim and all who have been violently killed by gunfire to heaven.

Listen to this prayerfully for all who were viciously gunned down over the past year. In the United States alone, we have had more mass shootings than we have had days this year.

Today is Olivia’s birthday. Compassionate, a gifted artist, an entrepreneur, a loving wife and mother, a faithful daughter to her ailing mom. She encompasses all that is admirable and wonderful about being a woman. Andy and Olivia met in an underground bank parking lot in Minneapolis. Andy had a car detail business in the parking lot, and Olivia was the parking lot attendant. Their relationship grew into something incredibly special. I find it remarkable how people of diverse backgrounds, cultural and family, find in one another that special connection that links them together forever.

Here is a poem I gave Olivia on my birthday in 2015.

The Gift Of Olivia

Welcoming, oh, how the love
of two people welcome
into their lives the love of a
child. Daughters and Sons,
some born into this love,
and others adopted. Ah,
but you are more special,
you became my daughter,
the avenue of your entrance
into the heart of my family
through the love of my son,
nuptials blessed, his dream
fulfilled, and I? I am gifted with
another daughter to love.
Extraordinary from the start,
passing into the hearts first
of my parents, double dating
no less, long football Sundays
trapped on the leather couch,
running the familial gauntlet
of Andy’s maternal relatives,
all with such ease and grace.
Long an artist before formally
acknowledged, your gift of
composition, light and color
captures images long lasting.
The gift of your self equally
capturing my heart, a heart
that welcomes you and
cherishes you, my daughter,
as mine own.

(c) 2015, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

In 2016, on my birthday, I gifted my family with a piano song written specifically for them. Here is the song I gave to Olivia.

Olivia is of Filipino ancestry, why does the song sound Irish? When Ruth and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary, we and all our kids traveled to Ireland. Andy and Olivia were engaged, and she is part of our family. Olivia is among some of the most fondest memories of that memorable time in the life of Ruth and I.

What more can I say to honor her on this special day?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR DAUGHTER, OLIVIA!!! HOPE THIS DAY IS VERY SPECIAL FOR YOU!

REFLECTION ON THE 18^TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME, 2019

We often hear the term “The American Dream”. We will hear this being referenced quite a bit by politicians over the next year and a half, especially during this election cycle (when are we ever not in an election cycle?). Exactly, what is The American Dream? How do others define it? How do we define it? The readings for this Sunday may help us discern, shape, and refine what we mean when we say The American Dream.

The author of Ecclesiastes (Ecc 1:2; 2:21-23) points out a common human situation for us. Many will work multiple hours, use all their experience, knowledge, and economic resources to acquire wealth only to find it all given away to those undeserving. The author states that all this work, all the worry that goes into acquiring great wealth that is easily given away not only folly, but the epitome of human vanity.

Building on this wisdom from the Book of Ecclesiastes, Jesus tells the parable of the rich man who, in having an abundant harvest, tears down his barns and storage bins to build even larger ones in which to store his wealth upon which to party the rest of his life, only to die and not benefit from the wealth he has acquired. Jesus concludes the parable with the words, “You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong?” Then Jesus turns to us and states, “Thus will it be for all who store up treasure for themselves but are not rich in what matters to God.” (Luke 12: 20b-21, NAB) How do these two readings shape our understanding of The American Dream.

For many in our nation, on Wall Street, Main Street, and our government, The American Dream can be summed up in the words of the character Gordon Gekko from Oliver Stone’s movie, “Wall Street.” Gekko in addressing the stockholders of his corporation, Teldar paper, utters these infamous words.  “The point is, ladies and gentlemen that greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms, greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge, has marked the upward surge in mankind and greed, you mark my works, will not only save Teldar paper, but that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA. Thank you very much.”*

Gordon Gekko defines The American Dream to mean unbridled and undisciplined greed, that is to acquire great wealth and power at the expense of others and the Common Good. Jesus tells us in the Gospel that living a life of greed is a life that is empty. Jesus instructs us to focus instead on treasures that are of God. So what are these treasures that matter so greatly to God? Paul, in his letter to the Colossians (Col 3:1-5, 9-11), helps us understand this in terms of our behaviors.

Paul first reminds us that having died and been raised with Jesus in baptism, we must seek not the things of this earth, but rather seek the treasures of God. He then goes on to explain to us , that since we are now human, as God meant humanity to be, we must cast away from ourselves behaviors that are subhuman. He writes, “Put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly: immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and the greed that is idolatry. Because of these the wrath of God is coming upon the disobedient. By these you too once conducted yourselves, when you lived in that way. But now you must put them all away: anger, fury, malice, slander, and obscene language out of your mouths. Stop lying to one another, since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge, in the image of its creator. (Col 3: 5-10, NAB)

Paul challenges us to look at our lives, to look at our behaviors. Are we living lives defined in greedily acquiring not only wealth and power, but anything and everything that satisfies our senses: sex, the finest foods and wines, and opulence? If this is our lives, then our lives will not be fulfilled, rather they will be empty and pointless, prone to despair that the author of Ecclesiastes describes so vividly and prone to an eternal life in a void utterly separated from God.

This does not mean that we must live the austere life of a hermit. There is nothing wrong in owning a nice car, and home, being sexually active with our spouse, going on a nice vacation, and earning a good living. However, we must put everything we have in our lives in its proper place so that we do not obsess so much over what we have so that our lives become so unbalanced our things end up owning us. A good balanced life of a disciple of Jesus focuses on giving thanks to God for that which we have and share the excess with those who are in most in need.

There is a story about a man who acquired great wealth during his lifetime and was now on his deathbed. He called his family together and told them to put all his wealth in the attic of his home, so that when he died he would take it with him to heaven. The man died, and his wife instructed the children to go to the attic. There is a vast pile was all his wealth and treasure. When his wife heard this she said to them, “I told the old fool to put in all the basement.”

In light of the scriptural readings for this Sunday, I find The American Dream defined not in terms of satisfying our own greed at the expense of others and the Common Good, but rather advancing our lives, the lives of our family, and the lives of all people in our nation to live in peace, harmony, and wellness.

The author of Ecclesiastes writes, “For what profit comes to man from all the toil and anxiety of heart with which he has labored under the sun? All his days sorrow and grief are his occupation; even at night his mind is not at rest.” (Eccl 2: 22-23b, NAB) Or, as Jesus says in the Gospel of Mark, “What profit is there for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?” (Mark 8: 36, NAB) The readings leave us with these two questions, “What do we treasure in our lives? What are our treasures?”

*Quote from the 1987 movie, Wall Street, directed and co-written by Oliver Stone.

I wrote this poem following a rather sleepless night, last night. This doesn’t happen often, but, for some reason did last night. As I usually do, I plug my headphones into my tablet and listen to the music I have stored on it. The first song I heard was “Our House”, from the 1970 Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album, Deja Vu. This song, along with the song, “Teach Your Children”, from that album were my favorite songs from that album during the summer of 1970. That album gave the United States some hope during a dark time in American history, a hope we are still desperately needing during these darker times of our present.

OUR HOUSE

A long night of sleeplessness,
a rarity usually for me.
I slip the headphones on,
plug them into my tablet
and tap one of my playlists.
Graham Nash begins to sing
the opening lyric to the song,
“Our House,” a musical
time machine sending me
suddenly back to the summer
of nineteen seventy, riding in
the company pickup truck at
the mall where I worked,
inspecting the fence line,
picking up the litter the
wind blew up against
the fence the night before.

This song comes over the radio,
a song that hold for me
the future I dream for us.
I had proposed marriage to you
earlier, lovingly declined
with college ahead of us,
we had more life
to explore, but I knew
you to be my future.
Patient, but resolute,
my intent to make you
the center of my life forever.

I pondered, as I picked up
the soiled disposable diapers,
“Will we have two cats in the yard?
Will we gaze at the fire for hours
and hours,” as I put the discarded
fast food wrappers and crushed cups,
and, “Really? Used condoms?!”
into the garbage bag. Was
Nash’s dream for Joni Mitchell
our dream, our future happiness?
Probably not. We would have
an idyllic life of our own making.

My co-worker and I throw
our filled trash bags in the
back of the pickup truck.
Though the song ends, and
a new song begins, Graham
Nash’s song lingers in my
consciousness as it still
does this long sleepless night.
You turn toward me in our bed,
(my resolve paid off), as I
ponder: two cats, no, but a dog,
four children, five grandchildren,
in our yard. Flowers from our
garden in a vase. No fire upon
which to gaze for hours, but
a plentitude of love songs I
have composed for you,
over the past forty-nine years.

It’s not quite the list that
Graham Nash dreamed for
an idyllic life with Joni Mitchell,
a life that never materialized.
It was our life together
by which we created
“Our House.” It has always
been you who have made
our house, our home. idyllic.
Your right arm falls across
my chest, this beloved song,
this bucolic future dream
from our past, sounds its
final chord through my
headphones as I drift
off to sleep in “Our House.”

(c) 2019, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

These are three prayer songs for immigrants around the world, and, especially for those trying to find refuge in our nation.

My sister, Mary Ruth, while she was still living, started to investigate some of our family history. She found the immigrant records of my paternal grandfather, Andrew Wojnar who immigrated by himself as a boy of 16 years (he tried stowing away a year earlier) from Poland, and my maternal grandfather, Oscar Jernstrom, who immigrated as a teenager from Sweden. My paternal grandmother, Katherine, immigrated as a three year old child from Poland. My maternal grandmother, Mary Marron, immigrated with her family, probably in one of the “coffin ships” from Ireland, fleeing the religious persecution of the English, the abject poverty of Ireland and the potato famine. All my grandparents were fleeing from poverty with the hope of building new lives in a new country. It is absolutely true that with the exception of Native Americans and Latinos, all the rest of us are “anchor babies”, children of immigrants fleeing to a new nation trying to build new lives.

In January 2016, I witnessed the plight of the many Syrian refugees dying trying to flee the violence of Syria, many of them drowning in their attempt. Many Greek fisherman spent more time saving these immigrants and helping them to new life, then they spent fishing. This was an heroic act of Christian love, whether these fishermen were Christian or not! Pope Francis 1 was moved by the great love that was bestowed upon the immigrants and sponsored several families, all of them Muslim.

At the same time, in contrast, we began to encounter in the United States a reversal of our nation’s long policy of welcoming immigration, the Statue of Liberty our symbol of this generosity. Instead a new policy based on religious prejudice and racial prejudice is preventing immigrants, like my grandparents, who fled from poverty and tyranny, from coming and settling with us to build new lives. And, now, instead of helping immigrants, we are separating immigrant children, some still breast feeding, from their parents, and imprisoning them in cages like animals along our southern border. The SIN of this policy is so appalling, and in direct opposition on the principles upon which our nation was created by our Founding Fathers. The cruelty and heartlessness of those racists who have perpetrated these policies is explicit.

As you listen to this music, reflect on these questions. Am I person who welcomes those who are new to my community, or do I look upon them as pariahs and people to be feared? Do I see the face of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus in the men, women, and children fleeing the violence of Latin America, the Middle East, Europe, Africa, and Asia? How do I personally welcome the strangers in my life?

This first song, was composed as a prayer for all immigrants and refugees world wide in January of 2017. It is part of a collection of songs called “The Lamentation Psalm Offerings”. The song is based on these two scriptural passages.

“Judah has gone into exile with suffering and hard servitude; she lives now among the nations, and finds no resting place; her pursuers have all overtaken her in the midst of her distress.” (Lamentations 1:3)

“Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son.’” (Matthew 2:12-15)

The second and third prayer songs for immigrants come from my collection Psalm Offerings Opus 10, composed in the summer of 2018.

The second prayer song was composed for the Latino mothers who have had their babies, some still nursing at the breast, viciously ripped from their arms by agents of our government, and then imprisoned for the crime of wanting a new and safe life for their children. The scriptural passage is from the prophet Jeremiah.

“Thus says the Lord: A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more. Thus says the Lord: Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for there is a reward for your work, says the Lord: they shall come back from the land of the enemy; there is hope for your future, says the Lord: your children shall come back to their own country.” (Jeremiah 31:15-17)

The third prayer song was composed for the immigrant children who were ripped from the arms of their parents by agents of our government and imprisoned in cages in prisons on our borders. The songs is based on two scriptural passages from the book of Exodus and from the prophet Isaiah.

“Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. ¹⁰ Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them. The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” (Exodus 1:8-16, NRSV)

 “Trample my courts no more; bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination to me. New moon and sabbath and calling of convocation— I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity. Your new moons and your appointed festivals my soul hates; they have become a burden to me, I am weary of bearing them. When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” (Isaiah 1:12-17, NRSV)