Don't Forget Your Uppercut

Growing up in the ‘80s or ‘90s, it was a well-known fact that the “start” button paused any and all video games. However, there was one glorious exception to this rule: the uppercut in Punch-Out!

For those who never knew its exhilarations, Punch-Out! was an extremely popular boxing game on NES in which players entered the ring as Little Mac, a pint-sized runt who, through some highly unethical breach of WBA regulations, faced a series of monstrous opponents two or three times his size.

But Little Mac had two advantages: first, his determination to fight and win; and second, the human being controlling him.

Still, once the bell rings and Mac’s first opponent ambles forward, apprehension never fails to kick in. The fact is, the guys you face in this game are huge. Some of them can make mincemeat out of Mac with just a few punches. Mac’s punches, on the other hand, come off as depressingly anemic. Then again, what more could you expect from a guy who has to jump a foot in the air to reach his opponent’s chin? But this little guy is not without his trump card.

Into this daunting situation, Digital Providence has tossed a happy surprise: Mac’s signature move, the spinning uppercut. It takes a lot out of Mac, and is only possible when his confidence is up after scoring a particularly effective shot against an opponent—but when he’s able, Mac spins around, spirals into the air in a dazzling five-foot vertical leap, and drives his little fist straight into the adversary’s unsuspecting face. All this is triggered by pressing the “start” button.

This is quite literally a game-changing punch that has the power to instantly lay out some opponents. And when it’s timed right, this baby is still—in the age of ultra-HD graphics and super-intuitive game engines—still one of the most satisfying moves in all of Video-Gamedom.

So why bring it up now, other than nostalgia?

Sometimes I feel like Little Mac. You know what I mean. Up against huge problems, thinking things like, “I am way out my league here!” or “I shouldn’t even have to deal with this!” or “Why am I boxing with a mutated, 300-pound hippo-man?” Well, okay, only Little Mac has thought that last one, but we’ve all been in the ring with people or problems that seem to vastly outweigh us. And we have felt that primal fear, that deep sense of inadequacy.

It is at these moments that we need to remember the spinning uppercut. There is power, there is greatness, placed within you. Find it and claim it. Don’t be afraid to use it. Never fear greatness, because greatness is your destiny.

And there is nothing more satisfying than feeling that spinning uppercut hit its mark!

 

Confidently,

Joezilla

Life's Classroom

One of the greatest things about life is that it offers quiet, whispered lessons every day. It takes a lot of willingness, a bit of inner peace, and a dash of grace to hear these lessons, but I know from experience that they're there for the taking. I offer today as a wonderful example.
I was blessed with a wonderful combination this morning: beautiful weather, crackling enthusiasm, and a large chunk of free time. Accordingly, I was able to spend a few minutes raking dead grass in the yard—and, I must add, enjoying the nature! All this would have been great, but God topped it all off with some wonderful inspirations. These are those little lessons I'm talking about. I hope you enjoy them, as well.

First, I realized as I raked that happiness comes with habits. Let me be clear here. We can all have a happy moment (for instance, winning the Lottery) or a happy experience (like a dinner with old friends). This is happiness as a feeling. True happiness, what I like to call deep happiness, is more of a trait that we can nurture or neglect, much like a muscle or a skill. Happiness must be exercised. Inner peace must be a goal. This starts with physical relaxation (not sitting in an easy chair, but striving for relaxed and unhurried motion in daily life--eliminating unnecessary tension in the body), but it also requires other work, both inside and out. Gratitude must be clung to like a lifesaver, because that is precisely what it is. G.K. Chesterton wisely observed that "Thanks are the highest form of thought." Acts of service should make visible the love we have for those in our lives. Of course, there's much more, but what I realized today was that happiness, like all good things (and some really bad ones!) requires habitual action.

The second lesson was about excess—and, if I may be bold, the nature of God. I was struck by the vibrant brightness of the day out there. The sky was not just blue, it was an insanely deep, bright, fall-into-it-if-you-stare-at-it-too-long kind of blue. The evergreens weren't just green, they were a glowing, smiling, healthy, look-at-me sort of green. The birds were boisterously chirping in some great treetop debate that somehow involved the whole neighborhood. The whole of nature seemed so happy. I was filled with inner peace.

But that's the strange part--this scene was anything but peaceful on the outside. My eyes were buffeted with light and color, my ears were filled with wind and cheep-cheeps. But it soothed my spirit. Why? Well, I think it's because our God is not one of moderation. Moderation is an earthly concept, and a blessed one--it frees us from the captivity of our humanity, allowing us to set our sights on something higher than our animal impulses and desires. Moderation is one of our greatest defenses against evil. But once this life is over, moderation, I think, will be a thing of the past. If Heaven is placement in a divine family typified by perfect Love, who needs to be moderate there? I think Heaven will be excess, in the best sense of the word--God's love filling each member of the Kingdom to a degree that is now unfathomable to our mortal minds. For now, all we can do is marvel at the blue skies He sends us.

The final insight came from a quick climb of a tree. Ascending about 25 feet into the air, I was treated to an unusual perspective on the surrounding neighborhood. Seeing the trees, houses, and particularly the street from such an unusual angle flipped a switch in the back of my mind, and reminded me just how amazing everything really looks. The smooth curves of the road, expertly planned by some engineer decades ago, jumped out at me in a way I never appreciated while driving them. The houses, too, looked novel and fascinating from this unorthodox altitude.

Although I soon lost sight of this valuable perspective-shift, I remembered it while driving later in the day--and that strange elevated view of the road came back to my mind; suddenly, I was no longer just driving back from school, but instead driving on a strange and fascinating trip to a wonderful destination. That physical shift in perspective reminded me to appreciate all experience as unique. I'm indebted again to G.K. Chesterton, who said that "Every instant of conscious life is an unimaginable marvel." How true, indeed!

See what a little sunshine can do? =)

Happily,

Joezilla

Holy Hill

Today my family and I made our first pilgrimage—excluding our annual trek to the Thanksgiving table, of course. We visited the National Shrine of Mary, Help of Christians, situated atop lofty Holy Hill in Wisconsin. The site is considered by many to be a place of miraculous healings, and a collection of crutches, canes, and leg-braces—abandoned by the recipients of such divine help—attest to the fact. It is certainly a special place, endowed with what seems to us a more direct access to the Almighty.

Today, it was also a bustling place. Crowds flocked to Holy Hill to partake not only of its religious offerings, but also its beautiful autumn colors. For my family, a myriad of adventures contributed to the day’s fullness, and describing any one of them could conceivably take up a sizeable chunk of eternity. However, one aspect of the trip returned to my mind’s eye late in the day, and so—with sincere apologies to the arresting vistas, the dazzling Church positively charged with grace, and the mini-miracle of the vitalizing holy water—I zoom in on one moment of today’s events, which occurred rather early in the itinerary.

We were making the arduous journey up the main hill, climbing uneven wood-framed steps to ascend to the Church’s entrance for 12:30 Mass. I noticed a man on his way down whose build seemed to tell the story of a once-active individual, unfortunately shackled now by an injured leg. With his knee wrapped in some sort of brace, he struggled to limp down the stairs, attended by his wife. At the sight of him a gray cloud of pity and sadness temporarily arose in my thoughts, in spite of the sunny blue skies surrounding us. Had this pilgrim come hoping for a miracle? If so, I sadly reflected, he was now descending the mountain, heading home in the same condition he had arrived. There was no miracle here for him. I turned back to look at him after he had passed by, wished him a silent blessing, and continued on my way.

A little reflection, if performed in the right spirit, can go a long way in dispelling unwelcome gloom. And the maxim stands admirably in this case. Miracles are wonderful occurrences, but they are not guaranteed rewards for belief. Jesus himself acknowledged the hard truth that miracles do not always come when expected: “There were many lepers in Israel during the time of Elisha the prophet; yet not one of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian” (Luke 4:27). Nor are miracles litmus tests for God’s power—or His love. A faith that could be shattered by the lack of a miracle could be shattered by many other things as well—and strictly speaking, could not be called faith if it relied on the evidence a miracle would provide. But most importantly, miracles come in all shapes and sizes. Even Holy Hill’s website points out that “some healings are gradual while others are dramatic and instant.” I saw that man limping down the steps of Holy Hill at 12:15 today. I did not see him climb into his car. I did not see him eating dinner. I will not see him ten or twenty years from now. But God will, and who can imagine what He might have planned for this man? Remember, we’re talking about the Person Who invented snow. God is the source and summit of creativity.

We humans have a pesky habit of seeing life solely in terms of our extremely limited perspective. That was my failure when I faced that man and thought about his condition. The same failure might attend someone upon hearing about Holy Hill’s unfortunate defacement in 2006. It seems that, moved with the zeal that only the calendar can inspire, a couple of lost souls vandalized Holy Hill’s main Church on June 6, 2006 (aren’t they clever?) with profane graffiti. Of course this is sad news, and rightfully evokes a range of emotions on the part of believers. That said, the one emotion that it should not evoke is fear. Although it might seem natural to shudder at such demonstrations of stark and burning evil, it is actually quite unnatural to fear it. C.S. Lewis has a helpful (and rather hilarious) insight for us here: “A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.” The same could be said for the walls of a church.

What threat do a handful of anti-social youths pose to the Catholic Church? For that matter, what threat would a vast army of Satan’s followers pose? Even if Catholicism represented a tiny minority within a world of demonic enemies, it would be no less safe, no less serene, than it is right now and always has been. As Simon and Garfunkel so eloquently testified in a rather obscure song, “You can burn down my churches, but I shall be free.” We are people of God, and our hope comes not from the physical well-being of ourselves or our most treasured places and objects, but from the unshakeable, irresistible, unavoidable presence of God, Who created us, lovingly sustains us at every moment, and has promised salvation to all who believe in Him and act accordingly. The desecration (or even destruction, God forbid) of a church does not even graze the supernatural surface of the Church. That is God’s property, upon which no man or spirit may malevolently trespass.

As I said, we tend to see life from limited perspectives. Thankfully, our faith has a way of reminding us that life is so much bigger, so much better, than our fallen natures and tragic experiences lead us to believe. Christianity, though it comes to us in physical forms like Sacraments and miracles, speaks of a truth that lies beyond our world. So even if that man’s leg never heals in this life, he will still be able to meet God in prayer, receive Him in the Eucharist, and thank Him for the blessings gratuitously bestowed with each dawning day. And so can we.

May the blessings of God reach you wherever you are today, and may you happily accept them.

Sincerely,
Joezilla

Guided Drift and the Paradox of Faith

"I am glad that I've been able to do what I've done and not been sidetracked along the way. A teacher of mine calls it guided drift. Isn't that wonderful? You're drifting, and yet you've got a rudder."

As Mr. Rogers so satisfyingly puts it in the quote above, life becomes a positive pleasure when we know where we're going and allow this knowledge of our course to give us peace. In order to live effective lives we need to have a purpose, a continuous thread that unites our individual days into a coherent work. That is why Mr. Rogers talks about having a rudder. We need to guide ourselves, and we need to rely on something to give us that guidance.

For a long time I looked at life believing that we all have some inspired moments, and we also have a great many uninspired moments. We must live (so I thought) on those inspirations to get us through the uninspired periods of life, which are far more common. There is a grain of truth in this. We do have peak experiences of happiness, hope, promise, joy, and love—followed by the proverbial descent back to planet Earth, in which we remember our troubles (and perhaps feel a little gloomy that we aren't so inspired anymore).

That said, I now realize that it is not enough merely to live on the inspired moments, like rations on a trip through the desert. No, I believe that God calls us to something greater than that. You see, people living solely on previous inspirations—and waiting for future ones—are not focusing on the day-to-day business of life. They are attaching themselves to that song that used to empower them so much, or they are voraciously rereading that one quote that used to give them such confidence, or talking to that one friend who always cheers them up...the list goes on and on. The point is, they are chasing that feeling rather than living it out. They could be cheering someone else up. Instead, they're focusing on how much they themselves need cheering up.

One of the greatest pieces of advice my Mom has ever given me is: "The best solution for depression is to do something for someone else—to get out of yourself." It is so true, and will doubtless lead to better spirits if we are feeling depressed.

But what about all the moments inbetween the highs and lows? What about the average days, when we drift through our daily grind with no sense of inspiration or mission? We need some thread of constancy to call us back to living our best.

The answer, as is often the case, lies in a common word with a life-changing meaning:

FAITH.

Faith is the answer. Now when I say "faith," I don't just mean "religious belief." I am talking about a lifestyle—a worldview that we can call up with an act of the will, and should work to maintain in every waking (and sleeping) moment. If we can manage to make it part of our modus operandi, it will change our lives—I'll place a 100% guarantee on that.

This worldview has two big components.

The first is the consciousness of God and His plan. The person of faith believes, deep inside, that there is a God Who loves us all and Who has a plan for every individual—a plan that, if followed, will bring them to the self-fulfillment of their highest dreams and deepest longings. I say "self-fulfillment" because we play a role in this plan. We create our own reality, at least in terms of how we respond to the outside world.

But the person of faith can take all of this in stride and proceed peacefully because he knows that if he follows God's commands, then things will go rightly for him. Life will be good. Unexpected events may happen (look at the story of Job!), but God has a plan. We can move forward in peace and happiness, because it all turns out okay in the end. It's pretty amazing, actually. Imagine being able to walk through life in perfect peace. In theory, we can do just that—because God has told us that He loves us and wants the best for us.

That's one part of faith. The other is prayer. God loves us, and wants the best for us. He also wants us to grow closer to Him. One way of describing Heaven, in fact, is a perfect relationship with God. Nothing gets in the way. We remain ourselves, but we are united with Him in some unimaginable and infinitely wonderful way.

But that comes later. Right now, stuff gets in the way. Lots of stuff. Problems, people, things, emotions, sins...the list once again goes on and on! But God has given us ways around these impediments. One of the foremost of these—one of the most foundational practices for a Christian—is prayer. Praying is communing with the Creator. It's a way of accepting His constant, daily calls and saying, "I love you too, God. Now what do you want to tell me today?"

For years, I have vastly underestimated the transformative potential of prayer in the individual life. But now I see that prayer is that thread of constancy. It is what keeps us close to God, even in the midst of struggles. Saying the Rosary or part of the Rosary (a decade or two) every day is such a great way to do this. It will have a lovely effect on your life. Fulton J. Sheen once described saying the Rosary as "saying 'I love You' to our Father." I believe he was right. If you've never prayed the Rosary before, feel free to check out this link for all the instructions and prayers: http://www.rosary-center.org/howto.htm.

Now, I know what you're thinking (if indeed there is anyone out there to be thinking anything): "Great. You've pontificated on faith, but you haven't answered the question of how we stop the roller coaster ride of ecstatic highs, gloomy lows, and wishy-washy times inbetween. I don't think that talking about faith means I'll never feel down again."

Ah, but therein lies the paradox of faith! Faith is not about inspiration or emotion. Faith is believing that your spiritual life is significant, that what you pray makes a difference. Faith is believing that when you pray—whether you feel inspired or not—you are doing something of unfathomable significance. Faith is a lifeline that carries us through whether we are experiencing a high, a low, or a "sideways." It does not guarantee us a life of constant inspiration, but it allows us to avoid that need altogether—because it gives us a higher perspective on life. When we lift our concerns up to God, He lifts us up too.

It's all about that guided drift Mr. Rogers talked about. Faith is our rudder, our guide, but it also gives enough peace to let us drift.

Here's to an hour, day, week, month, year, and life of guided drift,

Joezilla

Face to Face With Life

Face to face with life. That's what it said. Face to face with life. Just a little advertising motto written on the travel agency's pen. But those words carried a lot of power in that moment.

Face to face with life. What does that mean? What is it like to be face to face with life? I'll tell you--it's to look at things squarely. It's to experience life directly and vividly, the way we were designed to experience it. How many days have you finished and wondered--wow, did I really just let this day pass me by? How many days have you been too out-of-it to even ask the question?

It's also to be honest with yourself about what's going on in your world, and what other people are doing and feeling, too. We see enough to understand all we need to understand. Other people's words and actions, on the whole, reflect what they are feeling. But we often don't go deep enough when we're thinking about other people; we often jump to one conclusion and cling to it like a rubber band. When you're face to face with life, you realize that you don't know a whole lot. You can't accurately diagnose why people are acting or feeling the way they are--but if you are attentive to them, you are aware of what they're feeling. And if you're committed to becoming the best person you can be, what does this awareness make you want to do?

That is what is most amazing, what I discovered when I made the commitment; then and there seeing that wonderful pen, I realized that getting face to face with life causes compassion.

Suppose this: someday, someone is acting lukewarm toward you, and it makes you wonder if you've done something to anger or offend them. This is the ego coming in (the ego always comes in when problems arise), because you actually have no grounds to assume this.

But oftentimes we do assume things like this, and it leads to so much unnecessary strife. Think about that person a little more. Something is certainly bothering them, that much is clear. But look at life squarely! You don't know the real answer--and instead of wondering how you might have caused his low spirits, why don't you try to make him feel better? A kind word, if it's real and from the heart, goes a long, long way. Think about it.

Face to face with life! How cool is that? Think deeply, then act deeply. Face to face with life. You know, I've never been one to have a motto, but this simple yet startling phrase is sorely tempting me to adopt it as one.

The Highest Form of Thought

How soon we forget…

Isn’t it amazing how quickly we can lose sight of the good things people have said or done to us in the past? How easy is it for us to snap at someone who, a mere span of days or hours ago, brought us immense joy with a funny joke, or brought us to our senses with an honest comment, shot straight from hip and heart? We like to speak of overlooking someone’s faults and giving the benefit of the doubt. But how much more often it is that we overlook the gifts and graces of others, and assume the worst about them! Perhaps it is only I who do this, but I suspect that most are alike in this bad way. What are we to do? The only answer is, commit. Commit ourselves to gratefulness, to wonder—in short, to love.

Special shout-out to TobyMac, whose great song “Hold On” reminded me of this stuff today. Have a listen—it may change the course of your day as it did mine!

http://play.napster.com/track/31568383

Wake up to the morning sun,

Thank the Lord for the things He’s done

Lift your eyes to the Hope that's ever True...

With the love of a stalwart friend, and thankfully!

Joezilla

A Biting Truth

"YEOWCH!"
I winced as I felt my teeth sink hard upon the inside of my cheek, showering my head with burning pain—I had just witnessed, all-too-firsthand, the dangers of eating a bagel too quickly. I immediately adjusted my manner of eating. A moment ago, my highest priority had been chewing the bagel before all the delectable cinnamon-sugar melted away; now I shifted to the more practical goal of not chewing up the inside of my mouth.

As the pain and my reactive wince subsided, I began contemplating what had just happened. I had not bitten myself of my own accord; for whatever reason, God willed that seemingly unfortunate event. I began to gaze warily at my surroundings. What else could God will at this moment? Might the roof come tumbling down upon my unsuspecting head? Or, perhaps, would the lake outside the window, in roaring tsunamic rampage, surge forward and wipe away the building in which I dined? Pondering such potential pains (all of which outweighed my bitten mouth by serious degrees), I finally began to understand what "fear of the Lord" means.

My rather macabre reveries revealed an underlying assumption which I'd never truly faced before: God has the power to do whatever He wants to us. Truly, the concept of an all-powerful deity, taken alone, contains some frightful implications. If God so chose, He could fly us up to the stratosphere, spin us around 18 times, then drop us like skydivers without parachutes. He could cause a rainstorm of rocks to thunder upon us—indoors. Dare I mention it, He could even cause the song "Thriller" to play, in a sort of eternal repeat mode, unceasingly through the maddened corridors of our own minds.

There is quite literally nothing that He could not do to us, if He so chose. Now thankfully, our religion tells us that He will most likely not do any of this. God loves us, and His actions in Scripture make that resoundingly clear. But the fact remains, and the story of Job stands out as an unsettling reminder of this, that God has the power to do whatsoever He wants.

Now a moment's reflection on this fact ought not result in fearful frenzy or dead-eyed depression. Quite the contrary, in fact—because such a solid conviction of God's power results in an equally-solid conviction of our own powerlessness.

At any moment, we could be rendered deaf and dumb for the rest of our days. Why should that scare us? It should just shock us into the realization that we aren't here for our own fulfillment. We are so powerless that we can't possibly fulfill ourselves, no matter how hard we try. Everything temporal that we've worked for and continue to work for—it could all be wiped away in a second. If that were to happen, what would remain? Self-fulfillment is not our job.

It comes as a surprise to remember this, every now and then. We are not here to fulfill our own desires, but to obey the Will of He Who made us. It's a simple but foundational change in perspective, a true inversion of our priorities. And it helps a lot. Of course, the greatest paradox arrives when we learn that God's Will is to fulfill us, but that fulfillment will only come when we submit ourselves to Him, cutting every string, surrendering every cheap battle, and embracing every human spirit with an open heart and a thankful soul.

Who knew that biting yourself could be so great?

Fearing the Lord (in a good way),
Joezilla

Today is Tomorrow

“It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be gray, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.” So testifies Phil Conners, world-class meteriologist and full-time jerk, in one of his lowest moments in the wonderful movie Groundhog Day. Whether or not we agree with Phil’s prediction tells us a lot about how we are currently seeing the world.

Phil’s is a unique tale; he goes to wintry Punxatawney, Pennsylvania to cover the annual Groundhog Day festivities, dutifully does his drudgery, then goes to sleep. He wakes up the next morning to a cold Punxatawney morning…a cold and familiar Punxatawney morning. Yes, as you probably already know (unless you have not seen the film, in which case you are seriously missing out), Phil is forced by the powers-that-be (in this case, it’s writer-director Harold Ramis) to relive the same day, over, and over, and over again.

How long is Phil trapped in this temporal wasteland? Months, maybe. Probably years. He’s there long enough to learn the quirky backgrounds of almost every citizen in Punxatawney, long enough to become a semi-pro piano-player, and long enough to become a trilingual aficionado of classic literature. And oh yeah, long enough to devote himself to a noble purpose—in fact, the noblest purpose anyone can dedicate himself to: self-improvement for the sake of others. But before he does any of that, he first attempts to wring out every inch of “fun” that he can from Punxatawney. It feels great at first, but soon the superabundance of, well, pretty much anything he wants, reveals the true emptiness of temporal pleasures.

The turning point comes when Phil talks to his pretty (and practically perfect in every way) producer, Rita. Convinced of his predicament, Rita offers this bit of advice: “Perhaps it’s not a curse. Maybe it just depends on how you look at it.” Phil promptly wakes up the next day and brings his co-workers coffee and pastries to enjoy amidst the bustle of their morning labor. In doing so, he begins the long and determined climb out of the hole he’s dug for himself, and at this point demonstrates a fundamental and potentially life-changing truth: kindness is a universal language. People worry too much about social niceties and clever turns of phrase, but Phil shows that an action fashioned from consideration and performed with kindness needs no fancy social wrapping. Be good, and everything else falls into place.

“As time goes by,” as they say, Phil builds himself into a true man—good-hearted, disciplined, and well-rounded (though, importantly, he remains as funny as ever). He takes up piano. He reads. He devotes himself, wholeheartedly it would seem, to serving others. Not a bad idea, Phil! It culminates in an epic day that seems to contain everything—music, dancing, snow-sculptures, a couple of saved lives…

Phil wakes up the next morning, and things are different. Can you imagine what it might feel like to live the same day over and over again for years, and then to wake up to a new one? Phil definitely shares the epithet of Dr. Manette in A Tale of Two Cities: RECALLED TO LIFE!

It should give us pause to realize that the universe, blessedly, doesn’t actually play tricks like that. We will go to sleep tonight, and we will wake up tomorrow, never to set foot on this date again. Perhaps that makes us want to seize this day, and that’s great. But more than that, I think it should make us appreciate the fact of tomorrow.

Think about it. You will wake up tomorrow, and there will be a whole new day ahead of you. What’s best, you will be able to act in that day, knowing that your good actions will have lasting consequences. Do you realize what a difference you can make in this world? Such great potential streams out of your every step; so be happy, wherever you are! As Phil says, incredulous, in the movie’s cheery final moments, “Today is tomorrow. It happened.” We all might benefit from saying that when we wake up to bright skies, gray or otherwise, in the tomorrow that never forgets to come. Today is tomorrow! Remember that!

And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
(Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

Happy Groundhog Day!

Peacefully,
Joezilla

Phone Home

Have you ever felt like life just played a prank on you? The times I speak of are the nuisances of life, the times that leave us thinking, "Now why did things have to happen like that? It could just as easily have happened this way..." And we follow such thoughts with daydreams about what could have been—ordinarily the most useless type of daydream there is. Nonetheless, life plays its pranks, and sometimes through no fault of our own we find ourselves stuck in a situation we do not want, and would give much to change.

Today in my job as the church's weekend receptionist, I received a call from a wonderful woman whose calm but thoughtful manner at once caught me off-guard and brought me to my most alert senses. Perhaps you have met such people. Perhaps, bless your heart, you are one. They are the rarest of breeds, but perennially the type of person this world most needs. They speak slowly and deliberately, but their manner lacks not an ounce of confidence. They seldom stutter or stop in the middle of a sentence, for the simple reason that they are sure of what they want to say before they start saying it. And unlike the rest of the huddled masses, they are not afraid of pauses in conversation.

Such a one was this woman, whose first response to my inquiry of "Can I help you?" was "I don't know!" Such an exchange perfectly typifies this kind of person. Rather than play by the common social rules (rules which nonetheless remain useful and beneficial in most cases), this person retains a measure of perspective and sees society for the game that it is, and thus chooses when to play and when to sit out and make up their own rules. Such people are always needed by a society because they remind the rest of us that we belong to a social system, an order of sorts, yes; but that the system is not what we answer to, ultimately—that there is Something higher than the human structures we have implemented throughout history. Such people inspire us to question the system, to examine it, and perhaps to better align it with what we know is right. Yesterday's civil rights crusaders and Abolitionists, to use a popular example of the day, aligned America's practice with its inspired theory, and it all started with people asking questions (and, perhaps, responding to questions) in ways which no one had previously had the moral courage to do—taking their example, of course, from a well-known Nazorean of a prior epoch, who specialized in moral courage.

But back to the tale at hand—a wonderful woman called in who, despite being 79 years old, had the voice, demeanor, and conversational pizazz of a 25 year old. After telling me that she would call the church back later in the week (the priest she wanted to talk to was not available), she asked my my name and then began regaling me with a personal story involving St. Joseph. As is known to happen at this job, another call came ringing in on the other phoneline—just as she was reaching the conclusion of her story (as I recall, it had been a very good story, to boot). I wanted to wait on the second call and finish speaking with her first, but I had waited too long already—a moment more, and the second caller would be diverted to the answering machine, a definite no-no for an on-duty receptionist. Siezing on a momentary pause in the woman's speech, I asked her if she could hold on a moment while I answered another call. This proved a worthy decision, because the other caller was requesting Last Rites for a dying family member. It also proved a disappointing decision, because as I took care of the 2nd caller, I noticed that, after about 3 minutes of waiting, the wonderful storytelling woman had hung up or been disconnected. I hadn't been able to hear the finish of her story, or say a proper good-bye; I also didn't get her name or number, with which I might call her back.

So there I was, unable to contact her, and left with the anxiety of wondering whether she thought I had just ditched her. Why did this bother me so much? I believe it was the pinchy feeling of broken camaraderie, the tragedy of a "beautiful friendship" that never begins, the ironic nuisance of a misunderstanding which causes alienation where unity would otherwise reign easily. I had been brimming with good intentions, but the click of a phone had rendered them homeless. So life had its prank, and I was left scratching my head.

Why do such things happen? It would have been so easy for that second call to have come in just five minutes later. Five minutes! Did God not see that? Does He not see all of these things, our better alternatives to what we call reality? The only answer, of course, is that He does—He sees them more clearly than we possibly could, and clearly enough to know that they are not better. Realizing this and resting in the truth it provided, I set about guessing what I was supposed to learn from this situation.

This woman had had an effect on me, and despite the abrupt and disappointing end to our interaction, the effect remained—and it constituted the first lesson—calm down. Speak deliberately. Mean what you say. Don't be afraid of the other person as you talk to them, but look on them with compassion, the lowly, fraternal kind of compassion that only a fellow creature can know. Conversation is a connection, not a performance. It is ideas being traded, not lines being read. And all the petty templates we follow for how to interact with each other, they are all just suggestions, and it is no sin to break such guidelines. Great things have been started in that way.

Now after remembering those wonderful ideas, I naturally felt better. In fact, as is the way of things when we follow such adages as the aforementioned, I began to feel a creeping sensation that I was not alone—by which I mean, I began to notice the presenc of God, in later conversations as well as in all the beautifully silent spaces of solitude, those blessed places in which Thoreau dwelt devotedly for so many peaceful days and nights.

This feeling of a Presence at once visible and invisible, beautiful and elusive, made me realize yet again the true relationship of a Catholic to the Church. This recognition of divine Presence in a drab and empty office hallway reminded me that all of our ceremony, all of our decoration and tradition, is designed to bring about Christ's Presence in the world. We can so easily get caught up in devotion to the institution of the Church, and in doing so we turn away from that noble body's humble mission—to help keep Christ present and active in the world until He Himself returns in His full glory. Many people today attack the Church and its ideas and mission, but if we fight them back on the grounds of defending the Church, rather than the ideas and mission which give it purpose, we are idolizing a body of disciples, starting our own heresy, so to speak—a heresy of such implosive orthodoxy that it threatens to topple the Church from within. No, the true Catholic loves the Church, and fights alongside it or within it, but not for it. The Church itself doesn't even do that.

We don't know the ultimate purposes behind God's actions in this world, but we do know how we are called to respond—take the best out of each situation, and work with it until we have forged something better. We can take confidence, even amidst apparent disappointments, that God is not our enemy—He knows what He is doing, and there will be a day when we can see how everything in this human drama worked together to bring about the fulfillment and triumph of all that is truly good. Perhaps on that day, I will finally catch up with this blessed woman again, and we will have all the time we need to share stories and listen, relaxing in the abundant Presence and sweet Love of the God Who saved us.

Do You Have a Minute?

"Hey buddy—" he seemed friendly enough, so I inquiringly glanced at him as I drew near, and he continued—"Do you have a minute…to support gay marriage?"

With my short answer of "No thanks" he looked at me like I'd murdered his puppy. I walked on. What else was there to do?

As I entered the library I thought about this situation, and how absurd his position was. He and so many like him choose to define themselves by a movement, by a label, perhaps by certain behaviors. Everyone is entitled to an opinion, but if someone expresses an opinion against their movement, their label, their behaviors, it's no longer a reasoned position—it has become personal. Judging from the grave and disbelieving way that he looked at me, I have no doubt that he believed (as his movement has taught him to) that I hate him.

How could I hate such a man? My heart bleeds for him and for all those others like him who sell themselves short every day, sacrificing their individuality and their gifts for the sake of a temporal movement that is misguided and unnatural. I pray that they will have the wisdom to see the world from outside their own shallow and self-centered perspectives—a big step we all must take—and see themselves as agents of goodness in a world gone awry. How will gay marriage feed the hungry? How will it give purpose to the broken and dejected, how will it bring about peace in a world that is perennially on the brink of unprecedented destruction?

Do you have a minute? Say a prayer for such people today, if you can. But be sure also to pray for those in need of food, water, and shelter, and those in need of God's Love. That ought to cover all of us.

Sky High

Shaun Groves has a wonderful song, "After the Music Fades," in which he declares, "I want to see from Your side of the sky." This line is a beautiful reminder for us to wake up and get moving. It gets right to the heart of perspective, and of everything we need to be.

It's tragically easy to get distracted in this life by the most insignificant things. Most of us spend the majority of our lives wrapped up in our own concerns, absorbed in the futile yet frequent ritual of worrying. And what do we worry about, typically? World hunger? Terrorism? The moral degeneration of western media? No—unless I'm a raving exception (and although I likely am raving, I don't believe I'm an exception), we're wasting our time thinking about unimportant, temporal things. I don't know about you, but I'm busy thinking about that paper I have to write, or that person that I want to meet for lunch, or any other of the many things I have to remember to do with the guy at the place. The point is, we're digging ourselves early graves, and here's the kicker—we don't have to be!

I remember being struck by a song in church earlier this year—unfortunately, the strike didn't really stick—that said "All around you, lives are broken, and Christ has no hands but yours!" I remember how surprised I was to hear such a seemingly pessimistic statement uttered in a church hymn. But on second glance, perhaps it is merely realistic. How many people do you know who are truly happy? I don't just mean they have what they want; I'm talking about true, consistent happiness, the kind of happiness that has transcended emotion and has become character, a scrappy, spirited happiness that is never down for long, and rarely gets down in the first place. How many like that are in your life? Maybe two or three? What does that say about the majority of people? In the midst of all the abundance of a country as prosperous as America, almost everyone you know is at least somewhat unhappy. That's tragic, and yet it's understandable. They're not unhappy for no reason. Their lives are broken. Life is so often filled with suffering. We don't talk about it much, because it's easier and less painful to keep it inside. But tragedy strikes in so many ways, every day. Happiness is a constant battle, and it is all too easy, and almost even understandable, to stop fighting for it, to extinguish the gleam of hope that glimmers in the eye of every hopeful soul.

And that's why those of us who have not been utterly ravaged by tragedy, as well as those who have been ravaged but have gotten up to fight on, must once again clarify our purpose and redouble our efforts. Lives are broken, and we need to fix them.

I know for a fact that I fell off the wagon this year. I lost perspective, and after getting so wrapped up in temporal ambitions and day-to-day goals, I found that, when perspective once again lit up the labyrinthine path of life, I had nearly forgotten this all-important mission, to repair the brokenness of the world through presence of mind, love of God, and love of neighbor. I know that I could have spared myself much unneeded and fruitless concern if I had only been mindful enough to remember that I'm not here to make friends, or to meet girls, or to eat my favorite foods. Although all of those things have their place at life's banquet table, the ultimate purpose for us here is to help one another meet God before it's all over, so that we don’t come to the end of this show and realize we never even talked to the Director.

That's why perspective is so important—it brings us back to the starting point, one might say the Origin, from which, for which, and through which we accomplish all good ends. My flash of enlightened perspective (for which I am still thanking God) was caused and is summed up by this excerpt from another church hymn, a versed adaptation of Isaiah 61:1 (which is also referenced in Luke 4:18):

The Spirit of the Lord is now upon me
To heal the broken heart and set the captives free
To open prison doors and make the blind to see
The Spirit of the Lord is now on me…

This, then, is our mission statement, for all those who truly believe. As Chris Rice says, "Go light your world!" It's up to you to make all things new. Remember to nurture that hopeful starlight that shines in your eyes, and one day it will once again meet its heavenly Source.

God Bless!

Joezilla

Forcing Our Views

Listening to the "Throne Room/End Credits" music from the original Star Wars movie today reminded me of a truth which sounds suspiciously reminiscent of G.K. Chesterton. It is likely that I have copied this idea nearly verbatim from one of his writings. It is certain that I first learned the idea from his writings. However, it is also certain that I firmly believe in the idea myself. And since Chesterton no longer actively writes any new material on Earth (it's rather difficult, I hear tell, to write from the next world), someone must propagate this tried-and-true worldview, which, in all fairness, predates good old G.K.C. as well.

The idea is simply this: it is when man thinks he is seeing things rightly that he is actually seeing them wrongly. It is when one feels level-headed and realistic that one is actually being shallow and dull. It is when one lands back on Earth that one has set off on a flight of fancy.

What I'm trying to say is that there is so much more to life than we typically imagine. We tend to see our lives in terms of routines: I get up in the morning, I have breakfast, I go to work, I come home, I eat dinner, I go to sleep. And again. And again. It is disturbingly easy to fall into a mindset that essentially sets perseverance and appreciation as its highest goals: "If I can make it through this day without snapping at anyone, and perhaps even enjoying my routine a little, then I'll have been successful."

To view life in terms of a single day's accomplishment is a tragic waste of the potential of human life. Life is a story, an epic, an adventure. It has a narrative arc; characters enter the story, and leave, and sometimes return. We are imprisoned and escape, we fall in love, we pledge allegiance to great causes and fight to uphold them, we make tremendous sacrifices, and yes, eventually, we die, off to bigger and better things than anyone here could well imagine.

We have such short attention spans that it is hard to lastingly commit to this worldview. But the art of life lies in attaining difficult goods, in implementing behaviors that don't stick easily, but pay huge dividends when they do stick. So if you need a change in perspective, listen to the "Throne Room" song from Star Wars IV. Close your eyes, and let the music transport you to a galaxy far, far away. And when you open your eyes, realize that you live in such a galaxy yourself.

May the Force be with you!
Joezilla

Bring It On

And if this band don't desert me,
Then there's nothin'
In the world can hurt me,
Long as I'm singin' my song.

As long as I'm singin',
Then the world's all right
And everything's swingin',
Long as I'm singin' my song!

—Bobby Darin, "As Long As I'm Singing"

I'll bet Bobby Darin never dreamed, as he sang this song, that it would be a source of earth-shattering inspiration for someone who would walk the earth half-a-century later. In case you were wondering (if, in fact, there is someone reading out there who might be wondering), this song was exactly that (i.e. a source of earth-shattering inspiration) for me this morning.

Take another look at those lyrics. Actually, if I were you, I'd just listen to the song. Here, follow this link (and appreciate it, too—it's not every day that I offer links on this blog! You're lucky I'm feeling charitable today…):

http://free.napster.com/player/?play_id=13761920&type=track

In addition to being a wonderful song, it reveals some key truths about living the life well-lived. First off, life is what we make of it. As we concluded in the last entry, "As you think, so shall you be." Your thoughts determine your words and actions, which determine your habits, which determine your character, which determine your destiny. Whew! This thing we call life is actually a pretty dangerous game, when you think about it! But if we don't play, we don't have a chance of victory. But I digress.

The point is, your thoughts determine, in large part, what your life is like. How is it that a CEO with a six-figure salary and a Cadillac could be miserable, while a blue-collar family man with two mortgages could be happy? The answer is perspective. What do those men see when they walk out the door in the morning? The negative man sees the same thing he sees every day: his driveway, the ground, the sky. It doesn’t' ever change. He goes about his day intensely focused on his work and his obligations, and, therefore, paradoxically, he is supremely unfocused on life itself. The positive man, however, sings a song of gratefulness and contentment with every action he takes. Every sight, sound, and circumstance is a blessing, whether obvious or concealed. Every problem (and he realizes how few his true problems are compared to others' maladies) is an opportunity, and a challenge to find that opportunity, seize hold of it, and use it to light a match of goodness in this weary world, to shamelessly ape Shakespeare's beautiful metaphor.

But there's something else about this song that struck me today:

And if this band don't desert me,
Then there's nothin'
In the world can hurt me,
Long as I'm singin' my song.

He's right. Nothing in this world can hurt us except ourselves. If we believe what we read in the Bible, then it becomes abundantly clear that this fact holds. As long as we do our part, God protects us. The only way a man can fall off the wagon is by throwing himself off of it. The only way a man can end up in the gutter is by purposefully jumping into it. One might say that at birth, or perhaps Baptism, we are placed on the elevator to Heaven. It is solely our choice whether to press a button and get off at a lower floor.

I can't help but feel relieved and grateful for this realization. God actually loves us all, and He has promised us that if we do our best for Him, He will not let us down. He wants us to succeed. The Creator and supreme Power of the universe is cheering us on every day. Is there any more inspiring fact than that? I think not!

Thankfully His,
Joezilla

The LONER.

The LONER

I am The LONER: my solemn crusade
Relies on the valor of one man alone—
MYSELF!—and solely to me is it known;
I fight my battles with no ally’s aid.

I am the Loner, my problems unique—
It’s doubtful that anyone now or whenever
Could grasp the import of my current endeavor—
Thus, I am silent (my comfort is bleak).

I am the Loner—locked up from inside,
I certainly don’t want a listening ear,
A comforting comment, or sympathy’s tear…
Though I grow tired of this liar’s hide!

I am a Loner, but don’t you see why?
Too scared to reveal what I feel in my heart,
With care I conceal it through misleading art.
Pardon my cowardice; pardon my lie.

I am the Loner, but you say you, too,
Bear burdens concealed from every man’s seeing,
And somehow my burdens bear less on my being,
Knowing that similar worries haunt you.

I am the Loner: if absent, not missed—
Yet with my humanity thusly uncovered—
Surprised and elated with what I’ve discovered:
Since all souls are Loners, I do not exist.