The Winter Games

Have you been watching the Winter Olympics? I LOVE the Winter Games. Every fourth February for two weeks, I spend all my free time in front of the television, hooked on every winter sport. Well, not every winter sport. I'm not crazy about watching cross country skiing, or that thing where they ski a while, then stop and shoot, then ski some more then stop and shoot again. It's called the Biathalon and I really don't get it.

But, I watch everything else. And the funny thing is ,except for hockey, I don't watch any of the winter sports any other time. I haven't seen a ski jump or a speed skate in four years and I probably won't see one again for another four years. But the Olympics are just special.

Maybe it's the stories. There are always such good stories. Like Rena Inoue, the American figure skater who was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1998, a year and a half after her father had died from the same disease. She's healthy now and at this Olympics, she and her partner John Baldwin made Olympic history by being the first couple ever to land a throw triple Axel.

Or there's the Russian figure skating pair, Marinin and Totmiyanina. In October, 2004 he was attempting to lift her over his head and dropped her headfirst onto the ice. She recovered from her injuries, but he had some serious issues with his confidence. But, he overcame them and they won the gold medal.

Or there's Lindsey Kildow, an American skier. She suffered a terrible crash on the first Monday of the games. She spent Monday night and part of Tuesday in the hospital but was back on the slopes before the end of the week, still trying to win a medal. The best she could do was 7th place in the Super G, but she still competed in 4 events.

Of course, sometimes the stories don't have happy endings, like Bode Miller, the American skier. Before the games, he was expected to win multiple medals. Affter five events, his Olympic medal count is zero.

I guess that's what I like about the Olympics; the fact that these kids, and most of them are kids in their late teens and early twenties, have so much determination and give up so much to participate. You don't just get up one day and say to yourself, I'd like to be a ski jumper or a figure skater. It takes years and years of practice.

Most of these athletes have been practicing every day of their lives, many of them since they were just little kids. They've given up friends, other activities, sometimes even their families to train at their sport. Meanwhile, thousands of other kids just like them are also training all over the world. And just a handful will ever make it to the Olympics, let alone win a medal. Sometimes the difference between first place and a medal and fourth place and no medal is hundredths of a second. The time it takes to snap your fingers separates the gold medal winner and those who win no medal at all.

It's also dangerous. With the exception of curling, many of these people have been badly injured many times. Croatian skier Janica Kostelic has had eleven knee surgeries. She won a gold and a silver medal in Torino. Broken bones are just part of the deal. So why do they do it?

Is it the medal itself? After all, the gold medal isn't really gold at all. It's silver with a thin gold plate. It's only worth a few hundred dollars. No, it's not the value of the medal.

Is it all the money an athlete earns for winning the gold? No, they don't earn all that much, especially considering what it cost for all those years of training, all the travel, all the competitions. Generally speaking, most Olympic athletes, at least here in America will never get rich by becoming professional ski jumpers or bob sled drivers.

Some of the more prominent athletes, like the figure skaters, will earn a nice living from their sport, but I don't think it's about the money either.
I think the thing that motivates the Olympic athletes is the drive to be the best in the world at what they do. These are the best of the best, from every country (at least every country where it gets cold) competing for that top spot.

Imagine what it must feel like to stand on that podium, in front of all those people, and to have that medal hung around your neck. You're the very best in the world at what you do. Then as you stand there, they play YOUR country's National Anthem as they raise YOUR flag on that center flag pole.

That's when you see the diminutive female figure skaters and the macho manly skiers begin to tear up. A lot of the guys try to hold it in, but most of the time, they can't. How could you experience THAT moment that you've been working toward your entire life and not be overcome with emotion. THAT'S what motivates them.

Can there be any experience in this life that's more wonderful than standing on that gold medal podium? Yes, I think there are a few; your wedding day; the day your child is born are two that come to mind, but if you're 20 years old and single and your whole life revolves around your sport, winning the gold has to be the best day of your life.

Now, none of us is likely to ever win an Olympic gold medal, but, there's another day which we all hope to experience that will be so much better, there's nothing to compare it to. This day will be so wonderful that it will make those Olympians forget that they ever won a gold medal. Our joy will be so complete that we can't even begin to understand what it will be like. It's the day when we all hope to stand before Jesus and hear Him say “Well done, good and faithful servant. I have a place prepared just for you.” What a day that will be!

Like the Olympians, we'll never experience that day unless we prepare for it every single day of our lives. Jesus never said it would be easy. We have to train and practice. We have to listen to our coaches, we have to read and study, and we have to exercise our Christianity every day. Why wouldn't we want to? After all, the reward is the ultimate reward; an eternity of joy and happiness.

We all have days when our faith is put to the test. We all have days when we'd just as soon pull the covers up over our heads and stay in bed. But, like the Olympians, we don't get better without being challenged.

I once had someone tell me that she had prayed for more patience, but things just kept going wrong. After we talked for a few minutes she said to me, “I guess my patience isn't going to get stronger unlsess I have a chance to exercise it.” How right she was.

We don't know how tough the judging will be. We hope and pray that it's merciful and not just. Because, if the Judge is just, most of us probably won't make it. But if He's merciful, as we pray that He will be, we just might get in.

In our responsorial psalm we sang:

"The Lord is kind and merciful.
He pardons all your iniquities,
he heals all your ills.
He redeems your life from destruction,
he crowns you with kindness and compassion."

"As a father has compassion on his children,
so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him."
And, so we have hope.

What's the difference between winning and losing? We don't know. We hope it's not as small as a few hundredths of a second. We hope and pray that "He crowns us with kindness and compassion."

But, we don't know for sure, so doesn't it make sense to train as hard as we possibly can, every day?

This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, a time when our training is more intense than usual. The Church asks that we do a few minimal things. Fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. Abstain from meat on Friday,

It's supposed to be a time of preparing for Christ's death and glorious resurrection. We can give up chocolate, or booze, or television, or something, but that's not the kind of training we need. That's not going to get us on that gold medal podium. That's the least we can do. We should be using the time to build up our spiritual muscles. Pray more. Go to church more often. Go out of you way to help others.

This coming Tuesday is our monthly Eucharistic Adoration. What a perfect day to get ready for Lent. Spend an hour, or more, in the Presence of Jesus, praying for a meaningful, successful Lent.

If you're going to give up chocolate, or cigarettes, or some other pleasure, take the money you save and give it to the poor. If you're going to give up television, use the time for spiritual reading, or going to church, or volunteering. We may tend to think of Lent in a negative way, as a time to give things up. It should be a positive time. A time to give. After all, we're preparing for Christ's Resurrection and eventually our own.

Our preparation for Easter is like our Olympians preparation for a preliminary event. We want to do it right because our final judgement will be based on our total performance in this race, our human race to eternal life.

Like many of the Olympic events, our score is cumulative. When our race is over, we'll be judged on the total of all of our days. But, unlike the Olympians, we get do-overs as often as we want. God has given us the sacrament of reconcilliation. We can confess our sins, do the appropriate penance, and our slate is clean. We can start our race all over again.

In the end, we want to be on that top step, we want to go for the gold. But, instead of the National Anthem, we want to hear the sound of angels singing as Jesus welcomes us to our heavenly home.

Faith without works

The readings for today really challenge us. In the first reading James tells us that we must have works to go along with our faith. One of my favorite lines in all of scripture is when James says, “If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well” but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it?”

What a great line. Unfortunately, even after all these years, it still applies. How many of us do exactly that? Do we give lip service to charity, but then cross the street to avoid the homeless person on the corner? When we see someone at the intersection asking for money, do we dig into our wallets or do we frantically try to get the car window rolled up before he or she gets to us? Are we asking God to help that person, or are we asking God to turn the light green?

This reading is one of the major different between Catholics and our protestant brothers and sisters. When Martin Luther broke from the Catholic Church, he removed several books from the Bible. James was one of the books he took out, primarily because of this passage.

He believed that faith was all that was needed for salvation. Since James didn’t agree, he was out of Luther’s Bible. He argued that we couldn’t “buy” our way into heaven by good works. And he was right. We can’t. But, if we have faith. if we believe what Jesus taught, then we have to help those less fortunate than us. We have to do good works. We just can’t help it.
So, if that’s true, why do we avoid that homeless person? Why don’t we do more?

I don’t know. I guess sometimes we forget how good God has been to us. Maybe we’re having a bad day. Maybe we’ve let the pressure of the modern world cloud our thinking, causing us not to care as much as we should.

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus tells us to take up our cross and follow Him. Part of carrying that cross is helping those less fortunate than us. But, we must do it because we love God, not because we think we have to in order to get into heaven. We read in the responsorial Psalm, “Blessed the man who greatly delights in the Lord’s commands.” The Lord has commanded us to love one another. “Whatever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me.”

God has shown us His unconditional love. We can’t possibly repay that. Whatever we do is so inadequate compared to His gifts to us that it almost seems foolish to even try. But, we do what we can. Why? Because God loves us and we love Him.

At Christmas time my kids always joke about the gifts that they used to buy Jan and me at the Santa shop in school. They would take their own money and buy a special gift. Having four kids go through our school, I have a lot of letter openers and picture frames that say “dad” on them. Were those gifts comparable to what we had given them? No, not in monetary value. But I wouldn’t trade a single one of them for a brand new car. Why, because they were given with love.

I like to think that that’s the way God looks at our meager gifts, too.

Thirty Seven Years

Last night I was at Kutis Funeral home for a parishioner's wake. I was talking to her husband. They were married in the same month, November, 1968, as Jan and I were. He kept saying “It seems like we were only married about five years.” And I can relate because it seems like we've only been married about five years, too. The time has gone by all too fast.

As we talked, I kept thinking about Bill Bombeck. Bill Bombeck was Erma Bombeck's husband. Erma died in April, 1996. As a tribute to all the fans who had supported Erma through all the years, Bill wrote her last newspaper column. You may have heard it before, but I'd like to share it with you this morning.

* * *

In 1947, three or four couples were outside the Lakeside Ballroom in Dayton, Ohio. We were too early to be admitted for the big-band dance, so we all wandered over to the adjoining amusement park.

Not far from the ballroom was the roller coaster. All of the boys began cajoling their dates to ride with them. The girls giggled and said no. It was too frightening, and it would mess up their hair and dresses.

I looked at my date and asked her if she wanted to go. She didn’t hesitate. She said, "Sure, I’ll go." I was surprised and looked at her again. She was slight, narrow-shouldered, with tiny hands and feet. But she had the greatest smile and laugh. Her smile had a charming space between her two front teeth. I thought, this is some kind of girl!

The Lakeside roller coaster was a rickety old leftover from the Depression. The frame was mostly made of unpainted two-by-fours. No modern inspection by OSHA would have ever approved this for man’s use.

The cars were linked together with what looked like modified train couplers. They were mostly red-painted wood with metal wheels and a cog-like device that clicked loudly. The seats had worn, black leather padding. There were no belts, but there were worn steel bars that had to be raised and lowered by the attendant.

The attendant was an old man in oil-stained bib overalls. He said little, but raised the bar and she entered the seat first, and I followed by her side. The bar clicked in place just above our waistlines.
There were two tapered two-by-fours on the platform, each angled away from the other. He moved the one closer to the car to an upright position. The car moved forward, slowly picking up speed. The metal wheels on the metal track made so much noise you had to yell to your partner to be heard.
The car left the level starting track and began a slow ascent. In about 20 or 30 seconds, when the track became steeper, the cog device engaged the car. You could feel it grab. Then there was a distinct rhythmic clacking sound as the cog device labored to overcome the near-perpendicular angle of the track. You felt like it wouldn’t make it, but just when it reached a point that forced the passengers to stare, not at the car ahead or the track, but only at the night sky, it plunged downward, a wild, almost free, fall. Maybe, whatever controlled the speed was now broken.
She made her first sound since she had said, "Sure, I’ll go." She screamed and clenched my arm. I said, "Hang on to the bar." She kept hanging on to my arm. Suddenly we were at the bottom, and we both were so relieved that we laughed, and I saw that smile again.

The ride continued, with bone-jarring twists and turns, dizzying heights and abrupt plunges. Sometimes we would enter a dark tunnel, so dark the sparks from the wheels and tracks made it look like it was on fire.

She kept hanging on to my arm. I was gripping the metal bar so tightly I thought I would bend it. This was some ride. We were thrilled and exhilarated, scared and breathless.

We had been in and out of many tunnels. Each time they ended with almost blinding light in our eyes, and then on to another straight-up climb.

We started into a tunnel that seemed to plunge deeper than all the others. It kept dropping. We both sensed this one was really different. Finally, instead of the bright lights, we were back at the platform.

We looked at each other. We didn’t speak, but we sensed the ride had changed. The man in the bib overalls was standing by the tapered two-by-fours. He started to push one from its angel to a straight-up position. The car stopped. I told him the ride was great, but it was too short; we wanted to go on. He raised the bar. She smiled again. I looked at the attendant again. He said, "This is April 22, 1996 – your ride is over." I looked over at her seat. She was gone.

Life IS like a roller coaster, isn't it? We have peaks and we have valleys. Sometimes we're high. Sometimes we're low. But, like the roller ooaster, there's an invisible force that moves us forward. In the roller coaster's case it's called gravity. In our case, it's called God.

But, unlike the roller coaster, our ride doesn't end. We'll all leave this life and go on to the next. But, our next life won't have peaks or valleys. It will all be either the highest of highs, or the lowest of lows. The choice is up to us.

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