I was out on a visit this morning and for some reason, I remembered last October. Oh, you baseball fans remember. The Yankees looked pathetic and the Mets were in the National League Championship series against the Saint Louis Cardinals.
While I was going through the heartbreak of yet another Yankee playoff loss, a Met fan friend of mine emailed me the following graphic to rub salt into my wounded heart:
Now that the shoe is on the other foot, would I be as equally mean? Of course not.
Instead, I want Mets fans to remember the last time they won a World Series. It was way back in 1986. That’s only 21 years ago. Nearly an entire generation of Mets fans have grown up never knowing a Mets championship. Oh, they remember 2000 when the Yankees spanked them the Series. They still get hot and heavy knowing that Roger Clemens threw up and tight to Mike Piazza. Come on, they have to remember the Yankees celebrating their 26th World Series Championship on their field, stomping around with champagne bottles and dancing on the Mets’ infield logo? The Mets clubhouse attendants remember because they had to clean up from the celebration.
These young Mets fans know of nothing but heartache. They remember losing to the Yankees, losing to the Braves all those years, and getting beaten by the Philadelphia Phillies and stinky Nationals this year. Victory is not in their vocabulary.
Will they taste ultimate victory one day? Maybe.
But until then, these and older Mets fans, well, they will always have 1986 and can wipe their tears with those Doctor K-inspired “K Hankies.”
Yesterday I conducted an internment service out in Calverton National Cemetery on Long Island. Getting there and back was relatively easy – if I would just ignore three simple words:
The
Cross
Bronx
Coming back from Eastern Long Island, the Cross Bronx Expressway (ha! Express!) wasn’t moving. I was able to snake my way around the Bronx and eventually get to the GWB. I did receive a pleasant driving surprise: the Long Island Expressway was moving; traffic was just flying. I hadn’t been out in Suffolk County since last October and I was happy to see that new signage was erected all over the LIE. The roadway through Queens and Nassau County was finally repaired and was soooo drivable, I was stunned.
While out on the Island, I made a short detour to visit my former vicarage church in Sayville, Saint John’s. I hadn’t been at the church since August of 2004. It was really nice to see Rev. Harry Schenkel, my vicarage supervisor, and members of the church and preschool staff. Rev. Brian Noack, who also serves the congregation and was the vicar at Saint John’s the year before I was, happened to have the day off, so I didn’t get to see him.
As I have said to anyone and everyone, my vicarage year really rounded out my pastoral formation and put me on the road to be the pastor I am today. It is hard to explain, especially on an early Saturday morning. But when I started vicarage, I felt as though I was becoming a “pastoral robot” who would give only good Lutheran answers to rather difficult questions. Sometimes, those answers would seem cold, but they were the “stock seminary answers” that were required. To put it another way, my heart was being closed down by the “rules” of the pastoral office that were taught at the seminary.
But my entire experience at Saint John’s changed all that by just witnessing and taking part in how the pastoral office worked in the real world. I didn’t have to be a kind of “pastoral robot,” but I could be a normal human being.
It was really nice to see everyone again. I should keep in touch a heck of a lot better than I have during the past couple of years.
When I got home, I went to Valley Hospital for a peek-in visit. “Peek-in” is my code for going to the hospital and “peeking in” the register of patients to see if anyone from Saint Matthew’s was a patient. No one was there so I came home and went to Zion Lutheran of Maywood’s Fish Fry.
Thankfully my calendar on my phone rang to remind me at 4:00pm, because I would have completely forgotten about it. There were 12 of us from Saint Matthew’s at the dinner – we sat on the far end of the gym under the basketball hoop. It was a fun time that rounded out the day well.
Today is a slightly busy one – I have a couple of visits and a run to Hackensack University Medical Center. Oh, and church tonight at 6:30pm.
When the Yankees were stinking up the place in April and May, there is one thing I wouldn’t do: pray that they would play better baseball. It seems goofy to pray to our Father in heaven to ask that He would intercede to help your favorite team win a ball game or two. I just continued to believe that the team from The Bronx would get it together sometime during the year. And they did.
That’s a cute one with the priest and the little Mets fan “praying.” Or even this one:
(which is, of course, a Photoshop)
Fans of the Mets have to sit back, put the bottle of whiskey down, throw out the crying towels, and relax. If the Mets miss the playoffs, they should focus their anger at the organization who built probably the worst bullpen in the history of New York baseball. Omar Minaya, a terrific GM, failed big time to put together a bullpen that could get people out. And the starting pitching has been suspect all year, as well. But it is the bullpen that Mets fans should be really steamed at. All season they were pitching on a wing and a prayer, and now that they need their pen to stand up and be tough, their rubber arms can’t do it any more.
The past couple of months have been a little emotionally challenging to me. Outside of the fact that my father is going through chemotherapy and while he is doing well, he’s a wreck inside; he’s scared that the drugs won’t kill the cancer and he’s afraid he’ll die. Dealing with that is hard enough. But then came the deaths. First, my cousin, Jimmy, died in August from a fall. Second, a friend died from cancer.
Yesterday afternoon, I found out that an old female friend of mine died several weeks ago. She got sick earlier this year and died at the beginning of September. She was 34.
Melissa and I knew one another in the early to mid 1990s. We were both “political” nuts who worked for various political campaigns, me on the communications end, and she on the organizing side. We didn’t agree politically since I was the rock-ribbed conservative and she was as liberal as liberal could get. Did we have much in common? No. I thought a great Sunday afternoon was getting a tan in the Yankee Stadium bleachers. She thought sitting in a park reading was relaxing and fun. I liked rock music; she was partial to classical. As a Lutheran, I thought going to church was important; she, as a devout skeptic of all things religious, thought God was around her and didn’t need to sit in church. But we became good friends.
One time, we actually worked on a campaign opposite one another. To me, it became a fun challenge to go toe-to-toe with her. Melissa was pretty crafty and made me sweat at times during the campaign. She even tripped me up during our little battle, and I, being an honorable person, returned the favor in kind. One of the ways she got me was to portray my candidate as being out of touch with the middle class since he was rather wealthy. They sent a guy dressed up like the Monopoly guy to follow my candidate around. I thought it was cheesy. But there was Melissa, standing around taking pictures of the Monopoly man at every event we had. Of course, I wouldn’t stand for it. We organized it so that an anti-tax group would call on both candidates to take a “No New Taxes” pledge. And, of course, my guy did. Melissa’s boss didn’t. So, our campaign responded by sending thousands of new and used tea bags (emphasis on the “used”) to her candidate to signify their failure to take a no-new-taxes pledge. In the end, my guy won the race.
For reasons that I will keep to myself, we lost touch in the latter part of the 1990s. I learned in early 2001 that she had moved to Maryland and had gotten out of the political game and was working in the private sector. She had also gotten married to a photographer. We talked a couple of times after that, but didn’t really stay in touch. Oh, we exchanged the perfunctory Christmas card – you know the one where you keep signing your name to the inside of the card, but don’t really know who you’re sending it to. Outside of that, nothing.
Yesterday when I got home, I had one of those “missed package” slips in my mailbox. I went down to the post office, hoping that the carrier returned it to the post office. And he did. It was a letter from her attorney informing me that I was mentioned in her will. The first thing I thought of was that she was so organized that she had a will at 34.
But for all the things we didn’t have in common, we did have one link: a love for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes” series. Even after all this time, she remembered.
Wow! Good for Oklahoma State coach Mike Gundy for standing up for his player. When a reporter calls a college player a chicken-eating momma’s boy, college coaches should go after them.
Our society and culture is spiraling downward. Morals mean little today. Sleeping around is the new god that people tend to worship. Things that were one day unspeakable for a myriad of reasons are now front page fodder. Tell me, do you think this woman’s parents are proud of her this morning – from the front page, left side of today’s New York Post:
Mom ain’t framing this front page. At one time, publicly discussing what happens behind a bedroom door (or in the case of the Knicks’ intern, in the backseat of Stephon Marbury’s truck) was a no-no. It was viewed upon as tawdry. Forget the fact that the “deed was done” in the first place, but to tell others or even bragging that you’ve had sex was at one time was viewed negatively by society. Yes, pigheaded guys would “brag” to their buddies, but to put a billboard up proclaiming your sexual conquests was a no-no.Today in areas of our society and culture, it is just the opposite.
MySpace is a social-networking site that allows people to communicate with friends. A good chunk of MySpace is just fine, but a huge number of these pages are filled with teens and college students talking about their sexual conquests, how much they like to drink, and other various issues that were once thought to be private. One page that I read this morning while researching for this post said he has “banged 65 hos” so far while in college. In fact in parts, the social network MySpace rips the scabs off the festering wounds of a society gone wrong. Do you know how many college students or just anyone on MySpace post pictures in their various forms of drunkenness? Or that they use language that is not permissible in professional life? Or that they post something on their MySpace blog that has come back to bite them in the backside?
I’ve been counseling (the only word I can think of for it) a just-out-college woman who attends a church in Rockland County. She has a number of issues she is trying to deal with, one extremely serious. But in the course of our talking, her now-shuttered MySpace page came up; it has caused her lots of trouble. See, she had a MySpace page all through college and wrote about her sexual exploits; her weekends filled with parties, alcohol, and drugs; and how many times she was so drunk or drugged out that she missed class. She thought, “Heck, it was on MySpace and only young people know about it.” She thought that no businessman or woman would know anything about that social-networking site and be able to find her.
Well, her bosses found out about her MySpace page and fired her. The reason? Her actions were not in conformance with their company’s behavioral policy. It didn’t matter it was “private” page, but that her actions were so disgraceful, the owners of the company didn’t want her working there.
And this story isn’t just random. People who have these pages are getting fired or are facing termination for these MySpace pages. And when you talk to these college and just after graduation people who still have these pages with stupid pictures and moronic comments written by so-called “Friends,” they think nothing is wrong. For these young people to think that society has to accept their debauchery as OK is just stupid.
We don’t.
UPDATE: MySpace, as a whole, is not a bad site. Just that some people who are using this networking site are not thinking. When “you grow up,” sometimes things you did as a young person are NOT forgotten by others. Posting that you like to drink and that you sleep around doesn’t give prospective bosses confidence.
After church today I headed over to New York to visit with family for the “birthday thing” with them. I listened to the traffic report before heading out and I learned one thing: Don’t take the GWB since there was a one-hour back up at each approach. So I headed up north to the Tap (or as my buddy who works for Governor Eliot Spitzer calls it, “the Governor Malcolm Wilson Tappan Zee Bridge”) and headed over to Westchester.
It was a spectacular day to drive across the river. The weather was perfect. The sun glistened off the Hudson as people sailed up and down the river. But…
It was amateur night on the roads today. The speed limit is 55 mph on the NYS Thruway. Advice to my fellow drivers: DRIVE THE SPEED LIMIT!!! I don’t care, you can’t drive slower than the speed limit on two of the three southbound lanes. It’s just wrong.
Slower traffic must stay to the RIGHT, not the center and not the left. Please have more consideration to your fellow drivers on the road.
As I traveled down 87 to Yonkers, I pulled off at the Stew Leonard’s store. If you haven’t gone to Stew Leonards, then you’ve never shopped for food. It is a great shopping experience, though some of the items are a little bit more expensive than a regular supermarket. But their milk is great and more often than not, I like to stop at Stews when I am in Yonkers to pick some up. And that is what I did today.
I also shopped their Wine store where I picked up a bottle of wine for my father’s house and one for me (a California wine called “3 Blind Moose.”)
But when I was walking around the store to get to the dairy aisle, I saw a mom (her child was in the carriage) with angel’s wings tattooed on her upper back. And the reason I was able to see it – and everyone else, for that matter – was because she wore a tank top and her entire upper back was exposed.
I personally think that all tattoos are ugly. I don’t care if you have a picture of your children on your arm or a butterfly on the lower part of your back, tattoos to me are just ugly. All of them. To me, it doesn’t tell me anything about you if you have a tattoo. It just takes a part of your skin and cruds it up with paint.
To have angels wings tattooed all the way across your upper back, ugh. To the mom with the wings – I want to be there that day when your child grows up asks you about that saggy stuff on your back. Because you’ll think back to that day when you decided to get that ugly thing painted on your back and wonder what in the world you were thinking.
After a 7AM meeting in Brooklyn and visiting my brother (don’t ask why), I’ve returned to New Milford. Thankfully, my sermon is done (I haven’t re-written it yet) and I only have two visits this afternoon.
But getting up woefully early and traveling down to the new home of New Jersey Nets, even without traffic tie-ups, wasn’t nice. I am glad I’m back.
The title of this post comes from a one-sentence email I received from a seminary-buddy of mine. Since it is only 6:30 in the morning, I’m not “celebrating” much right now. Read the Record that was delivered. Read the electronic edition of the New York Post. Read the Times in their Times Reader. But those three are normal activities of mine in the early, pre-sunrise hours of the day.
OK. I am drinking a cup of coffee – I figure that since it is my birthday and I have been trying to stay away from coffee, I thought I could at least consume a cup or three of Chock Full O’Nuts on this day.
But it is how the Mets lost last night that hurts. It hurts even me, a diehard Yankees fan. It was painful to watch. Outfielder Lastings Milledge acted like a baby for arguing a strike call. MVP candidate David Wright made an ugly error (OK, it was ruled a hit, but it really was an error). And poor Willie Randolph, he looks lost. After going up by three runs in the top of the ninth, the bullpen gave it all back to the Marlins forcing extra innings. Then to lose in the tenth inning, for Mets fans this one hurt bad.
Watching ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption” this afternoon, I was floored by a comment made by Houston Chronicle sports columnist Richard Justice. He was asked by the show’s co-host Tony Kornheiser who he thought would be in the World Series. His answer:
The Cubs and the Yankees.
It got me thinking – would Mets fans turn their backs on their National League rivals and support the team from the Bronx? I mean, in 1986 when the Boston Red Sox faced the New York Mets in the Series, I was pulling for the Mets. I even got one of those stupid strike out “K” hankies and tied it to my book bag. There was no way under God’s blue heaven that I could ever support the Red Sox. Well, I could support them if they folded as a team. But realistically, never would I ever support the Sawx.
Some people I know say I shouldn’t write about dreams or very personal issues here at the blog. Sometimes the personal can help others going through similar situations. But the dream thing – I don’t remember enough of them to actually write about the tricks my mind plays on me.
But this morning (since I woke up from the dream at 6:08am), I experienced a rarity for me – an eerie dream that I remembered. After I literally jumped out of my sleep, I reached for the notepad next to the bed and write about what I could remember.
In my dream, I am walking down a street in a nice town. I don’t know much more than that, but if you could envision walking down a street in the city with brownstones and small stores, you’d have the picture. As I was walking, I heard someone say, “I can’t believe he’s going to kill me.”
No, it wasn’t just, “he’s going to kill me,” but “I can’t believe he’s going to kill me.” Weird.
I look around to see who could be speaking, but I see no one. I turn down an alleyway to see if this person is down there and I hear the same phrase again. I walk a little faster to the other side, all the while it was getting dark. But as I come out of the alleyway, I’m in a park setting with trees and grass. But on the ground is a bloody knife.
All three schools will be blown out on Thursday, Sept. 20th at 11:30 a.m., with two other schools in near by [sic] towns.
Some evil person sent a letter to the mayor of Emerson threatening to blow up schools this morning. As you would guess, ten districts have shut their schools today, hoping that this evil wacko is just all talk and no action. New Milford schools are open, but our neighbors in Oradell, River Edge, Closter, Demarest, Haworth, Harrington Park, Northvale, Norwood, Old Tappan, as well as Emerson have closed. These closings also impact some of our regional and parochial schools.
What would possess someone to do this?
Why would they threaten to murder innocent people?
Sadly, the easy answer is that they are evil. Sin has completely engulfed them that they think they can “have a little fun” at the expense of a community.
I spoke to a parent this morning and she said that it is probably a kid in the Emerson district who is angry at his teacher. Anger doesn’t cut it for me. If it is a student, he or she is a sick human being. I don’t care if the little bugger is mad, this person has to learn that there are consequences for breaking the law.
I know, this isn’t nice to say. “A clergyman should be more open to speaking of forgiveness.”
Not today. Not now.
Parents are scared out of their minds because of the actions of the person who sent the note. Police departments and government leaders are scrambling this morning because of a little note threatening to kill.
Forgiveness is not at the top of my list for this person right now.
Making sure they are caught and put behind bars – that’s at the forefront of my mind.
All opinions and ideas expressed on The Pastor's Blog are those of the individual writers. Copyright (c) 2006-8 - Saint Matthew's Evangelical Lutheran Church, 225 Center Street, New Milford, New Jersey 07646. Design Downloaded from www.vanillamist.com
