Saint Matthew's

Early this morning, my cell phone rings (which, in a sense is a good thing since I have an iPhone on AT&T and 75 percent of the time, I can’t make telephone calls from inside the house). A nurse from a local hospital was on the other end. She asked me if I could come into the emergency room to provide some pastoral care for a gentleman who fell at home last night. I haven’t had a hospital emergency pastoral care phone call in a while, so I get up and get out in record time.

As I was driving to the hospital, it eventually occurs to me that a man falling at home usually never warrants a pastoral care visit. When the caffeine started to kick in, I  worried that the story the nurse gave me wasn’t the whole mess. And yes, the word “mess” fits this story perfectly.

Arriving at the hospital, I am taken behind a curtain where I find a young man with a large bandage is wrapped around his head while his doting wife sat beside him, holding his hand. The nurse leaves us alone and we talk. So far, nothing too dramatic. The man fell late last night and hit his head on their kitchen table. His wife said he had a bit much to drink at their Father’s Day party they held for their dads. I said a prayer and walked out from behind the curtain.

In speaking with the nurse, I was told that the loving couple only supplied me with a part of the story. Yes, the man had a little a teeny bit too much to drink at their party. But she urged me to go back in and prod them to tell me the entire story. With my interest piqued, I did so. The updated story — thankfully not covered by any sort of pastoral care silence rules — had me thinking about the movie “War of the Roses” where a longtime married couple was on the road to divorce, but they both wanted their luxury house. The entire film was centered around their comedic physical fight against one another. The movie was terrific and funny. Sadly, in the end of the film, it is surmised that the couple tragically died when falling from a chandelier.

My couple wasn’t so bad. They allegedly argued over their collective dad’s party. During their argument, instead of picking up a drinking glass or a roll of paper towels, the women allegedly picked up the toaster and may have flung it across the room that may or may not have hit her husband in the head, possibly causing him to fall and whack his head on their kitchen table. With the need of multiple stitches (and a possible concussion) and because his loving wife could not stitch up her husband’s wounds, the caring wife drove her husband to the hospital where his injuries were repaired. His headache, which may have come from the toaster, his fall into the kitchen table, or even the bottomless pit of beer he drank on Sunday, was this man’s worst problem.

I smiled when I listened, trying my best not to laugh. Yet, I giggled, which neither husband or wife appreciated, let me tell you.

And, of course, my giggle turned to outright laughter when the husband said that he didn’t remember what happened. He just remembers sitting in the car with a towel on his head while his wife drove him to the hospital. Puh-leeze!! Playing the good pastor in these early hours, I urged them to seek some sort of marriage counseling. I offered to say another prayer with them, but they forcefully declined (I think, “Can you please leave, now?!” was their way of asking me step out).

After walking out from behind the curtain the second time, I storm over to the desk asking them why they called me for this train wreck. One of the nurses said that since the police couldn’t do anything since the injured, yet loved beyond all human understanding by his doting and caring wife of about a year or so couldn’t remember how he got hurt, this couple needed to hear someone explain that the two of them should get some help. “Couldn’t you people do that? Why wake me up to come do this dirty work?,” I asked.

“Because we like the way you do the things you do.”

What they meant was that at times, I can give abrupt advice, something that most pastoral care agents in hospitals refrain from doing. Nearly every pastoral care visit is centered around people being sick or facing a long health battle; we pastoral care agents bring God to the scared and worried, and when facing an unknown future, we clergy provide some kind of peace. Then, of course, there are times when illness is not the central role in hospital calls. There are times when family members of the sick don’t understand why doctors and nurses aren’t providing the most immediate care for their loved ones and we pastoral care agents try to calm them down. But there are those times when the sick or injured get involved in some other “issues” whereby pastoral care is needed on a deeper spiritual level. In these situations, the need for care is rarely seen by the sick. It is in these events when I can be a little abrupt with spiritual or life advice, and apparently someone at the hospital noticed and felt that in this case, the couple needed someone to tell them to get counseling.

After giving them the evil eye (its an Italian thing), I told them not to call me the rest of the day.

But my story doesn’t end here: As I was leaving, the wife came from behind the curtain and called out to me. Afraid that she had some other sort of kitchen appliance in her purse, I cautiously turn around. The woman came up to me and apologized for being so “snippy.” She said that she and her husband had a fight and that they would work through their issues. Thanking me for coming to visit and she walked back to her husband’s cubby. Maybe some Godly words had an effect.

All I could think of as I walked out of the hospital this morning was that if I were the husband, I would stop eating toast and sell the toaster on eBay. I would probably also get rid of the blender, food processor, toaster oven, microwave, and all knives in their kitchen, just to be safe.

And as I got into my car and fiddled for my parking pass, I realized that once again it was Monday —- TODAY’S MY DAY OFF!! Ugh!!

Ooo eee ooo ah ah, ting tang
walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee ooo ah ah, ting tang
walla walla, bing bang

In this morning’s “Belief” page in the New York Times, they highlight a popular Nigerian Witch doctor who has received a great deal of international publicity due primarily to her beliefs and charisma. The opening sentences from the article:

At home in Nigeria, the Pentecostal preacher Helen Ukpabio draws thousands to her revival meetings. Last August, when she had herself consecrated Christendom’s first “lady apostle,” Nigerian politicians and Nollywood actors attended the ceremony. Her books and DVDs, which explain how Satan possesses children, are widely known.

So well-known, in fact, that Ms. Ukpabio’s critics say her teachings have contributed to the torture or abandonment of thousands of Nigerian children — including infants and toddlers — suspected of being witches and warlocks.

By just strapping on her sandals and walking down the street, Ukpadio is so filled with the Holy Spirit that she can point out all the kids who are possessed. In fact, she believes and teaches that if a child 2 years old and younger has nighttime crying fits, then the child is a tool of Satan. I guess she ignores the pain from teething and colic, but what to I know.

Thank God I am Lutheran.

Can you imagine getting suspended from your job for taking the Lord’s name in vain?

An Italian coach in Serie A got the one game boot for using the phrase “porco dio,” essentially calling God a pig.

When I eventually get to writing that book, today is going to be one of those days for one of the characters.

Wow! Sometimes I just don’t get why things happen to me. It’s not like I’m going out there begging people to do something dumb against me. I’m just an ordinary pastor doing the work of the Lord.

Why can’t that be enough for people? No, they have to try and make my day a living heck.

Too bad for them.

I don’t take their garbage lying down.

Now I have to get to work … all the work I planned to do all day, but couldn’t because I was sidetracked in dealing with a dumb situation. I’ll be back-and-forth from the home and church offices the rest of the day.

While completely idiotic, the barking dog play would be funny for, let’s say, the Knicks to utilize once in a while. Imagine – Nate Robinson diving onto his knees and barking, stunning his opponents and leaving a fellow Knick open for an easy lay-up.

Oh, did you notice — it was a Lutheran High School that used this play.

(Via The Sporting Blog)

I was out a little while ago. Overheard a conversation between two adults. I wanted to interrupt, but I didn’t. Why? I couldn’t fully grasp their mental prowess.

They were talking – and agreeing – that Tom Petty, Bob Dylan, and Bono all sounded the same.

???????

Have they ever heard the three of them sing?

I don’t have a living, breathing personal organizer or a house cleaner. I use “Remember the Milk” to organize my “To Do” list and my iPhone calendar to organize by appointments. Thank goodness for my iPhone where everything is synced. And I figure out time during the week to clean the house.

But this owner of a catering company on Long Island makes it sound like she’s sacrificing a lot when she gave up her personal organizer and cut her maid to only 2 days a week. 

She should stop whining. 

She should thank God she has a five-bedroom house (even as she is a single woman) and has cash in the bank.

I hope they Zamboni the ice better at the NHL Winter Classic in Chicago tomorrow than they do driving it.

A friend of mine in Topeka called me this morning to inform me that America’s favorite hate-monger, Fred Phelps, minister of the Westboro Baptist Church, is making the news yet again.

Phelps and his “church,” which is basically his family and a few like-minded nuts, made the news a while ago when they protested at funerals for soldiers, holding signs that spewed their hate. For a few months, at least, Phelps and his band of nutty “Christians” have been quiet.

Thank the State of Washington for bringing this festering sore back to the forefront.

Washington is ground zero for governmental insanity – they have proclaimed that if Christian and Jewish groups can erect “holiday” messages, so should everyone else. The atheists got in on the act first, erecting a sign that said there is no God, which is a lovely message for Christmas time, don’t you think?

And since Washington State thinks these signs are OK, Phelps wants in on the act. The title of his sign?

“Santa Will Take You to Hell.”

Oh, ain’t that a beloved and peaceful Christmas message!!

Phelps has gone a little further. The rest of his sign includes his version of a Christmas carol. Sung to the tune of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” he has written the following (be weary if your children are nearby):

(more…)

After my past 5 days, I hoped my week would start of different.

It did – in a humorous way.

My day started off with a friend calling me at 6:30am to complain about a member of his congregation who flipped him off yesterday. Yes, a member of my friend’s congregation, following an argument they had over — of all things — Christmas lights on the church Christmas tree (she wanted to continue with the traditional white, he wanted multi-colored this year), she got into her car and as she passed him in the parking lot, extended her middle finger at her pastor.

I didn’t want to laugh, but it was 6:30 in the morning, so I let it roar. My buddy wasn’t happy with me for laughing at his “dire” situation.

See, in life, there are places where you pick fights and others where you do not, especially in a church.  Christmas lights on the church Christmas tree does not fall into the “fight” category. Plus, there is this little thing in a Lutheran Church where the congregation makes certain decisions. Christmas lights on a Christmas tree does not fall into the pastoral duty category. You leave it up to the people who have put up the Christmas tree for years to make these decisions. A pastor has other things to worry about than white bulbs on a Christmas tree.

At the conclusion of my morning wake-me-up call, I head over to church for Morning Prayer and then out to breakfast, the one non-church related item on my Monday routine. Following breakfast, I go into the parking lot and woman is standing outside of her car yelling into her cell phone. I should have just gotten into my car and left. But, Anthony decides to ask what was wrong.

The woman said that her car didn’t start and when she got out of her car to check the battery, she somehow locked her keys in her car.

The woman called her husband who, since he is at work some 20 miles away, can’t come to help out his wife. She starts crying that she’ll be late for work and her husband hangs up on her. And then I come into her little drama and she explains her entire life story.

She married a guy who didn’t love her, and to prove it – he will not leave work IN MANHATTAN to drive back to New Milford, New Jersey to help her out. Oh, he takes the bus and a train, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t love her enough to come help her.

Her husband once was arrested for disorderly conduct when he got drunk at Giants Stadium. But that was before they were married and were even dating. And, oh yeah, she was arrested, too, at the same game for smacking a drunk guy in the face after he put his hands on her bottom.

And then my favorite little story about this couple — she claims that her husband secretly wants to bed her mother.

Ah, what a great Monday morning!

To put a nice cherry on top of this Monday morning sundae of delight: I check her car doors – they are open. She locked her door when she got out of her car to check the car battery, but not the others.

And the car started right up.

Gotta love it!!

A contest called Marriage for a Lifetime is offering $10,000 and a host of wedding-related freebies to an engaged couple. All the lovers have to do is write a 600-word essay, and — oh yeah — agree not to have sex before their wedding night. So far, no one has entered.

No, this isn’t a joke. In a society where NOT having sex is looked down upon, the inability to find “contestants” shouldn’t be a surprise. Or maybe the essay is scaring people off?

What makes this story even more unbelievable is that we taxpayers are forking over the money for this “contest.”

[via - The Inquisitor, Atlanta Journal-Constitution]

This morning, my home phone rang at 3:27. It was an attendant at a local hospital who informed me that a member of my church was at the emergency room. Of course, they use the line “we can’t give out a patient’s name and illness” to me when  I asked the logical question: “Who is it?”

So I get dressed and drive over to the hospital’s emergency room where I find out that the attendant called the wrong pastor at the wrong Saint Matthew’s Church.

I could have been angry, but what’s the sense?

As I was walking out of the hospital’s emergency room area, I noticed that a rather large group of teens were sitting around looking rather sickly. Or should I say “stone cold drunk and high.” I just shook my head thanking God that I wasn’t going to be them first, when their parents arrive, and second, when the hangover kicks in.

There was one girl who looked really bad. She wasn’t long for a run to the bathroom, but in her visible condition, it didn’t look like she’d make it. I grabbed a plastic bin that was on a cart near this group of dopey teens and I handed it to her. Queen Pukey looked up, grabbed the bin, and thanked me.

Thinking that my work was done, I turned to leave. However, from behind me, I heard someone cry out, “Hey, stay away from girlfriend.” As someone who loves these types of arguments, I turned around to see the two male combatants square off.

The only problem, Queen Pukey’s boyfriend, a rather disgusting looking human being since he had vomit all over his shirt and on the side of his face, was spewing his vomit-breath towards …. me.

Kind of surprised, King Pukey starts walking towards me, cursing and saying I must stay away from his girlfriend.

When I saw him, I wanted to laugh. All I said to him is to sit down and shut up. That’s the best he was getting from me at 4am. And then the amazing thing – this dope throws a punch at me. Considering he was drunk, all I had to do is lean back a bit and the punch missed me.

Now, I wasn’t going to grab him and physically sit him in a seat. He had vomit all over his shirt and face. Instead, I grab the plastic bin I just gave to his girlfriend and whack him across the face. He stumbles to the floor and I, in a Christ-like way, call him a “moron.”

Why does this stuff happen to me?

Well, apparently they think that dead goldfish in Illinois can vote. The state, famous for their Chicago-tactics of somehow getting dead people to the polls on election day, is now facing this dopey election scandal.

According to a story on Fox News.com:

The paperwork sent to a “Princess Nudelman” likely came from the “Women’s Voices, Women Vote” project, which sent nearly 1 million mailings to Illinois households in August using a list that mistakenly included some pets, said Sarah Johnson, a spokeswoman for the not-for-profit group that encourages single women to vote.

The mailing list, purchased from a vendor, included names from warranties, magazine subscriptions and other sources, Johnson said. The group attempted to screen out obvious pet names.

“Fido’s not going to be left on there, but if a cat is named is Polly, she may be,” Johnson said. Princess could be a person’s name, she insisted. “I went to high school with two Princesses.”

I wonder who Princess Nudelman would vote for? McCain or Obama?

Maybe the little fishy would write in Stephen Colbert?

Divorce is a terrible thing, for both the husband and the wife, and God-forbid that there are children involved. Even though half of all marriages end in divorce, it is a tramatic situation for everyone involved.

May that is why this story is just plain funny.

A couple in rural Cambodia has terminated their 18-year marriage with a divorce settlement that entailed sawing in two the wooden house they once shared, villagers said Friday.

They sawed the house in half.

Wow.

I remember my mother telling me and my brother that a day was successful if we learned something we didn’t know the day the before.

That sounds nice and all. But I never thought I would learn about an Orthodox Jewish tradition of swinging a chicken over one’s head and then slaughtering it and using it to feed the needy. More over at Gary Stern’s “Blogging Religiously.“