Tag Archives: the deity herself

A death, a Rain Delay and a Visit from Saint Pete

This is a continuation of the story that I started in “Meeting Jesus and the Team at 7-11: A Baseball Fantasy” and “A Ballgame with Saint Pete: The Confluence of Faith and Baseball.” I have edited this from when I originally posted in last year and reposted it. I wrote the original article on my way to California for my dad’s funeral. When I started the series I did not expect my dad’s death, despite his long battle with Alzheimer’s disease. I wrote this article and started another which I will now finish and then continue the story from there. Somehow baseball helps me make sense of the world and adds to my spirituality in ways that I cannot explain to the non-member of the Church of Baseball. I just hope that the series touches people with the grace of God in some way, and that maybe they too will experience the love of God and the wonder of this wonderful game.

 

The news the next morning came like a thunderclap, as I was turning off my alarm clock which is located on my cell phone the phone rang to the tune of the Panzerlied which is my default ringer, a good German Army tune for a patently military Padre with an affinity for German military history.  I was not expecting the phone to ring as you might well image and squinted at the display to see just who might be calling me at this hour.  Without my glasses it was hard to see the display but nothing can come from a call this early in the morning. I looked at my watch to make sure that the cell phone time had been correct and that the call was not coming from someone at work seeing if I was running late which this morning despite having been up late the previous night I was not.  I hit the little green button with a phone on the key and put the device to my ever ringing ear, a product of too much noise exposure in Iraq according to my ENT, oh well, that and the loss of speech discrimination that I am experiencing tell me that the diagnosis is likely true.

“Hello” I asked warily wondering just whose voice would announce itself on the other end of the call.

“Hey Steve” announced the voice on the other end, it was my brother Jeff and I could tell that something bad had happened. “It’s Jeff I just got a call from the nursing home and they say that dad is hasn’t got much longer to live.” The voice was measured but full of emotion.

“Crap, okay, go on Jeff” my voice hesitated as Jeff continued to talk.

“Yeah, they called a few minutes ago and said that dad had taken a turn for the worse and that they didn’t expect him to live.” He paused for a second and continued. “I figured that they meant a few days so I asked them and the nurse told me that she didn’t think that he would live another half hour.”

I interrupted “a half hour?”

“Yeah, tell you what I need to get up there quick, I’ll call you from there to let you know what is going on.”

“Thanks Jeff be safe driving up there.” My voice trailed off as Jeff replied.

“I will Stevie.”

“One question, does mom know?”

“No they called me, I’ll let her know when I know something and I’ll call you as soon as I get up there.”

“Love you brother, be safe”

“Love you too” and with that Jeff hung up the phone.

I find it funny that my “little brother” refers to me on occasion as “Stevie” but he is my brother but he has been the more serious and grown up of the two of us since he was about eight years old. Dad used to say that he was eight going on forty back then and he still is the more serious and reserved of the two of us. When I was in high school and college he looked in askance when I went on toilet paper raids with friends and later with Judy around town.

In shock I walked back to the bed where Judy was awake and putting her glasses on. As I climbed back into the bed she asked “what’s wrong?” and reached out to me as I lay down next to her. “It was Jeff; he said that he got a call from the nursing home and that they said that dad was dying.” I looked up at her as she simply said “I didn’t expect that.”

“I didn’t either; Jeff is on the way up now, I don’t know what to think.” She cradled my head in her arms as I lay there stunned from the news.

“We’ve known for a long time that this was going to happen but…” I cut her off.

“But I just didn’t expect it now. I know that he hasn’t been the man that I knew for a long time with the Alzheimer’s but I just didn’t expect it. Kay had said that he was doing about the same, had gained some weight again and the last time I talked to mom and Jeff they said that he looked about the same as he has for a long time, I just figured that he would go on longer.” I paused as I took a deep breath and she said “I know” and held me close.  Seeing that we were up, Molly our vivacious Papillion-Dachshund mix pulled her 15 pounds of red fur and personality over us and wrapped her body around the top of our heads after squeezing herself between us and ensuring that she kissed each one of us.

We lay there for together not saying much as I wondered what was going to happen in the next few minutes. I prayed silently for my dad to have a peaceful death and to be with the Lord even as I searched for answers myself. It had not been that long, just about six month in fact since I had started believing again after my Christmas miracle. That had been a time, after Iraq I was falling apart and only got worse for most of the first two years after my return. I struggled with PTSD, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares, severe depression, chronic pain gained a lot of weight and got out of shape but the worst part was feeling cut off from community and even worse cut off from God, the experience of feeling God forsaken shook me and it was not until shortly before Christmas that faith had began to return to my weary soul.  I hugged Judy and pressed up closer to her before realizing that I needed to get a shower realizing that I had just enough time to do this and get dressed before Jeff called back from the nursing home.

“Strange, yesterday I get the greatest news of my career and today this. It’s that damned Yin and Yang, those two have to always show up together why couldn’t I get time just to enjoy the news of the promotion?” It was a rhetorical question of course, I am not one that subscribes everything to God’s will which in my understanding would make God out to be a capricious and even somewhat cruel God, despite what the Calvinists and Augustinians say is part of his will for us. I have a problem with a God that would intentionally screw with his people like that and choose rather to believe that some things in life just happen, the good with the bad and that somehow that God will give us grace to get through the difficult times, even when we see no good reason for the timing of events. “Damned Yin and Yang, especially that Yang always shows up when you don’t want him to.

“I’ve got to get cleaned up and dressed I’ll have to go in to work after I hear from Jeff and rearrange my leave.”

“I guess this means another anniversary apart huh?” Judy looked at me and I simply replied “yeah what’s new?” I had planned to take a good amount of leave around our anniversary this Friday just to be with her, help her around the house and relax through the July 4th weekend but that was now out the window with dad’s death.  Over the 27 years of your marriage we have been apart more than together on this auspicious date that we share with the 1950 invasion of South Korea by the North and the 2009 death of Michael Jackson.  I spent our first anniversary in Landstuhl Army Medical Center back in 1984 and over the years had only been at home for 11 of our anniversaries. I guess being in the military you get used to this in fact with us it is almost a running joke, but this year I didn’t think we would be apart.

“I think that this means that we’re 11 for 27” I dryly said.

“I’ve stopped counting dear I just figure that it’s going to happen.”

“Yeah, me too” I pulled my body which now felt like it weighed a ton off the bed and headed to the shower and Molly looking somewhat offended snuggled closer to Judy.

About the time that I was finished dressing the phone rang again and it was Jeff telling me what I knew he was going to tell me.  I answered the phone resigned to the message that I knew was coming. “Hey Jeff, what’s going on?”

“Stevie, I’m here at the nursing home, I made it just after he died.  It looks like he just passed away in his sleep, he looks at peace.”

“That’s how we hoped it would be no suffering.”

“I know, I just didn’t think that it would happen this fast. I thought they would call us and that he would slip into a coma and take a few days to pass away.”

“Yeah, same here, I just didn’t expect it today, but then who does?”

“Hey Stevie, I call you back I need to go let mom know that he’s gone.” It was 3:25 AM in California.

“Okay, hang in there and good luck with mom, it will hit her hard I’m sure. Talk to you later, love you Jeff.”

“Sure thing…. later.” The phone went silent as Jeff hung up.  I got my gear together gave Judy a kiss goodbye, filled me a water bottle and headed to my car.  After loading my gear in my trusty war wagon festooned with bumper stickers of baseball teams and military units and newly issued Operation Iraqi Freedom license plates personalized with “FLAK88” my favorite artillery piece of World War Two turned the key and nothing. The battery was dead.

I went back in the house and let Judy know that I needed to borrow her car and then proceeded to load her car for the trip into work.  On the way I called Derek, our assistant Department Head to let him know what had happened and by 7:15 I was walking in the office door wearing my Tides road jersey and hat. I sat down with Derek for a while as he and I have very similar family situations and both of us were wondering who would be the first to lose their father.  The talk was helpful and Derek prayed for me as our Monsignor, Father Fred.  Fred when he was on active duty had been my first detailer, which in non-Navy parlance would be a personnel manager or assignments manager.  Fred and I have had a wonderful ministry together as Priests and he came into my office, closed the door and spent time with me, finishing with prayer and letting me know that he would offer Mass on my dad’s behalf.  He was followed by Father Roy a Canadian Army Priest in our Clinical Pastor Education Residency who offered his condolences and then let me know that he too would offer Mass for my dad.  I gathered the things that I would need to include my Summer White uniform, or as I love to call them my Faggoty White Uniform as Colonel Nathan R Jessup, Jack Nicholson’s character in the movie A Few Good Men called them.  Once I was packed I was on my way home where Judy awaited me as did my laptop with which I would make my travel arrangements.

I could not believe the prices to fly on short notice and the aggravation that I had in trying to use my frequent flyer miles or get a real person on the line on all airlines except Southwest. Although I was able to talk with the kind folks at Southwest, who by the way are always the most courteous of all the airline customer service agents, at least to me, I went online where I got my ticket on Southwest to Sacramento and made my rental car reservations.  Following all of the time spent making arrangements my neighbor Larry jumped my car which enabled me to go to the auto part store for a battery.

Finally about exhausted and with the temperatures in the high 90s with unbearable humidity Judy and I went and got a beer and light lunch at Biersch before the ball game which I knew that I needed.  It is funny how baseball of all things works to calm me when nothing else will and how even when I experience great loss baseball is there for me. It is much as Walt Whitman once said: “I see great things in baseball. It’s our game — the American game. It will take our people out of doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair those losses, and be a blessing to us.” Baseball is a blessing to me, something that the Deity Herself must have figured when I was conceived to a couple of baseball fans who in addition to raising me right taught me to love this game.

I looked up at the sky and realized that there was a strong possibility that rain would affect the game as I got out of my car at Harbor Park.  When you live in these parts you can tell by the look, feel and smell when a storm is coming and this was one of those days.  I entered the park, as Bill “Spaceman” Lee once said “as one enters a church” paying my respects to the folks that I now know well at the front gate walking up the stairs to the concourse where I was greeted by Will, one of the ushers who helps people as they come up the stairs offering greetings to those that he knows while directing first time visitors in the proper direction.  I let Will know what had happened and he offered his condolences and said that he would pray for my family too.

I made my way across the concourse and looked out at the lush diamond below, the grounds crew was preparing the infield for the game as Rip Tide mugged for fans and the Tides band played on the concourse.  Vendors selling all types of food and drink were busily engaged in their work while Marty the Card dealer talked with a customer.  I stopped trying to figure out what I wanted to do next and decided to get a Tides dog and a beer before going down to my seat. This is a comfort food for me and like Humphrey Bogart said “A hot dog at the ballgame beats roast beef at the Ritz.” Going down to “Rosie’s Grill” on the third base side of the concourse I ordered the dog and the beer, a draft Yuengling Lager and after dousing the dog in mustard and relish I went over to a table and ate the dog there as I stared out at the diamond occasionally looking across the Elizabeth River to the shipyards and dry docks and the Staten Island Ferry that was high and dry in the dry dock directly across from right center field.

My mind wandered thinking about the many times that dad had taken me to ball games and how much that meant to me.  The last game that we saw together was a Stockton Ports game at Banner Island Ballpark back in 2005 or 2006 when the Alzheimer’s was just starting to show up in his daily life and instead of being able to really enjoy the game he nervously paced the concourse behind home plate for much of the game.  That was so unlike him and I knew that he was slipping even though he did not yet recognize it. When I finished the dog I took my beer and my bag with my camera and windbreaker in it down the concourse where I met Chip the usher who greeted me in his usual friendly manner.

“Hey Steve how are you doing? Celebrating the promotion?”

I looked at Chip and sighed. “Chip it’s the damndest thing I thought that I would be celebrating and my brother called this morning to let me know that my dad died.”  Chip looked at me and shook his head.

“Sorry to hear that, he’d been sick for a while?”

“Yeah, the Alzheimer’s didn’t even know who the hell I was the last time that I saw him; at least he went peacefully in his sleep.”

“But still…”

“Yeah, really threw me for a loop, I just didn’t expect it to happen now even though I have expected it for the last two years.”  I paused.

“I’m really sorry Steve; I’ll keep you and your family in my prayers. When are you going out?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you in my prayers my friend.”

“Thanks, I better go down and see Elliott.”

“Catch you later.”

“You bet.”

I walked down the stairs to see Elliott waving at me having already wiped down my seats.  I got down to where he was and he greeted me cheerfully. “Hello Padre, just you tonight?”

“Yeah just me.”

“I hope we don’t get rain tonight”

“Sure looks like we might it feels like rain.”

“Yeah, so how are you doing?”

“Not so good, I won’t be here for a while I got a call from my brother this morning to tell me that dad is dead. I fly out tomorrow.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that Steve.” I knew Elliott like Chip meant what he said.

“Yeah, hard to believe, I thought that God might actually let me enjoy a full day with my promotion.” I paused as Elliot let me continue, a good usher like a good bartender is a good listener.  “But stuff happens, like those Chinese kids Yin and Yang, the good and the bad huh?”

“Yeah, seems that way.” Elliott paused. “How are you doing there?”

“I guess okay, he died in his sleep, we’ve expected this for the last two years, I just didn’t expect it now.” I paused and as before Elliott let me do so without prattling on. “You know I prayed that he would go in his sleep at peace without anymore suffering but now that he has I am just…I don’t know, I didn’t expect it now.”

“Hang in there Padre; I’ve got to get busy before Dave thinks that I’m ignoring others, I’ll talk to you later.” A couple came walking down the steps looking for their seats and Elliott turned to great them. As he did I looked up at the sky, the clouds were building from the west and well, if you have ever lived where thunderstorms are a part of daily life you know what I mean when I say that you can smell the rain in the air or feel the storms building.

I went to my seat and as the grounds crew finished its work and the teams began to take the field I wondered if we would get the game in.  The young woman who would sing the National Anthem came out on the field and the PA announcer announced the Tides as they ran onto the field each accompanied by a young girl softball player about 6-9 years old.  Obviously the “Field of Dreams Team” was a girl’s softball team otherwise they would have been boys.  The young woman sang the Anthem and Chris George the Tides starter went into his final warm ups, just then the rain started and the home plate umpire signaled for the players to come off the field as thundered rumbled and lightening flashed nearby. I looked at my cell phone and looked up the weather channel whose radar show a very big blob of red coming our way. I left my seat and walked up to the concourse and not long after I did the heavens opened and the rains came down.  As I and most of the other fans took cover from the storm a finger tapped me on the shoulder.

“Padre, I knew that I would find you here.”

I looked up and it was Pete.

“I thought that the boss sent you out of town?”

“He did but he let me come back when your dad died.”

“Really, why?”

Pete put his hand on my shoulder “Padre the Boss had me come back because he knew that you’d listen to me.” He paused and looked me in the eye. “The boss was going to send Thomas because he wanted to send me on a road trip but when he actually called Carl home he realized that you really didn’t know Thomas, I mean Thomas is a good guy but…” I cut him off.

“But Skip knew that you were right for this.”

“Yeah, Tom’s good but you know me.”

“True.”

“And he likes wine better than beer” Pete chuckled “and even though he’s on the team he’d rather sit down in a nice restaurant and share a nice bottle of Merlot and eat cheese, Skip realized that I was the better choice.”

“Makes sense, Skip knows me pretty well huh?”

“All of us my friend, all of us, heck I remember meeting him for the first time when he called me, changed my name on the spot from Simon to Peter, the Rock.” He chuckled “sometimes I think that he thought the rocks were in my brain housing unit, the time I corrected him and he told me “get behind me Satan” my Lord that was not fun, I felt so foolish, but he didn’t chase me away.”

“Sometimes I feel pretty foolish Pete, I mean look at me, my dad is dead, I fly out to California tomorrow and I am standing in the concourse of a baseball park with rain coming down in buckets.” My sense of frustration and confusion was showing. “I mean Pete, what should I be doing? I really don’t know.” I shook my head and my eyes first moved to the ground and then looked back up at Pete. “I don’t know what to do Pete.”

“I know, and Skip knows, that’s why I’m here and not Tom. The fact is Steve you can’t do this alone, that’s why you’re here tonight; you need to be around this place, your friends and in a sense your dad. Your dad is here at least in spirit.”  Pete paused “Let’s get a beer and sit down out of the rain.” Pete walked me over to a stand on the first base side of the concourse where a vendor was selling Killian’s Irish Red. Pete looked at me and said “I’ll get it so put your wallet back.” Walking up to the stand he said “Sir, two Killian’s, make them large” and laid a twenty dollar bill on the stand. As the man reached to make change Pete said “keep the change my friend, tips might not be too good if this rain keeps coming down.”

The man behind the stand smiled as he finished pouring the second beer, “Thanks there buddy, you have a good night, thanks again” as he put the five dollars of change into his vest pocket.

“Let’s go over here Padre.” Pete led me to one of the tall round metal tables near the stand and put the beer to his lips. “Not bad, of course it isn’t named after Saint Killian, but we can pretend can’t we?”

“Always Pete”

“Cheers my friend, to Carl.”

“To dad” I replied as we lifted our cups.  The rain continued to beat down on the tarp spread across the field; I looked down at the display on my cell phone and noted the large amount of red, yellow and green on the Weather Channel, and I looked at Pete “looks like the rain isn’t going to let up for a while.”

“Well then let’s hang out for a while then.”  We’ve got a little bit of time, besides; you don’t want to get soaked on the way out to your car.”

“True, I am not a big fan of torrential rain.”

“You know that some of the good times early on came with the boss in the rain, well actually in the rain in little boats in raging storms.  I will never forget the time that he came walking across the water, shocked the heck out of me, enough to tell him that I wanted to do it too” Pete took a drink of his beer and laughed “I laugh about it now but when I saw those waves around me and realized that there was no boat under my feet I freaked out.  As I started to flail about and sink Skip walked over to me like he was on pavement reached down, grabbed my arm lifted me up and hauled my ass back in the boat. He then stilled the storm and the rest of the team; even guys like Judas had a laugh.” The rain was now coming down in sheets and with the exception of a couple of ushers and diehards everyone in attendance was on the concourse under cover or under the overhangs on the upper decks and the party deck.

“I’ve been through some storms at sea too”

“But you weren’t foolish enough to jump out of the boat.”

“Patently Pete, patently” I raised my cup “cheers Pete?”

“Cheers Padre” and Pete raised his cup to mine and each of us took another drink.

“So anyway, you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah, that.”

“So?”

“Well, last night I mentioned that you were in few a few changes or something like that before I left the park.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Well, that call from Skip, he kind of let me know that he was going to take Carl, your dad home.” Pete paused “And he kind of told me that he was going to send Tom as he had other work for me to do.”

“But that changed, you already told me that.”

“Yeah, yeah anyway, as I was saying, um where was I?”

“Changes and Skip telling you that he was taking my dad home” I paused and looked at Pete.

“Yeah, that let me continue.  You know that Skip liked your dad a lot, and I got to know your dad before you were even born, played some ball together on Guam.  I was on his team, I remember when he slid head first into second and broke his collar bone.”

“You’re kidding?”

“You dad was a young Petty Officer and a heck of a ballplayer, he was a solid hitter, knew where to hit the ball, aggressive on the base paths and good defensively at second base, sometimes all of us on the team would go out for a San Miguel after the game” and then paused for a drink and I took the opportunity to interrupt.

“What were you doing in Guam?”

“Come on Padre, what I’m doing here, Skip keeps us busy, that thing about “the great cloud of witnesses,” well some of us are more like low cloud cover or fog, a bit closer to the action than some of the others.” Pete laughed, “Skip likes us to be involved and I just happened to be in Guam when Carl was, it was totally coincidental.”

“Like the past two days?”

“No not at all, this was one of those God ordained things, you know Skip, when he wants something, well what can I say?”

“So you’re telling me that playing ball with my dad was coincidental and this was God ordained?”

“Yeah, so why can’t it be that way?”

“It just seems too coincidental to me Pete, I mean why this why me why now?” I was still in shock about dad’s death and though I knew that Pete was telling me the truth I didn’t really know how to react or what to say. I looked down at my beer and back up at Pete. “Pete I’m sorry I just don’t know what to say, I’m still in shock and kind of numb.”

There was an awkward silence and Pete reached out to me. “Padre, you needed to be out here tonight, you needed to hear this, it’s been so long with Carl not being himself with Alzheimer’s that you needed to remember that he was once young and enjoyed life, he loved you and your brother and your mom. He wasn’t perfect but there is a lot of him in you. He was proud of you and your brother and your families and I was glad to have known him back then.”

Though there were people all around us chatting and rain coming down mixed with thunder and flashes of lightening.  It had been nearly an hour since the rain began and it didn’t look like it would be letting up anytime soon as water began to puddle in the right field corner and other places in the outfield and warning track.  There was also water building up in my eyes, and I tried to be inconspicuous as I wiped away a tear.

“Padre, its okay, your dad died this morning.  It only happens once to most people and Carl was a good man, he’s getting a chance to hang out with Skip and well a lot of others, he’ll be fine.”

“So Skip really knew dad?”

“Still does, and I know that after Iraq you wondered if God existed and struggled with faith but when Skip said that he was with us and would never leave us or forsake us he meant it. He didn’t say that we wouldn’t have problems but he said that he would be there. Sometimes that’s hard to believe, I know I had a number of times where I doubted more than Tom ever did, thankfully Luke didn’t take the time to report all of those events.”

“Good thing I guess, better than these ballplayers, every error they make get’s published and recorded for posterity.”

“Good thing Padre, good thing, those statisticians would have been great sin counters in the Middle Ages, they would have known exactly the amount that you would need to pay to get your sins forgiven and an indulgence or two…I’m surprised that brother John Tetzel isn’t their patron saint.”

“So the reason that Skip sent me back is that he knew that you needed a bit of a pep talk and know that he really does care about you. He wants you to know that things will work out and to find a way to make sure that people remember your dad before Alzheimer’s took everything from him. Skip thinks that it will be good for them and you too.”

“But what?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Skip didn’t tell me. I guess that he will give you inspiration, he’s good at that you know.”

“Yeah, but until this inspiration comes I don’t know what the hell to do.”

The rain began to let up; I refreshed the Weather Channel and noticed more storms in the area.

“Pete, I have a long day tomorrow, I need to get home and pack, if this game does get going it will be close to midnight before it’s over and I’m still tired from yesterday. I’d better get out before the rain starts coming down again.” I finished the last bit of beer in my cup. “You will talk to me again?”

“Of course, I’ve been assigned your case.”

“Thanks for being here and thanks for the beer too, it tasted good.”

“Sure thing Padre, I’ll see you here again, maybe we’ll even find some way to get a game going, I think I can talk Dave into renting out the park for a day.”

 

Advertisements

1 Comment

Filed under Baseball, christian life, faith, Religion

Halloween Book Burning Update: Bring the Marshmallows Please!

The good folks at Amazing Grace Baptist Church under the direction of the Grand Master Pastor Marc Grizzard in Canton North Carolina have announced that the Halloween Book and Bible Burning is still on.  If I lived down there I would bring some, hot dogs chili and beer.  Of course I would be the only one drinking the beer but it could be fun.

MARC KNEELING2The Grand Master Pastor Marc Grizzard

Their website is back up, and it is a hoot and I couldn’t make this up if I tried.  Now I will give the Grand Master Pastor Marc, which if you ask me is a French corruption of the proper English “Mark” and rings of irony, proper credit as he does seem a man of conviction if not ignorance.  Since he is so convinced of that the KJV is the preserved, inspired, infallible, and innerrant (His misspelling not mine) Word of God I will at least credit him with being honest to his convictions about the KJV and its sources as misplaced as his those are.  Now do I believe that the KJV is the Word of God?  Hell yes, just like all the other translations that Grand Master Marc is preparing to burn in his bonfire.  You see I have a real problem with burning Bibles even if I don’t like the particular translation.   You see even though I am a moderate, read “Liberal” if you are someone like Grand Master Marc, I have the highest respect for the Bible as the inspired Word of God.  As such I would embark with great trepidation before burning one as somehow I think that might qualify as some kind of sin after all, I wasn’t there when the Biblical writers put pen to parchment, nor was I with the people who faithfully worked to preserve it.  Likewise, somehow I don’t think that somehow God stopped time when the KJV was published to make it the end all of Bible translation.

As I read through the website: http://amazinggracebaptistchurchkjv.com/Download99.html I realized that Grand Master Marc has a dual mission.  He is about promoting himself.  This guy likes his 15 minutes of fame.  In order to get big media attention he has staged this horrendously grotesque Book and Bible Burning to get on a stage that he would not otherwise occupy.  He is a self admitted college dropout with no academic credentials or for that matter any credentials other than his self promotion.  The website says it all: “I would like to thank all who have written and called to give your support. We would also like to say thanks to all of the radio, newspaper, magazine, and Television media (Fox News, Wall Street Journal, CNN, CBS, Turner Broadcasting, and hundreds more) who would love to do interviews. All of our future comments will be posted on this web site. There is no way possible to answer thousands of emails, phone calls, and letters.”

Grand Master Marc is the subject of hundreds of news articles even by major networks.  So I should now have a little fun at his expense and maybe help him to even more fame, or possibly infamy.  First you gotta love his list of Bibles, they are a great collection and there is a good chance that most readers actually own or have owned one of these: “NIV, RSV, NKJV, TLB, NASB, NEV, NRSV, ASV, NWT, Good News for Modern Man, The Evidence Bible, The Message Bible, The Green Bible, ect” but not any mention of Rheims-Douhey, the New American, the Jerusalem or New Jerusalem Bibles, those abdominal Catholic translations, however I did find those on the page that deals with Satan’s Bibles.

The list of books by Satan’s popular Christian authors is sweet: “We will also be burning Satan’s popular books written by heretics like Westcott & Hort , Bruce Metzger, Billy Graham , Rick Warren , Bill Hybels , John McArthur, James Dobson , Charles Swindoll , John Piper , Chuck Colson , Tony Evans, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swagart , Mark Driskol, Franklin Graham , Bill Bright, Tim Lahaye, Paula White , T.D. Jakes, Benny Hinn , Joyce Myers , Brian McLaren , Robert Schuller, Mother Teresa , The Pope , Rob Bell, Erwin McManus , Donald Miller, Shane Claiborne, Brennan Manning, William Young, Will Graham , and many more.” Now I can agree that some of these folks are heretics, or at least wack-jobs but again I just have a problem about burning books it just seems a bit Nazi or Communist like.

book_burning33The Grand Master Marc’s Heroes Having a Grand Time Burning Books

Of course all of this goes back to Eve as it should right, I guess Grand Master Marc doesn’t really like women too much as he says: “Eve became a scholar and began to correct God’s Word by adding to it. So God cursed her just like he promised.” First I don’t know what school Eve went to or that she was into Bible translation but seems like a plan to me, I guess all the false versions are Eve’s fault.

At least they are serving food and if you are interested taking donations: “We will be serving Bar-b-Que Chicken, fried chicken, and all the sides. If you have any books or music to donate, please call us for pick-up. If you like you can drop them off at our church door anytime. Thanks. 828-648-0213” You gotta love Southern hospitality so you can write him at his personal e-mail address: jonmarcgrizzard@aol.com so please give them a call or e-mail if you desire, like Grand master Marc says to do.

chicom book burningGrand Master Marc’s Chicom Friends at Work

Anyway, Grand Master Marc has listed his own bunch of professional athletes bound for hell including Tom Brady you Patriots fans

tom-brady-patriotsRepublican and Patriot Tom Brady is on the Grand Master Marc’s List too

http://amazinggracebaptistchurchkjv.com/gpage38.html as well as a list of heretics. http://amazinggracebaptistchurchkjv.com/gpage19.html Be assured your favorite pastor, teacher, preacher, evangelist or Christian publication or institution of higher learning is likely on the list.

NKBurningNorth Korean Commies Like this Method of Fellowship and Entertainment too…Kim Chee anyone?

Some of the descriptions of the sins that various celebrities, theologians who are “going to hell” are laughable if the Grand Master Marc weren’t as serious as a throw rod in a 1981 Chevette.  Kirsten Dunst makes the list as  having  “Checked into a rehab facility for “depression” and being a “Lutheran.”

010_Kirsten_Dunst_1234Kirsten Dunst: For Grand Master Marc Lutheran Suffering from Depression is worthy of Hell

Another: “Jonathan Rhys Meyers was baptized shortly after birth which will lead him straight to hell.”  Shoeless Joe Jackson makes the list as if being banned from baseball forever is not enough:  “Shoeless Joe” Jackson and seven other White Sox players were banned from baseball after taking money to throw the 1919 World Series.” I’m sorry didn’t Grand Master Marc not see the Field of Dreams? But Pete Rose makes the list too.

shoeless joeIsn’t it Enough to Ban Shoeless Joe From Baseball forever and not Send Him to Hell Too?

The Grand Master Pastor Marc also nails some theologians to the wall including John “no I’m not having fun” Calvin as well as others.  One of the best is Classic Liberal German theologian Karl Lachmann who among real theological heresies had “long hair.”  The lists propagated by Grand Master Marc could go on and on and actually do.  The fact is that he damns people who have given their lives to Christ and the Gospel including people who have sacrificed all to do this based purely on his whim which he calls being Scriptural is a shame.  At the same time we can thank the Deity Herself that his little “remnant” is so small and that this will blow over as well.  Of course he doesn’t help his evangelism efforts by condemning almost everyone in his home county http://amazinggracebaptistchurchkjv.com/gpage54.html A little Dale Carnegie course wouldn’t hurt.

In all of this Grand Master Marc is no above a little personal idolatry in the near worship of his preacher dad who he calls “The Greatest Preacher who ever lived” while making this comment: “This is the best way that I can describe it. It sounded as the “oracles of God.” It was as if God himself was speaking. Many people call Charles Haddon Spurgeon the “Prince of Preachers.” But in my humble opinion, he hasn’t got anything on my daddy.”

Sure, I love my dad too, but this is a tad on the overreach side of the house.

So there we have it, the Book and Bible Burning update, it is sad, but at the same time you have to love it…BBQ anyone?  I would bring beer but I have to hand out candy to all the neighborhood child satanists that night.

moral majority

Peace, Padre Steve+

7 Comments

Filed under Religion

34 Hours: Reflections on Family, Service and Baseball amid Life and Death

91788333NM088_New_York_YankJohn Lackey and the Angels fought back to Send the ALCS back to New York defeating the Yankess 7-6 in Anaheim

Photo by Stephen Dunn/Getty Images

I’m a bit reflective today after a long on-call duty in the medical center that lasted from about 0615 on Wednesday until 1630 today.  About 34 hours in house with about 4 hours of fitful sleep as I left my sleep meds at home.  It was a busy night and once again it seemed that I was dealing with patients and families similar to mine.  The patients were retired Navy Chief Petty Officers about the age of my father and of course their children, who like me are “Navy Brats.”  I’m pretty tired as the day has been very full complete with me being the acting department head for much of the day and having to deal with a number of situations outside the clinical setting.  It’s kind of funny how “Company Commander Steve” can show back up, and thankfully not in a bad or asshole kind of way. I guess that the Deity Herself has given me a bit of grace to only allow the best of the old company commander to show up.  Thankfully I work with a lot of really great people.

Last night was very intense and there were no easy cases, all took a long time and the work went deep into the night. I did not even get a chance to catch any of the Phillies game against the Evil Dodgers.  I only found out the Phillies had won before I trundled off to the call room about 0200.  Of course for me there was cause for rejoicing as my “anti-Dodgers” wear did not go the waste, which is of course my San Francisco Giants apparel.   What I find interesting is just how many of the players in both the NLCS and ALCS that I have seen play in the minors to include Shane Victorino who I saw a lot in Kinston North Carolina when he played for the Kinston Indians, and Ryan Howard who I saw the first time playing for the Reading Phillies in Harrisburg back on our wedding anniversary in 2004.

It is humbling to be with people who have similar histories to me and my family and to be with them as they “walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.” Of course what goes through my mind is that I would hope that there would be someone there for my parents, especially my dad who still lingers in a nursing facility with end stage Alzheimer’s disease.  My mother seems more introspective and reflective than she has been in a long time. She seems to be preparing for the inevitable with my dad, trying to visit him within the limits of her physical condition and letting him know that she loves him and even tries to be with him when one of their Lutheran pastors when he brings Communion to my father.  Likewise she seems to be preparing just in case something happens to her, asking me to help her decide the disposition of various belongings.  This is a first.  So I wonder what is going on.

Since my dad has held on for many months longer than his physicians expected I will be travelling to California to visit my parents to see them as well as well as take care of more administrative, banking and other matters with my brother and mother.   I’ll be out there about a week.

It is funny too that all of this is taking place during the MLB playoffs and in particular as the Angels are playing the Yankees in Anaheim.   Our time in Long Beach California was probably one of the most magical couple of years in my childhood, and much was due to the time that my dad took in teaching me the game of baseball and taking me to game after game at Anaheim Stadium.

Me and Lefty PhillipsMemories at Anaheim Stadium, Me with Manager Lefty Phillips in 1970

As I looked at the stadium I can see the areas that we would sit when we attended the games.  Since dad always got us there as soon as the gates opened we would get to see batting practice, shag fly balls and meet players before the game.  That really was a special time and really did make a lasting impression on me, so as I watch the game tonight I am more reflective than usual, not in a morose way but in a way that somehow blends appreciation for those that I am honored to serve with in their life crisis, my own family situation as well as baseball and wonderful memories from the “Big A.”

Tonight’s game was full of drama and for the most part free of the egregious bad calls.  The Angels went up 4-0 in the first inning and then in the top of the 7th the Yankees scored 6 runs.  The Angles came right back in the bottom of the 7th scoring three of their own to go back up 7-6.  The drama continued in the 8th and finally with the bases loaded after an intentional walk, a walk and a hit batsman Nick Swisher popped up to end the game. The series goes back to New York with the Angels resurgent after being clobbered by the Yankees in game 4.

Well, I’m tired and it’s time to go to bed.

Peace, Padre Steve+

Leave a comment

Filed under alzheimer's disease, Baseball

The Art and Science of Staying Awake and Going to Sleep When You Have PTSD

“The blood level in my caffeine is getting too high” Woody Paige on ESPN’s Around the Horn

opus coffeeToday: 3 24 Ounce Cups of Southern Pecan Coffee with French Vanilla Creamer and Splenda

Which came first the chicken or the Egg McMuffin?  That is the type of life I have when it comes to a little thing that you never notice until you can’t do it…something called sleep.  Today is one of those days where the inner Chinese kids, Yin and Yang are trying to get themselves into some kind of equilibrium, or maybe even equilibriumnumnum after a pretty rough week and a night on call at the medical center.  As usual my insomnia and anxiety have joined their ever loving hands together to ensure that I have had less than optimal sleep.  Yesterday’s on call duty and that of last night was fairly relaxed.  I had my new residents with me getting oriented to pulling duty and I have to say they are a fun bunch. We have two Americans and two Canadians all with great senses of humor and all who have had some kind of combat tour.   I actually like being around them which I cannot say of everyone that I have worked with in 28 plus years in the military.  They are a joy.  Likewise I love being around the hospital staff doing my rounds at night and to top things off there were no tragedies.

This being said I still could not get to sleep last night which kind of tops off a week of crappy or too little sleep.  Love them or leave them crappy or insufficient sleep over a long period of time beat the hell out of you.  I know, it has me and to make an astute observation it makes me tired.

My battles with insomnia began about a third of the way into my Iraq tour. When we came back from a mission I would go to my “Can” and just sit awake either reading, playing chess on my computer or going out and watching the Dustoff helicopters coming in and out of the Surgical Shock Trauma Platoon helipad or looking off to the perimeter to see illumination rounds lighting up the night sky and hearing occasional gunfire and explosions.  It was incredibly hard to get to sleep no matter how tired I was.  That continued the whole tour and got worse.  Part was the late night flights that we so often took, part the danger that we faced and part the conditions that we slept in. At one FOB in Ramadi we stayed in an old trailer that we could hear the rats chewing on the ceiling. When we had to stay in Al Asad to catch a morning flight after having flown in our tents were near the flight line and F-18s flying in and out all night do not make for a quiet and restful night’s rest.  In some of the more remote FOBs the isolation and vulnerability made it hard to rest.  I think that it was about two-thirds of the way through that the dreams and nightmares started.

Doonesbury-082108Too True I can Relate

Having talked to others with PTSD or other combat related injuries of the brain and nervous system I find that I am not alone and most of us are mid-grade to senior career officers.  It’s kind of weird because when you are young in the military you are taught just to “suck it up” and as you go through your career you tell others the same thing until it happens to you. Thus for us old guys I think PTSD is actually harder than for young people because it destroys our world view and our tough personas which most up us have cultivated over a long period of time.  My friends and I share the same or similar experience and we all are trying some way of managing it.  All of us have some drugs, the legal kind of course to help us with anxiety, panic, depression and insomnia.  However there are times when the drugs don’t work as well as they should, or they need to be adjusted or changed.  In those times you still have to find ways of getting to sleep and for the times where you can’t sleep ways of keeping sharp so you can stay in the game and not screw anything up.

bean church 1Staying Awake

Some guys I know have added to the mix other kinds of over the counter drugs and supplements.  I don’t do that, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I guess I never grew up.  I like my medicine whenever possible to taste good.  Thus my self-medication is limited to caffeine and really good beer.   My choice in caffeine is coffee which I have been drinking since I was 12 and I believe that by my junior year of high school Navy Junior ROTC my index finger was beginning to mould itself into the shape of a coffee cup handle.  With caffeine there is little moderation because since I don’t sleep I need to stay awake.  My alcohol consumption is moderate and I don’t drink hard liquor.  I always try to maintain the Yin and Yang of the blood to medicine to caffeine and alcohol at some kind of balance so I can get to sleep and then not be exhausted the next day.  I make sure that I don’t mix alcohol with my meds since I don’t want to do the Karen Anne Quinlan thing and end up in a coma, and end up in a broccolitative or asperagative state (I don’t do just any vegetables thank you).  However I know guys who have a lot heavier load of meds than I do who have no problem ingesting them and alcohol close together and most of these guys don’t just drink limited amounts of beer.  I’m quite happy not to be there and mixing meds and alcohol.  So for me the equation looks like this.  Please note I am a historian and not a mathematician and that since this is a new field of study for me that it does not yet factor in sleep quality:

Drugs- caffeine² ± beer÷ “defensive factor” (anxiety+ hyper-vigilance) + normal work and life stress ÷ spirituality factor² = sleep

Now also since I am a Priest and Chaplain there is the spirituality factor which is hard to quantify but can be stated very simply “Please God let me sleep + have I been to a baseball game.”  This is hard to quantify but I have given it a numeric value for the sake of argument. Now I’m not a mathematician by any means but this seems to work somehow.

axieties and dreamsYep…Them Iraqi Snorklewackers Show up Often

Now back to me and the guys I know who struggle with this.  Pretty much to a man we all still manage to do our jobs.  In fact we all love what we are called to do which probably helps us as far as the management of our situation.  Many of the folks I know are like me and if we had the chance would go back to the fight.  You put us together with men and women who have similar experiences in combat and we are in our element, there is a shared brotherhood because of the real dangers that we faced.  However that is not necessarily true of others that we serve alongside who have not been, as is oft said “in the shit.” Within that category there are those who are people that help us and care for us, they are appreciated even if they have not been in our shoes.  The often exude a kindness and love that helps us make it when we have bad days.  But there are also those that don’t always seem to have our interests at heart or who would appear by their words and sometimes their actions to use our injury against us.

garfield show me the coffeeAmen!

So this whole deal gets weird when you can’t sleep due to anxiety or insomnia and have to maintain your ability to do your job.  Now this is where the art and science of self medication come together. You have to be able to figure out how things balance out. Medications are set by prescription unless you throw in a wild card of over the counter meds and supplements.  Thus for me they are a relatively stable factor.  Then you factor in the caffeine factor.  This may vary but in my case I drink 24-72 ounces a day of coffee which is usually spread over a 4-8 hour period, and maybe 12-24 ounces of Diet Coke, Coke Zero or Diet Dr Pepper later in the day.  My caffeine level is variable based on how tired I am. If I am well rested the amount consumed goes down.  Today I was maxing out the caffeine factor because my ass was whipped and it was all I could do to get through the day.  Today I was so wiped that I added in the Skittles factor to get the quickie sugar rush.  I hate skittles, when we were poor in seminary it was the only candy we got because the church food bank gave them out.  Skittles, Boston Baked Beans, Swee Tarts and Smarties are all great instant energy, the problem with them is that they are like lighting the afterburner; they are only good for short spurts.  Beer varies but if I am home I might have two beers at dinner.  I have stopped any late night drinks.  Then there is the “defensive factor” which for me includes my anxiety and hyper-arousal levels.  This is combined with normal life and stress and divided by the spirituality factor to get a night’s sleep.  That is the science.  The art is how to make the adjustments to the factors that are variable fit the current life situation and find those illusive Chinese kids, Yin and Yang.

pub1

So the week is coming to a close, I have now been up 36 of the last 40 hours and have worked every day since last Monday, though Saturday and Sunday were just a few hours each despite having the duty pagers. I am tired I had a decent meal complete with vegetables, several portions of fruit and other healthy things.   As soon as the Orioles game is over I plan on heading to bed and hoping my meds and my general sense of exhaustion will overcome any anxiety or insomnia that might join hands to interfere with me.  I think I have managed to bring old Yin and Yang into balance for the evening and if I didn’t I I do hope that the Deity Herself will assist this effort tonight.

Peace, Padre Steve+

1 Comment

Filed under iraq,afghanistan, PTSD

I Have a Reserve Component Marriage: Lot’s of Time Married but Not So Much Together

The Abby Normal Abbess aka Judy and I were married back in June of 1983.  I had been in the military a bit under 2 years at that point and the week before had been commissioned as a very dashing U.S. Army Medical Service Corps Second Lieutenant without a single ribbon or medal to my name.  Now here are 26 years later plus some change and I am still in the military, albeit the Navy and though I work in a Medical Center no longer am a Medical Service Corps Officer but a Padre.

WeddingThe Beginning of a Reserve Component Marriage

One day a few years back, I think about 2002 when I was deployed for our anniversary, a common occurrence in our lives, I am actually getting better at being home for them, now up to 11 of 26 just two anniversaries under .500.

When I began to think about how much time I had been gone I realized that I was like a reservist in the marriage.  I have credit for all the years but my time actually with Judy is a lot less.  It’s like a reservist who comes into the military, does some active duty, goes back to the reserves and then drills, does various types of training and is occasionally activated.  For example of the 17 ½ years that I spent in the Army only about 7 and some change counts as “active” time.  I have missed so much time in our marriage to exercises, deployments, duty, travel and schools that I am not even going to try to count it all up.  I can only guess that it is somewhere between 40% and 50% of our marriage that I have not spent the night at home, which is everyone knows is how you get your marriage retirement points in.  If you don’t see them, eat with them and sleep with them you don’t get credit for the day.   In fact you are a reservist in your marriage for all intents and purposes.  I can say that I am still in some sense a reservist in my marriage, though I am doing a lot better than I used to do at it.  However it has taken a lot of work to try to break myself of bad habits, a process that patently is not finished as the Abbess can attest.

So I meet lots of military couples where one or sometimes both are in the military.  Sometimes, actually more often than I would like I meet them in times where the marriage is in crisis.  Like marriages that are coming apart at the seams really bad that are getting ready to be flushed down the toilet into the septic tank of poisoned divorces where no one is a winner kind except the divorce attorney kind of bad.  Wow, that was a really long sentence.  These are the kind of marriages that could with just a few tweaks and an agent end up on Dr Phil or the Deity Herself forbid, Jerry Springer.

Now most thankfully have not travelled that far down the road to perdition but can certainly see the off ramp to it.  It is usually at this point that one of them will come to me; after all I’m the Padre and not the Shrink.  Unfortunately for many there is a stigma in going to see the Shrink and the Padre is genuinely a good and acceptable choice to consult when the marriage has gone to spit.  God bless the Shrinks and I mean all varieties of them because I am not one, nor do I want to be one.  The Abbess herself has often suggested that I get another graduate degree in some kind of Shrinkology but as my favorite theologian Harry Callahan says “A man’s got to know his limitations.” I tip my ball cap to them because they have a difficult and often thankless job.  I’m happy to refer any time to my colleagues.

That being the case I try to get to know the couple by asking open ended questions and without being too intrusive let them tell me what is going on with just a little occasional nudging.  It is usually at this point that the military couple tells me that they have been married for X number of years but only been together for Y number of months, often widely separated by long and arduous deployments, training and work ups.  It is not uncommon to find that a young couple was married 3 years ago and one went in the military, went to a deploying unit or ship, did work ups and deployed and returning 6-15 months later.  In their post-deployment leave they have a brief honeymoon before all hell breaks loose.

So when they come to see me I draw an analogy for them…that of the reservist.  I say “Petty Officer and Mrs Schmuckatellisen, you know I think what we have here is that you a couple of reservists in your marriage trying to work things out.”  A look of confusion often follows, this is my intent as if I use some kind of clinical language at that point it will either not be heard or go over their heads.  Once that thrown on the table like a beer coaster at a bar I begin to explain it to them.  I say “you guys don’t know each other.  You have been married for X number of years but have only been together a small portion of the time….in effect you are like reservists in the military.  You enlisted X number of years ago but only spent Y amount of time together.  It’s no wonder you are having problems, you don’t know each other.”

When I do this sometimes there is a muted chuckle from the couple as the light bulb comes on and they realize that what they are going through is difficult but to be expected when you do not spend time with the one that you love.   I encourage them to take the time to get to know each other again, and ask if the still love each other.  Most often the blushing couple looks at each other and says that they do love each other.  I then work with them to find whatever resources that they need to get them over the hump and begin to get to know each other again.  Sometimes that means referral to a marriage and family therapist or some other kind of Shrink and sometimes it means that I help get them set up with communication skills classes, marriage enrichment retreats, and if needed recommend individual therapy to one or both if they have a lot of markers for potential divorce, such as being children of a divorce, having a family history of substance abuse, physical, emotional or sexual abuse committed by a parent, sibling or other family member.

Sometimes they will continue to see me though I limit my time to a few visits before referring them to someone who can do the deeper work to help them along.  Like I said up front, I know my limitations.  At the same time it is good to see one or both and hear that they are doing better once they started getting help.

So if you are in one of these struggling Reserve Component marriages take heart and get help.  There is no need to make the divorce attorneys any richer than they already are.

anniverary 2009Celebrating 26 Years together…sort of, maybe only about 14 really together

Peace, Steve+

Post Script: Of course I have the duty tonight which means that I need to spend some time with the Abbess tomorrow…Gordon Biersch and a Ball Game perhaps?

2 Comments

Filed under marriage and relationships, Military

The Battlefield of Jabez’s Mind: The Prayerfully Purpose Driven Five Love Languages for the Late Great Planet Earth

pub2Pondering the Imponderable

Since selves are very hard to help I am amazed daily with the latest self help books “baptized” with a smattering of Bible verses which are marketed to the hungry hordes that inhabit our Late Great Planet Earth. At the risk of offending everyone who knows and loves these books and yea verily even patterns their life after them as if they were the Scriptures themselves I have decided to write about this subject.  I have seldom discussed this with anyone outside my wife, the Abby Normal Abbess and a few brother miscreant Priests and un-named heretical co-conspirators.   As heretics who buck the party line we generally keep these conversations among ourselves in order not to offend the brethren and the sisteren. But today I just decided to say the heck with it all and be bold, yet hopefully funny in looking at these phenomena.

What really drove this was seeing friends Romans and countrymen flock to these baptized self-help books as if they were the latest editions of the Word of God printed in heaven and distributed by the Archangel Gabriel himself.  Now this may be a bit of an over-reach on my part for literary purposes but I think in some cases it is not far off the mark.  I don’t for a moment presume that everyone who finds meaning and value in these books has crossed this line into obsession but I am amazed with the almost cultic hold that they have over some people and ministries.  I cannot count the number of times when people have asked me as a Priest if I have read….fill in the blank.  Since my theological or inspirational reading usually deals with Church History, Ethics, Christology written by German theologians whose names start with “B” as well as books by Henri Nouwen or one of the plethora of Father Andrew Greeley “Bishop Blackie Ryan” mysteries that I own, I have to no recourse but to say “no” as my interests lay elsewhere.  Another line that I might use is that I’ve heard from people that name the book is supposed to be good.  In either case I am being honest.  This being said the next line from the person asking me is “well, you should, you’d really like it” or something similar.  I am always polite as I genuinely hope that they are getting something good out of these works and that the Deity Herself is using them in their lives.  I would after all patently hope that they have not wasted their hard earned money in light of our current economic difficulties.

What gets me in most cases is not the actual content of the books in question which especially in the case of the Purpose Driven Life or the Five Love Languages to be pretty benign, though I have heard some folks really hammer these books and their authors.  My concern is the almost hypnotic grip that these and other “method” promoting books have on their readers.  I have seen places where there are extended classes and seminars that go through the Purpose Driven Life or The Five Love Languages or any one of a number of other books where week after week people drag out their notebooks, Palm Pilots or whatever means of electronic note taking that they have and studiously listen and share about the book in question.  While Bible study is an ingrained feature of Evangelical Protestant life, it seems to me that these books are almost replacing Bible study with the study of what someone says that the Bible teaches.  Now this isn’t new at all as one only has to look at the number of books on the Rapture and Second coming by the multitude of “prophecy experts” to see this.  Again, I say that I find the contents of the Purpose Driven Life and the Five Love Languages to be rather benign, my concern is the importance being given to them which sometimes to me seems to border on cultic.

My feeling in regard to the Prayer of Jabez industry is another matter.  This is simply narcissistic prosperity gospel teaching repackaged for a new audience.  This book takes an incredibly minor prayer by an equally minor character (1 Chronicles 4: 9,10) and turns it into a revolutionary means of getting God to bless us.  It has spun off a whole line of targeted versions for kids and even a women’s Study Bible. Likewise it has spun off an array of merchandise apparently modeled on Yogurt’s marketing of Spaceballs merchandise.  The merchandise could be found in the “Jabez Junk” section of your local Christian book, music and novelty shop and included key chains, mugs, backpacks, Christmas ornaments, scented candles, mouse pads, and a framed artist’s conception of Jabez himself. A line of jewelry was introduced in 2002.  I found the whole thing deeply offensive and felt it to be a crass attempt by the author and the publishers to make money off of the flock of God.  I knew of pastors who spent years with their congregations dealing with the Prayer of Jabez. I wonder what they would have accomplished had they actually been teaching their congregations actual Christian doctrine, ethics and responsibility.

Fortunately for me and maybe unfortunately for others I have a rather twisted way of looking at life, which some of kindred spirit find amusing and those not find offensive.  I cannot for the life of me get around odd thoughts that occur when I see these books which is nowhere more evident than when I hear the words the Five Love Languages. Unfortunately my mind goes to the movie A Fish Called Wanda where Jamie Lee Curtis (who I have always found to be hot) plays an American in England who is let us say sexually excited by her lovers speaking in foreign languages.  In the case of the movie Kevin Kline speaking faux Italian and John Cleese who speaks Russian.  Thus when my office mate in Iraq was running a series of Five Love Language seminars for Marines and Sailors who were stationed at the base that I operated from I had a hard time keeping a straight face.  The chaplain was a very good guy and eventually I confessed what had been running through my mind and he did have a good sense of humor about it and began to laugh when he recalled the movie.  I guess my five love languages would be German, Dutch, Gaelic , Klingon and Romulan, I’ll have to try them sometime.

Until then I’ll just have to wage a battle in my mind to discover the purpose that drives my life while I extend my tent out to cover the five love languages on this the late great planet Earth.

mental floss

Peace, Steve+

2 Comments

Filed under Loose thoughts and musings, philosophy, Religion

Dad’s Gift of Baseball to Me

Note:  This is a substantial re-write of a post that I did toward the beginning of this site. At the time I had very few readers and of course it had very few views.  I think sometimes there are times in life when you have to go back to things that are important.  Revisiting the better times in the past is sometimes a way for me to get through the more difficult days of the present. My dad has been in End Stage Alzheimer’s Disease for some time now. He is down to 112 pounds and when I last saw him in May was only occasionally able to have any meaningful communication and I was blessed to get a few minutes on a couple of consecutive days where we had conversation s that bordered on better times.  The funny thing they revolved around baseball for for dad and me was a point of connection through most of our lives.  If we could talk about nothing else, there was always baseball. I have been kind of down about his condition lately as he for all intents and purposes hangs between life and death, not really the man that I knew, the man who taught me to love the game of baseball.  My mom and I talked this week and she asked when I was coming out next.  The thing is I don’t know.  I just had to tell her that we would wait and see.

Me and Lefty PhillipsMe with Lefty Phillips of the California Angels in 1970

Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona. Not all holes, or games, are created equal.” George Will

Baseball has always been a source of enjoyment for me.  I’ve noted in numerous other posts that God speaks to me through baseball.  For me there is something mystical about the game.  It extends beyond the finite world in some respects and there is symmetry to the sport unlike any other.  George Will’s quote at the beginning of this post is dead on.  Not all holes or games are created equal.

Oak Harbor Little LeagueMy First Ball Field, Oak Harbor Washington

Though I had played Little League Ball in the 1960s and well as a lot of backyard or sandlot games, it was  1970-1971 when my dad began taking us to California Angels games while stationed in Long Beach California that the game really captured me.  The seed of course had been planted long before games on a black and white TV, playing catch, teaching me to throw, field and run the bases.  We even saw the Seattle Pilots in person while stationed in Washington State. While my dad thrived on all sports, baseball was the one that he gave me as a gift.  He gave my brother golf, another spiritual game, which Zen masters love, but which is not to be compared with baseball because it is not in its purest form a team sport.

1972 Oak Park AL RamsOak Park Little League 1972 American League “Rams” I am at top left

Growing up with baseball was something that I cannot imagine have not done.  It was part of life from as far back as I can remember and this was because dad made it so.  It kind of reminds me of the beginning of the movie For the Love of the Game where home movies of a child playing ball with dad are shown during the opening credits and score.  I can close my eyes and remember vivid details of ball fields and backyards where dad would play catch with me play pepper and fungo and teach me to pitch.  He never did much with hitting.  When I had him in a brief lucid moment when I visited in May I thanked him for teaching me to love the game, told him I still heard his voice telling me to keep my butt down on ground balls and that he did not teach me to hit.  He simply said “you can’t teach someone to hit, it’s a gift, lots of people can’t hit.”

Binkley and baseballI wonder if my Dad felt this way at times?

Those days at Anaheim Stadium when it was called “the Big A” due to the scoreboard shaped like a large “A” with a halo ringing the top were magical.  I met players, got signed balls and hats, and was even selected as a runner up in the “My Favorite Angel” contest.  For that I met my favorite Angel, First Baseman Jim Spencer a Golden Glove Winner who later played for the White Sox and Yankees, and two tickets behind home plate.  I met Spence at the game as well as an autograph signing at a local Von’s grocery store.  When trying to look him up in 2003 I found that he had passed away on February 10th 2002 while I was deployed.  He wasn’t very old, only 54 dying of a heart attack. Before his death he was lending his expertise to the Naval Academy baseball team. In 15 years in the majors in which he played in 1450 games and only made 55 errors, a .995 fielding percentage, one of the best in baseball.  During the 1970’s he was considered one of the premier defensive First Basemen in the game.  He played in the 1973 All-Star Game, won the Gold Glove in 1970 and 1977 and played on the Yankee’s 1978 World Series team. He was one of my favorite players growing up. I think that is why I like sitting behind the plate in my little world of Section 102, Row B, Seat 2 at Harbor Park so much now.

jim_spencer_autographJim Spencer’s 1979 Signed Yankee Card, I have one of these

When we moved to northern California we reconnected with the San Francisco Giants and the Oakland A’s.  This was during the A’s dynasty years and we saw a number of games including an ALCS game against the Tigers.  Seeing the greats like Catfish Hunter, Reggie Jackson, Rollie Fingers, Campy Campaneris and Vida Blue was awesome.  However our first love was the Giants.  We only occasionally got to Candlestick Park where they played in those days.  Candlestick if you have ever been there is a miserable place to see a game for nothing else that it is colder than hell, if hell were cold.   One game we did see was Ed Halicki’s no-hitter against the Mets in 1975.

halicki no hitterEd Halicki’s No-Hitter, Dad took me to this

While dad was deployed to Vietnam my mom would drop me off at Billy Herbert Field in Stockton California where we lived and let me see the Stockton Ports who were then the California League single A affiliate of the Baltimore Orioles.  Those games were always fun.  I remember talking to Orioles great Paul Blair when he visited a military base that I was serving and he told me how he remembered playing in Stockton as a minor leaguer.

billy hebert fieldMy Childhood Haunt, Billy Hebert Field, Stockton CA, former home of the Stockton Ports

In high school and college due to other diversions I stopped playing baseball and did not have as much contact with it.  However it never completely left me, I always longed to be either playing in or watching a game.

Other major sports do not hold me captive the way baseball does.  I think there is the nearly spiritual dimension that the game has which makes it timeless.  Other sports such as football, basketball, hockey and soccer are limited to rectangular playing surfaces of set dimensions determined by their leagues. With the exception of a few old hockey rinks there are no individuality to these venues, save perhaps for team or sponsor logos.  Likewise all of the other sports play a set time clock.  If a team gets way ahead early, it is likely that the game will be over.  While it is possible that a game could go into “overtime” the overtime in these games has different rules than regulation time.  “Sudden death” “Shootouts” and truncated times show that these games are not meant to go past regulation time.  It is an aberration from what is considered “normal.” In these games a team with a big lead can simply sit on the ball and run out the clock. Earl Weaver put it well: “You can’t sit on a lead and run a few plays into the line and just kill the clock. You’ve got to throw the ball over the damn plate and give the other man his chance. That’s why baseball is the greatest game of them all.”

Baseball is not like that.  In order to win you have to throw the ball over the plate and give the other team a chance to come back. The nine innings could in theory go on for eternity, as they nearly do in W.P. Kinsella’s The Iowa Baseball Confederacy, A story which is patently eschatological, though not in a pre-millennial dispensationalist manner.  Foul lines in theory go on for eternity, only the arbitrary placement of the outfield wall and the physical limitation of hitters keep the game within earthly limits.  I’m sure that outfields are a lot more spacious and have a wonderful playing surface in heaven.

Save for the late 1960s and early 1970s when fascists took over the design of stadiums in order to make them suitable to play football on, baseball parks have had their individuality.  Outfield dimensions, type of grass, the kind of infield and warning track soil which is used, are all determined by the team.  Some fields cater to hitters, others pitchers.  And with the overthrow of the stadium fascists at Baltimore’s Camden Yards, the baseball park regained its dignity.  Gone were the ugly, drab oval stadiums, fields covered in often shoddy artificial turf.  The unsightly and even hideous venues such as Riverfront, Three Rivers, Veteran’s Stadium and others, even dare I say the Astrodome and Kingdome were demolished and made nice piles of rubble, replaced by beautiful ballparks each with its own unique character that reflect the beauty of the game.

three run homer by fiorentinoJeff Fiorentino Hits Three Run Homer at Harbor Park, my view from 102

This year for the first time in my life I bought season tickets for my local AAA team, the Norfolk Tides who are the AAA Affiliate of the Baltimore Orioles. I also went Norfolk’s Harbor Park to see the Commonwealth Classic an exhibition game between the Baltimore Orioles and Washington Nationals.  Harbor Park was one of the first of the new generation of minor league parks and a wonderful place to see a game, or as I like to say “Worship at the Church of Baseball.”   When Harbor Park was built the Tides were affiliated with the New York Mets. As such the outfield dimensions are nearly identical to the former Shea Stadium, making it a very large yard and pitchers playground.  The outfield backs up to the East Fork of the Elizabeth River, shipyards and bridges dominate the view.  There is not a bad seat in the house. Since coming back from Iraq the ballpark is one of the few places that I have been able to consistently go where I am at peace, not hyper-vigilant and anxiety free.  In a way my season ticket has been both therapeutic and pretty essential to me getting a bit better in the past year.  Last year when the minor league season ended  it was difficult.  I am not looking forward to 6 months without a ball game here.

harbor park opening dayOpening  Day at Harbor Park: One of the few places of peace in dealing with my PTSD

With every home game the gift that my father gave me begins to unfolds again as I gaze in wonderment at the diamond.  This year is different; my dad is in a nursing home in the end stage of Alzheimer’s disease.  Last year he still knew enough of what was going on to talk about baseball, especially the San Francisco Giants and bad mouth the American League. Dad was always National League fan and he loathes the designated hitter. He used to call the American League the “minor league.”  He told me stories about the greats of his childhood and he was an avid fan of Pete Rose, he loved his high intensity play and hustle, something that he passed on to me. I can still recall him yelling at me to “get your butt down,” “stay in front of the ball,” “hustle down the line any time you hit the ball” and “don’t be afraid to run over a catcher or go in hard to break up a double play.”   Rose’s banishment from baseball for gambling hit him hard.  I guess it was for him like the banishment of “Shoeless Joe” Jackson and for me the agony of the Steroid Era which was a stain on game but now is now history. Unfortunately it is being used by self-righteous politicians a bureaucrats to make baseball and baseball players look bad so they can look good.   At this point I say reinstate Shoeless Joe and Pete Rose and stop with the endless illegal leaks of documents and alleged positive tests of players whose names are being leaked out one or two at a time.  I think my dad would say the same now, if only he could.

Me and last last picMy Dad Carl and I, May 2009 Giants fans to the end

Dad gave me a gift, a gift called the game, the game of baseball.  Sure, it’s only just a game.  Right… Baseball is only a game in the sense of the Grand Canyon just being a hole in the ground and the Pacific Ocean a pond.  I’m sure that the Deity Herself must agree.

Peace, Steve+

Leave a comment

Filed under alzheimer's disease, Baseball, Loose thoughts and musings