FAME

Andy Warhol once opined that every one of us gets his or her fifteen minutes of fame. Whether this is good or bad is often determined by the way this fame is achieved. The reality shows on television allow many people to make fools of themselves in front of a vast audience that is foolish enough to waste its time on such foolishness. There are those, obviously, who care not how they earn their fifteen minutes.

Fame comes at a price. The more fifteen-minute segments someone is allowed to have, the less of a private life that person has. The larger the audience that produces the fame, the more will be the demands placed on that person afterwards, either trying to down play or trying to live up to whatever it is that produced the fame initially. Those who have sought out fame or those who have it thrust upon them can all vouch for the price they have had to pay for their time in the limelight. More than less will tell us that the fame is not worth the price one has to pay.

Yet we all want to be looked upon, at least by some, as someone of some importance. We do have our pride and we want and even need that pride to be stroked at times, not necessarily and even not certainly on television or YouTube or Facebook. As long as there are others who look up to and respect us, that is enough. Of course, maybe a little bit of publicity wouldn’t hurt now, would it? Would it?

The question remains, and it is a very personal one and one whose answer we dare not reveal to anyone but ourselves, if we even dare to do that, is this: do I worry too much about what others think of me? Do I? Really? If I do, if any of us does, then perhaps we need to heed the admonition of Eleanor Roosevelt. She said this: “You wouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.” Ouch!

She is right, most certainly. Even the most famous people in the world are ignored and never thought about on a daily basis by most of the people. They just are not. And since we are nowhere near to being deemed famous, it should give us pause to realize that if we really are worrying about what others think about us, our worries are for naught and we are truly wasting our time.

None of this is to say that who we are is unimportant and what we do makes little difference. We are important because each one of us is a child of God and because God has given each of us a mission and a ministry that only we can fulfill. When we discover that mission and ministry and fulfill it, the world is a better place and we are a better person, whether we receive any fame in the process. On the other hand, whenever we fail to fulfill the mission and ministry God has entrusted to us, both we and the world are less for it.

Our goal and responsibility in this life is not to seek out our fifteen minutes of fame. It is simply to learn what God has in mind for us, to fulfill it as best we can, be thankful that we can, and be satisfied. If any fame comes in the process, so be it. If none does, at least in the world’s terms, so be it as well.

MEMORIES OF LIFE-CHANGING MOMENTS

Ah, memories! Memory Number One: I remember very well, or at least as well as one can remember an event that took place 65 years ago, the moment. I was a senior in seminary high school. It was the seventh game of the World Series with my beloved Bucs playing the hated Yankees. We were allowed to watch the game during free time after lunch, but at 2:00 we had to go to our scheduled study hall. Fortunately one of my classmates, also an ardent Bucco fan, had a contraband transistor radio and was able to pick up the game in the recesses of the typewriter room. At 3:36 pm on October 13, 1950, that dramatic moment when Bill Mazeroski hit the home run that beat the Yankees to win the 1960 World Series will live on in my memory forever.

Memory Number Two: It was Friday afternoon and I was on my way back from lunch heading to my room to change clothes to do something outside. What it was I no longer remember. What I do remember is walking up the steps and running into two guys on their way down. We stopped. I looked at them and said, “You two look like you just lost your best friend.” They looked at me and asked, “Didn’t you hear? The President has just been shot.” It was November 22, 1963, a day that changed the world – no hyperbole here – forever, and my life as well.

Memory Number Three: It was October 17, 1971, the day of another World Series Game Seven. The Pirates were playing the Baltimore Orioles. I was alone in the Rectory as my boss, the Pastor, was visiting some friends and the house keeper was out playing bingo. Prior to this moment, every time the Bucs lost a game, I would get ticked off, even want to throw something, so wrapped up was I in their every game. It was the bottom of the ninth, the Pirates were leading 2-1, Steve Blass was on the mound and an epiphany moment happened. I said to myself, or something or someone inside of me said this: “Bill, the Pirates are either going to win or their going to lose; but you still have to get up tomorrow morning at 6:00 to say the 7:00 Mass.” Life, real life, came into perspective for me at that moment.

Memory Number Four: The day before I was visiting with my family and complaining to my brother Fran that I was tired being alone. I had been a single parent for six years and so much wanted to find someone to love and be loved by. He said very matter-of-factly, “Don’t worry. She’ll fall out of a tree.” I could only hope he was right.

The next day, August 24, 1986, I was celebrating the 10:30 Eucharist at Trinity Church in Parkersburg, West Virginia. I stepped into the pulpit and looked across the congregation. My eyes spotted a beautiful young woman sitting by herself six pews from the back of the church. Somehow I got through the sermon and through the Eucharist. When she came to Communion and held out her hands to receive the host, I quickly noted that she was not wearing a wedding ring. After church I introduced myself. That was the beginning of a wonderful romance that continues to this day and forever.

Memories of life-changing moments: I have others; we all have them. They stay with us forever. What are yours?

AND THE WINNER IS

There is an old story that comes from various traditions, cultures and religions. Which one originated the point of the story does not matter. What does matter is that the theme is universal. What matters more is that there seems to be a need to tell and retell the story generation after generation because it teaches a lesson that obviously must be learned one person at a time.

The Native American story that goes like this: One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. “One is Evil - It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good - It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith." The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?" The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed."

Every culture, every religious tradition, people everywhere from the very beginning have taught that human beings are innately good but that that goodness is no guarantee that it will trump evil every time or every step of the way through life. Furthermore, the evil that takes on good, that evil comes from within. It is not an outside force that is trying to beat the good out of us. It is an inside force that is waging war with the good that resides alongside of it within our very being.

The reason for the war and the reason that it exists is free will. Just as in nature that for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction, so, too, in human nature for every good and decent thought there is an opposite and equal indecent thought ready to do battle with it. For every selfless action there is an equal selfish action that wants to control what we are doing.

We know that. Humanity has known that from the very beginning. Sometimes, more often than we are willing to admit as individuals, we want to blame the evil that tempts us and wants to do battle within us as coming from outside us. In our own religious tradition we have the first real story in Scripture addressing this truth. Adam and Eve are tempted to do that which they know they should not; but the story tells us that the temptation came from without – from the serpent – as if that leaves Adam and Eve off the hook!

It does not, of course; for no matter where temptation to think or do evil comes, it is the person who consents to that evil and is ultimately guilty for doing it. It is not evil’s (or the devil’s) fault that I do what I know I should not. If I should commit a crime, the judge will not excuse me because I claim that an evil woman seduced me into doing it. I did it and I stand guilty.

Yet, as the story reminds us, if we want to resist evil and do good, we have to strengthen ourselves for the war. And to be strong enough to win that war, we need to feed the good constantly while starving the evil regularly. Would that it would be so easy.

A MOTHER’S DAY REMEMBRANCE

Not many people knew my Mom; but, then, in the grand scheme of things, not many people will know any one of us either. And that is probably for the best, if you think about it. Mom never wandered very far from home. If that was a regret on her part, she never voiced it. She lived in her very little corner of the world; but she knew more about what was going on in the world than most people, including those who should know what was going on.

Most of all she cared, cared about the whole world, especially those whom most of the world could not care less about, or certainly acted – and continue to act – that way, namely, the poor, the hungry, the suffering. She could not do much about any of that, but she did what she could. She prayed for them every day and she challenged me in every conversation we had – and I do mean “every” – as to what I was doing about alleviating such misery. I wish I could say I had an adequate response.

As Christians one of our chief responsibilities, if not the most important one, is to be a living reminder to everyone we encounter of our faith in Jesus Christ. Others are to see Jesus living in us. Not to sanctify my Mom prematurely, but she, more than any one I have ever met, was that living reminder. Every one who came into her life was somehow changed for the better, and knew it, even if they never told her, which would have embarrassed her terribly. But, then, I never did either.

She was a simple woman: unassuming, unpretentious, humble. Most people would think her life to have been dull and boring, but it was anything but, not for her, anyway. She was always busy: sewing, gardening, cooking and praying in those in-between times; but she always took no-interruption times every day just to pray and read her Bible. Nothing would interfere with that.

She never judged anyone because she never walked in their shoes. If she disagreed with their actions or words, she simply prayed for them and let the rest up to God. Perhaps that’s why so many of my peers when they were younger would come by and sit on the steps and talked with Mom. She put down whatever she was doing and she listened. She counseled. She was there for each one and acted as if each was the only person in the world at that moment.

When Arlena told her one day many years ago that she was the most Christian person she had ever met and that she never heard her say a bad word about anyone, she smiled and patted her shoulder. When Arlena asked what that meant she said, “I learned that from my Mother. She sits on my shoulder every day.”

When Mom died after living almost 97 years, it was time: time to be with her God, time to be with those who went before, time to be at peace. I was blessed to be able to be with her twice a week when Arlena and I moved back home. Those times are now gone forever in this life. But she is still with me, with those who knew and loved her and were loved by her, sitting on our shoulders. Thanks, Mom.