The Musings of a Magyar

When I worked in a grocery store as a bagger, and even as a cashier, I often dealt with the liany of bagging preferences from customers.  The dialogue usually would go something like this.

Customer:  “Keep the meat separate, put all the frozen and cold stuff together, make sure my eggs and bread don’t get crushed, don’t make them too heavy — I have a bad back, oh, and I want my cleaning supplies by themselves.”

Me:  “Sure thing, ma’am.”  Mentally:  “What kind of idiot do you think I am?”

I couldn’t fathom that someone would put bread on the bottom of a case of canned goods, mix a leaky package of raw chicken with fruit, and put fabric softener sheets in with bakery items.  If the customer preferred paper over plastic, or wanted certain things by themselves because they were going to a different house or to the office, that’s different, and I was more than happy to accommodate.  But to condescendingly remind me to do what seemed like something any idiot would already do was rather insulting.

Well, after this weekend’s trip to the grocery store, with a cashier and bagger who were probably both ten years my junior (my goodness I’m getting old), and the worst bagging job I have ever experienced, I can start to empathize with some of those customers from days long past.  Let’s just say that when I got out to my car, I basically took everything out of the bags and put them into the cargo area, then rebagged in a way that made sense.

So, now I understand.  Those customers of years ago probably thought I was like most other teens, and was only working to earn beer and drug money and didn’t really care about doing a good job, so to avoid melted ice cream and salmonella strawberries, they would remind me to do it right.  And, I think I’m going to have to become like them, and go through my own litany of bagging requests whenever they are around.

Either that, or just shoo them away, because I can actually do it faster and better by myself.

Yesterday at Mass, I was the lector.  With it being the Octave of Easter, we wanted to sing the Alleluia before the Gospel all week (normally there is no singing at the 6:30).  Rather than have the priest do it, I figured I’d give it a shot.

So, I belted it out.  And I think I did a good job.  I even chanted the verse in between instead of reciting it.  It’s the first time I ever sang solo.  Okay, a simple chanted Alleluia in front of 30 people isn’t exactly in aria on a Broadway stage, but it’s a start.

Everyone said I did a good job and have a good voice.  I’m happy.  I’ll have to try it again sometime.

Up till now, being a cantor was about the only liturgical ministry I had never done (outside of the things that require ordination of course).  Guess now I can say I’ve done all the jobs a layman can do at Mass.  So, where to from here?

There is a conversation going on in the cubicle behind me involving the hyper-arrogant guy that sits in the cube and a few bigshots from within the organization.  It’s getting loud.  I have to dial in to a conference call, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to hear it with all the obnoxious blabbering behind me.  So I hit the speakerphone button, turn up the volume a bit, and dial the bridge line, hoping the loudmouths will realize that they are disrupting those of us who are trying to work?  (Did I mention the conversation was about complete BS and had nothing to do with work matters?)

They didn’t get the hint.  Rather than quiet down or move their bovine-defecation to an office, they get louder.  So, I up the volume so I can hear the call.  They get louder still.  So, I crank the volume of my speakerphone up even more.  I also send an instant message to my neighbor on the other side of my cube apologizing for my loud conference call.  She totally understood and shared in my grief, wishing they would shut up.   By now, I’m sure people two aisles over could hear the call.  Dumb, Dumber, and Dumberer (in the intellectual sense, not in the “mute” sense, which would have solved everything) continue to increase their volume, laughing and chatting about random crap. 

I crank the volume up to full blast.  Still no luck.  Finally, the neighbor to whom I previously apologized can be heard saying “SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”  Like we’re in the freakin’ third grade.  I guess they finally got the hint at that point and turned it down. 

What is it with people that the higher they rise in the corporate structure, the more likely they are to be rude, obnoxious, and apathetic to everything going on around them?  Get some manners, please.

The story is almost always the same.  You buy more house than you can afford and don’t consider that adjustable rate mortgage means that the montly payment amount can change every few years.  And since you got the mortgage when rates were advertised as being at all-time lows, apparently the thought of “gee, this might actually go up” never entered your mind, despite signing a truth-in-lending disclosure that made it perfectly clear that this was a possibility.  Suddenly, three years later, the first rate increase happens, and you can no longer afford the payments on your overpriced 6-bedroom McMansion.  The bank comes calling and says “pay up, or we foreclose.”  You’re up to your eyeballs in debt, and can’t make the payments, so the bank starts foreclosure proceedings, which is a very costly process.  Eventually you’re served with papers telling you to get out because your house is going to be sold.

What do you do? Do you cut back on other expenses and try to re-negotiate a payment plan with the bank?   Do you learn from your mistake and say “well, next time, I’m going to be more sensible in my financial planning?” 

No, you get together with others in your situation and try to get the sheriff’s office stop doing its job. 

Call me unsympathetic.  Call me uncharitable.  Call me a cold-hearted, pig-headed, big-business loyalist, Republican piece of trash if you really want.  But I think this is one of the most asinine things I’ve heard in quite a while.  I’m so sick of the modern sense of entitlement that today’s world seems to have, and the complete lack of accountability and responsibility people assume for their actions.  You agreed to the loan.  You didn’t consider the consequences.  Now you’re stuck.  Next time, think a little more, and be a little more responsible.

*N.B.  Lest you think I’m completely stone-hearted: this diatribe is not intended to be directed at any one person in particular. And I understand that there are sometimes extenuating circumstances that surround these cases (e.g. job loss, death or disability), and I do sympathize with people in those situations. But it seems to me that the vast majority of people caught up in these foreclosure issues are people who need to take a remedial course in prudent personal finance. And I don’t sympathize with someone who, out of greed or stupidity, bought a 6 bedroom McMansion instead of a sensible 3 bedroom ranch and didn’t seem to think that their expenses might increase in the future when they procured a loan that was quite clearly described as “adjustable rate.”

Rejoice, heavenly powers! Sing, choirs of angels!
Exult, all creation around God’s throne!
Jesus Christ, our King, is risen!
Sound the trumpet of salvation!

Rejoice, O earth, in shining splendor,
radiant in the brightness of your King!
Christ has conquered! Glory fills you!
Darkness vanishes for ever!

Rejoice, O Mother Church! Exult in glory!
The risen Savior shines upon you!
Let this place resound with joy,
echoing the mighty song of all God’s people!

It is truly right
that with full hearts and minds and voices
we should praise the unseen God, the all-powerful Father,
and his only Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.

For Christ has ransomed us with his blood,
and paid for us the price of Adam’s sin to our eternal Father!

This is our passover feast,
when Christ, the true Lamb, is slain,
whose blood consecrates the homes of all believers.

This is the night
when first you saved our fathers:
you freed the people of Israel from their slavery
and led them dry-shod through the sea.

This is the night
when the pillar of fire destroyed the darkness of sin!

This is the night
when Christians everywhere,
washed clean of sin and freed from all defilement,
are restored to grace and grow together in holiness.

This is the night
when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death
and rose triumphant from the grave.

What good would life have been to us,
had Christ not come as our Redeemer?
Father, how wonderful your care for us!
How boundless your merciful love!
To ransom a slave you gave away your Son.

O happy fault,
O necessary sin of Adam,
which gained for us so great a Redeemer!

Most blessed of all nights,
chosen by God to see Christ rising from the dead!

Of this night scripture says:
“The night will be as clear as day:
it will become my light, my joy.”

The power of this holy night dispels all evil,
washes guilt away, restores lost innocence,
brings mourners joy;
it casts out hatred, brings us peace,
and humbles earthly pride.

Night truly blessed when heaven is wedded to earth
and man is reconciled with God!

Therefore, heavenly Father,
in the joy of this night,
receive our evening sacrifice of praise,
your Church’s solemn offering.

Accept this Easter candle,
a flame divided but undimmed,
a pillar of fire that glows to the honor of God.

Let it mingle with the lights of heaven
and continue bravely burning
to dispel the darkness of this night!

May the Morning Star which never sets
find this flame still burning:
Christ, that Morning Star,
who came back from the dead,
and shed his peaceful light on all mankind,
your Son, who lives and reigns for ever and ever.
Amen.

As I listened to the second reading (God tells Abraham to sacrifice Isaac) of the Easter Vigil from the Vatican on EWTN and did various other household stuff, I kind of let my imagination go wild and came up with the following story.

One day a couple of angels are having a “water cooler” type conversation about Abraham.

Cherubim A:  This guy Abraham really has a lot of faith.  To leave your whole homeland and everything to go to some strange place…man that’s guts.

Archangel B:  Yeah, I think the Big Guy’s really testing this one.  I mean, after the catastrophe with Adam, and, well, Noah wasn’t exactly a saint either, that whole public drunkenness and nudity thing.  Probably really wants to make sure this guy’s dedicated.

Angel C:  What’s a Saint?

A:  Were you asleep that day in Angel school?  Saints are those humans who’ll get to come up here and live with us.  It’s going to take a while before that happens.  Number 2 is going to have to become one of them and die before they can come in.

C:  Oh yeah…I’d heard about that.  Imagine, humans walking around up here.

B:  That was the original plan, till Eve went apple-picking.

C:  (rolls eyes) Man, the guardians weren’t happy that day.  Our jobs got a lot harder once mankind fell.

A:  Anyway, sounds like Abraham’s doing pretty good.  I mean, he packed up his wife and kids and moved to an unknown land.

C:  Sure, but come on, there wasn’t too much there.  Pack up and move, believe in One God, and you’ll be rich and prosperous in this Promised Land.  Who wouldn’t do that?

B:  True true.  But come on, it still took some faith; there’s some weird stuff happening down there with people believing in all kinds of fake gods.  Could end up dead.  And since he didn’t have any kids yet, I’m sure it was on his mind.  Gotta wonder what he was thinking on the whole kids subject — he and the Mrs. weren’t exactly spring chickens.

C:  Oh yeah.  I got a little worried with the Hagar incident.  Thought maybe the Boss had the wrong guy again.

A:  Yeah, but that all worked out, sort of.  I do feel sorry for the guys who are assigned to be guardians over the descendants of Ishmael though.  Rumor has it that some of them are going to be pretty rough.

B:  (sighs) yeah, that’s not going to be an easy assignment.  Back to Abraham, can you believe what the Big Guy had him do to himself when his name got changed and promised him a kid by his wife?

C:  Ooooh, talk about a test of faith.  Like I said, moving to a strange land ain’t that rough.  But THAT.  That seemed painful.  I heard from his guardian that his first thought was “you want me to WHAT?”

A:  Makes me glad we don’t have bodies so we can’t feel pain like that.  Imagine what the Boss would have made us do to prove our allegiance after the whole Lucifer affair.

C:  Oh yeah.  The standard oath of allegiance is fine by me.

B:  Me too.  Silly humans with their flesh.

A:  That’s nothing.  I heard from a high-ranking Seraph that there’s an even bigger test coming for that guy.

B:  Really?

C:  Don’t keep us in suspense.

A:  Well, rumor has it that God’s really going to put Abraham to the test.  Once his kid is born, after a few years, He’s going to tell him to offer the kid as a sacrifice.

B:  You mean…

C:  Sacrifice?  Like slit his throat and burn him on a pile of logs sacrifice?

A:  Yep.  It’s only a rumor, but I have friends in high places.

B:  Dude, that’s nuts.  No way will he go for that.

C:  I dunno, if he was willing to be circumcised…

A:  I think he will go for it.  I heard that the Boss has an archangel lined up to intervene just before it actually happens.

B:  Hmmm, must be a secret mission.  Haven’t seen any communiques about that.  Still, I think he’ll chicken out.  Giving up your own son after all those years…there’s a limit.

C:  I think he’ll go for it.  He’s trusted everything so far and been rewarded.

B:  Whatever.  I bet you a brand new set of harp-strings that he won’t.

A:  I’m a cherubim.  We don’t play the harp.

B:  Fine, I’ll polish your halo for a month.

A:  Oh man, you’re on.

C:  I’ll take a piece of that.  I’m in.

B:  Then it’s agreed.  If he wimps out, I’m playing a new harp with a shiny halo.

A:  It’s a bet.

C:  Alright, I gotta go.  We got a bulletin that Death is going to have a large assignment in Egypt in a few hundred years, and he’s already recruiting some helpers.  Thought I’d go volunteer.

A:  Alright, see ya.

B:  Nice chatting.

MEMO

To: Liturgy Committe

Re: Post-Good Friday Service Comments

Thank you for reminding the lector narrating the Passion according to John that the first “A” in “Annas” is prounced as a short A, as in “fat,” not a long A as in “fate.”  Sure, the chief priests were real a-holes in dealing with Jesus, but you probably don’t want to call him one that overtly like he did last year.

A brief note that it is perferable to use a crucifix instead of a plain cross for the rites today.  Maybe it’s time to retire that frankly ugly and banal cross that’s been used since who knows how long ago?

Finally, who in their right mind picked “Only a Shadow” (copyright 1971 by Carey Landry) as one of the hymns — and I use the term loosely — to be sung during the veneration of the cross?  There is a great treasury of Good Friday hymns that deal with the Passion of the Lord, even in that Outlandishly Crappy Publication hymnal we use.  Sure, I was happy to hear “Adoremus Te Christe,” “O Sacred Head Surrounded,” and even the overused “Were You There?”  (An African-American spiritual in a church full of the white bourgeoisie doesn’t fit, does it?)

Having “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” and the Reproaches as Communion hymns was silly.   You could have used them as additional songs for the veneration.  Or maybe made use of the Stabat Mater, or the Good Friday version of Pange Lingua for the veneration of the cross.

But “Only a Shadow?” Surely a song with lyrics like “The bread we take and eat O Lord is oyour body broken and shared with us, the gift of your great love;” ”Our own belief in you O Lord is only a shadow of your faith in us, deep and lasting faith;” and “The dreams we share today O Lord are only a shadow of your dreams for us, if we but follow you” don’t really make sense during the veneration of the cross.   For that matter they don’t make sense at any point in time and I wouldn’t shed a tear if the whole song were ripped out of the hymnal for good.

But what really got my dander up was the last verse.  “The joy we share today O Lord, is only a shadow of your joys for us, when we meet face to face.”  What the —- ?!?!?!?  How does anyone think that a line about sharing joy today with the Lord AS WE COME UP TO VENERATE THE CROSS is in any way appropriate?   Hello?!?!?!?  How much incense do you have to breathe to come up with that dandy?

Usually I can count on the first quarter of the year to be a more relaxed time at work, before things start ramping up again in April, culminating in total chaos by the Summer and Fall.  Not this year.  The stuff has been piling up on my desk, and new stuff gets thrown at me left and right.  That’s okay by itself; I like being busy.  But the problem is that everything seems to be a high priority.  Usually one can triage things into low, medium, and high priority.  Lately for me it’s more like high, urgent, very urgent, super-urgent, and super-duper urgent.  Even that isn’t so bad; because you can easily re-prioritize based on need. 

Here’s what gets under my skin though.  What’s high priority or critical or whatever for one person may NOT be the same priority for another.  And some people (fortunately my boss is not one of them!) don’t seem to understand that little fact.  One project manager in particular really has no clue that most of the people on the project have other responsibilities, and pesters people like crazy to get stuff done and gets rather condescending when you say at a team meeting that you couldn’t get the task done.  Professionalism requires you to simply say “I’ll see if I can get it by the end of the week” when you’d really like to say “pull the stick out of your butt and go drink some prune juice.”

Imagine going to the ER with a hangnail.  Unless you’re lucky, you’re going to be waiting for a while before you see a doctor.

In the above case, this project manager is managing what is to me a hangnail of a project.  Meanwhile, I’m juggling a stroke victim, someone in cardiac arrest, and two people who were ejected from their cars after a high-speed head-on collision.  Let me know when your hangnail becomes infected or starts bleeding and I’ll see when I can get to you.

The Pokey-no Wretched is reporting that a certain former president is going to be visiting my hometown tomorrow to hold a campaign rally for his wife — she-who-must-not-be-named — at my high school alma mater*.  This is announced after The Dark Lady’s main opponent in the upcoming primary was stumping for himself up in the Scranton area yesterday.

It’s so great to see that our state is drawing some attention from the candidates. It’s like we actually exist.  On the other hand, I liked it better when we didn’t exist, because it meant primary election time was much more peaceful.

Wonder if I should drive up for the event?  Maybe I’ll get to drive by the motorcade again, like did with Mrs. Bush in 2004.

*It seems strange calling a school an alma mater.  I mean, thinking back, I hardly look upon my high school as if it were a loving, nurturing mother.  In fact, quite the opposite, more like a wicked stepmother.  So, maybe I should refer to it as my high school mala noverca.

I think just about every church now has a moment for Sunday announcements at some point during the Mass.  They’ve become rather ubiquitous, although 99% of the time it seems they’re just rehashing stuff from the bulletin.  I’d like to propose the following for next Palm Sunday:

1. A warm welcome to those of you who we haven’t seen since Christmas.  It’s great to see you again.  Stop by more often.  We’re here every Sunday; you should be too.
2. Yes, Mass went a little long today.  Between the procession and the reading of the Passion, it was bound to happen.  For the other 51 weeks of the year, things are usually on schedule.
3. Yes, the Passion reading is long.  No, we won’t consider doing the short version next year.  Jesus hung on a cross for several hours to save you from your sins.  You can suck it up and stand still for 15 minutes to hear about it.
4. Because we’re running a little late and folks for the next Mass are arriving, please exercise caution in the parking lot.  Unfortunately, the folks coming in may not realize that logistically, you have to get out before they can come in.  Be patient with them.
5. Finally, please remember that at the Last Judgment, your odds of getting into Heaven are not proportional to the quantity of palm you’ve collected.  Those of you who’ve grabbed fistfuls of palm aren’t going to get there any quicker than those who took a few strands.  This stuff ain’t cheap you know.