Day Three: The Game

Posted on March 19, 2014 by jwfisch

DSC_0055Day Three turns out to be all about the game. It starts with a good deal of anticipation as I catch the Major League Baseball (MLB) news feed announcing Josh Hamilton will be making his spring debut against Tim Lincecum, the San Francisco Giants ace pitcher and two-time Cy Young Award winner.

I am aware that it’s a split-squad game, meaning the Angels are playing actually two games today, one at their own field against the San Francisco Giants (the one I’m attending) and the other against the Chicago Cubs at their new spring training field in Mesa. Every few games they do this to give their entire spring roster a chance to play. I am hoping Mike Scioscia keeps most of the starters at home. It’s fun watching the “kids” (minor leaguers) play, but you really want to see the regulars — the ones who will be starting in Anaheim when the season opens. Besides, in all of the spring training games I’ve seen, you get to see the kids play anyway. Scioscia only plays the starters for the first six innings. There are always two or three of the young players vying for a spot on the opening day roster and the manager and coaches need to give them a chance to compete for those spots.

So after packing up my stuff and checking out of the hotel, I head over to the field not quite as early as yesterday, but early enough to watch the players warm up and take some more pictures. There is a large whiteboard in the back of the stadium where someone fills out the starting line-ups for the day with a green marker, and I am happy to see that all the Angels regulars are here except for Albert Puljos who is on a charity mission.

Speaking of green, it’s St. Patrick’s Day and the Angels are wearing special jerseys with a shamrock on the left sleeve of their red jerseys, and a green halo over the “A.” The Giants are wearing green hats. Someone remarks that if the Angels wore green hats, it would look like Christmas.

This is the first time I’m actually sitting next to Angels fans — a couple from Orange County who got the same 3-game package as I got, and will be driving home after the game. On my left is a Giants fan down from Santa Rosa, and behind me is a family from the Bay Area — a husband and wife and two grown daughters (one of whom served in the military) — and Mom and daughters will be carrying on throughout the game, screaming in my ear for their beloved Giants. Had this not been spring training, I might have been annoyed, but here, it’s just part of the color. I turn around and roll my eyes at them and they only get louder.

They are especially obnoxious in the first few innings because the Giants jumped out to an early lead scoring two runs in the first inning. But then the Angels quieted them down a little with three runs in the bottom of the fourth, only to have the Giants tie it up at 3-3 in the top of the fifth. The female fans behind me are back again, making life miserable for me. But not for long, because the Angels take a 5-3 lead in the bottom of the sixth. These back and forth, see-saw battles are the most fun.

Twice today, bats fly as players lose their grip on a swing. Buster Posey sent his bat flying into the fifth row of Giants fans behind the visiting dugout. As long as they survived the assault (and they did), some fan is going home with a real prize. Taylor Lindsey, a minor leaguer for the Angels was not as generous with his bat. He sent it flying into the Angels dugout, only to have it thrown back out moments later to the delight of the crowd. Only in spring training.

Pitching practice

Pitching practice

My Orange County friends decide to leave after six innings along with the Angels regulars, citing their long drive home as a reason. I have the same drive and wouldn’t miss a pitch of this experience. Besides, what they are dreading is just another road trip for me — something to look forward to. I’m already figuring in my head that I will hit Blythe about dinnertime, and since I already tried out the cakes for breakfast, I should check out the steaks part of Steaks ’n Cakes on the way back.

So now it’s up to the kids to finish this out, and they prove to be as entertaining as the starters. The Angels score once more in the seventh and the women behind me are pretty quiet until the ninth when they go ballistic because the kids from San Francisco score four runs to go ahead for the first time since the fourth inning, 7-6. They are literally dancing behind me.

Ah, but hope springs eternal as the Angels saved best for last, and Cole Calhoun hits a two-run walk off home run in the bottom of the ninth and the Angels win 8-7. I turn around and smile and we all exchange high-fives because it was such a fun game and everyone got something to cheer, and isn’t that what it’s all about? They ask me to take their picture for them, which I gladly do, and only regret I didn’t think of taking one myself to share with all of you. They were a lot of fun and made the day for me, even though my ears were ringing for a while after.

And though I was thinking about a steak from Steaks ’n Cakes, I can’t pass up the corned beef and cabbage, one of my favorites that is hard to find in most restaurants except on this day. By the way, my corned beef and cabbage dinner with green beans and mashed potatoes, a very generous slice of chocolate cake and coffee (a fresh pot she made just for me) came to $13.28. I couldn’t buy this food in the market for that price.

For my parting thought, I’m going to quote Janet, one of our readers who wrote me after the first day, “The owners of the Steaks n’ Cakes are not giving in to fast food or chain pressure to close the doors, just as you did not lose sight of your desire to eat at the atmosphere and cultural rich local restaurant. Keeping those soul filling desires in focus, and having them fulfilled again keeps us going when the world around us throws out cheap, fast and shallow.”

Well said, and something applicable to a lot more than a restaurant.

DSC_0056

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DAY TWO: One big happy family

Posted on March 18, 2014 by jwfisch

The Courtyard Hotel is going to work perfectly for me. There’s a little bistro downstairs that serves from 7 am to 10 pm. I don’t have to go anywhere but to the games, and for a writer like me who wants to spend most of his time at his laptop, that’s perfect. So after working on my growing little journal, I head to the Angels spring home they share with Arizona State University for my second game, a “home” game against the Seattle Mariners. It’s a quaint little ballpark nestled at the foot of two desert buttes that constantly remind you that you are not in Orange County.

V.I.P. parking

V.I.P. parking

As I pull into the parking lot at 10:15, I am told I am the last car they are letting into the main lot. For no reason known to me, I am led to the second parking stall next to the stairs to the stadium. You can’t park any closer than this. I take a picture of my car with the steps leading to the entrance to the stadium in the background, and send it home with the caption “V.I.P. parking.” Well that’s what it feels like. Only at spring training.

With game time at 1:05 pm (Does anybody else wonder why they always put those 5 minutes in there? It reminds me of my wife hitting the snooze button. She would never wake up at seven. It would have to be 7:05, exactly game time for most of the season. One day I’m going to get to the bottom of this.) I have plenty of time to wander around on the lower fields and watch the minor leaguers practice. You know they are minor leaguers because number 27 is out here shagging fly balls, and he is definitely not Mike Trout.

The first thing you notice when you get to the stadium early is a line of people already standing along a low, 3-foot fence that lines a walkway from behind the stadium to the lower fields. That’s because the players will pass through this gauntlet of fans a couple of times prior to opening the gates to the stadium, and these folks are hoping to see them up close and maybe even get an autograph, although big business is pretty much changing the autograph market significantly.

Mystery autograph

Mystery autograph

I did get an autograph, though I’m calling it my mystery autograph, because I have no idea who the guy is. He was leaving one of the lower fields early and I saw someone else get his autograph so I figured he had to be somebody. Well he was, just somebody I will probably never know. I memorized his number to look it up later in my program, only to find his number wasn’t on the roster anywhere. I did see someone wearing his number later in the game; he was  an older guy — one of the coaches. So I’ve got my mystery autograph on my official major league Rawlings baseball, encased forever in a plastic display box. It looks like a squiggle — maybe the initials “G.S.” — but I’m not sure. Maybe some day this guy will be famous and I’ll figure out who he is.

Along the “autograph” fence, I found a particular group of folks having a grand time. Obviously veterans of spring training games, they had two large awnings set up right along the fence, plenty of chairs and tables, a barbecue going, and what looked to be five or six families enjoying the morning. I found out the patriarch was a guy named Kevin Olsen from Orange County, and they’ve been doing this for a number of years. This year, they’ve been here since Thursday and they set up every morning around 9 am. These guys know what they’re doing. They even have a bean bag throw for the kids that someone made in the shape of an Angels “A”.

They are the ones who told me not to get my hopes up for autographs of anyone I mighty really want. It’s all big business now, and I wonder if Major League Baseball is encouraging players like Mike Trout to not sign autographs now that they have official MLB versions of these products for sale at a pretty penny, or by auction.

Cheers!

Cheers!

Everybody still is hoping, however — standing around with balls and Sharpies. (A number of articles I read said not to use Sharpies, but they are without a doubt the most popular pen out here.) Yes, hope runs high. A couple times while waiting with expectant autograph seekers further down the line, we hear cheering up-line, and everyone gets really excited thinking it’s the players coming, but nothing happens. So I go up to check it out, and find a bunch of young adults from Kevin Olsen’s group playing a drinking game around one of their tables. No time lost for this group.

Something started to look suspicious when it was 12 noon and the gates to the stadium were still not open. (They usually open at 11:30.) A huge crowd had gathered because it was now only an hour to game time. That’s when the rumor came around that there was a swarm of bees around home plate they had to clear out. I could see fire trucks there, but hoped they called in the bee-busters. Firemen are good for lots of things but not necessarily removing bees.

At any rate, the gates were open by 12:15 and I found my seat in between two Seattle Mariners fans. They were both from Seattle and had flown down for this and were a little put out that they had to sit on the Angels’ side when most of the the visiting fans were along the third base side behind the visiting dugout. I did my best to make them feel welcome.

In the middle of the game, when the announcer asked veterans or current members of the armed forces to stand up and be honored, both of my neighbors stood up. I remarked, as they sat down, that I was among royalty, and the gentleman on my left remarked that that had not always been the case. I immediately assumed by what he said, and his age, that he was probably a veteran of the Vietnam War and I was right. He had been a helicopter gunner, and to my surprise, he said it was the most fun he’s had his whole life. He then explained it was early in the conflict and almost all of their missions were uncontested. He was lucky.

One of the first things you notice when you get to a spring training game and the players take the field is how small the game is compared to what one usually encounters in a big league ballpark. Three tiers and 50,000 seats puts the field in a huge cavern. Here it’s just a field with one tier of stands and 10,000 people. It almost seems like a bunch of big guys playing Little League. (Actually there was one play in yesterday’s game, when Nolan Arenado, the Colorado third baseman, missed a routine grounder hit by Albert Pujols, and the second baseman missed the throw in from left field allowing Albert to take a second base — two errors in one at bat — that for a while there it really did look like Little League.) But that’s what everyone loves about spring training. Everything is up close and personal, and a little more casual. I can take full face shots of my favorite players from my seat with a simple telephoto lens. And if I want to get even closer I just go down to the front row where everyone moves over so I can get the picture I want. Like Kevin Olsen said when I asked him how many families were in his group, he replied, “We’re all just one big happy family here.” It feels kind of like that at a spring training game.

One big family. It even feels like fans for the other team are part of the family too. That’s because you realize there’s something bigger than loyalty to your team here. The bigger thing is the game. These people are lovers of baseball, or they wouldn’t be here, and because they love the game they appreciate and reward a good play whoever makes it. So far in both games, I’ve been seated next to someone from the other team and I’m so glad this happened.

We need to think more like this in our relationship to the human family we live in. Whether someone’s on our “team” or another “team,” we are all human, made in God’s image and we all have much in common.

For way too long now, Christians have been making enemies of anyone who isn’t on our team. Who knows but a good spring training experience could help clear that up!

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DAY ONE: Road trip

Posted on March 17, 2014 by jwfisch

I am currently on a 3-day Anniversary gift — a trip to Tempe, Arizona for three Los Angeles Angels spring training games. I am journaling my trip for the Angels organization and plan to share some of this with you as Catches.

DSC_0270Packing will be easy. Three pairs of jeans and all the Angels T-shirts I can find.

This is sweet. I never get to wear these things except for games, and I attend maybe half a dozen games in a year. These T-shirts go back a number of years. My birthday is on May 17 and my usual present is a new Angels shirt and a seat with the family at a ball game. It’s all I ever ask for. (It’s the only way I can get them to come to a game with me. They do not share my love for baseball.)

Here’s the rest of the list:

Camera with telephoto lens for close-ups of players
New Rawlings Major League baseball for autographs
Ball point pen (Bic. Blue. Medium point, as recommended on the Internet.)
Mitt for catching home run balls at batting practice
Game tickets (It would be too much like me to forget these!)
Spring Training Angels hat (came with the ticket package)

BY 5:30 I am on the I-5 North. It’s early enough to catch the full moon over the Pacific. Early enough also to pass two FedEx double trailer semis. I don’t remember seeing double trailers on the freeway before. It must be a night thing. Passing one of these makes you a little uneasy as if the driver might lose control of that back trailer and fishtail into you.

At this hour on Saturday, you can use your cruise control – a rare opportunity on L.A. freeways.

At 6 a.m. I remember my wife wanted me to make sure she was up. She has a 9:30 appointment she wants to get ready for. So I call her, and for the next half hour, I become her human snooze button. “Can you give me ten more minutes, please?” I do this through two ten minute drills and three or four two-minute ones until I finally decide that trying to handle my phone while trapped between two FedEx double-trailer semis is hazardous to my health, and tell her she’s on her own.

In Moreno Valley the light of day dawns slowly on a low-lying fog against the shallow hills in the distance, and snaking through those hills a little later, I recall a time a few years ago when I came upon an active rock slide on this road that totally disabled my right front wheel. Some things can’t be avoided.

Finally, on Interstate 10 that will escort me to my destination, an orange glow appears over the hills ahead of me, where the sun will soon appear. At 6:59 a.m.the first sliver of sun breaks through five miles this side of Cabazon. There’s snow on the tips of the mountains on my left.

Soon I am over the last set of hills and finally in the desert. I know this by the scrub brush, the cactus and the power generating windmills, like giant Mercedes stars twirling silently in the wind.

At 7:24 I pull off to look for a place for breakfast. I’m immediately in a vast parking lot of a new shopping complex with nothing but fast food places that aren’t even awake yet. I want eggs, sausage, pancakes, and a waitress with an apron who calls me “Honey,” and when I realize that’s not going to happen here, I hop back on the I-10. The next town is Blythe, and I know can find what I want there.

At the first exit for Blythe is a Denny’s. I decide to see if I can find the local “Johnny’s Cafe” I really want, and at least I’ll have Denny’s as a fall back. The parking lot is packed and people are waiting outside. Waiting in line for a table at Denny’s? No thanks.

I decide I will see if I can find the main street of town – that street that used to bustle with life before the Interstate bypassed everything. I immediately discover that Lightening McQueen needs to visit this place. Half the town is boarded up.

Everywhere there is dirt and weeds. Driveways lead to nowhere. Rusted skeletons of abandoned gas station signs jut into the sky. And just when I’m about to come to the end of this misery, there it is. The last building on the street before you have to get back on the Interstate shows signs of life. The parking lot is full. An American flag flies over the entry. I can see that it’s busy inside. Welcome to the Steaks ’n Cakes restaurant.

I walk inside and I don’t see an empty table. A waitress in a blue apron calls to me, “You lookin’ for a seat, honey? Come on back here.” And she takes me into a back room where a few more customers are seated.

As I sit down with the menu, I notice rows of little banners hanging from the ceiling, each one from a different place. Boaz, Alabama. Mobridge, South Dakota. Capela De Santana, Brazil. Honiara, Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands. Parker, Arizona. What are they? They are various chapters of Rotary Club somehow connected to this little place in Blythe, California. The Rotary meets here every Wednesday.

As I say good-by to the Steaks ’n Cakes, I think about this town falling apart yet they still make it a priority to meet and serve their community, and connect with other communities around the world. There’s a lesson here somewhere.

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Vanguard

Posted on March 14, 2014 by jwfisch

God gave gifts to men and women.

Deborah was a judge in Israel before there were kings, when judges ruled. She was also a counselor and a warrior, leading a successful attack against the forces of Jabin, king of Canaan, and his military commander, Sisera. The latter was killed by Jael, Heber’s wife, who hammered a tent peg through his head while he slept. You did not want to mess with these women.

Abigail risked her life by putting herself in the way of David and his mighty men who were about to take revenge on her foolish husband and shed innocent blood. For this, she was praised and later became David’s wife.

Esther, a Jew, assumed the place of Queen of Persia when her people were in exile there, because she was ready for “such a time as this.”

Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute, believed Joshua and the spies from Israel were from God, and hid them in her house rather than turn them over to ruling the authorities.

Ruth, a Moabite, clung to a Jewish widow and cast her lot in support of a foreign people because she knew they were of God.

Joanna, Susanna and many other women who followed Jesus helped to support Him and His disciples “out of their own means.”

Lydia, the first to be converted, the first to be baptized, the first to open her home as a meeting place for the believers in Philippi, and Priscilla were key influencers in the early church.

Throughout history, God gave gifts to men and women. Those who think otherwise are following tradition and culture, not the word of God.

In the late 1980s, when Marti was Executive Director of a five-city Chamber of Commerce in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and served on the board of the Y.W.C.A., she founded and organized a Vanguard Awards ceremony to honor women in the forefront of business, industry and community service. I wrote and performed the following song at the event. Click on the picture to listen to and/or download the song. To the women of the Bible, and the women of today who answer the call.

Vanguard
words & music by John Fischer

She’s a rebel
She’s a lady
She’s a ticket to a Broadway show
There’s no doubt that
She’s a winner
No beginner you have got to know that

She is walking into all situations
She is working hard
She’s a leader in a new generation
Vanguard

She’s a servant
Of the people
She’s a sentry of the human soul
She’s a heart of
Compassion
She can see the highest goal

She is walking into all situations
She is working hard
She’s a leader in a new generation
Vanguard

Keeping all her fears down under
Against the flow
The price she pays is high no wonder
Only a few will know

There’s a purpose
In her posture
There’s a wisdom in her widening eyes
She makes a pathway
With her footsteps
With her hand she takes the prize

She is walking into all situations
She is working hard
She’s a leader in a new generation
Vanguard
Vanguard

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O Rocker

Posted on March 13, 2014 by jwfisch

There is a rocking chair in our house that is sacred ground. It is beyond heirloom. It was in Marti’s grandmother’s house and it held her when nothing and no one else would. It represents safety, security, peace and understanding. It signifies disclosure if you get too close. It knows what no one else knows. It knows secrets. It holds pain. Oh, if it could talk, the stories it would tell! Ah, but then again, it wouldn’t, because that is it’s job – to hold those stories and only weep silently when it creaks. That is why we can never get it fixed. Who would cry then?

As we focus on women today, we want to think about what they carry that they cannot tell. We don’t need to know the whole story, but we need to know the stories are there, and the saddest part is some are still being told. All can be forgiven, but all cannot be forgotten. Forgetting is God’s business; we need to remember so as not to let it happen again.

The creak is for a purpose: that I might not create more pain. I am so stupid – so full of pride. I don’t think it’s me when it is.

Think of the silence in the churches where women remain so to protect their husbands, and the husbands who don’t know and don’t care are the worst offenders. Day after day a lie is being told by what is hidden, and no one but the rocker knows.

As Marti says: Do you really think Women’s Week is just for women?

O Rocker
words by Marti Fischer
music by John Fischer

My chair creaks in the moonlight
As I rock my child to sleep
It talks to me as if each creak
Is a memory to keep
It remembers when I first found out
That my favorite grandma died
And I threw myself into its lap
And cried and cried and cried
And there’s a creak for loneliness
And there’s a creak for fear
And there’s a creak for daydreams
I was lost in for a year

O rocker, rocker
Brush the pale moonlight
O rocker, rocker
Hush the child tonight
O rocker, rocker
Hold me while I pray
O rocker, rocker
Rock my soul away

I woke up just in time to lose
To lose my childhood no goodbyes
And no one but my rocker
Saw the blood drip down my thighs
And the days and years to follow
Brought the pain and joy of love
And my rocker creaked each time they weren’t
What I was dreaming of

O rocker, rocker
Brush the pale moonlight
O rocker, rocker
Hush the child tonight
O rocker, rocker
Hold me while I pray
O rocker, rocker
Rock my soul away

But the creak that’s most familiar
The one that I remember best
Is when God the Father laid His perfect
Peace upon my breast
And now my child is cradled there
In midnight’s soft repose
In in the moonlight creaking
I know my rocker knows

O rocker, rocker
Brush the pale moonlight
O rocker, rocker
Hush the child tonight
O rocker, rocker
Hold me while I pray
O rocker, rocker
Rock my soul away

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Every tear

Posted on March 12, 2014 by jwfisch

Click on the tear to listen to and/or download “Every Tear.”

Saddened eyes 
Framed by a window
Streaked with rain
Like tears on her face
One simple choice
One painless operation
One mistake
She’s longing to erase

Sterile walls
Crowding in around her
Fluorescent lights
Blinding her eyes
But all the pain
And indecision leave her
When her newborn baby cries

He feels every fear
And through every year
He holds every tear

Tired eyes
Watch from a window,
The carefree play
Of one little boy
Working nights
It’s been hard to raise him
But through the pain
She finds a deeper joy

He feels every fear
And through every year
He holds every tear

My son don’t be ashamed to question why
Don’t chase the water from your eyes
God know knows every time you cry
And He’ll be there to love you
He loves you…

Years go by
He stands at her grave side
A trophy of
Her courage and her choice
He says a prayer
A song of expectation
Then walks ahead
An echo of her voice

He feels every fear
And through every year
He holds every tear
He loves you…

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” (Psalm 56:8)

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Through the looking glass

Posted on March 11, 2014 by jwfisch

Last Saturday was International Woman’s Day (IWD). IWD is a national holiday in Afghanistan, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Burkina Faso, Cambodia, China (for women only), Cuba, Georgia, Guinea-Bissau, Eritrea, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Madagascar (for women only), Moldova, Mongolia, Montenegro, Nepal (for women only), Russia, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uganda, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Vietnam and Zambia, and has been so in most of these countries since 1918. Did you know that? How come I didn’t know that?

How come America isn’t on that list? Is it because we have Mother’s Day and that’s somehow good enough? Are we uneasy about giving women credit for anything beyond motherhood? In these countries, mothers wives and daughters are all celebrated.

Acknowledging that we are a few days late, in honor of IWD, we’re going to call this Woman’s Week at the Catch and I’ve asked Marti to help me arrange some reflections to help us focus on the value and contributions of women, starting with the most needy, those without a home.

th-1After falling through the Rabbit hole into Wonderland, we know Alice struggles with the importance and instability of who she is. She is ordered to identify herself constantly but is often unable to answer, as she feels that she has changed several times since the morning. She is very bewildered by the deranged adult world – all are as mad as a March hare.

Now grown and looking through the looking glass while recalling the days of her childhood, what Alice sees in the other side of her looking-glass is a chain of memories, a mirror of obstacles, where everything is the same, only backwards.

Alice wishes to become a Queen.  Even so, first she has to learn more about the way things are. For example, the flowers tell her that they are lower in social rank than she is (“it isn’t manners for us to begin, you know”), she learns about the tragic lives of the lower class (Bread-and-Butterflies always die because of a food shortage), and she is told that she is not a real person; she is in a dream and that she really ceases to exist at all.

We who turn our heads away from a woman without a home, are doing the same. She is lower in social rank, and as a member of the lower class,  she will die because of the food shortage. When we ignore her existence by turning our heads away, we are telling her that she is invisible … and that she really ceases to exist at all.

Meet my friend Beverly. She is homeless. Before her mother died, she was homeless. One of her two daughters, now 39 is homeless.

What Beverly sees on the other side of her looking glass is a chain of memories, a mirror of obstacles, where everything is the same, only backwards. May I ask if this is not the same for you and me?  When looking on the other side of the looking glass, each of us sees specific vulnerabilities of personal disaster, trauma or tragedy. Affliction and heartbreak on every side. As with Alice, Beverly, you and me – doesn’t this make us a lot more similar than different?

Beverly and all of her sisters are no longer the homeless ‘out there,’ somewhere on the streets or sheltered with a hot meal. The homeless are among us. The homeless are us.

No One Saw Me
by Beverly Cunningham

Probably started at my birth
Through the nursery window, to see
Oh how beautiful the babies are
But no one looked at me.
As I grew older
The only “girl” my Mom’s constant pleas
She looks like her Dad
Why didn’t my only girl, look like me
Mom was so beautiful
Fair skin, flowing hair
Small-waisted, breathtaking
A “Maiden so Fair”
But me ah, the tomboy
Dark complexion, not so thin
For that was back-in-the-days
When my features weren’t “in”
House full of teen boys
Remember 9 brothers – popular to see
But I was invisible
My friends were chosen – not me
Growing into a loner
Wearing a mask – the “Class Clown”
My best friend name was “unknown”
No one really saw me when I was around
So I lost myself
Into whatever was sent my way
Spent years – lost years
Pain expected from day-to day
Until one day I was passing
A store window – and did see
Backed up and saw what
A beautiful woman – it was me
“He” said, Hope you like it
This is what I wanted you to see
But you never saw it coming
Because “You never saw me”  

You and I are good at charity. We like to give, and we give a lot, even those who can’t afford it. Yet, I wish to suggest that we are called to a higher standard; to a joy that cannot be contrived like anger and despair. The raw stuff – the sense of being alive, of being grateful for our pulse and that of others. Unlike a dropped stitch, this kind of joy expects to be integrated into the very fabric of our lives – all of our lives – rendering the invisible visible and reunited to us again.

This week, focus on those who are really ours to give to. If you could, you would throw a feast and a party, a banquet and a pageant, a fatted calf and a robe. The feast for joy and strength, the robe for dignity and position. And yes, lights, music and a runway, to give notice to the street that it must make way. If you could you would, but if you would, what could you do?

May the stars light the black night as if each promise is holding up the sky – promises that: Yes, Beverly is someone, as are all the invisible Beverly’s, because you saw Him.

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Super strategy

Posted on March 10, 2014 by jwfisch

th-4I don’t think anyone who saw the Super Bowl last month, including Denver Bronco fans, can argue with the fact that Pete Carroll’s Seattle Seahawks were prepared for that game as well as any team could be prepared for a big game. I don’t think the lopsided score was an indication of how much better the Seahawks are than the Broncos. After all, this was the Super Bowl; you have to be super to play here. You have to win a lot of games and beat a lot of really good teams along the way. So when two teams this good go head-to-head and one dominates, it usually is a credit to the coaching style and preparation of the dominating team.

So it’s no surprise that Pete Carroll, or at least his coaching techniques, have been in demand in the sports and business sector ever since. Successful coaches like the great John Wooden, engineer of UCLA’s great basketball dynasty and winner of 10 national championships between 1964 and 1975, often are in demand as speakers and motivators anywhere a team concept is important to success, and Carroll has been no exception. Recently, for instance, Carroll’s daughter, Jaime Davern and Seahawks team psychologist Michael Gervais, held a daylong seminar for MBA students at the University of Southern California.

I once heard that one of the proofs that the Bible is true is the extent to which principles and precepts from the Bible can translate outside of a biblical, spiritual context. It stands to reason that if the Bible is true to the way the universe is set up, then it’s principles should work wherever you apply them.

In a recent newspaper article in the sports section outlining some of the aspects that were shared in that daylong seminar this was again evident in a powerful way, in fact, you could prooftext every one of the points made with the scriptures. This doesn’t necessarily mean Pete got his winning formula from the Bible; it simply means he found out what works is what’s’ true and what’s true is what works. Taking these points to heart in our own lives should help make for a super day.

Make the most of every moment.
“Preach the word; be ready in season and out of season” (2 Timothy 4:2).

Never quit.
“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me” (Philippians 3:12).

Don’t whine.
“When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. ‘It’s a ghost,’ they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them: ‘Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid'” (Matthew 14:26-27).

Refuse to worry about what your opponents are up to.
“Whoever seeks good finds favor, but evil comes to one who searches for it” (Proverbs 11:27).

Instead of fear, build confidence.
“For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7).

Maximize your unique skill set.
“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands” (2 Timothy 1:6). “Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms” (1 Peter 4:10).

It should be encouraging to our faith to be reminded that what works in the world is true in the Word. God’s truth works in leadership, it works in business, it works in our daily lives, and yes, even on the football field. Just ask Pete Carroll.

frank

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In class

Posted on March 7, 2014 by jwfisch

th“Now in my class you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world…

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman:

O me, O life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless strains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

“That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.” These words are repeated by Professor Keating (Robin Williams) in the opening scenes from one of my favorite films, Dead Poets Society.

Free thinking is not something generally encouraged in Christian circles.

I taught a class once as part of a Youth Ministry major at Gordon College in Wenham, Massachusetts. I named the class “Youth in Contemporary Culture,” and at the outset, I told the students they would be writing a number of short papers in my class because that was the only way I could find out what they were thinking. I wanted them to write their thoughts, not mine – that if I suspected they were just parroting what I had said in class, they would be graded down. That was the last thing I wanted. I know what I think already. I want to know what they were thinking, and I wanted some kind of evidence they were grappling with something new.

Three students quit the class that first day and they were all three “A” students. They suddenly realized they had a loose cannon for a teacher – one who wasn’t going to comply with a grading system they could manipulate. Their GPA could not risk this class. Good riddance.

This, of course, is the beauty of the Internet. We can have a thousand people or a hundred thousand, but it will still come down to a “secret” society of you and me. So we need your good thinking on how we can get the word out about the Catch to more people who are looking for independent-thinking Christians. Please let us know how we can help you expand our Catch audience to more people who would benefit from it. We welcome your ideas and suggestions.

And in the meantime, while you are thinking about that, I am going to close this Catch with excerpts from one of those papers from that class I taught at Gordon College. This was from a summary paper presented by Glenn Fischer, Mary Moore, Dawn Johnson, Cindy Loux, and John McKenna. If you’re wondering, they all got an “A.” I am still so proud of them all.

We wait patiently for someone to take the initiative. Will it be God or us? We know perfectly well, as humans, our first tendencies are to stand silent and erect, glaring coarsely from behind the battle line. We are afraid of the wounded in the world, but more afraid of being wounded ourselves. We are afraid of reality and convinced by pride that darkness and light just don’t mix. But at the same time, we easily imagine ourselves out in the world someday – exposing the darkness through God’s light within us, even though it may be only a dim ray of our own insecurity.

As Christians, we are not so much aware of the world as we are aware of ourselves. We are obsessed at times with our spiritual standing more than with those who don’t even have legs to stand on, never mind kneel in prayer. We serve ourselves with Bible studies and with morning, noon, and night church services while street people starve because no one is willing to serve them. Our religious convictions convict us, but we refuse to relate with the convicted behind bars.

Somewhere along the line our priorities have been distorted. We face the danger of seducing ourselves within the church and erasing any feelings of obligation to reach out to the world. We choose not to conform to society or its culture out of fears and insecurities in ourselves. But in choosing non-conformity, we create our own conformity: comfortable Christianity. It’s our crutch in a time of need, while we’re afraid of the blood, violence, and greed of the wilderness jungle – the real world. We use Christianity and abuse it too many times as a shelter from the pain and remorse.

So how do we cut through into the real world? What is that first step in becoming aware of the needs of our world (God’s world) instead of just our own needs? First, as Oswald Chambers points out in his book My Utmost for His Highest, we must realize that “…we cannot do what God does, and God will not do what we can” do. We have to work out the salvation God has worked in.

Conscious involvement is a twofold enterprise. We not only have to be aware that God is at work in our lives, but we must work out that awareness in a world that is unaware of God’s love, unaware of justice and reason, love and mercy, identity and heart.

We are called to awaken to the world around us, to seek Christ’s direction and look at the world through His eyes instead of our own. We are to be obedient, to take the direction He gives us. We are to spread the same love to others that Christ has so freely given to us.

How we appear to our Christian brothers and sisters should not hinder our obedience to the call God has laid before us. We must not be afraid of what other Christians think of us when we are in the world. After all, Jesus had to deal with persecution. What we should be concerned with is what non-Christians see in us, for they will see right through us.

Bleeding hearts and images,
Aware of influence and rejection;
We choose reality, you see infection.
Split decisions, split directions.
Stripped of our identity, no longer immune to passion or pain;
We give you our hearts, you poison the strain.
Down comes our religion, drowning in the pouring rain.

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Living poets society

Posted on March 6, 2014 by jwfisch

th-6Marti thinks I’m onto something. She thought yesterday’s Catch was brilliant. Well, she’s right, and here’s partly why she would think that way: She wrote most of it! That’s right. It came from a file of potential Catch ideas that contained some of her writing. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her that before I received these great accolades at the end of the day about the day’s Catch. Of course the other part of why she would like yesterday’s Catch is because it is true. We need to be champions of soul freedom — our own, and everybody else’s — and in discovering this, I did come upon something central to what makes the Catch the Catch.

So I guess I should say we’re onto something (which we are), and for that reason I don’t intend to leave it for a while. Not only is this thinking an important part of who you are, it’s also an important part of who we are. To turn it into a shameless marketing term: it’s our brand.

We do not treat you as mere objects without feelings, without desires, without willpower, without dignity, and without knowledge. We do not want you to remain docile, unthinking, predetermined automatons subject to the moldings of wiser adults who are the creators, possessors, and dispensers of all necessary Christian knowledge. We refuse to let you become passive receptacles of information even if it is the right information.

We are not your savior, but we hope we enable you to discover the Savior and thereby free yourselves from the context in which you suffer. We want to be active enablers of your inner potential for growth and learning.

We reject the ethos of radical conformity disguised as harmless tradition. We want you to be able and willing to think for yourselves, exploring your own relationship with Christ and His scriptures.

In the movie, Dead Poets Society, the dean of the Academy tries to force the students to sign a statement stating that Keating’s (Robin Williams) “destructive” teaching method was the true culprit in the suicidal death of one of their society members, when it is clear all along that what transpires at the Academy is not true learning, but rather an insidious form of control in which the dynamics of the dominant, established society, as exemplified by the faculty and administration, are denying students the right to pursue art, culture, and the limitless domain of their own creative minds, and the freedom of the human spirit to seek and explore all of what it means to be human beings made in the image of God.

Maybe we should just form our own secret society and go after the truth like never before.

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