Remember Fitz
LETTER FROM FITZ - 2010
​
"And Mary said, "He has shown the power of his arm. He has routed the proud of heart. He has puled down princes from their thrones and exalted the lowly. The hungry he has filled with good things; the rich sent away empty-handed!"
(Luke 1:46-53)
​
Mary represents the 'rebel consciousness' that si essential to Jesus' gospel. Wherever the gospel is preached, we must remember that its good news will make you crazy! Jesus will put you at odds with the economic and political systems of our world. This gospel will force you to act, interrupting the world as it is in ways that make even pious people indignant."
(Emmanuel Katongole)
​
San Francisco / December 16, 2010
Dear Friends & Fellow Seekers:
​
Amost blessed holiday season to all of you! Please do me a favor. Go back and reread the two quotes above. The first, of course, is from the Magnificat - Mary, pregnant with Jesus, ecstatically rejoicing with her cousin, Elizabeth, awaiting the birth of John the Baptist. The second is from a Catholic priest from Uganda who teaches theology at Duke. And please notice (I'm sure you already did the vast gulf between what they express and what is being celebrated all around us in the malls, on the airwaves, in cyberspace, and even in most of our churches: the sterile, pretty, plastic, commercialized crap that has become Christmas. Thanks for noticing. OK. Now that I've got that out of my system...
​
My first full year of being retired has been wonderful. I'm gradually adjusting to a life that is more about being than doing. And yet, as much as I love reading books, listening to music, and exploring this magical city, I keep being reminded that I feel more alive when I'm involved in some helping way. Like yesterday. The social workers at St. Anthony's were having their Christmas party for the folks they serve, and they asked me to play piano. Saw all sorts of old friends. One of them, Christine, is a classic 'survivor'. Mental illness robbed her of any ability to think and communicate logically decades ago. She was on the streets for years. (Yes. Our country has other priorities.) Thanks to those social workers, she is housed now, but still a very familiar face around St. Anthony's, where she not only regularly dines, but also presents her daily list of complaints against the universe, in her own unique fashion. (Did I mention that she is now really old, tiny and fragile?) Yesterday I was at the piano, playing "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear", when Christine approached. For the umpteenth time I was reminded that I'm not much of a multi-tasker, since there was no way I could keep playing while she insisted on telling me something that was obviously of great concern to her. I finally "got" what she was so determined to let me know. Somehow she'd conflated a raffle ticket she'd just been handed, a news story she'd heard about the empty chair at the Oslo Nobel Peace Prize ceremony and my presence at the piano. She was convinced she'd heard my name announced as a Nobel prize winner on the radio, but that I had to phone in with my ticket number if I was going to claim my prize. When I repeated all that back to her she was pleased that l'd understood, but then distressed when I resumed playing carols instead of heading for the phone. Later, riding home on the bus I visualized the manger scene in Bethlehem and imagined, inevitably, Christine there, among the shepherds and other ordinary folk. Maybe, like Amahl, in the Menotti opera, she'd offer her cane as a gift.
​
In September I spent a couple of days with my Notre Dame High School classmates. We were celebrating our 50 year reunion. At the Mass, the realization that a half of a century had gone by was dramatized when the names of 62 of our classmates were read at the prayers for those who have died. (Yes, I know. The good die young.) A few months after we graduated Jack Kennedy was elected President. Even if you weren't young and Irish and Catholic it was one of those transformational moments in our history. (And if you were, it was much more than that.) Looking back, all these many years later, the words of a song ring so true. (A young Welsh woman named Mary Hopkin recorded them. "Those were the days, my friends, we thought they'd never end. We'd sing and dance forever and a day. We'd live the life we choose. We'd fight and never lose, for we were young and sure to have our way.") Sigh.
​
On November 23'°, we had some famous people join the ranks of our regular Tuesday volunteers in St. Anthony's Dining Room (where - sign of the times - the number of lunches served every day of the year has risen to an average of 2,700). Aubrey Huf, the first baseman of the World Series Champion San Francisco Giants (you knew I was going to mention it sooner or later) was there helping. And also Nancy Pelosi, who'd just returned, scars and all, from Washington. At her request there were no media present. But she did bring her 10 year old grandson, whom she wanted to teach about the real meaning of Thanksgiving week. (And if you know me at all, you'll have guessed that I wondered whether any of the politicians who based their campaigns on demonizing her and her "San Francisco values" were doing any volunteer work that week.) One of our beloved (most days) regular guests in the Dining Room is a Chicagoan named Tony. Paranoid schizophrenia banished him to the streets years ago (those national priorities again) and he can be a "handful" when he's worked up about something. That day, as he was leaving the dining room he loudly announced to the world: "People, we don't need celebrities here! We are - all of us! - celebrities!" They may have been the wisest words I heard all year.
​
This year began for me in Phoenix at a celebration of the 25th anniversary of Andre House. (In case you didn't know, Andre was canonized as a saint on October, 17th. So many wonderful people were there - lots of "ordinary people" who have given their time and treasure over the years "to make something beautiful for God" (in Mother Teresa's words). It was a very special moment for me, one of those that I like to describe as "grabbing your heart and squeezing". Was repeatedly struck by the eloquence and inspiration of so many folks, both young and old, who've been part of what we started there. Was reminded of the words of a country song: "I'm drinking from my saucer 'cause my cup has overflowed." I hope 2011 will find you repeatedly drinking from your saucer, for the same reason.
​
Blessings,
-Fitz