Joseph had been mentioning with greater frequency that he would like to go to an NFL game An indulgence? Yes. No question. But it’s also progress.
For you see, the first fall (2009) after Mike died, Joseph, his little couch companion on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, would not watch one minute of football, did not want to even talk about his formerly beloved Gators, or any of the other former stars of the house – Jaguars and Bucs. He would have none of it. “I don’t want to watch football anymore,” he said outright, pressing his lips tightly together and looking away.
This fall, his position shifted a bit. He still wouldn’t watch the Gators, true
(and maybe that was a good thing…..)
…but he did declare in August that he wanted to watch the NFL. The Florida teams are actually not his favorites. For some reason, he is a Charger and Vikings fan.
(I know why – it’s because when he was four or five, he picked out a book about the Chargers from the library – just because it was about football – and ever since then, he’s been a fan. It’s sort of like my oldest son whose baseball team has always been the Giants. We were talking about this and he reminded me that the reason he’s a Giants fan is because it was the first baseball cap he ever got – the Giants. The Vikings? I think there is a Gator who plays for the Vikings, so that is the root of that devotion. I also think it has to do with, well – Vikings. Because Vikings are cool. He is extremely irritated that his brother Michael has been to Minnesota and he hasn’t. Never mind that Michael was about 3 months old and went with me on a speaking engagement because he was too small to leave behind. No, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he must, at some point, get to Minnesota.)
(Just as he keeps saying he wants to go to Japan. I say, “You know that if you go there, you’re not going to see Pokemon and Samurai walking around, right? ” He nods, but I’m not quite sure if he’s just humoring me.)
Yes, he would watch the NFL, although there was still that Monday in early September when he got out of the car, brightened as he said, “Monday Night Football starts tonight!” then just as quickly as he had perked up with that realization, another realization rushed in and settled and he sank back down and started to cry.
And so is life for all of us. Back and forth. Isn’t it?
So when a couple of months ago he started saying he’d like to go to a game, that they used to go to a couple of games every year when Daddy was alive, but they haven’t been since and could he look at some schedules – do you blame me for saying yes?
As it happened, it all worked out. My daughter was flying out of Atlanta back to college early that afternoon, the Falcons were in town my oldest (who lives in Atlanta) was available and of course would like to go to the game, so we were on.
And who could have known it would be such an exciting game?
I was worried. But I also knew he’d be in good hands, and he was. They all had a great time. New memories. Not to replace old ones, but to grow from them, keep journeying, in gratitude.
*****
I didn’t go to the game. I dropped the little boys off at C’s apartment, took my daughter to the airport, then drove back up to Midtown to the High Museum.
We’d been a few weeks ago, to see the Dali exhibit – that’s still running, by the way – but I wanted to go back to see the Titian exhibit ( reviewed here in the WSJ) as well as the rest of the museum, which we could only race through because it was about to close.
So about the High Museum:
I don’t like the layout. At all. Perhaps I’m dense (and I am) but I find the design of the buildings themselves confusing and irritating to manage. There are three buildings in all, it takes a bit to catch on to the logic – such as it is – of the arrangement and I particularly didn’t like the way the Titian was slapped up on temporary walls in an unmemorable space in the side building. Yes the paintings speak for themselves, but I did find their placement awkward here.
There. Complaining over.
I headed to the Titian first which certainly lives up to expectations. The work that gave me the most food for thought however was this one:
Virgin and Child with St. John the Baptist and Unidentified Male Saint (1520)
(I suppose the reason the figure is “unidentified” is because he is younger and St. Joseph was always portrayed as older?)
What struck me about this painting – in fact, what kept me rooted to the spot for several minutes in front of it was something subtle, something I certainly would have missed if I’d been rushed or distracted. We always see St. John the Baptist pointing – because that is what he does, as the Scriptures tell us during Advent – he points. Here, his pointing is so subdued you might miss it, but he is clearly, as gazes at the Child, pointing at the lamb , that left hand resting on his leg, pointing.
And Mary – she sees. She holds the baby firmly, yet is not looking at him or the man reaching for him. She’s looking away, back at the Lamb to which John points, while the only bare, stark tree trunk in an otherwise lush forest looms behind the head of her Child.
It’s the Virgin’s stance – as if she were initially taken aback, and is now settled into contemplation …what could this mean…that kept me standing there for a good bit. She could have been looking anywhere, and in the natural order of things she might have been checking on the baby, making sure he was propelling himself into good hands. But in the supernatural order of things, she’s given pause by the Lamb.
I took a quick walk through the Dali again, fighting the crowds to look at the enormous religous works. This time I was taken by Assumpta Corpuscularia Lapislazulina . I was interested but not surprised to see that the placard let us know that Christ’s presence is symbolized by, well, Christ crucified – but neglects to mention the altar over which the Sacrifice hovers.
****
Saturday evening, we went to Mass. As we settled in, I tried to push away distracting thoughts – I wish the organist in this church would take a chill pill or even a few weeks off so I can be spared his apparent desire to beat all human voices and liturgical rhythms into submission. Which box did I pack that Advent wreath anyway? Revisions. Got to get the revisions done.
Batting at the distractions, drawing my sweater closer about me in the stony chill, I glanced up andaround. Saints in stained glass, an altar ready and waiting, a crucifix looming above and far above that, on the ceiling, the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, floating as if waiting to alight.
Expansiveness filled me.
This is not all there is. There is more. It starts here. But there is more.
Perhaps it was partly because my head was still filled with the work I was doing which was All Pope Benedict, All The Time for a couple of weeks there, and that is such an important motif in his work. We are made by God for God, and the more we are immersed in the grace – His life – that he offers and desires us to have, the more our lives expand into his. Eternal, infinite Life, Love, Beauty and Truth.
When we turn away, the opposite happens, and our world, our concerns become narrow and crabbed and circumscribed.
To belong to him, to be called by him, is to be rooted in life indistructible. (Eschatology – Ratzinger – p. 114)
********
How can you prepare for that?
For that?
The only way we can – the way that we’ve been given, the way that we live in a finite world aching for the infinite.
So prepare to hold a baby.
Not too tightly, clutching at him aoll for yourself thinking he only has eyes for you, but let him reach out even further. To someone else. And keep your eyes on the Lamb and remember that stark tree trunk looming.
Prepare to hold a baby.
Not in a closed room but in one with the windows and doors flung wide open so the mystery of God and His rising collapsing binding loosening transformed and transforming creation courses through and becomes the place you live with the One who made it all and made you to live there.
Prepare to respond to grace when it comes because grace is God’s life and it’s all that stands between you sitting in a closed-off room gazing at a mirror and you out there on the other side of the door the window where it’s light. Prepare for that grace because it does come, and in small ways. An invitation to say yes here and a challenge to say no there. Every day. All the time. But you have to prepare for it because it all happens so fast and seems so common but really is not. It’s like a baby born in a small town no one ever heard of. It’s the kind of thing that happens every day,after all. If you don’t prepare, you just might – no, you probably will – miss it.
Charlotte was Both 