Video Killed the Radio Star?

Bless me father for I have sinned. I have been listening to the 80's channel on Sirius XM and feel quite guilty about it.

I am not sure why I am drawn to this station so much; perhaps it is the original MTV VJs who I watched incessantly (much to my mother’s dismay) in my formative years or perhaps I am living out some “Peter Pan” type issues, but I just cant turn away from the sounds of Cindy Lauper, Tears for Fears, and Simple Minds. One thing is for certain; it certainly takes me back to a time in my life when things were simpler.

The other day I was treated to the sounds of Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles. Ironically, Mark Goodman introduced it on the radio. Looking back, the popularity of music videos and MTV certainly changed who could be a pop star; it was no longer good enough to have talent, you also had to have looks.

This was a change in convention, not unlike the change in conventions experienced as a result of Christianity.

In the days before Abraham, the known world was largely polytheistic in that people worshiped many gods. The actions of Abraham and, of course, Moses, would change the convention of polytheism and move civilization towards Monotheism. The changing of conventions, though, did not end with Judaism.

In the days of Christ, the area where He lived was under Roman rule and many were expecting the savior to be a great warrior delivering them from foreign rule. That Christ taught about loving neighbors, “giving Ceaser what is Ceaser’s,” and care for the poor/lowly, confused leaders of the time. That His influence was so strong was a threat to existing conventions.

Changes to convention are of course met with resistance; just like there were accomplished musicians who resisted the MTV phenomenon, there were leaders at the time who resisted the message of Christ. Luckily, there were those who embraced this message and who were courageous enough to spread it under fear of imprisonment, torture, and death.

That Christianity and Roman Catholicism have survived over 2,000 years with the odds stacked against them is testament to how powerful the messages of love, charity, generosity, and forgiveness really are. Of course, we would not have made it so far if it were not for those early martyrs who gave their lives for the faith. Likewise, we would not be able to practice our faith in community with others if it were not for the men who answer their calling towards the Priesthood.

In this year for Priests, I ask that each and every one of you reading this post remember to keep not only your parish priests in your prayers but also all those young men who are discerning a vocation towards the priesthood.

A Life Worth Noting

Growing up as a Catholic boy in Stamford, I went through a rite of passage that my older brother and countless others experienced before me; I became an altar server. While there were those boys whose parents “strongly encouraged” them to serve their parish in this manner, my motivations were different; I was in it for the money.

My family belonged to St. Gabriel Parish on Newfield Avenue, which is also where I attended middle school. One of my fellow altar boys, who was a bit older than I and “retiring” from the “club” clued me in on a little secret; when you serve mass at a funeral, you are likely to earn a tip. Furthermore, funeral masses in our parish tended to be at 10 am in the morning during weekdays; as such, if I were scheduled to serve a funeral mass I would not only earn a little extra money, but also be legitimately excused from class. Jackpot!

Even at twelve I was a bit entrepreneurial so, while entering the Church on a Sunday morning, I would always pick up a bulletin and scan it to see if anyone had died that week. If so, I would approach our pastor and ask if he needed any help with the funeral. Father Bob was always more than happy to accept my offer of service and I not only had a ticket out of Ms. Gullo’s Literature class, I would likely have enough money for a new cassette tape (it was the 1980s after all).

In my two years attending St. Gabriel School, I likely served 20 funerals. Initially, it was difficult to see the grief worn by those who came to mourn the deceased; however, over time, I started to become immune to it. Thankfully, I have not had to attend too many funerals since those days in the late 80s.

Last week, however, I found myself sitting in a pew at a St. Cecilia Church to pay my respects to a former neighbor, John Marsalisi. That the church, one of the larger Roman Catholic churches in Stamford, was as crowded as it was serves as witness to the number of lives that John touched in his all to brief 54 years on this planet.

As I sat waiting for the funeral mass to start, I thought to myself this will not be hard to get through. After all, I had so much practice going to funerals in my youth, I was not fearful of shedding a tear. Then, it hit me. As I saw John’s wife Ann being escorted down the aisle by her four children, I felt the tears well up in my eyes and I lost it. I was so full of sympathy for the young family left behind by this untimely death that my only response was to start crying.

The sadness I experienced at the funeral was broken briefly by the sound of children playing. It sounded like they were right underneath all of us sitting in the church. Then I remembered that on cold winter days, the students of St. Cecilia School have gym class in the church hall, located in the basement of the church. What a nice contrast; while we were celebrating the end of one life, we were treated to the joy experienced by those in the beginning of theirs.

Ever since I heard of John Marsalisi’s passing, I scanned my local newspaper for a story on him. Certainly a man who impacted so many lives through his commitment to the community would have an article devoted to his life and untimely passing. Instead, I kept seeing a story on a rectory facing demolition. This inanimate object has no feelings and its demolition would leave no widow or children behind. From what I have read, it is not even usable in its present condition.

As such, I am left with a sobering thought; we sometimes are so blinded by our passion to fight for “little” things that the really important things, life for instance, are often ignored. As we enter 2010, I hope that we as a society choose to devote our time, talents, and resources to things that matter and will have a positive impact on others in the community. RIP John Marsalisi; I will pray for the repose of your soul and for the beautiful family left behind by your untimely passing.

The Fuse

Today I have the unenviable task of putting all of the Christmas decorations away. It seems that it was just yesterday when the kids and I took them down from the attic and I remember completing that task with excitement and anticipation. Today's task, however, is met with sadness; it is hard to believe that another Christmas has come and gone.

This year, my kids made Advent wreaths at school. I am looking at them now and am sad that I have to put them away; not the kids but their wreaths. Since we light one candle a week for four weeks, each wreath has four candles of slightly different lengths. I don't look at these candles, though, as having slow burning wicks; rather, I see them as having fast burning fuses. The Sunday's of advent went past me in the blink of an eye and suddenly, BANG, it was Christmas day. The burned wax on each candle a subtle reminder that the flame that burns down the wick forever alters the candle's shape.

The holiday season is like that as well. As we moved through the Sundays of Advent we were preparing ourselves for the coming of Christ. Those of us who look to Advent as a time for reflection, and not simply a countdown clock for Santa Claus, should leave the liturgical seasons of Advent and Christmas as changed people; as altered as the candles on our Advent wreaths.

I hope that all of you who follow my musings had a very merry Christmas. I wish all of you health, happiness, and prosperity in the new year.