All God's Children

Last night's contestants on Jeopardy were Abby (a stay-at-home mom from Nebraska), Brad (a retired college professor and current consultant from San Diego), and Carl (a barista from Tampa). Names have, of course, been changed to protect the innocent and those who proved not to be very bright. You might be thinking that Brad was whipping out answers like a machine, Carl was floundering but at least had the gumption to "make it a true daily double," and Abby was wafting around like dust in the wind (though she did rock the "Soaps and Series" category). I'll allow you to stew in your own stereotypical juices.

Mid-way through the first round, Alex Trebek did his little chit-chat session with the contestants. It's always interesting to hear about what people are doing with their lives. Yet, at the same time, it often sets my mind in motion, and I end up irritated. Why? Because, after 40-something years on the planet, I've reached the point that I really dislike how we put each other into tidy little boxes that contain our name and our occupation, thereby implying our income. This leads to an unspoken equating of not just our financial worth, but indeed our social worth as well. Like it or not, you know it's true. Perhaps you don't do this, but society at large does. It's as if there is some grand totem pole. The more you make, the higher up you go.

Why is that? Why do people that happen to perform jobs for which they are highly compensated end up being held in such high regard, as if they are somehow more interesting - more knowing - more....valuable?   Celebrities and athletes are the worst, walking around so pompously, tossing out their opinions as if they are somehow more valid than anyone else's. Why do we feed this frenzy?  It's as if we've come to accept that the more money you have, the more worthy you must be of that money. "He worked hard to get where he is today." Really? Was it genuine hard work or was it average work and a whole lotta luck? What qualifies as hard work? Six hours stocking shelves at Wal-Mart followed by four hours making fries at Mickey D's? Three hours hanging out in an office followed by two hours at lunch followed by three more hours of meetings? What's more difficult, jobs that are labor-intensive or those that come with high responsibility? There's no easy answer, which is why I wish it didn't matter.

I wish we could see each other as God does. I think if God were introducing the Jeopardy contestants it would sound something like this:  "Our first contestant is my child Abby. She spends her days admiring and caring for the beautiful children I have bestowed upon her. She talks to me often and is a patient, fair, and honest soul. She worries too much about what she doesn't have, but she is also grateful for what she does have. I love her. Next is my child Brad. I don't hear from him very often. In fact, he denied my existence during his early adult years but has recently been asking for my help. He is generous with his money but often uses it to bring attention to himself. I love him. Our final contestant is my child Carl. Carl and I are very close. He talks to me every day and finds clever ways to incorporate me into his conversations with his friends. He trusts me to take care of him but worries that he is not worthy of my love. I love him."

Yes, I think we'd all be better off if we could ditch the labels. Strip the CEO of his title, take away the custodian's mop, remove the robe and gavel from the judge, and let the farmer rest. What really matters is that we're all God's children.

For the record, don't bother googling last night's Jeopardy episode to find out how things turned out. Abby, Brad, and Carl exist only in my mind. I didn't even watch Jeopardy last night. I enjoy the challenge of playing along with the contestants, but to be honest I can barely tolerate Alex Trebek. I find him to be arrogant and condescending. ("Ooooooo, noooooooo, you picked the wrong one!") Hey Alex, it's pretty easy when you're holding the answer card, isn't it? And the worst is when he over exaggerates his French accent. ("This modern-day Canadian city was once known as Ville-Marie, settled by Paul Chomeday de Maissoneuve." Go ahead, say it out loud like he would. You know you want to.) I'm actually embarrassed for him in those moments, as I'm sure the rest of the viewing audience must be rolling their eyes or at least shaking their heads at his narcissism. And then I smile, remembering that he's one of God's children too.

(By the way, the answer is Montreal.)

Tears

It's Easter Sunday, and I'm emotional.

That's really saying something, because I'm not the type to show much emotion. I'm the steady one in the crowd. I don't go "ooh" and "aah" over much, I rarely raise my voice, and in general I'm just fairly unmoved by most things.

I rarely cry. Even when I'm watching a sad movie or television program, I don't cry. I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say I've never cried over a movie or show, but I'd be hard pressed to remember such an occasion. To me, things just aren't sad when they aren't real. Even when a scene reminds me of something that was real, my brain reminds me that what I'm watching isn't real, so it's not sad, so I don't cry.

But today, I'm emotional. I woke up thinking about the wonder of this day, and the reality of what Jesus Christ did for me, and the emotion of it all has been overwhelming. At Mass I listened to the words of our priest, and I was moved to tears. My tears were the joyful kind. I wasn't sobbing, and it wasn't the kind of crying in which my nose got puffy and needed to be blown. I guess you could say I was weeping - gently releasing a stream of tears that seemed to be my soul's way of dealing with the fact that I've received a gift I cannot repay.

As the day has gone by, I've talked to various family members all across the country. We've shared Easter greetings, laughed, discussed politics, and just enjoyed our conversations. I didn't cry, even though I miss my family. Maybe this morning's tears have left me all "cried out" for the day.

Or maybe not. After dinner tonight I was watching the Masters golf tournament. I actually enjoy watching golf, even if some people do compare it to watching grass grow. It was actually a battle to the end, with two competitors going into a sudden death playoff. When the winner made his final putt, he turned to receive a hug from his caddy. His emotions took over, and he broke down in tears. You could actually see his upper body shaking even though his head was buried  into his caddy's shoulder. His family members were there to hug him, along with many of his close friends, and at times the camera would zoom in on this display of raw emotion. It was all very real.

And so I cried.