He is Risen. Same Old, Same Old?

Good Friday, good day. Much better than last year. It’s not snowing, the sun’s out and I’m not driving home from divorce court.

But Good Friday -- what do we do with that? Good Catholics will go to church on Sunday. I’m planning on taking my son to a church near downtown that has the best choir in the city. We may even go to church tonight.

Are we supposed to be solemn today, or should we rejoice? For those who believe, our sins are forgiven. Hooray, "our sins are forgiven". Words heard often in church. This weekend, let’s boil some eggs and color them, have some ham and mustard, don’t forget that little butter lamb. And drink a whole lot of wine on Sunday. Saturday, too. Make it red.

My nose hit the rug this morning, not from wine. It is like turning on a phone line to God. He showed me -- after He gently pushed aside my babble -- the Lord going up, ascending to Heaven with his scars, which he will always bear. But I saw the ones he took for me.

THAT’S the holiday. I am happy and I am sad. But I still rejoice because I still believe, shaken though my faith has been lately. Just let me keep telling people about you, Lord, and let us all tell each other and celebrate the “You” that’s in all of us, provided we’ve taken that step and crossed over the threshold of light as John Paul wrote.

Alleluia! Life is renewed every day, the moment we wake up. Because of you.

They're Not Exactly Goosestepping in Germany Anymore

I stood in front of these ovens in 1973. In fact, when we asked the young lady at the information desk in Munich where to catch the train (or bus) that went to Dachau, she put her head down.

Point being, there is no way President Obama could have possibly offended the Germans by going to Normandy. All former presidents have done so. From my experience, Germans are ashamed of Nazism. They are no longer beholden to the psychopath that held them emotionally and mentally hostage from about 1923-1945.

I'm not so sure what they teach at Harvard, but it doesn't speak well to even dream that the German people, especially the ones who were alive in his era, relate to Hitler. Or his Fascism.

Back to '73. We got off the train at a wrong stop on our way to Stuttgart. It was night. The town was Esslingen. Not your average tourist stop. We saw a light on in what turned out to be a tavern. A tavern in Europe is often a grand thing and a family thing. It was so in '73.

No one spoke English, but the patrons were friendly and put us at ease. I was traveling with a young lady (yes, girlfriend) and another young lady we had met who was from Australia. Her name was Pam. She had come to Europe to ski because it was summer Down Under and snow was plentiful in December on the slopes of the Alps.

The guys in the bar, we found out -- keep in mind the year -- were all ex-Nazi soldiers. Not to worry, Mom. She'd have flipped.

They were courteous, helped us with our German. They not only bought us all the great beer we wanted, but they bought us dinner and paid for our bus ride to Stuttgart. But that's jumping the gun.

They knew we were American students, of course. I got that they sincerely wanted to treat us well. They had fought our fathers in WW2 and my take (I was 22 at the time), was that they wanted to make amends and show us the good people that they were.

Don't mean to go on about this, but one of the gentlemen -- he had been a sergeant -- kept teasing me, asking which of the girls was my "Freundin" ("girlfriend". Please correct me on the spelling, but I got the drift back then). "Ah! Ya, this one!"

When it came time to leave -- we had already explained our predicament -- they called for info on the best way to get to Stuttgart. Trains were done running for the night, so they insisted on getting us a cab and paying for it. I really felt bad imposing. We decided to take the bus. At some point in the conversation we had gotten up to leave. One of the ex-soldiers grabbed my coat sleeve. I pulled away and he quickly let go, not wanting to offend. Despite a couple of beers, he put his head down.

These gentlemen insisted on paying for the bus. We thanked them for everything, hugged and said goodbye. I understood, even then, that they were no longer Nazis. If anything, they wanted forgiveness for following the utter fool who led them astray.

So let's get with it, Pres. Obama. Go back to Normandy and stand proudly before the graves of those who made the Ultimate Sacrifice and stopped Nazi Germany from conquering the world and throwing all of its people into a burning pit. The survivors are grateful. America and the Allies did the right thing. Be proud.

Back to that bus. It wasn't a long ride, but we went along the Romantic Road through the Black Forest at night with a bright moon that edge-lit the tips of the pines. I kissed my girlfriend the whole way.

Shoo, Bop Bop Bop Bop

They're talking about a new park for the Cubs. Zambrano wants one and for a pretty good reason: it's 2009. Could have said the same in 1995. Everything about Wrigley Field being "baseball", the franchise, the legacy, is absolutely true. But when does diminishing returns prompt action? The object of the sport is to win, right? If the Cubs had 2 or 3 championships under their belt since 1945, then, OK, the machine is greased -- keep the park, repair it, expand it. But if a new park is the edge the team needs to reach that Ultimate Victory, then build it. Tear down Wrigley, put up a new one. How about taking Wrigley apart, brick by brick, and moving it to Kane County? Or Iowa? Or Cooperstown?