Most Reverend Jerome E. Listecki
Archbishop of Milwaukee
 

Smells are interesting. They tickle the nose, at least most smells, and they can certainly engage the memory.

In summer, there is always the smell of cut grass, barbeques burning ribs and, if you’re close enough, the smell of the lake.

In fall, there is the smell of burning leaves, which places me in a memory of a burning campfire, an evening outside needing a jacket or a heavy sweater, and the moon with a light red tinge.          

In winter, I would walk home from school and pass Marek’s Bakery Shop, and the smell of fresh-baked rye bread. If we were good, Mom would buy a loaf. If it was still warm, the butter melted on the slice you were putting into your mouth.

In the spring before pollen invaded my sinuses, there was the smell of the morning and the buds on the trees. For me, this was baseball weather. I had hibernated long enough – out came the baseball mitt. Mine was a Wilson, autographed by Clete Boyer, who was a third baseman for the New York Yankees. It would be oiled and made ready, being stiff after its long sleep. The bat was a 29-inch Louisville Slugger, scarred and chipped from past engagements. When it was wiped clean, it revealed an Al Kaline autograph. With these weapons of spring, I would make my way to the park and participate in spring training for the Little League competition.

A spring day always brought together future all-stars. We learned quickly the joys of victory and the agony of defeat. I believe the words were that one built character by suffering the losses. I now know why my character is so solid.

We were never like the Little League you’d see on television, with the near-professional stadium. Ours was just the park, so if you could hit a ball past the outfielder, it would roll forever and you’d have a home run. Parents and relatives would come and watch the games, sitting on park benches or lawn chairs brought from home (they were definitely working off their purgatory time).

The play was often painful, as most children’s sports are, filled with errors and miscues, but there was an innocent spirit of the love of the game, and family supported that passion. This would be a spirit that would generate the fans of the future, always calling to mind the dreams of the big leagues when they were wearing the uniform of their Little League team (I played for the Phillies). We couldn’t chew tobacco like our idols, but we would load our cheeks with Bazooka bubble gum. The gum was in those baseball card wrappers, and the bulge in our cheeks would make us feel like big-leaguers.

It was a time of innocence, when the future was wide open and the dreams were big. Even now, when I smell the buds of spring and bubble gum, I am back on the field wearing my Phillies uniform with my 29-inch Louisville Slugger perched on my shoulder, waiting to take my turn at bat, hoping for a win.

Through Jesus, we recapture our innocence, and are offered a future which fulfills the dreams of all believers to be one with our God. It’s the smell of holiness when we LOVE ONE ANOTHER.
 

Note: This blog originally appeared as the May 23, 2017 "Love One Another" email sent to Catholics throughout the Archdiocese of Milwaukee by Archbishop Jerome E. Listecki. If you are interested in signing up for these email messages, please click here.