Choices through the SEA of LIFE

By James Benedict

Choices through the Sea of Life is a story about a young man who grew-up in Maine after WWII and wrestled with the core values to navigate through the labyrinth of life. From MUG, midshipmen under guidance, in a merchant marine academy to becoming a monk in a Benedictine Monastery, life became a struggle to sort out his values. The endless haras

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Sep 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949804263

James Benedict

he author is a baby-boomer raised in Maine shortly after WWII. Raised in a rural town along the Kennebec River, graduated from the Maine Maritime Academy with an engineer's license, BS degree and an officer's commission for the United States Navy. Sailed the seas to the west coast of Africa from Dakar, Senegal to the Cape of Good Hope. He became disillusioned with many things that he witnessed, especially the harsh ways people were treated. From the trials and tribulations of life, he was inspired to enter a Benedictine Monastery and Jesus touched his heart. Under the Benedictine tutelage, he learned about spirituality, scripture and asceticism well under the name of Br. James.He left the monastery before simple vows and the trials and tribulations of life were thrust upon him once again. The result of his knowledge and wisdom gained from the monks and the continuation to practice his faith is the impetus of his writings. He worked for Union Camp / International Paper for 34 years as an engineer. Presently enjoying his retirement between his grandchildren and writing, hence the pen-name of James Benedict.

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Choices through the Sea of Life

James Benedict

Copyright © 2018 by James Benedict.

Paperback: 978-1-949804-25-6

eBook: 978-1-949804-26-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the Benedictine Fathers and Brothers who continually seek and serve Him above and who have influenced my life.

Your talents are for God.

Proceeds from this book go to charity.

Contents

Part I – The Beginning Choices

Part II - MUGS

Part III - Traditions

Part IV - Mug’s First Cruise

Part V - Post Cruise

Part VI - Third Class Year

Part VII - African Cruise

Part VIII - Upper Classmen Years

Part IX - Transition Years

Part X - The Flight

Part XI - Novitiate

Part XII - Zeal of a Monk

Part XIII - The Struggle

Part XIV - Life’s Twists & Turns

Part I – The Beginning Choices

T op of the mor ning!

Life is a precious gift; I’m just all thumbs with the wrappings!

Today we live in a society where it is too easy to take a pill, push a button or pull the trigger without thinking of the consequences of our choices. People get lost in cyber space instead of inner spirituality. Discretion, commitment and integrity have little meaning for many people and developing our personal relationship with the One who gave us that gift of life seems to have dwindled away. Many of our youth today have grown with such a disdain for that precious gift, that they are willing to throw it away so recklessly violent in many of our schools. People have cluttered their lives with so much materiality that they have pushed out the most essential element of life, God! It definitely takes experiencing a lifetime to appreciate that precious gift! So, how does one set a course to navigate through the labyrinth of life? We must first allow God in our lives, if we ever expect any good to come out of our lives.

God gives us that precious gift of life and the necessary gifts of the spirit to help us through life, but as we walk through the labyrinth, we have choices to make. The choices we make in life can take us closer to the truth or further away. Not all choices are the right choices. How we react to the wrong choices and fully utilize the right choices can make a big difference in our life as well as affecting others we encounter along the way. Since God created the world and all that is in our world, He perceives and thinks outside the box. Individuals then need to transcend outside of their box and communicate to Him through prayer. This is the first vital choice that each of us needs to make. Everyone has asked the questions of why, how and is there, at some point in their life. Questions are much easier to conceive than finding the answers. It seems today that the indiscretions of individuals within formalized religion have turned many from the truth instead of helping us find the answers. The very essence of all religions is to bring our mind; heart and soul in focus on God our Father. He sent His son to show us the way, for life is the beginning journey of the soul.

This is a story of one such trek through the labyrinth or should I say in the labyrinth for I haven’t made it yet. Each of us needs to open our hearts to Him and life will teach us some very essential elements to help us get through it! Growing up in America during the fifties were simple years, there were rules for everything; home, school, church, work, service and the list went on and on! If one obeyed those rules life was great but if not, it seemed your life was temporarily shipwrecked until you got back on course. It was definitely a time for God, baseball and mom’s homemade apple pie, and that is where I come into the picture for I was born in 1949. Yes the year that NATO was founded, I was born between the end of the Great War and the beginning of the cold war, the baby boom era. It was a time of the Truman Doctrine and the Marshall Plan. McCarthyism was just around the corner and this was a time of so called peace. God help us! It was a time of paranoia and suspicions, a time of prejudice and being bias. Growing up in an era from Korea to Vietnam, from racial segregation to civil rights, from great bands to great groups, outer space exploration to expression of inner feelings, life became a struggle to sort out our values.

My dad had been back from the war now for two years and it was time to start a family. There is nothing like love to heal all wounds. Dad was born of both Irish and Scottish descent of the Protestant faith. My mother was born of the French, Catholic persuasion. And as in most religious and ethnic differences shall the two never mix. It’s sort of like oil and vinegar, unless you lovingly shake them together. During the war dad had served his entire campaign in the Pacific with the marines at such death defiant places like Guam, Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Solomon Islands and Okinawa. Surviving through that many bloody campaigns in one piece is nothing short of a miracle. To make it through Hell and back, a man’s faith is either deepened or lost; there is no in between! And there wasn’t a church on every corner. But there were military chaplains in many of the outfits. In dad’s particular outfit there was a Catholic chaplain who told the men that after storming the beach and taking a foothold, he would set up a tent to say a short mass and give communion before they penetrated the island. He then said something that affected dad for the rest of his life for he told them that God would not let anyone get hurt while receiving communion. Most of the men figured that this might be their last chance to receive communion. Dad wanted more than anything right now to attend that Mass. He explained to the priest that he was Protestant. The chaplain just smiled and said, This Mass was for anyone that wanted to attend. Well with God’s help, those courageous chaplains and their ten-minute masses; dad got through the war. Through his experiences he decided right then and there to deepen his faith and form a lasting relationship with God. Personal relationship and prayer with Him is the sextant of life to set our course for continuous improvement to heaven. Faith is the keel from which we need to build our life.

Growing up in America didn’t matter whether it was a small town or large city because bigotry played no favorites. Whether it is race, religion or what have you, prejudices of every form have a way to infiltrate and cross all boundaries. And even in a small, beautiful town of New England, the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant lived at one end of town while the French speaking Catholics lived at the other end. It didn’t matter much to my dad on whom you were or where you’re from; he fell in love with a young candy striper at one of the local hospitals. The way I understood it he told all to whom it may concern that he had been through one war and he didn’t really want to go through another. But if that’s what it’s going to take to marry this girl, then so be it. After a short honeymoon on China Lake and two years of wedding bliss, I was born. Now isn’t that something? Two years of wedding bliss! Most couples today cannot survive two years of marriage. Hearing my grandmother tell it I was the cutest blond, blue eyed toe-head with a beaming smile and dimples to boot! Not that I was any angel. For hearing the way my other grandmother tell it she says, I was a rascal with a capital R mischievous and full of hell that enjoyed locking her up in the closet when we played hide and seek. Most kids as they grew up either collected rocks or seashells but as for me, I collected red bottoms.

There were many fond memories while growing up for I was fortunate to have a very loving family that cared and a sister that was four years younger. We were close and most of the time she became my shadow. Caring meant sharing in everything and doing it together. It didn’t matter if it were chores, playing, praying or even doing homework; it was a time for togetherness. Learning how to swim in the ocean, fish for the big one from my grandfathers, pitching a curve ball in baseball from dad or sing a hymn for church, enjoyment came from teaching. Even making cookies with mom was fun for I got to eat as many as I decorated. Life was great as long as one stuck to the basics of life. No lying, no cheating and no skipping out on God! We went to church every Sunday, no if, ands or buts! Why I remember one Sunday that my Uncle Bailey stayed home because he had worked late the night before while the rest of his family went to church. Once my Great grandmother found out that he wasn’t present, she marched out of the church and right to his house. She stormed through the front door grabbing the first available object there was and chased my uncle Bailey to church admonishing him with a broom all the way!

Life was simple, carefree and things didn’t change much until about the fourth grade, then all hell broke loose because of moving, girls and fractions. Change brought about adjusting to a new school, church and learning how to fight. There seems to be no end to change except for our faith, which needs to be stable to maturate. Like I said, Life was simple! It was an era when everyone took the time to cut down their favorite Christmas tree, make your own Christmas cards and gather at grandma’s house for the holidays. Development through the transition from childhood to adolescent one becomes aware of going through more changes, not necessarily being aware of just what all those changes mean but simply accepting them. Once you accept change then things never stop! First came our new television set followed by the family car and then the personal telephone. No more party lines to hear whether Mrs. Thompson’s corns hurt or not. But there were also subtle changes within those transitions that aren’t readily visible. For example, those Friday evening fights that dad and I listened to on the radio were discontinued when dad watched them on television, because my folks felt that they were too bloody for me to watch. Or walking together on dad’s day off to go downtown to pay the bills and stopping to get an ice cream was changed once he could do those chores during his lunch break with the car. Progress is good but it did interrupt our time for togetherness. Television was neat, because you had choices and togetherness, unlike the computer that isolates everyone. My younger sister liked to watch Howdy Doodie and Pinkie Lee. I was more into the sophisticated shows such as Ozzie and Harriet and Wirley Birds. Now my folks really enjoyed Ed Sullivan, The Gary Moore Show and Red Skelton. My folks would laugh and get the biggest kick out of the Gary Moore Show because they had this new comedian who was contagious and made his ratings go sky high. Her name was Carol something and at the end of the show when Gary Moore would introduce his guest to come out and take a bow, Carol would always come out and pull on her ear. This little signal became a tradition for Carol to let her family know back home that everything was fine. Well, one week she came out but she didn’t pull on her ear. My God, you would have thought that it was the end of the world for my mother! She fretted all week until the next show about what is wrong with Carol. Like I said, Life was simple and life was great! But there are always bumps in life that cause one to adapt.

Adaptation is one of the prerequisites of life if we are to survive. And there are different forms and levels of adaptation such as physical, mental and the most important spiritual. Well my time had come for one of the simpler forms. Learning how to fight as far as I was concerned went against everything that life stood for. I guess you could say that up to the fourth grade, I was a bona fide sissy. This led to much frustration for my dad being an x-marine and all and having a son who wouldn’t even make a fist to defend himself. Well, every community has a bully and this particular bully had a reputation that I knew of rather well because I ran from this guy just about every week, except for this particular week. He was out of reform school and I don’t know why he was hanging around the grammar school for he was old enough to be an eighth grader. But he was chasing this one poor unsuspecting soul and ran right into my younger sister, who was in kindergarten, knocking her to the ground. I ran over to console her from her crying. Then unhesitatingly and unaware that both of my fist were clinched, I ran over to that unsuspecting jerk.

I kicked him in the groin so hard that he came down to my size and gave him an upper cut that sent blood spewing from his nose. That day began the end of running for me and I wore my newly acquired reputation, the masher, proudly. But with that newly acquired reputation came more adaptations and adjustments. Life will never be the same! For that bout with the bully, I walked away unscathed. But my next bout at catechism caused me all sorts of trouble. I was going to have to learn that turning the other cheek was the ideal way to settle differences at times.

I had gotten into a skirmish with another bully face to face. And this time I didn’t have the advantage of a surprise attack. We both wound up with bloody noses to the chagrin of Father Holahand. By the scuff of our necks he led us next store to the Boy’s Club with the admonishment that if boys will be boys then you settle your differences properly in the boxing ring with the best Irish brogue that I have ever heard. He went on to say in his marvelous brogue, God made the Irish for three great things, to be great Catholics, to be great drinkers and to be great fighters! That incident became the debut of my boxing days and a lesson learned from Father Holahand. For once we had finished in the ring and got cleaned up the assistant coach, Bobby Mulroney; another good Irishman led us back to Father Holahand’s office. The years were not gentle to Father Holahand for he had wrinkles in his face for all his 72 years of life. He smiled as we were ushered into his office. I loved his Irish brogue as he talked, Now my young Jack Dempsey, he chuckled, what have we learned from all of this? Our minds hadn’t developed as quickly as our fist for action but Father Holahand was an understanding soul and enjoyed the youth and all of the trials that it brought. Our bewilderment to his question told him that we didn’t have a clue. Now, now boys, he started to say, it’s not good to have hate in ones heart. He went on to say, as water reflects a face, so a man’s heart reflects the man or boy in our case. If you have differences then you must learn to settle them civilly or when all else fails, then in the ring. For every good Irishmen knows that God made the boxing ring for Irishmen. Then he asked us, Do you know how many types of sin there are? Now I remember my Uncle Bailey just last week explaining that one to my Great grandmother. So I felt very confident that I knew the answer as I replied, yes I do! They are venial, mortal and atheist. That response got us a chuckle from Father Holahand, a pat on the head and a dismissal back to class.

Family love makes a great deal of sense when God’s love is the center of it. For God’s love is the mortar to build a strong marriage. Growing up one had to remember a few rules. Say your prayers, brush your teeth and don’t piss off dad! Otherwise life just flowed. Sports and grandparents were great; school wasn’t so bad, stay away from girls and never but never complain about going to church on Sunday. In fact the only things that I found difficult in life always began with the letter C, cauliflower, catechism and confession. Cauliflower was difficult to swallow but what really made life difficult were two words, Baltimore Catechism. It was like an itch that came during the first grade and lasted until confirmation. I couldn’t scratch it away. I remember asking the question once in school, What is Baltimore Catechism? It seemed to echo as I asked the question. And as quickly as I asked the question the reply from mother superior resounded with, it was the approved catechism by the archbishop of Baltimore, Cardinal James Gibbons, on April 6, 1885 and is the official text for religious instruction of the Catholic Church. I often thought back then that when the church referred to the infallibility of the church that they were referring to the flawlessness of the nuns. After class I asked my cousin Mark, if this place Baltimore was a faraway place from Waterfalls, Maine? Oh yes, he replied, I think it’s in New Hampshire.

When most children started school and learned how to read, they usually began with I see Dick and Jane run. See Spot fetch the ball. But what did we begin with? Immaculate Conception, Redemption, Assumption and Eucharist, God help us! In the first grade I felt like a dummy because I had no idea what these words meant. Now being in the fourth grade, I was still dumbfounded by these words. Due to my intimidation, my appreciation and understanding of these beautiful terms would come much later in life. But the one thing that I definitely owe to the Baltimore Catechism is that I could recite every prayer and teachings by heart and to the letter. And every time I hear the question, what is a Sacrament? I can unhesitatingly respond with all the ies dotted and tees crossed that a Sacrament is an outward sign instituted by Jesus Christ to give Grace. It was much later in life when I grasped the beauty and brilliance of our catechism. The repetitiveness and regimentation of learning our faith was incredible.

The other C word was confession. To a youngster going to confession and those long, long lines prior to Vatican II was like a death march. I would get in line behind my parents and take the first of our many step treks while reciting to myself the Act of Contrition. O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you. I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen. Take another step and recite it again and reflect on my sins. By the time I got up to the confessional I had recited the Act of Contrition some 40 times. I stood before the curtain and I knew the long awaited moment was near. The curtain flew open and I stepped inside. It felt like the clouds above parted and God was looking down upon me. I just starred at the small trap door in front of me with the palms of my hands getting sweaty and my throat parched. The priest slid open the small trap door and all I could mutter was, Oh my God help, help, help me!

I consider myself very fortunate and well blessed having grown up in a family that practiced their faith. Weekends and holidays meant one thing; going to church and visiting the grandparents. We would always see relatives and friends at church. And visiting grandparents reassured the family unit because you would always see aunts, uncles and cousins. That family bond was close! We played, prayed and worked together. Whether it was going with Uncle Don and my cousin John to get a Christmas tree or playing with my cousins; we seemed to be inseparable. Even when we played and got into trouble, we were punished together. Life seemed great! It was a time when you knew your family and neighbors, doors were never locked, not even church doors; courtesy, respect and trust meant something. Pride meant doing a good job in whatever one did, not titles and how much money did one make. These intrinsic values followed you in life and affected every aspect of life. Teachers could teach because kids were disciplined; church was quiet because children behaved and adults were respectful of others; employers were more trusting because people were more dependable; employees took pride in their work and gave meaning to the word service. Boy, have times changed!

As we grow in life, we grope to mature and hopefully spiritually develop. Many of us are not always conscious of the subtle developments as to the ethereal and its effect on our intrinsic values. In the groping we discover things about ourselves that deepens our insights. It is sort of like young children hungry to learn new things in school. When we lose that hunger, we lose the desire to learn. It is exactly the same way with the groping; once we stop groping in life, we stop developing inside. We must set our course early in life and never lose sight of Him. One of our goals in life needs to be Heaven. Church is the lifesaving vessel through the waters of baptism, just as Noah’s Ark was the life saving vessel through the floodwaters. The religion that we choose to practice our faith is the navigation chart of customary paths to plot our way to Heaven. The social duty of any religion is to safeguard the revealed attitudes, beliefs and practices of genuine worship to God, which have been established by His Son. It is a sad state of affairs that there are few today that hold authority in the church who do not uphold God’s law. They tarnish the good that is done.

During the fifth grade it was a time of discovery, a reawakening physically, emotionally and spiritually. There were two words that were never spoken openly in our family. The C word and the D word which stood for cancer and divorce. We lived on a street that had fifty single-family dwellings and not one single divorce. When the first divorce came in the 60’s, no one had any inclination until the couple separated and moved. Times have certainly changed about staying together and working things out. I had often heard my parents refer to the C word but wasn’t sure what it meant. That year the C word disrupted our life as it invaded the lives of both family and friends. Up to this point in my life I thought that only women cried and men didn’t shed a tear. Then I learned a startling thing as I approached my folk’s bedroom one night to ask dad a question. The door to their bedroom was ajar and all I could see was dad kneeling by the bed, tears streaming down his face, praying to the crucifix hung on the wall. The words were audible but not very clear, as I stood dumbfounded and paralyzed to what he was saying. My grandmother used to say that bad news travels in threes. I knew that I should leave him to his privacy but my legs wouldn’t move. As the shock set in that dad was diagnosed with cancer, I completely forgot my question. And then to add to the shock, a close friend of dad’s died of a heart attack. Now I wanted to run right in there and put my arms around dad and tell him just how much I loved him more than anything else. But he wasn’t so much praying for himself as he was for Aunt Ruthie who was also diagnosed with cancer. I don’t know what the impetus was to cause me to move but I quietly went to my room, shut the door, cried and prayed. That year I learned that women cried and prayed openly while men did it privately.

The next few days were somber days around the house between the bad news, the funeral and not knowing what was next. And to top it all off, I wasn’t supposed to know any of it. Then there was my sister who was unsuspecting to any of it. Naturally she still wanted to play games and do what all six-year-old youngsters enjoyed most, pestering their older brother. I felt responsible to keep my sister occupied so mom and dad had some breathing room to sort things out. At least now I had some understanding as to why mom was crying so much. One particular time I unsuspectingly entered the house and found mom crying. I tried in vain to console her and mistakenly let the information out of the bag about knowing dad’s condition by saying that dad would be all right. To her amazement and my surprise we weren’t on the same wavelength. She had been watching the news on TV, which was reporting about Nikita Khrushchev’s trip to the United States. He was addressing the UN and at one climatic point removed one of his shoes and banged it on the podium all the while shouting defiant words at the United States, We will bury you! Those harsh words from the cold war era heighten tension in the world and affected our way of life for many. Air raid drills at school and bomb shelters at both home and in public shelters became commonplace. The tension even grew worst when Fidel Castro assumed power in Cuba in 59. The rest of the year was like a blur between dad’s operation to remove his malignant tumor and his long stay in the hospital for radiation treatment. Mom was busy as ever trying to keep the household together while family and friends tended to my sister. Then word came that our cousin Pam died. She had rheumatic fever for years and was never able to play in running games with us, but boy could she play the piano! As I said earlier it was a year of growing pains and rediscovery.

On weekends we would stay at our grandparent’s home. I remember asking my grandfather, Why did people have to die? He just smiled and sat down in his comfortable chair and had me sit on the arm of his chair. He sort of wiped his eyes with his hand and rubbed his forehead as if to contemplate the question himself. Then he slowly started to speak while smiling to reassure me that everything would be all right. You know grandson that life is a gift, and only God has the right to call that gift back when He so chooses. That sometimes He calls us whether we are young, middle age or old to show us just how fleeting and precious that gift is. But it’s to also show us how dependent we are on Him and not to become so independent in this life. We always need God in our hearts to do the right thing! And His love for us is so great that He sent His only Son to show us the way and then die for us!

The impact of those words would stay with me for the rest of my life.

The trials and tribulations in life forge our strength and the unexpected exhilarating times burst forth with pleasure like the fourth of July. Every three years there was an event that occurred in the late fifties in our town when the circus arrives and promenades down one of our main streets. What a frolicking exuberant time it made for the whole town. We lived on Francis Street which was right next to Western Avenue where the circus marched into town. The gaiety of children’s laughter and the sheer enjoyment of all made it worthwhile to line the streets and watch the huge elephants lead the parade with the band cascading to the sound of A Circus is coming to town. Those pleasurable times made us forget our woe’s.

There is a part of growing up that I have never understood. Developing physically, mentally and spiritually there were a number of values we had to learn but there were also a number of vices we had to learn to overcome. And as the saying goes, Gold is tested in fire, so too must we be tested in fire to