What Price Glory?

• Retirement? Usefulness? Alone; forgotten. What value all my work? All forget. Why did I exist?
• Does it matter if I go on? Who benefits from my suffering? Should I abandon friends, as they do me?
• All the accomplishments, all the lauds --- gone.

Tonight I meditated on the Sorrowful Mysteries, and when I came to the third mystery, The Crowning With Thorns, I read the above lines for meditation, and more. My thoughts drifted, as always, between Christ’s life and sorrows, and mine. But tonight they swayed more toward mine, and stayed there.

When I retired my life changed. My life’s focus changed, from caring for my employer’s company, to caring for my mom. Certainly, I am sure, my focus now is more rewarding in God’s eyes --- all caring for others is, and especially for our parents. It’s what Jesus’ “job” on earth was, caring for others. And there are many days when I appreciate my new retirement job, and my blessings.

But not always.

If you’ve led a successful career, whether in the eyes of others, or even if just in your own eyes, how do you step away from that focus and not miss it, and not feel less useful? How do generals retire, and wake up with no army saluting them? How do mothers retire and wake up to no sounds of children in the house? How do you not hear the quiet?

I think perhaps like the rich man, a successful person also has some difficulty getting into heaven. Success in this life makes you enjoy it too much, seek the glory given by others too much, even if it’s only from your children (and then, even if only sometimes). Many of us, myself included, are used to saying: “Life is good,” because so often it has been good for us. We appreciate its goodness, and even give thanks to God, that we are blessed here.

But we were not born to be blessed here. We were not born to receive praise and glory here. We were not born to live only here.

How easily we forget those things, and even before we leave this life, begin missing it.

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately with a friend’s mother, who is very ill in the hospital. Recently out of the ICU --- finally --- she faces a long road to recovery, to whatever life she will be capable of, to the degree her body can heal. I was told tonight that I was a major factor in her recovery thus far, that someone’s presence there mattered very much to her. And I’m sure it did.

But then I read those meditations tonight and remembered. Once there were praises, accomplishments, lauds. Now I am a “presence”. A warm body to indicate to another, that “someone” cares. I’ve been that warm body to a number of friends, and in truth often that is all I am to my mother, a presence she wants, and sometimes needs. But there’s no applause anymore. It’s so quiet. I know that the other day I wrote about the importance of those who are there for another, the job they do, even the one I do, and these people cannot be lauded enough. But they aren’t, and there’s the rub. It’s a hard job to do, and probably most people don’t have the guts to do it, to really love their neighbor --- unless they get something back, some applause, some lauds.

I guess it’s fortunate that I have these thoughts, and write them tonight, in a chapel. As I write, musing on my self-pity, wondering how to conclude this melancholy note of my thoughts, I looked up and saw the tabernacle. And I heard the quiet here. For hours now, it’s been just He and I alone, me in my prayers -- and then sorrows -- and He in His “presence,” just a presence with me, who needed someone there with him this night.

I wallowed in some level of self-pity about ONLY being a presence, but that is what Jesus is to me. And I very much do appreciate the importance of my knowing that He is there. He doesn’t have to work miracles for me each day, all He needs do is listen to my prayers (or moanings), He doesn’t even have to answer. I am content, deeply content, knowing that he is present with me. His “presence” is important.

Thank You, Lord.

I guess I’ve moved on past my self-pity, thinking I have no value. St. Francis, who often prayed alone, Mother Teresa who helped the dying on dirty smelly streets as others walked by, and God here this night in this chapel, they were present for others when no one else would be. They received no applause and little recognition, but they did and still do some of the most important work in the world, God’s work.

I am humbled to be able to serve, to be and instrument of His peace. I and every other person on this earth are important, as part of this body and family of God. There is no greater glory in this life.