Riccardo to Me

 

I just listened to Episode 151, Fr. John Riccardo’s Ash Wednesday podcast (Thoughts from the Trailer with Fr. John Riccardo).  He said Lent is a time for refining who we are, to grow to in the image of Jesus.  He spoke that he once heard that a goldsmith knows it is time to take the iron our of the fire when all he sees is gold, “all the dross is removed”.  “Ouch,” Fr. John said, “I know I have a lot of dross.”

 These last few days, I’ve been visiting my doctor, initially to help remove a wax buildup in my ears.  But after treatment, he noted that a spot of wax remained on my right eardrum.  So, he did the treatment again (Ouch that hurt).  He noted that a little bleeding began in my ear, and put a treatment on it and said all would be okay.  It was simple.

Only it wasn’t.  That last treatment didn’t stop the bleeding, and so the next day I went to him again, noting I could not hear in that ear.  A further treatment, and he assured me all was well, but my ear remained totally blocked (who knows why: wax or blood or treatment stuff or ---).

Did you know that suddenly hearing from only one ear confuses your brain?  My phone rang and, hearing it in my good left ear, I reached to answer it, but to my surprise it wasn’t there on my left.  I looked and saw it there to my right.  At mass this morning the music seemed way too loud, and yet I could hear the woman in front of me make a little sniffle.

Back to the doctor again. He saw some of the last “fix” had dried and was on the eardrum, so he removed that noting “well now there’s a tiny bit of blood, but we’ll fix that.”  And three hours later, I still don’t hear in that ear.  The doctor’s office just called and said that they’d sent a prescription for me to the local pharmacy.  When I was in the doctor’s office this last visit, I had told him and his admin that this was the last time this week, no matter what.  I’d let my ear heal for a few days --- and perhaps get used to hearing in only one ear.

A bible study friend of mine is totally blind, as is Andrea Bocelli.  My friend is seeking to start a ministry for the homeless, and Bocelli is probably the best tenor singer in the whole world.  I just listened to a Bocelli DVD last week.  He sang so beautifully and movingly, as Pope John Paul II’s life and death and burial filled the screen. The ending made me cry with its beauty.

That’s what Fr. Riccardo was also reminding us with his Lenten meditation.  Now is a time to focus on our dross, to make ourselves better, even if it is painful, and to live our lives as best we can, as are my blind friend and Bocelli --- and perhaps me with only one good ear.  And the reason for our accepting that imperfect reality?  Look ahead; the Resurrection, Easter and a new glorious life are coming our way.  Fr. Riccardo’s talk was a great reminder of why we accept and even welcome pain. And if we have been avoiding it, Lent is a good time to start the hard journey, whether it is accepting pain, or accepting the painful circumstances of our family, friends, church or the world.

As a priest said at mass, give up complaining, give up worry or gloom and discouragement.  Resolve this Lent to change our hearts, to focus on gratitude, blessings, and the beauty of creation all around us.  That’s accepting our pains, with a grateful eye to our coming Easter Resurrection, and joy forevermore.  

And outside my kitchen, I just heard thunder.  Rain is coming instead of the heavy snow and ice we’d been having.  Only I’m about to go out in that rain to deliver groceries.  Thank you God for all your creation, even the rain and cold, as I go out to serve You.

Life is Not a Game

 A few weeks ago, I stumbled across a computer game titled Bubble Shooter.  Skipping more mentally challenging games (which I sometimes visit to exercise my pea-brain), I turned on this simplistic, rote-played, bubble game.  In the game, the top of the screen has an array of connected bubbles, each one of 4 colors, and the bottom has a single-colored bubble which you aim, to hit a similar colored bubble above.  It’s pretty much a simple game for children, until --- I noticed some patterns and ways you could hit more bubbles, until your limited number of shooter bubbles runs out.  And then, I further noticed that you could begin to analyze sequences of the differing colors of the shooter bubbles, and plan even further ahead based on likely outcomes.  And, while it now becomes a more thinking, strategic game, you can’t let yourself ignore the game basics: you are aiming one bubble to hit another, and if you don’t focus enough on the simple act of aiming, you miss, and waste one of the limited number of shots available during the game.

I’ve come to realize that the bubble game could be simply played by a very young child, or strategically played by a sharp-minded adult.  And then it happened today:  I suddenly saw the relationship of how this game is played, to how we live our lives: very simplistic, follow-the-rules, follow others, or ---- having a keen focus on the end goal, and realizing that the limited time we have and how we play the game will affect the final outcome.  And in life, that final outcome is heaven or hell.

            I’ve had some wonderful conversations with friends in recent days and weeks.  We’ve noticed the workings of the Holy Spirit in the world, in the lives of others, and as we better focus on prayer, hearing Him in our own lives also.  The word “joy” comes to mind today; it’s the best word I can use to describe the feeling you get when you see God in action all around you.

In a recent podcast, Fr. John Riccardo (now of ACTS XXIX) told how Jesus recently spoke to him, telling him how his life is NOT a game (as I just described) but a story, the story of the world, a sometimes-scary story in which he has a role. But Jesus told John to relax, and just do his part.  “I wrote the story; you know it has a happy ending.  Trust me.”

There is one key point to note here:  The story God wrote has God as the author; He is in control of the outcome.  If I choose to live my life as a game, I act as if I am in control of the outcome.  The unifying factor between what I try to do and what God created me to do is grace.  Through the grace of God (and His mercy), I can better see the life-path intended for me, my part of the story, and then choose to live it.  Grace moves me from the realm of sensual choices --- what “feels good” as in a game, to spiritual choices, what IS good for me, even if it sometimes doesn’t feel so good.

Yes, we were created in the story of God’s creation as free being; we can choose how to live our lives.  We can play life as a simple game, follow the basic rules, and just enjoy ourselves.  But there is a bigger story than just our lives, and we are part of that bigger story.  We were written into it --- we have a role to play, a purpose in the bigger story of creation, to help bring it to a happy ending, for all involved, and most especially a happy ending for the Creator of the story.

If we don’t do something good with our lives, we’ll just be written out of the final story, and not be part of the happy ending.  We’ll miss out on the final grand celebration, where everyone “lives happily ever after”.  God wrote the book of creation, but we can choose to be part of the happy ending with everyone, or we can choose to live our life as a game, content to do simple little things as we want, alone.

Life, REAL life, is not a game, and was not given to be played alone.  Life was created to be lived in community, family, interaction with God and others, where we choose with grace (through our focus and actions) to love God and our neighbor.  We know how to live life as it should be lived; He came and lived the lead role in His Book to show us how we should play our part.  And if we should be proud of anything, it is that He created us in His image. We shouldn’t worry that life is hard; we were made for this story.  Just study the role the Creator, Jesus, played in it; He’s leading the way, as a Good Shepherd, and “you know the story has a happy ending”.      

 

Review: that man is you

 

The price of this book ($2.95) gives you an idea of how old it is.  I’m just surprised I never read it before.  Louis Evely, a Belgian priest, puts a new import to things I thought I knew.  I can’t do justice in a review or summary of his words, so I will just repeat a few here, self-reminders to read this book again.  (The title has no caps, which says something.)

           

Christianity’s a play we’ve been conning for a long time; All the stars know it by heart.  We think we comprehend the Gospels.  “We’ve had enough of these courses,” we moan, “enough catechism lessons and sermons and enough rehearsals.  We know our parts.  We’re ready.  On with the play!”  So, we strut out to the stage.  But, once there, we’re blinded by the foot lights, distracted by the audience and worried about our costume; instead of playing our part, we busy ourselves with trifles, smoke a cigarette, chat with bit players, strike glamorous poses or count the money in our wallet.  Suddenly, we hear a deafening roar.  The curtain falls, the director runs onto the stage and shouts, “What’s the matter with you, anyway?  Why didn’t you act?”  Taken aback, we mutter, “We didn’t know the play’d started.  We were waiting.  It wasn’t the way we thought it’d be.”  The fact is that the play did begin --- and end, but we weren’t aware of it.  You see, it’s never quite what we imagine it’ll be.  Despite a thousand years of prophecy, even the original actors missed their cues.  They kept thinking it should all be different somehow.  Despite our Lord’s warnings and intimations, the very Apostles didn’t know what was happening.

 

We treat Jesus like those old friends we dearly loved in years past but have gradually lost track of, though we had nothing against them and didn’t mean to break off, we let circumstances drive us apart.  The first thing we knew, we stopped writing and no longer reread their letters or paged through our picture album.  Then we even let slip a chance to meet them again.  The reason?  We’d become too busy with something else, even though it was far less agreeable, far less captivating.  Most likely, we’ll never love anyone else as we loved them.  Still, we never think of them and, if we paused for a minute, we’d be shocked to realize that we don’t even care to see them now.  Renewing our old friendships and loving once more would entail too many changes, too much trouble and exertion, and we’ve lost our taste for that.  This is what threatens our relationship with God and sterilizes our spiritual life: we don’t focus our attention on Him, we don’t look forward to meeting Him or long to see Him.  Yet we can’t see God and can’t meet Jesus unless we constantly yearn to behold Him. 

 

Seeing that God’s Son was sent into the world, shouldn’t we be delighted to set out each morning to be sent into the world?  Shouldn’t we be overjoyed to hear Him say “You’re truly My sons and daughters and I’m so pleased with you that I’m sending you forth to save the world”?  That’s our job, our mission --- in the world, “Father don’t take them out of the world.”  “It’s impossible,” we maintain.  “Since I have to believe God loves me, I can’t think He put me here deliberately --- here, in this barren desert, in this hopeless situation, amid failure and incomprehensible, exhausting, needless suffering.”  And what about the One in whom He was perfectly pleased?  Where did the Father let Him go?  To Gethsemane, to the Praetorium, to the Cross, where He was nailed in anguish, dereliction, and infamy.  “God didn’t spare His own Son.”  And it’s because He loves us that He doesn’t spare us either.  We should shout for joy at being so honored, for we could never’ve dared hope for such close brotherhood with Christ.

 

After Jesus’d turned twelve, as the Gospels relate, He very tersely told His parents He had to tend to His Father’s business.  They didn’t understand what He meant, but Mary understood that she didn’t understand and she was willing to have it that way.  When it comes to faith, hope and trust, God makes appalling demands, and His saints are people who’ve made up their mind to believe without understanding.

 

Christ hasn’t retired: He’s with us, day in and day out.  At the Ascension, He didn’t go away:  He disappeared.  We can’t logically make a festival out of the Ascension unless we appreciate the distinction between departure and disappearance.  Departure causes an absence, but disappearance inaugurates a hidden presence.

 

Instead of running away from this world to reach heaven at length, we have to make it our business that God’s will be done here on earth as it is in heaven.  Way down deep, we think, “That’ll never happen.”  Well, then, why bother praying?  So God’ll do it?  He wants it with all His might.  The only obstacle is ourselves!  Because the victory depends partly on us, it isn’t absolutely certain.  The world could end with something less than total redemption, but only because Gods’ Redemption’s been blocked --- blocked by our refusal to believe in His power, serve and redouble it.

 

Thank you, Fr. Riccardo, for the gift of this book.

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A friend bought me a subscription to In Touch magazine, daily meditations by Charles Stanley.  Many really make my day, and this one (for October 2^nd) seemed timely.

The Abundance in Being Different

The poet John Donne wrote, “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of a continent, a part of the main.”  In other words, each of us is an individual, but we weren’t meant to be alone (Gen 2:18).  What’s more, we aren’t all meant to be carbon copies of one another.

When we try to make community according to our own preferences and perspectives, we inadvertently diminish the rich blessings God intends for us.  Like a vine with meager fruit, we miss out on the full beauty and abundance of being in Christ.

Consider the apostle John’s vision of God’s kingdom: “Behold, a great multitude which no one could count, from every nation and all the tribes, people, and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Rev 7:9).

As believers, we live in that reality even now.  Knowing that should affect the way we think about who belongs in our pews and around our kitchen tables.  By demonstrating Jesus’ love to one another, especially when our differences collide, we become like Him, and more authentically ourselves.