Ring-Ring, God Calling

I know I’ve written a few posts in recent months (including that last one) about listening for God’s call, and making a difference in this world with our lives.  I mentioned how (of course) He calls in that small, still voice, and how He sometimes uses the written word (Scripture or otherwise) to speak to us, and sometimes He even calls us through the people we meet.  But I guess, as I was reminded last night, that perhaps if you aren’t getting it from all these other sources, He may just pick up the phone and call….

It was a dreary day, yesterday, the first snow of the season, and after my usual Saturday breakfast with a friend, I just hung around the house all day, watching the snow fall.  So I guess I wasn’t surprised when the phone rang at about 7PM and I was told that, with the weather, people were having difficulty getting to the adoration chapel, so it was being closed for the night.  My usual midnight adoration hours were cancelled.  (I took this picture out my back door, of the snow-laden branches almost touching the ground around my deck.)

I sat down on the living room couch and said my usual night prayers, and read some meditations, but even as I looked up at the crucifix on the wall, well, I felt we just weren’t connecting.  And as I took out my binder to write my end-of-day thoughts on what I had accomplished this day, I found myself looking at a blank page.  What a wasted day.  And so I arose and considered my plans for the rest of this quiet evening.  …. Um, did I say the rest of MY plans?

At about 8PM the phone rang again:  “Tom, this is Kaye.  I’m up north and I just spoke with Deb.  Her dad’s been rushed to the hospital, dying; she’s a wreck, and she’s afraid to drive in this weather in her condition.”  (You may remember Deb from my post last Christmas, titled: Christmas Dinner at McDonalds.  That day Deb could reach no one else that Christmas morning as her mother was rushed to the hospital, dying, and so she called me, and I spent Christmas day with her mom and family until the end.)  

And so it was that I called Deb: “I’m just printing out directions to your house, and then to the hospital.  I’ll be over in about a half hour to take you there.”  Between her sobs Deb insisted the weather was too bad, and I shouldn’t come.  “Wait a minute,” I responded.  “God cancelled my visit with Him at His house this evening for a reason.  Obviously it must be because He had something more important for me to do.  Are you going to argue with God?”  She laughed at that.  I think that was a good sign.

The roads were pretty bad, driving through the 7 or 8 inches of snow we had, and the plow trucks rushing to their jobs threw up huge gobs of slush onto the windshield.  And so of course my wipers decided to go into one of those brrk-brrk-brrk, screeeech; brrk-brrk-brrk, screech modes, just pushing the slop around in my line of sight.  Looking for the street to turn on to reach Deb’s house, I realized that all the signs were covered in snow --- you could read none of them.  This was going to be fun.

Deb was still a wreck when I reached her house; she was on the phone with her sister, who had reached the hospital.  Things were very bad.  I made her put her coat on and led her to my car, even as she continued to talk to her sister, and tell her we were on the way.  We traveled the highways, expressways, major roads, and then dark two-lane roads through the countryside, where well over a foot of snow had fallen.  We passed many cars in the ditch, but squinted on, trying to see our way through the twisting winding roads, in the middle of nowhere.  We finally reached the remote hospital over an hour later, surprising the Emergency Entrance security guards: “No one’s out tonight; why are you here?”  They gave us passes and we rushed to her dad’s room.  He had died five minutes before we arrived.

Deb’s sister and brother and their spouses were there, and you can guess the scene.  It was a difficult time.  The hospital had called a priest, who arrived about a half hour after us, and he administered the last rites, and led us in prayer.  He and the hospital staff were most caring people, even as they were that day Deb’s mom had died nearly a year ago.  We waited for their brother to arrive; he lived in Grand Rapids, across the state, and normally a 3-hour drive away.  But not tonight.  We prayed, talked about dad and mom, and the good times and memories.  And we knew Deb’s mom was once again yelling: “Paul, get over here!”  And he was!

After a couple of hours, the normal shut-down events of a body began occurring, and the room became uncomfortable to stay in, and so the family called the still-distant brother and all agreed to call it a night.  We said one final good-by, and headed home.

While Deb was on the phone with the funeral parlor, I turned out of the parking lot and began the long drive home; the snow still fell heavily.  And it took all of about 3 minutes for me to peer into the total darkness ahead of me and say:  “This isn’t right.   I’m lost,” and so I stopped in the middle of the road --- the only car and only lights in any direction.  After about 5 minutes Deb finished her conversation with the funeral home, and asked her phone for directions to take us home.  It directed me to make an immediate u-turn.  I guess I wasn’t surprised.  The voice from the phone kept directing us to turn this way or that way at some street up ahead --- as if we could read any of the snow-covered street signs.  But an hour or so later, we finally reached Deb’s house again, even as her brother was arriving from his trek across the state.  It was a good ending to the night.  (And those previous snarky comments I may have made on a post or two in the past, about how “I don’t need no stinking iphone apps”--- I may go back and erase them.  If not for those directions to get us home I probably would have wandered around until I ran out of gas, or into some farmer’s field.  It was a most useful device.)

It was after 2AM when I finally approached my home street, about the normal time for my coming home from adoration.  Yes, God had a better plan for me.  And as I looked ahead, the clouds parted in the sky in right front of me, and I could clearly see the full moon, smiling down.  Now THAT was a good ending to this night.

            - - - - - - - - - -  - -

As I drove to mass this morning, the sun was shining brightly, and all the trees and every single branch were covered with a heavy coating of snow.  It was like looking at heaven.  I thought to take a picture of the beautiful scenery, but I figured there are plenty of those pictures around today.  Instead I thought I’d include this picture, to remind me that today is just another day:

I went to the closet this morning and grabbed a handful of gloves --- it’s time, I guess, and putting them on the counter, this is what I saw:  six left-handed gloves.  Not a single right-handed one.  Sheesh!  Yep, this was going to be just another one of those days.

But as I write this, I have 40 hours until I take off to Phoenix and Thanksgiving with my nieces.  And I realize how I have so very much to be thankful for. 

I think I’ll leave the gloves at home.  

Review: The Miracle, The Message, The Story

The ‘rich’ look upon the ‘poor’ and weak as problems
to be resolved, according to their own vision, refusing
to enter into a dialogue of trust with those who are
oppressed and in distress.  They will not listen to them.

So begins this book of Jean Vanier’s life, and his respect for people with disabilities.

In 1964 Jean began the first l’Arche (the Ark) home just north of Paris.  He invited three rejected people to leave the institution “where they had been living in disgrace and make their home with him.”  Wanting to do good, “he had no idea at the time that those people would ‘do good’ to him.”

One of the unique elements of l’Arche communities is that administrators there are not employees, working 8-hour shifts to care for those in need; the administrators live with them, becoming family with them.  In living with them, they see not just their limitations, but their value and contributions to the community.  They come not just to care for them, but to love and be loved.  Henri Nouwen spent 11 years in l’Arche; his books reflect what he learned living there:  in providing a home for the developmentally disabled, he found a home for himself.

Today, through hundreds of Faith and Light and l’Arche communities around the world, Jean noted that “thousands of mothers and fathers were beginning to dance and laugh with their children.”  These were the children who were once laughed at by their peers, and then hidden from the world’s cruelties by their parents.  They once had lived sad, lonely lives.  Now, in these communities they really come alive.  (I recently joined the board of an organization which helps the developmentally disabled live in homes, in community.  And I attended the organization’s 50^th anniversary celebration, and yes, I saw the disabled and their parents laugh and sing and dance --- it was a most beautiful, blessed thing to behold.)

The Miracle, The Message, The Story goes into great depth in describing the problems Vanier faced in different cities, in different countries, in different religions, and in different cultures.  There were starts, stumbles, and even some failures.  The work of love is not an easy thing.  Some might read this book and become bored with the seemingly endless problems --- but it is not a book only celebrating success, but celebrating too of the work required to get there.

I had read and reviewed the much shorter book, Signs, which spoke to the message Vanier discerned from his life’s work:  we will find Jesus and His message more in the poor and the marginalized than we will in the rich and cultured.  In reading Signs, it seemed a hard message to accept.  This book seems to indicate that “yes, it IS a hard message --- you have to work hard to get it.”  It is a life’s work.

When I read Signs I asked myself:  “Who can live this way?”  When I read The Miracle, The Message, The Story I recalled:  “And the gate is narrow…”      

A Letter to Nice Priests

In a way, I am ashamed to be writing these words.  Who am I to take a few moments to offer counsel to priests, those men who have given their whole lives to offer counsel to their flock.  I am not so bold to say here that I have any more grace or more wisdom than even one of them.  What I do have, however, is one thing which I know they don’t.  I have my own life’s experiences, the life which I alone have lived, and whether they knew it or not, some priests have had a major impact on my life, especially some of the “nice” priests.  And so this letter is addressed to them in particular.

My Dear Fathers and Shepherds:

It is because of you that I learned much about the Catholic Church, and my faith grew accordingly.  You were there for me with the sacraments; you were there for me as teachers, and for some of those Augustinian fathers whose high school classes I acted up in, you were there for me as disciplinarians.  All of you in those roles formed my conscience and help set my goals in life.  You gave me a foundation, a good start for me to begin (and later to continue) living my life in a moral and meaningful way.  But I must counsel you on one weakness that I have perceived:  when I actually began leading my life and sometimes returned to you with hard questions, some of you nice priests counseled me on the “niceness” of the sacraments, and then you implied there was nothing more you could teach me (or I needed learn), so long as I led a “nice” life. And so with this advice you stopped being a disciplinarian for me.  You stopped giving me direction, and let me wander on my own.

In that you did me wrong.

I know it was easier for you to take a leadership role with me when I was younger; that is what elders, including my parents, did.  And then when I got older, you wanted to treat me as an adult, to “discuss” our Catholic faith.  I understand this desire, and in truth I wanted to be treated as such.  And so, unfortunately, you made it your foremost priority to advise me in such a way as to keep me as your friend.  You forgot the side of friendship which many friends forget:  a true friend always tells his friend the truth, especially the hard truth.  Seeking to be first and foremost my friend, you forgot that first and foremost you are my shepherd.  I chose my vocation in life, and you chose yours, but in trying to be “nice” to me, sometimes you were not faithful to your sworn vocation.

And my life was the worse for your “niceness.”

I have sinned against many in my life, and many have sinned against me.  But I perceive some of the largest sins against me were those by “nice” priests, who counseled me that some of my sins were “natural,” and thereby acceptable, or less important.  In my youth, I accepted this advice; I know better now.  No sin, which is an offense against the God who created me, is acceptable.  Some sins are most difficult to avoid for various reasons, they perhaps may be “reluctantly” accepted, but they are never acceptable.  The easier sin becomes, the more it comes.  And the more it comes the less happy is your life. 

Priestly words which excused my initial considerations of sin made it easier for me to accept those sins in my life and then, as is the “real” natural thing about human behavior, I pushed to the limits of rational definition of these and many other sins, which I also then considered “acceptable.”

Opening the door a small crack to sin is like opening it to floodwaters; they are hard to keep out and seep in through the smallest opening, eventually eroding it away and making it ever wider, and the floodwaters unstoppable.  And your life cannot but be impacted.

A priest recently assigned to a local parish announced to his new flock how “I am not here to make waves.”  There will be no tough or “controversial” sermons from him.  He will be a “nice” priest, always beginning a sermon with a joke, and always counseling that any problems are “not that bad.”  And no matter what are the sins confessed, “God understands,” and “We’re all sinners.”  So therefore, “I’m okay; you’re okay."  And the people of his flock will have no worries or guilt, and the priest will be liked by all.  And then everyone will live happily ever after --- not!  From my life’s experience, I know that is a lie.

“Well, if you busy of course you don’t have to attend mass on Sundays.” “Feelings are natural things and okay, as long as you don’t physically hurt anyone.” “Everyone has sexual urges – I do too!! – and so it’s okay if you fall into sin sometimes; everyone does.” All these “nice” words are bad advice.  All these “nice” words of counsel are words which destroy lives.

My dear fathers:  we all want to feel loved.  What you must remember, however, is what love REALLY is:  it is not something primarily to be received, but something primarily to be given.  That is the example Jesus gave us with His life and His parables.  He came to love.  The vocation you chose puts you in the role of persona Christi, in the sacraments and on the altar.  He came to love, not to be loved.  And He was crucified.  Your advice must have as its aim to love, as Christ would love, not to ensure that you yourself are loved.  You can’t always be a “nice” guy.

It is not an easy role you have chosen, my dear priests, but you studied long and hard to prepare yourself for it, to be shepherds for a sometimes reluctant flock.  You need to lead us on right paths, even if sometimes they will be hard for us to follow.  And when we must wander on our own, you must teach us ways to go.  As any army officer knows:  leaders can’t be nice guys.  Lives depend on them.  And lives depend on you also, my dear fathers.

The first 20 years of my adult life were spent with what I might describe as “liberal” thoughts, and thoughts which I understood – with the counsel of some “nice” priests – to be moral and Catholic thoughts.  I really never really pondered any key moral issues, because I thought that ANY sin --- no matter how serious --- could be “acceptable” in some circumstances (and in particular, was “acceptable” when it impacted me.)  It was only after crying out to God in pain that my eyes were opened --- a great blessing and mercy to me.  If I would have known at age 20 what I learned at age 40, my life would have been much more productive for God, and much happier for me.  “Nice” advice let me believe that whatever I wanted was okay, and that my life’s focus should on me and my happiness. 

It was bad advice.   It’s advice that many “nice” Catholic politicians have learned so well.

Thank you Fathers, for all you prayers and the sacrifices you make.  I know you mean well, but PLEASE: do well instead.

Sincerely,

A Catholic Re-Vert who, like Augustine, sadly said: “Late have I loved Thee”

No Greater Love --- A Movie Review

No Greater Love is an award (many awards, actually)-winning DVD about the Discalced Order of Carmelites who lead a cloistered life at the monastery of the Most Holy Trinity, in London’s Notting Hill. Their day is spent in silence. The video is one hour and forty-five minutes, and as I began watching it this afternoon I was fully prepared to be bored.

I did two things at the start of the video which greatly enhanced the viewing, I’d highly recommend. I put the volume up very high, so you can hear and appreciate the silence (I know that sounds stupid, but trust me, you will understand it, and see how the sudden frighteningly-loud bong of the bell fits into the silence and helps you really understand what is being presented). In addition to hearing the soft shuffling sounds, you need to turn on the closed captioning feature, to hear (or read) each word of soft prayers, or of quiet hymns being sung. I expected to be bored, but you will find, as I did, that you are very quickly absorbed into the beauty of the whole picture of these wonderful nun’s lives.

A large portion of the DVD is set during Holy Week, and so today was a most fortuitous viewing date for me. After seeing and hearing these nuns in their daily routines, and how their lives are lived for each other (and for us), watching them wash each other’s feet on Holy Thursday gave that ritual a whole new meaning for me. My recent meditations on whether I pray enough, especially in those ordinary yet sometimes critical times of my day, were cast into a new light, as the nuns expressed concerns that sometimes they wonder if their prayers matter, since they see so few indicators of results. When I worry that I am not praying at critical times, they are praying for me! Perhaps I should write them to say how much their prayers are appreciated.

You see the sisters caring for each other in so many loving ways in their daily activities. The young feed a few of the disabled elderly, and one confides that getting along with her sisters is sometimes as hard as when she grew up with her brothers, but they are family and she loves them all. You see the sisters out gardening, cooking, and even making communion wafers (I always wondered about that). And you see them singing and praying, at all hours of the day.

One of the sisters spoke about the dark night of the soul, as St. John of the Cross described it. “You see nothing happening; for all your prayers, there is silence. You are looking for something to change, but the Carmelite traditions help you to realize that the changes you were looking for were external, but inner work needs be done. You concepts of God change, making your relationship more personal, a deeper relationship.” She said she distracted herself with the external work of the convent while her prayer life seemed dry, while she was really, as she discovered, hiding from God. For her, this went on for 18 years, but she views them as years well spent, for she truly discovered herself, and Him.

You feel all of the sisters’ joy with them at Easter morn, as they joyfully and full of laughter greet each other with hugs and wish each other a happy Easter. And then suddenly you see death. One of the elderly sisters has gone home to God, and you see her plain wooden box laid into the ground near their garden, a unique juxtaposition of timing for the Easter season, where we usually think of death and then life, but here is presented life then death. Then you hear the sister’s softly singing “And may God’s angels come to greet you.” And then they pray.

“Do you think about death?” one is asked. She replies, “I see death as just a continuation of knowing and loving God.”

I thought the video was ending as I watched the sisters end their day, nodding good night to Jesus, praying their Night Prayers, singing a litany to Mary. But then the scene switched to the garden again, only now in full bloom. You see the sisters trimming overgrowing shrubs and trees. And you see them singing, dancing, and laughing during their recreation period. And then you see a new sister, professing her final vows. And the sisters are softly singing: “Your love and Your grace, that is all I need.”

And they, all of them, are happy, so very happy.

I strongly recommend this video to you my friends, and if you can get out today to buy it, it is great for viewing during Holy Week, but truly any time at all would be good. This one I shall watch again, including all of the trailers.

I Admire You

Admire: (fr. ad-mirari: To wonder, fr. astonishing); Admiration: 1: Archaic: Wonder 2: An object of esteem. 3: Delighted or astonished approbation (praise)
Work: …..

I was just leaving the coffee shop and walking to my car when I was stopped by the man. I had seen him often in the shop, and exchanged “good morning’s” on occasion. He knew my name; I don’t think I ever knew his. He just wanted to chat, and I just wanted to move on to my Friday morning chores: banking, shopping and the post office, before I went to mom’s house.

After a couple of minutes of polite conversation, I ended it with a “well, I have to be going; I’ve got a few things to do before I head over to care for my elderly mother.” And then he said it: “I admire you.”

I knew what he was referring to, but it struck me as odd nonetheless, this stranger saying he admired me. I made light of it, saying “that everyone does what he has to do” as I walked away, but the words wouldn’t leave me, and I thought on them as I drove around.

Surely he said the words casually in conversation, without any deep meaning, unless perhaps they had some deep (unknown to me) meaning to the speaker. Perhaps he wished he had offered similar care or concern for a loved one; perhaps he wished he could do it now. And as for me, the recipient of his words, I had some semblance of wishing the words WERE spoken not casually, but in truth, but I didn’t really believe myself worthy of such good wishes. Admiration: esteem, praise?? Me?? My flippant remark as I left was the only truth I recognized in the brief conversation: everyone does what they have to do --- don’t they?

Earlier that morning, around the coffee table, I had mentioned to the men gathered there that I was making progress in setting up a website to help the out-of-work in our community, those who wanted to work at anything, even small part time jobs. (I’ll write more on this at another time, if this comes about.) One of the small businessmen gathered there said: “Let me know when you get that site set up; I’m tired of looking for people who really want to work.” He indicated that many of the men he hired were unused to coming in every day on time, and/or felt no concern at just taking an unannounced day off because “they were tired that morning.” He offered steady pay, benefits, long-hours if they wanted, and even travel --- but he was having a difficult time finding and keeping steady workers at $8 - $18 per hour.

With unemployment rates as they are, how could this be?

I think perhaps one reason is that we’ve had it too good for too long in this country. We’ve grown lax in assuming the good times will continue, no matter what we do or say. And we’ve passed those assumptions on to our children, thinking this mindset will “make them feel loved and secure,” a good thing – or so we think. But we are wrong. Good things do not have to continue; they have to be earned, over and over, and over again.

Our way of saying things has begun to reflect our thinking on them, growing very casual, assuming, and without any serious meaning. You see it in the words teen-agers often use: “sort of,” “kinda” and “like” are used to describe almost anything and everything. They “sort of” enjoy that television show or that person. They “like” want to do good in school, or do good in, “like,” school. And they “kinda” want to wear that outfit. The casual words and the way they are used are very flexible, applying to both verbs and nouns. So they “sort of” or “kinda” or “like” want to do something, and the place they want to go is “sort of” or “kinda” or “like” the mall. The casual words indicate they may or may not want to do the action, and they may or may not want to go to the place. It’s a casualness about both their purpose, and how purposeful they are.

If we believe that we really ARE very serious about those things which are important, then this casualness seems to indicate that they believe nothing they do is important: no particular action, no particular thing. Young people appear to express an unsaid assumption that regardless of what they do, things will still turn out all right. Whatever they need or want will still be given to them; the important things will get done; they need not worry about anything.

From my many readings of history and philosophy, this is an attitude and thinking that brings about the downfall of countries, and of civilizations. What we do DOES matter, and when a people believe that what they do is unimportant, they will find that no one does the important things.

I’ve read many theories about how we’ve gotten to this situation. Some say we’ve given our kids too much. Some say we haven’t expected enough of them, taught them to know the meaning of work, and the real rewards of work. (Some say we haven’t taught them much at all.) And some say we haven’t taught, or shown by our example, the important purpose of their lives --- not just their lives, but the PURPOSE of their lives, and how to live them as morally good people. And some say it’s not about what we’ve given or we’ve taught at all, but it’s about what they’ve learned and how they’ve grown up --- and the fact that many of them haven’t. Many of them still think and act as kids, thinking they will be given things, thinking they will be loved, thinking they will even be rewarded ---- no matter what.

They seem to have never heard, and never expect to hear, those words we recently, seriously, thought about, those dreadful words from our Lord: “I do not know you.” At the end of their lives we won’t be there for our children to hug them when they cry or bail them out of their problems, and when the Lord says “I do not know you” they won’t “sort of” be getting into heaven. And perhaps, considering our failures in this critical responsibility, we won’t “sorta” get in either. And all of our temporary disappointments in the ones we love, our hopes that things will eventually get better for them, will be permanently destroyed. But this does not have to be our future; we can change it.

Our time on earth is a time for growing in holiness, and helping those around us (and our children) to grow in holiness, and I think GROWING is the real important word there. We can’t be “kinda” getting holier. We need to do things with a deliberateness, a purpose, and with a confidence that what we do does matter. We need to say and do things, knowing what they mean, and not treating them like casual coffee-shop chatter. We need to teach our young to be serious about virtues, and to see and understand their concrete, real, and everlasting value, and that what they do with their lives does matter.

And if we fail to understand some of these things ourselves, we need to take the time to learn them --- after all, we are supposed to be the adults --- or do you view yourself as “kinda” an adult?

I hope not. I hope and pray you are more than that, because I truly want to say, and mean, that: “I admire you.”