Thoughts on Eternal Life

 

The In-Dwelling of God Here and Now

Eternal life. Where is it? When is it? For a long time I have thought about eternal life as a life after all my birthdays have run out. For most of my years I have spoken about the eternal life as the “afterlife,” as “life after death.” But the older I become, the less interest my “afterlife” holds for me. Worrying not only about tomorrow, next year, and the next decade, but even about the next life, seems a false preoccupation. Wondering how things will be for me after I die seems, for the most part, a distraction. When my clear goal is the eternal life, that life must be reachable right now, where I am, because eternal life is life in and with God, and God is where I am here and now.  The great mystery of the spiritual life—the life in God—is that we don’t have to wait for it as something that will happen later. Jesus says: “Dwell in me as I dwell in you.” It is this divine in-dwelling that is eternal life. It is the active presence of God at the center of my living—the movement of God’s Spirit within us—that gives us the eternal life. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on warnings

 

Mark 9: 30-37 25th Sunday of OT (B)

Almost every day it seems that we encounter new warnings: dangerous products, foods, behavior. Warnings for terrorist alerts; warnings to boil our water. Warnings on almost every product we buy.    We hear so many warnings that most of us have probably learned to ignore most of them. So often they seem overly fastidious, unnecessary, absurd.   Today’s Mass Readings are warnings, but they are different. These warnings really do matter because they pertain to our immortal soul.  It would be foolhardy to ignore them; in fact, we probably do not hear them enough these days. Epistle of St. James:  The Second Reading, from the Epistle of St. James, reminds us of the transitory nature of life in this world.  The apostle denounces the unjust rich, whose victims cry to the Lord. We are warned that wealth, luxury, and abundance can be dangers. We are warned to be just, and to be generous. Gospel of St. Mark:  Again, in today's Gospel we have very clear and very stern warnings.  If we lead others astray, we will be condemned. In frightfully vivid language, Our Lord says that it would be better for one who leads another astray if a great millstone were put around his neck and he were cast into the sea!              Causes of our sins are to be completely eliminated:  Cut off your hand! Lop off your foot! Pluck out your eye! Or risk hell. Sometimes it seems we’ve become such thoroughgoing modernists that we fear fat, cholesterol, salt, and secondary smoke more than we fear hell. Of course, we’re not meant literally to mutilate ourselves, but we are meant to cut out sin.  Any obstacle between us and God, between us and Heaven, must be removed.  To be judged fit for eternal life with God is worth any sacrifice.  To avoid being cast into hell is worth any sacrifice. Many warnings today are unnecessary, impractical, and absurd. They are rightfully ignored.  But the warnings of the Gospel are essential and necessary, for us who seek eternal life with God in Paradise.  May we never take Our Lord’s warnings lightly; rather, may we take them to heart.   Donald Saunders, S.J.

Thoughts on grief

 

Real Human Grief

Real human grief means allowing the illusion of immortality to die in us. When those whom we love with an “endless love” die, something also has to die within us. If we do not allow this to happen, we will lose touch with reality, our lives will become increasingly artificial, and we will lose our human capacity for compassion. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on aging

 

We Are Free to Choose

Is aging a way to the darkness or a way to the light? It is not given to anyone to make a final judgment, since the answer can only be brought forth from the center of our being. No one can decide for anyone else how his or her aging shall or should be. It belongs to the greatness of men and women that the meaning of their existence escapes the power of calculations and predictions. Ultimately, it can only be discovered and affirmed in the freedom of the heart. There we are able to decide between segregation and unity, between desolation and hope, between loss of self and a new, re-creating vision. Everyone will age and die, but this knowledge has no inherent direction. It can be destructive as well as creative, oppressive as well as liberating. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on paradise

 

Memories of Paradise

I know that the fact that I am always searching for God, always struggling to discover the fullness of Love, always yearning for the complete truth, tells me that I have already been given a taste of God, of Love, and of Truth. I can only look for something that I have, to some degree, already found. How can I search for beauty and truth unless that beauty and truth are already known to me in the depth of my heart? It seems that all of us human beings have deep inner memories of the paradise that we have lost. Maybe the word innocence is better than the word paradise. We were innocent before we started feeling guilty; we were in the light before we entered into the darkness; we were at home before we started to search for a home. Deep in the recesses of our minds and hearts there lies hidden the treasure we seek. We know its preciousness, and we know that it holds the gift we most desire: a life stronger than death. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on Saint Matthew

 

Matthew 9:9–13

Friends, today we celebrate the feast of St. Matthew, and our Gospel tells of his conversion. Matthew’s laconic account details what the transition from spiritual death to spiritual life is like. First, we notice the look of Jesus. If there is one theme clearly stated in the New Testament it is that of the primacy of grace.  Why? We don’t know. We just know that we will not lift ourselves to spiritual wholeness. A gaze has to come upon us from the outside—not so much finding God as allowing ourselves to be found. Jesus says to him, “Follow me.” There is nothing simpler or more basic in the Christian life than this. This is what we disciples do: we follow, we walk after him, we apprentice to him. “He got up and followed him.” The symbolism here is marvelous. Getting up, rising up—anastasis, the same word used to designate the Resurrection of Jesus from the dead. Conversion (turning around) is also elevation, rising up. To come to Christ is to come to a higher, richer, broader form of life. Now life is not simply the pleasures and goods of the body; now life is lived in and through God. Bishop Robert Barron

Thoughts on death

 

Suddenly a Wall Becomes a Gate

Death is part of a much greater and much deeper event, the fullness of which we cannot comprehend, but of which we know that it is a life-bringing event. . . . What seemed to be the end proved to be the beginning; what seemed to be a cause for fear proved to be a cause for courage; what seemed to be defeat proved to be victory; and what seemed to be the basis for despair proved to be the basis for hope. Suddenly a wall becomes a gate, and although we are not able to say with much clarity or precision what lies beyond the gate, the tone of all that we do and say on our way to the gate changes drastically. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on autumn

 

The Rhythm of Nature

This morning John Eudes spoke about autumn as a time of plenitude, a time of fulfillment in which the richness of nature becomes abundantly visible, but also a time in which nature points beyond itself by the fragility of its passing beauty. . . . When I walked out I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the landscape unfolding itself before my eyes. Looking out over the Genesee valley, I was dazzled by the bright colors of the trees. The yellow of the hickory trees, the different shades of red from the maples and oaks, the green of the willows—together they formed a fantastic spectacle. The sky was full of mysterious cloud formations, and just as I walked down to the guest house, the sun’s rays burst through the clouds and covered the land with their light, making the cornfields look like a golden tapestry. The beauty of the fall is unbelievable in this part of the country. I can only say with the psalmist: “The hills are girded with joy, they shout for joy, yes, they sing” (see Psalms 65:12–13). Two weeks from now the colorful leaves will have whirled to the ground and the trees will be bare, announcing the coming of winter and snow. It will only be a few months before all the hills will be white and the green of the winter wheat covered with a thick blanket of frozen snow. But then we can remember the rich powers hidden underneath that will show themselves again to those who have the patience to wait. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on freedom

 

Freedom Is the Goal

Though the forces of evil infecting whole nations and peoples are often hidden, complex, and elusive, we are called, as Christians, to unmask and expel them in the Name of the God of Love. . . . As long as national security is our primary concern and national survival more important than preserving life on this planet, we continue to live in the house of fear. Ultimately, we must choose between security—individual, social, or national— and freedom. Freedom is the true human goal. Life is only true if it is free. An obsessive concern for security freezes us; it leads us to rigidity, fixation, and eventually death. The more preoccupied we are with security the more visible the force of death becomes, whether in the form of a pistol beside our bed, a rifle in our house, or a Trident submarine in our port. . . . We must find a way to go beyond our national security obsession and reach out and foster life for all people, whatever their nationality, race, or religion. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on 9/11

 

A prayer on the anniversary of September 11 We [awake] on this beautiful morning, the anniversary of a day painful to remember but impossible to forget ... We remember all the heroes and heroines of that day, the firefighters and emergency responders who demonstrated such courage in the midst of crisis. We remember the innocents who perished, Our friends and neighbors and the thousands of strangers Who were victims of random violence We remember knowing for a moment That we were connected to each precious life, To the survivors and to those who died, With a bond of shared humanity That the forces of hate could never break. We remember the voices that counseled peace Even as our nation prepared for war, And we raise our voices still against fanaticism In all its forms, Against jihad, against militarism, against racism and religious intolerance, Praying that the conflagration of that day Might even now cast a more gentle light, Leading to a future where all people can live in freedom And without fear. Amen. —Gary Kowalski

Thoughts on the Apostles

 

Luke 6:12-19

Friends, in today’s Gospel, Jesus chooses the Twelve, whom he names Apostles. In the apse of the church of San Clemente in Rome, there is a gorgeous twelfth-century mosaic, which gives visual expression to the call of the Twelve. At the center of the composition is the crucified Jesus. Surrounding the cross are twelve doves, symbolizing the Apostles who would fly around the world with the message of salvation.  No biblical figure is ever given an experience of God without receiving, at the same time, a commission. Moses spies the burning bush, hears the sacred name of Yahweh, and is then told to go back to Egypt to liberate his people; Isaiah enjoys an encounter with God amidst the splendor of the temple liturgy and is then sent to preach; Saul is overwhelmed by the luminosity of the risen Jesus and is subsequently called to apostleship. Now the Apostles are not simply a distant memory; rather, they live on through what we call the apostolic succession. Therefore, the apostolicity of the Church is our guarantee that we are, despite many developments and changes across the centuries, still preserving the faith that was first kindled in that company of Jesus’ friends. Bishop Robert Barron

Thoughts on baptism

 

The same thing Jesus did for the deaf mute in today’s Gospel, he did for us at baptism.

 

The actual Aramaic word used by Jesus is recorded: “Ephphatha”: Be opened.

 

In the Rite of Baptism, there is a ceremony called the Ephphatha when the priest touches the infant’s ears and mouth, praying:

“The Lord Jesus made the deaf hear and the dumb speak. May He soon touch your ears to receive His word, and your mouth to proclaim His faith, to the praise and glory of God the Father.”

 

Even though our ears have been opened in Baptism, and our tongues loosed to proclaim our Faith, many of us would admit that we do not hear the Lord speak to us. And we do not speak to others about the Lord.

 

In our world today, it can be very difficult to hear God, and it can be very intimidating to speak of God.

Even though we believe that God is present and active in our world; however, it takes some effort to notice.

 

St. Ignatius taught the first Jesuits to make the effort to seek and to find God in all things.

So, how can I attempt to find God in all things?

 

• Take time for some prayer: 

Talk to God each day; listen for His response, not really with your ears, but in the peaceful stirrings of your heart and your conscience.

 

• Remind yourself that God is always present as Loving Father and Constant Creator:

Realizing the presence of God is practicing the virtue of reverence.

God lovingly created each of us for a purpose in this world.

He continues to sustain us and give each the graces needed for our purpose and for our practice of following Him.

 

• See all Life as God’s precious creation. See all of Nature as God’s creation.  

Try to notice the beauty and the wonders, and try to reverence life.

 

• Try to see God in others. Granted, this is frequently not easy. We might say that God is very well hidden in many people.  

But, He is the Father of us all. He loves each of us as if each were the only one He created. 

His Holy Spirit dwells within us, making us temples of His presence. 

And we might remember C.S. Lewis’s comment: The holiest thing in this world besides the Blessed Sacrament itself is the person sitting next to you.

 

At our baptism we, like the deaf mute, were cured. We were cured for a purpose: to hear God and to proclaim His presence and His truth in our world today.

 

Even though our tongues have been loosed in Baptism to proclaim the Faith, we are not obliged to do so only with our tongues. We are not meant to be sententious, “preachy” in our words; we are meant to instruct far more eloquently by our actions. All of us are not meant literally to preach the Faith, but all of us are meant to live the Faith. We live the Faith by the quiet witness of practical Christian action. 

 

Try to find God in all things. 

For if we truly believe that God is present and active -- our ears may finally hear, and our tongues may finally be loosed.

 

Donald Saunders, S.J.

Thoughts on mercy

 

God Is Mercy

The older we become, the more we realize how limited we are in our ability to love, how impure our hearts are, and how complex our motivations are. And there is a real temptation to want to look inside of ourselves and clean it all out, and become people with a pure heart, unstained intentions, and unconditional love. Such an attempt is doomed to failure and leads us to ever greater despair. The more we look into ourselves and try to figure ourselves out, the more we become entangled in our own imperfections. Indeed, we cannot save ourselves. Only Jesus can save us. That is why it is so important to remove your inner eye away from the complexities of your own broken heart toward the pure but broken heart of Jesus. Looking at him and his immense mercy will give you the ability to accept your own imperfections and to really let yourself be cared for by the mercy and love of Jesus.  I remember how Thomas Merton once wrote: “God is mercy in mercy in mercy.” This means that the more we come to know ourselves, the more we come to know God’s mercy, which is beyond the mercy we know. Letting go of the desire to be perfect lovers, and allowing God to love our people through us, that is the great spiritual call that is given to you and to me. There in the pure heart of God, embraced by his unconditional love, you will find the true joy and peace your heart is longing for. Henri Nouwen

Thoughts on friends

 

Making Room to Welcome Friends

If it is true that solitude diverts us from our fear and anger and makes us empty for a relationship with God, then it is also true that our emptiness provides a very large and sacred space where we can welcome all the people of the world. There is a powerful connection between our emptiness and our ability to welcome. When we give up what sets us apart from others— not just property but also opinions, prejudices, judgments, and mental preoccupations—then we have room within to welcome friends as well as enemies. Henri Nouwen

More thoughts on summer

 This piece was originally posted on Sept 2, 2023

Holding on

This weekend, while you’re working the grill or attending a parade or sitting in traffic, conversation will turn, inevitably, to the end of summer. How fast it’s gone by, someone will remark, always incredulous. You’ll nod along and say something wistful about how you could smell a crispness in the air this morning, or how few weeks are left of good tomatoes. Someone will wail about having seen silos of candy corn looming large and in charge at the supermarket and the next thing you know, it’s fall. Time to put on long pants and real shoes, time to straighten up and fly right.

Labor Day, nominally a holiday celebrating the industriousness of the American worker, also serves to remind the worker that they haven’t been quite as industrious as they might have been these past three months. All summer, deadlines and dentist appointments were easily waved off until After Labor Day, a time that felt far enough in the future that you’d be sufficiently rested to confront whatever unpleasantness these obligations entailed.

In his eulogy for summer’s lazy days in The Times today, my colleague Stephen Kurutz mourns the vestiges of truly unmonitored working from home that this fall seems to augur: “Will we forget the small pleasure of sitting on a porch and looking at the yard?” he writes. “Of taking what some might consider to be too much time over a morning coffee? Of trading the daily commute for an aimless drive?”

Why must there be such an austere demarcation between before Labor Day and after, between summer and not-summer, between enjoying our lives and enduring them? Why have we so internalized the back-to-school dread of childhood that it’s become a permanent feature of adulthood?

I know there are people (many of them! and so vocal!) who enjoy the ramrod posture of fall, who find the post-Labor Day realignment invigorating. I’m not immune to the appeal of a unified buckling down, of the tacit understanding that we’ll put away our childish things and finally set a date for the catch-up lunch we’ve been gesturing at since May. But let’s ease into it.

I challenge you, this year, to own every last day until the equinox (Sept. 23 at 2:49 a.m. Eastern in the Northern Hemisphere). Sure, the first day of school has come and gone, the vacation people have returned from their vacationing, rested and restive, muttering about Q4 and getting a jump start on Christmas shopping. But there are still three weeks left of summer, plenty of time both for nimbu pani and pumpkin spice alike. Plenty of time to integrate your summer self — looser, less fretful — into the incipient and inevitable enterprise of fall. By Melissa Kirsch