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