For All the Saints

After all the excitement and tom foolery of Halloween, All Saints Day falls gently in its wake. A holy day in the Catholic Church, All Saints Day honors the men and women who, through the centuries, dedicated themselves to Christ and to others to such a degree that miracles accompanied their existences.

As a young girl, I held the saints in awe. My favorite book was titled Sixty Saints for Girls, and it featured women who had given their lives for their faith. My favorite saint was Agnes, and I took Agnes as my confirmation name. Agnes was a young virgin who decided to dedicate her life to Christ and refused to marry. She met a horrific death, as did many of the saints. I often questioned whether I would have been able to withstand such torture to uphold my faith.

But martyrdom is not the only way to become a saint. Many of our greatest saints were intellectuals, missionaries, and indefatigable workers who modeled what it meant to live not for oneself, but for the greater good. Thomas Aquinas, Dorothy Day, and Mother Teresa come to mind as exemplars of the faith. All of them in their own way performed the Christian task of dying to self in order to live for Christ.

The beginning of November is a fitting time to honor the dead. Fall is waning, and the Earth is preparing for an extended winter slumber. In Mexican culture, the period from October 31 to November 2 is celebrated as the Dia de Los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead. In the Catholic Church, All Saints Day is followed by All Souls Day on November 2, a day devoted to praying for our beloved dead that they attain the ultimate prize of eternal life with God.

For the faithful, All Saints Day is a reminder that our lives are about so much more than ourselves. For all of us, the beautiful acts of sacrifice performed by many of the saints inspire us to greater selflessness and love for others. May their acts of courage give us hope for our present circumstances and for the promise of eternal life.

A Great Sacrifice

Whenever we give without counting the cost or calculating the return,
we are learning to bear the beams of love.
– Robert Ellsberg, The Saints’ Guide to Happiness

Yesterday marked the 19th anniversary of one of the darkest days in our history. A weekday morning like any other turned into a horror, and thousands lost their lives. But amid the fear and danger, there were many heroes who gave all they had “without counting the cost.”

We owe a debt of gratitude to our first responders, who rush into harm’s way to save lives every day. On Sept. 11, 2001, 343 firefighters lost their lives in the towers as they tried to help the poor souls trapped in the burning, crumbling buildings. Police officers and EMTs also perished trying to help.

As I write this, firefighters are battling terrible blazes in Oregon and California. Photos show them sprawled on the hard ground, exhausted and spent, the adrenaline that must course through their veins as they brave the flames having finally left their system. Every day they risk life and limb to help save homes and lives.

Also as I write, medical professionals are risking disease and even death as they courageously help patients severely afflicted by COVID-19. They don their own version of battle armor each time they venture into the hospital and spend countless depleting hours helping others fight for their lives.

What do these heroes in our midst get in return for their indefatigable efforts? They certainly aren’t the best paid professionals in the world. They rarely get awards or ticker tape parades. Not for them is the glory of, say, a LeBron James. But perhaps they get a greater feeling of wholeness and purpose, a sense that their life has meaning.

In an episode of The Crown, Prince Phillip longs for the life of the Apollo 11 astronauts and for what must surely have been an extraordinary adventure setting foot on the moon. When he meets the fictionalized Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins, however, he realizes they are just ordinary young men, slightly goofy, awed by the grandeur of Buckingham Palace, and not at all given to philosophical marveling at the journey they have just made.

We can all be heroic in our own small ways when we make sacrifices for others, whether it be our families, our communities, or the greater good. We will not get a special prize when we wear a mask in public to protect others from possible COVID-19 transmission. We won’t get an award for working each week at the local food pantry helping feed the poor. And no one will applaud us for staying up all night with a sick parent or child. Instead, we will gain an inner light and peace that comes from knowing the true joy that giving all we have can bring.

Bye, George

George was a fixture at my hometown church. Every Sunday my kids and I would see him dressed in a suit as he ushered parishioners into pews and up to the altar for Holy Communion. A slight man, he always wore a big and friendly smile. My son called him George Bush because he thought George resembled the president.

I met George in a Bible Study I attended. He had a quiet and deliberate way about him. I could tell he thought deeply about the things we studied, but he wasn’t one to pontificate. He expressed himself quietly and eloquently.

Over the years, I lost touch with George. I no longer attended the same evening Bible Study, and I seldom saw him ushering at Mass. Like many people who come and go in our lives, I rarely thought of him.

Recently, though, I started seeing George out walking. He would occasionally pass by my house, a good three quarters of a mile from his home. In inclement weather, he was bundled up in a warm jacket. More recently, I’d see him in his shirtsleeves, always by himself, never in a hurry.

George passed away on July 22. When I read that news in my local paper last week, I regretted that I hadn’t gone out of my way to say hello and reconnect with this quiet, kind man. He was so very much alive as he dutifully walked outside in all kinds of weather. I couldn’t imagine that he would be gone just like that.

In the same newspaper, I read that my dear friend’s brother Paul had passed away as well. As with George, I had seen Paul recently at a memorial service for their mother, shortly before coronavirus made large gatherings like that verboten. And like George, he was very much alive.

We can’t imagine when our time will come to leave this world. It’s a sobering thought. But it can also give new purpose to our days. For my part, I intend to make more effort to keep in touch with the people I cherish – and to try not to forget about those special ones who pass through our lives briefly but meaningfully.

Goodbye, George. And goodbye, Paul. I am better off for having known you.

Father Love

“You are worth more than many sparrows.”
– Matthew 10:31

As my kids have grown older, they have become a lot more critical of their dear old parents, especially their father. My husband’s constant check-ins with them, stories and aphorisms they’ve heard dozens of times before, and (to them) fossilized views are often sources of irritation rather than edification. It sometimes falls to me to remind them of their father’s boundless love for them.

It’s Father’s Day, a holiday more about barbecues and beer than bouquets and breakfast in bed. For many, the best way to honor fathers is to let them watch unlimited amounts of TV and feed them delicious meals, even if they are often cajoled into being the grill meister. Fathers across the country today will ooh and aah over yet another tie and hold their children close, willing the years to freeze in place.

Today’s gospel speaks of a father love so great that we cannot contemplate it. The love of the Father makes our own attempts at loving others pale in comparison. As Jesus tells his disciples,

Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin?
Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge.
Even all the hairs of your head are counted.
So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

If we are fortunate, our own fathers are earthly models of the heavenly one. Their care and protection help us feel safe and grounded. They may be harsh at times, disciplining their wayward children in order to keep them safe. In our culture, dads are often mocked and teased because we erroneously believe they are tough and can take it.

Today let’s treasure the fathers in our lives. They are the fixers, the bad joke tellers, the men most likely to wear “groutfits” unironically. And they cherish their children “more than many sparrows.”

 

Hosanna in the Highest

Watching a livestream of Palm Sunday Mass was a strange experience. Ordinarily, Palm Sunday is a day that begins with a jubilant procession into the church, the congregation waving palm branches in imitation of the crowds that welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem. The rite goes from celebratory to solemn as we recall Christ’s passion and death.

Yesterday, though, I watched a priest in an all but empty church preside over the “source and summit of the Catholic faith”: the Mass. A few singers and musicians were also present, all at safe distances from one another, in order to bring the dimension of sacred music to the event. The priest celebrated the entire Mass, including consecrating and taking in the precious body and blood of Christ. Yet none of us was able to share in that communal meal due to the pandemic that has changed so much about our lives.

We enter Holy Week – the week before Easter – in an unprecedented way: separate from each other, perhaps fearful, and most of all, carrying our private crosses as Jesus was forced to carry his to his death. In a sense, this Holy Week more than any in our lifetime brings us closer to the aloneness Jesus must have felt as his followers deserted him and gave him up to be crucified, a hideous and ignominious death.

The reading of the passion story at Palm Sunday Mass is always very emotional for me. It is such a sorrowful tale, and it reminds me of how much evil and heartbreak there is in this world. Yesterday my emotions were heightened by my fears and anxiety. Will my loved ones and I come out of this alive and healthy? Will our country survive the stress and partisanship that preceded the coronavirus outbreak and has not diminished even in the face of a common enemy? What will the world look like in a month, two months, a year?

The unreal nature of our situation will continue to be evident throughout Holy Week as we miss the opportunity to share in person the rites of foot washing on Holy Thursday, veneration of the cross on Good Friday, and most of all, the glorious celebration of Resurrection at Easter. Yet we of the Christian faith can find solace in our belief that Jesus Christ has won the victory over sin and death. Evil and war and disease will not have the last word.

May this week be one of introspection, prayer, and hope. And may the joy of Easter shine in our hearts no matter our physical circumstances.

 

 

Careful What You Wish For

Earlier this month I was feeling a vague sense of panic about how quickly time was going by. Before I knew it, my son and daughter were going to be graduating from college and high school respectively. I had so much to plan for: travel, special events, a party in my backyard. I just wanted time to slow down a little. Well.

Today I was shocked to find out that it is only Thursday in a week that has seemed interminable due to our self-enforced social distancing. But for the fact that my daughter is required to log into school online periodically, I would have no idea what the date or day of the week is.

How many of us have longed for more time? So many things we want to accomplish, but our busy lives prevent us from doing so. Now with time on our hands, we may be regretting that wish. Like many people, I do have projects around the house that I have been putting off. This would be the ideal time to get them done. I just haven’t got the heart to do them.

Our battle to contain the coronavirus may go on for weeks or months. So many happenings marked on my calendar will not take place. So many memories I had hoped to make with my loved ones will not come to pass. Maybe my mourning these losses is what is preventing me from taking action.

Today is the feast of St. Joseph. Joseph is the ideal father figure in Biblical literature. He took Mary into his home despite the scandal of her pregnancy. He safeguarded Mary and Jesus from a murderous King Herod by fleeing with them to Egypt and sustaining them during an exile there. He didn’t question the strangeness of a twelve-year-old boy teaching learned scholars in the Temple at Jerusalem. He simply did his best to provide a home for his wife and son.

I need to focus on the people in my life who need me instead of bewailing the things I am missing. I can use my time wisely and generously to provide good food and a comfortable space for them. I can help their spirits by lifting my own. I can reach out and  provide funds to help those who are struggling right now in the face of this crisis. And most of all, I can be grateful that I am safe at home while others are struggling first-hand to deal with this devastating illness.

May we all cherish this time of relative inactivity and focus on the things in our lives that are truly important.

 

Going Without

Today is Ash Wednesday, and Christians all over the world begin a 40-day season of fasting and abstinence in preparation for commemorating the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I have always found this season challenging. In a land of plenty, it is hard to willingly go without.

Giving up something we love – in my case sweets – is first of all a sacrifice made to mirror the much greater sacrifice Christ made for us. It is a reminder, like the ashes on our foreheads today, of our mortality, our weakness, and our need for salvation. But it is also a way to show solidarity with the many people in our world who go without through no choice of their own.

Lenten fasting is designed to make us hungry, and along with almsgiving, it helps us develop compassion for our brothers and sisters who live with want. Going without helps us learn empathy. A local church in my town also has a yearly “Sleep Out Saturday” when teens and adults put up tents on a cold night and sleep outside to raise funds, awareness, and solidarity with the homeless. In the most affluent country in the world, these practices help us see beyond our own lives and show us the urgency of helping those in need.

But there is another important reason for going without during Lent. Fasting focuses the mind and turns us inward toward the source of our very being. Without the satiation provided by lots of food, entertainment, and noise, we are stripped down to our essence. This helps us spiritually and clarifies the meaning of our existence.

I can’t say I ever look forward to Lent. It’s a hard season, forcing me to confront myself and the fallen world in which I live. Spring has not yet come, and the cold gray world seems dead. It’s an ideal time to turn inward and look for the larger meaning of our lives. It is good, within that context, to go without.

 

Reason for the Season

It feels special to me that the first Sunday of Advent has fallen on December 1, the same date on which we open the first window on our Advent calendar. When my kids were young, they would fight to be the one to open the little window and extract the toy that would hang on the Advent tree. Today at Mass, the Advent Wreath is blessed and the first candle lit. It is the start of a season of waiting in darkness for the Light of the World.

I love the month of December with its promise of Christmas. It’s true that the weather has turned cold, and there’s always the possibility of snow to slow things down. The trees are stripped bare, and nature looks stark and uninviting. Nighttime comes earlier and earlier as we head toward the winter solstice, and many nights I long to go to bed early, a bit of human hibernation.

During this season, I love to play George Winston’s aptly titled album December as I drive around doing Christmas errands or sit at the kitchen table addressing Christmas cards. The gentle piano music puts me in a meditative mood that is just right for the season of Advent.

Advent is about waiting: waiting for families to come together, waiting for healing strength, sometimes even waiting for a miracle. Contemplating the story of a poor and helpless infant being born in the dark of night, in the unsanitary conditions of a stable with a feeding trough for a bed: it’s hard to fathom the mystery of this tiny child being the salvation of the world.

It’s a joyful kind of waiting, though. Christmas is coming. Hope and love are its harbingers. The twinkling lights and jingle bells of the season break through the darkness and fill us with anticipation. Our spirits lift, and we pour out the excess on the people we encounter.

It’s easy to get lost in the pre-Christmas hustle and bustle. There is so much to do: gifts to buy and wrap, cookies to bake, travel arrangements to make, holiday meals to plan. Advent is designed to help us keep our hearts and minds on the reason for the season: the birth of the Christ child and what that means for our world.

In the stillness of the winter, we can listen to the promptings of the spirit and truly prepare ourselves to receive the greatest gift of all.

 

Retire the Prosperity Gospel

Sunday seems a good day on which to reflect upon matters of faith, especially when the local paper reports that Donald Trump has invited televangelist Paula White to become a member of his administration. White is a proponent of the so-called prosperity gospel, a disturbing interpretation of the Bible that insists God rewards true believers with material wealth and even good health. The prosperity gospel is especially popular in the televangelism arena because it helps the Joel Osteens of the world get rich on the backs of people desperate for hope and relief from their own difficulties.

Mainstream Christians reject the tenets of this belief system. It is absurdly in conflict with a suffering savior who died on the cross for our sins, who emptied himself and became a servant in order to save our souls.

Today’s gospel at Mass concerned the diminutive tax collector Zacchaeus. Inspired by Jesus singling him out on his visit to the town of Jericho, Zacchaeus declares, “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.” (Luke 19:8) In other words, salvation does not come to believers when they amass great wealth by exploiting others. It comes when they give freely of themselves, imitating the life and mission of Christ.

Evangelical leaders like Osteen and White cherry pick verses from the Bible to shore up their own grasping ambitions. And it’s not hard to see why the grasping, greedy Trump would find this “gospel” appealing. What bothers me is that there has been no objection on the part of the Christian Right to Trump’s embrace of what many view as heretical beliefs.

The prosperity gospel is insidious because it implies that if you are poor or a victim of cancer or other serious illness, it’s due to your own lack of faith. If you were more of a believer and gave more of your hard-earned cash to support Joel Osteen’s teeth whitening treatments, you’d surely be doing better.

I can’t really think of anything more reprehensible than twisting the divinely inspired words of God to one’s own ends. I wish more Christians would speak out against such fraud and let the true message of the gospel shine forth.

Letting Go

On this day of the autumnal equinox, we welcome the season of fall. There was a bit of a chill in the air during outdoor yoga this morning as our instructor encouraged us to draw energy from the Earth on which we posed – and at the same time, emulate the autumn trees shedding their leaves by letting go.

I’ve seen this metaphor quite a bit this year, and it’s a lovely image. The trees let go of their leaves, returning them to the earth where they rejuvenate the soil and nourish the very tree itself. Likewise, our minds and hearts can practice letting go of all that is dead in us: thoughts, prejudices, worries, anxieties, anger and fear.

What a graceful release it can be to let go. In child’s pose, we curl ourselves toward the ground. With every breath we surrender control of our bodies, and in doing so give them renewed energy and peace as we sink into Mother Earth.

It can be liberating to let go. So much of our lives is spent with clenched teeth and held breath. We worry about our children, our health, our finances, the weary world. But as Jesus teaches in Matthew 6:27, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

I once heard the mantra, “Let go and let God.” That simple advice has run through my head many times in days of stress and heartache. If you believe that there is a force greater than yourself, a force for good, you will be able to surrender to that force and stop trying to control everything around you.

I know. Easier said than done. Yet I’m confident that if we can let go of our burdens as the trees let go of their leaves this fall, we will be able to move forward with great joy.