Since I’ve been away…
The summer of ’19 has filled my mind with images of past and present – so much of which could be the substance for spiritual reflection. Here are brief verbal snapshots of today and yesteryear with their possible implications:
Whenever I think we have experienced the final, absolute and utter breaking point that will and must force our nation to face its epidemic of gun violence and mass death along with our terrible image in the world because of this violence (speaking as one who traveled outside the USA this summer and heard such comments), I know in my heart that without a conscience transplant, nothing will change. There will be a new mass killing to report in a few days/weeks. (Reader alert: this “reflection” was written on August 28. Since then, we have had another mass shooting in Texas)! Nothing ever changes. “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me.” (Ps. 22:1)
I looked back a half century to remember a week when we traveled into the heavens, landed on the moon, and believed that our achievements would only be limited by our aspirations. Six more visits and fifty plus years has brought us neither peace on earth no good will toward men (sic.) But at least we have rocks and dust from a dead world – possibly a fitting gift to a planet bent upon ecological suicide.
I looked back a half century and recalled an event of protest, love, lust, mud and some of the best rock music ever – and yet I now know that without a moral compass pointing toward our Creator, feelings of ecstasy (whether caused by the heights of music or the depths of chemicals) are never enough to change a culture, truly raise our spirits or “give peace a chance”.
I went to school in the Netherlands to expand my knowledge of history and theology, and without any warning met a physically unimpressive fellow student whose whole life would change when he learned that he could no longer return home (which happens to be on the other side of the planet) because there would forever be a target on his back “painted” by the forces of crime and corruption that he had preached against. Words of Henry II from the play Beckett took on a powerful new meaning: “And who will rid me of this troublesome priest?”
And yet I also continued to awaken early each day, pray with words in the early morning stillness, walk Abby when she decided that she needed pursue her morning “routine.” Each morning this now middle aged puppy scans and sniffs the perimeter of the yard to know “who goes there?” during the night, greets other obscenely early morning travelers (two large slugs I named “Dimmi” and “Nadia” because I read too many John Le Carre novels over the years as well as a sweet and nimble bunny whom I named “Collette”as she reminds me of someone I knew in the summer of ‘69 – and that is one story I will never share with you!). Abby even drinks in the intoxicating pleasures of dew on the weeds – all of this reminds me that in the silence and simplicity of life, there is peace and purpose.
Fr. Joe