Say “death” and the whole room freezes—
even the couches stop moving,
even the lamps.
Like a squirrel suddenly aware it is being looked at.Say the word continuously,
and things begin to go forward.
Your life takes on
the jerky texture of an old film strip.Continue saying it, hold it moment after moment inside the mouth,
it becomes another syllable.
A shopping mall swirls around the corpse of a beetle.Death is voracious, it swallows all the living.
Life is voracious, it swallows all the dead.
neither is ever satisfied, neither is ever filled,
each swallows and swallows the world.The grip of life is as strong as the grip of death.
(but the vanished, the vanished beloved, o where?)
— Jane Hirshfield
Posts Tagged ‘death’
Poem With Two Endings
· Tuesday, 30 Jun 2009, 4 pmFlat Tire
· Sunday, 29 Mar 2009, 4 pmYou have to wonder what kind of reflection it is on a man’s life if on the way to the cemetery his hearse gets a flat tire?
Coincidence? Maybe. Perhaps we should focus not on the incident itself, but on how his family and friends react? That is where the choice is, where grace happens, be it accepted or rejected. It is not for the dead man, but for his family and friends. How do they choose?
I also wonder where they store the jack and spare tire in a hearse? Is it under the coffin?
Worth dying for…
· Monday, 23 Mar 2009, 2 amTo paraphrase a quote from Flannery O’Connor:
Life has, for all its horror, been found by God to be worth dying for.
What more can one add?!
Skulls = Death
· Tuesday, 27 Jan 2009, 11 pmHave you noticed the prevalence of skulls on clothing lately? Don’t people realize that skulls and bones have been symbols of death in every culture and in every time period throughout history? Come on people, skulls equal death. Is death what you really want to celebrate?
Culture of Death is an Idea Before It is a Deed
· Tuesday, 27 Jan 2009, 11 pmI heard this excerpt quoted from Fr. Richard John Neuhaus (who passed away earlier this month) on the radio. It is from his closing address to the annual convention of the National Right to Life Committee held last July. (Read the whole talk).
The culture of death is an idea before it is a deed. I expect many of us…can remember when we were first encountered by the idea. For me, it was in the 1960s when I was pastor of a very poor, very black, inner city parish in Brooklyn, New York. I had read that week an article by Ashley Montagu of Princeton University on what he called “A Life Worth Living.” He listed the qualifications for a life worth living: good health, a stable family, economic security, educational opportunity, the prospect of a satisfying career to realize the fullness of one’s potential. These were among the measures of what was called “a life worth living.”
And I remember vividly, as though it were yesterday, looking out the next Sunday morning at the congregation of St. John the Evangelist and seeing all those older faces creased by hardship endured and injustice afflicted, and yet radiating hope undimmed and love unconquered. And I saw that day the younger faces of children deprived of most, if not all, of those qualifications on Prof. Montagu’s list. And it struck me then, like a bolt of lightning, a bolt of lightning that illuminated our moral and cultural moment, that Prof. Montagu and those of like mind believed that the people of St. John the Evangelist—people whom I knew and had come to love as people of faith and kindness and endurance and, by the grace of God, hope unvanquished—it struck me then that, by the criteria of the privileged and enlightened, none of these my people had a life worth living. In that moment, I knew that a great evil was afoot. The culture of death is an idea before it is a deed.
That Fierce Embrace
· Friday, 7 Nov 2008, 8 pmIt doesn’t interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know
if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you.
If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand.
I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing.
I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day,
with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.— David Whyte, poem called “Self Portrait”, 1992
He Died for Me
· Monday, 21 Apr 2008, 5 pmFrom Br. Joseph —
We have all seen pictures of the crucifixion. There is one particular picture, a bit different from most, which I want to describe. The viewpoint of the picture is from above the Cross, a little higher than His right hand and a little behind, looking downward over Jesus on the Cross, and this vast crowd of people standing around the hill staring up at Him. The angle prevents you from seeing the ground directly in front of the Cross where I presume Mary, John, and others were standing. Jesus on the Cross was the center with emphasis expanding into the crowd of people who seem to be standing in the shadow of the Cross. But there was no shadow. It was more of an illumination.
The people in the crowd represented all parts of the world from all of history. There was a caveman kneeling. There were Asians, Africans, Native Americans, Aborigines, Eskimos, and Europeans. There were people dressed in jeans and t-shirts, Victorian dress, medieval peasants, ancient Roman togas, tribal costumes, and so on. Off to one side was a nun dressed in her black habit standing next to a young woman in cutoffs and halter top giving the impression of a prostitute. Which woman was more attuned to her sexuality? In the middle to the right stood an astronaut in a space suit. The reflection in his visor was the Christmas Star over the small village of Bethlehem. There was a sense of peace in all of their expressions as they gazed at His death on the Cross, a gift meant for all people for all time.
As I meditated on this image and its meanings, my imagination took control and I stepped into the image. (My hope is that you will be able to step with me into this image too.)
There I was, in the middle of that picture, surrounded by other people looking up at Jesus on the Cross. I glanced down and noticed the dust of the desert on my shoes. I felt the pebbles and dirt shift ever so slightly as I shifted my weight to the other foot. The contrast of what I had expected and what the sky looked like shocked me. Instead of cold and gray and darkness, I saw a sky of soft powdery blue with a hint of white puffy clouds low on the horizon. The mid-afternoon sun was warm on my face. All was silent except for the gentle rustle of clothes in the cool breeze.
I looked back up to focus on Jesus on the Cross. He was dead. The drama of the Passion that lead up to this moment was complete. I knew what was going to happen later in the afternoon, and especially on Sunday morning. I understood the source of the peace I saw in the faces of the people standing next to me. I felt the peace too, but not completely. I had a haunting deep sense of guilt weighing heavy on my heart. My sin was responsible for this man being on the Cross. He chose to die because of me.
One by one, slowly at first, then more quickly, the people in the crowd started to disappear. In a few moments, I knew I would be the only one remaining. It would soon be time to face this guilt inside my heart. I would have to face it alone with Him. Instead of becoming anxious, I felt a certain measure of peace. I wondered if I should be afraid. How many times did He say not to be? As the others in the crowd disappeared, I expected the weight of my guilt to grow within me. There is anonymity in a crowd, a sharing of responsibility that falsely disseminates the guilt. No, the weight of my guilt did not change. I knew it was mine. There was no fooling myself. No fooling Him.
Then the last person disappeared. There I was, alone. Alone before the Cross with Jesus dead on it. I continued to look up at Him. The sun was still warm on my face. The gentle breeze continued to toss my hair playfully across my forehead. Should I prostrate myself on the ground before Him? I stood still. The silence of infinity enveloped me.
I bowed my head slightly as if gazing into my heart, searching for the heavy brick of guilt hidden in a corner. There it was. I looked back up at Jesus and said in my mind, “I’m sorry. So sorry.” That is all I could say. No excuses. No tears. “I am sorry for my sin. Please forgive me.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered reading something about Jesus asking St. Jerome in a vision why he had not given Him everything. Jerome replied, “Lord, I have devoted my life to your service. I have given you all my works, all my love, all my praise, everything.” Jesus replied, “No, you have not given me your sins.”
In an inward gesture of reaching my hands upward, I said in my mind, “Lord, take my heart. Take all of it. All my love, all my joys, all my sorrow, all my sins, all my guilt. It is all yours.”
As I dropped my head again, I softly whispered, “I am Yours.”
A moment later, I looked up at the Cross again, gazing deeply into His face. The crown of thorns still pierced His lifeless flesh. The trickles and streams of blood were dried and crusted in His hair and across His face. The cuts were still open and the bruises were blue and black and swollen.
On one side of the threshold lies pain, sorrow, loss, guilt, and death. By letting go—surrendering—one steps into the threshold of transformation, through the Paschal Mystery of the Cross, and emerges into healing, joy, victory, freedom, and life.
I looked one more time up at His face on the Cross. It seemed almost like He was smiling. The heavy brick of guilt was gone from my heart. He had died for me, and I was glad to receive His gift, a gratitude that only comes from grace.
The Way stood in front of me now.
“I am the way and the truth and the life.” (John 14:6)
The Longest Day
· Saturday, 22 Mar 2008, 3 pmMy heart is a little giddy with excitement and anticipation for tonight’s Easter Vigil Mass. It is my favorite Mass of the whole year, with Christmas Midnight Mass a close second. It has been a long and dark Lent for me, and the hope Easter brings is fresh and renewed.
It is easy to live this day, the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, as a post-Resurrection people. We know what happens tomorrow. But I suspect that this was the longest and loneliest day for Mary, the Apostles, and the other disciples.
Just yesterday, in one day, her only son, their beloved teacher and friend, was arrested, tried, convicted, tortured, and crucified to death. The Apostles scattered for fear for their lives.
Now they wake up today. They sough to regroup. But around what, who? The very center of their lives had been lost in what appears as total humiliation and defeat. What to do? Not much I suppose since it was the Sabbath. All they could really do was wait, and pray. What else is there to do when hope seems lost, faith all but crushed? But wait for what? How much did they really believe about all of Jesus’ talk about rising up on the third day?
Poor Peter. I wonder if he cried all through the night and through the rest of the day knowing his denial? What did Mary do in her grief? What did Mary Magdalene and the other disciples do? When did they learn the truth about Judas? Did the Apostles bicker among themselves? Did they second-guess themselves, playing the we should have done this or not that games?
Oh! The passage from darkness to light, the unknown to the known. At the time, it seems like the slow, long death of everything, but from the other side, it is only the quick, short birth of the new. Death pangs and birth pangs, are they really different?
Being Present for the Dying
· Saturday, 1 Mar 2008, 1 pmI occasionally venture into the blogsphere. About a week ago, I found this except posted by Julie from the book, Caring for the Dying With the Help of Your Catholic Faith by Elizabeth Scalia. I immediately copied and pasted it in an email to a friend and co-worker whose father had recently refused treatment after fighting for years against several debilitating diseases.
The Long Tunnel
Some people say the process of dying involves the appearance of a long tunnel through which one passes, moving toward the light. Just as those who report back from a “near death experience” say they felt “pushed along” through a tunnel, you may feel like you are being “pushed along” by circumstances, and unable to halt the forward motion — a prisoner of sheer momentum. You would be right. As the journey’s end nears, there seems to be no further chance to hit the brakes or to pull back a bit.This is a scary feeling. A new skier would never attempt an advanced trail, and yet here you are moving through this experience at a breathtaking pace. Everything seems out of your control. This might be a good time to make an assessment of what you can control. You can control being wholly present to a person who is dying. That doesn’t seem like very much, but it is everything.
Together with Our Lady
When Mary, the mother of Jesus, was told that her Son had been arrested, her world also began to spin out of control. In truth, you are very much Mary’s companion right now, just as she is yours. What you are living through, she has survived:
Just as your access to your loved one is decreasing as their need for sleep increases, Mary’s access to her Son was closed off.
Like you, Mary had to stand by and watch helplessly while her loved one took on the “job of dying.”
Like you, Mary had to watch the one she loved let go of her to take His leave.
Mary, too, had to let go, and to trust that she would see Him again.
As you lean on family and friends, remember that Mary had John and Mary Magdalene beside her for support.
After Jesus’ death, Mary had to live and eat and worship with an imperfect “family,” some of whom had let her—and her Son—down. It is not really a unique experience, as families go.
Being “wholly present” may not feel like you are doing very much. It may seem like a pitiful amount of “control” for an adult to have over any person or event. But as Mary taught us, being “present” to another person has power. It is saying, “I will be a witness to your whole life and death, so that all you are and have been will remain in me,when you have gone. And I will help you say goodbye.”
Being wholly present to a dying person is a great responsibility, one that requires all the control of which you are capable.
My friend’s father passed away Thursday and the funeral was today. I know words are little help, put some words are better pointers to the Word—the one Word that can and does help.
Father, have mercy on Bill. May he be joined with You and all of your saints. Please bless his family. By Your Paschal Mystery, transform their loss into blessing, and draw them deeper into relationship with each other and with You.
Blind Monk’s Interview
· Monday, 28 Jan 2008, 12 amNear the end of the film Into Great Silence (technically it is a film, but it is something more), there is an interview with an old, blind monk. The years of solitude do not wear heavy on him. He is truly happy, and peace envelopes him, coming to you even through the camera lens. His voice is calm and soothing, and joy rings within his words even though I do not understand his French. Below is most of his extended monologue as presented in the accompanying special features DVD with the film. There are long pauses between portions of his talk as if to recognize the presence of God in and among his words.
No, why be afraid of death?
For those who’ve loved God like a father, you see, death isn’t to be feared. On the contrary, it’s a big reunion, since God, you see, loves us infinitely. He created us through pure love, and when one of us responds to this love, well, it’s big re-finding up there.
In other words, one finds Him once more as a father who loves us infinitely and is very merry.
Well, one has sins, but all sins are effaced as soon as one loves God like a father. And in practice, the nearer one comes to God, you see, the happier one is.
And in practice, that’s the goal of our life, that is. The nearer one gets to God, the happier one is, the faster one goes toward Him, you see.
One comes to terms with God. And in practice, one shouldn’t be afraid of God. On the contrary, it’s a great joy for us, finding a father once more.
The past and present, they’re human terms. In God there’s no past, there’s solely the present. And… when He sees us, He sees each of our lives straight off. That’s why, as He is an infinitely good being, He always has an eye for our well being. And whatever happens to us… well, there’s no reason for disquiet.
— — — — — — —
And I very often thank God for having rendered me blind. I’m certain that it’s for the good of my soul that He has permitted it.
— — — — — — —
At present, folk in the world are afraid of death and they are afraid of old age too, of many things like that. But it’s life.
When one loves God, one has no reason for disquiet. And in practice, our life in Chartreuse, and for Christians in general, you see, and… Well, the thing is to love God with all one’s heart, with all one’s soul, with all one’s forces, and one’s neighbour as oneself.
If one applies that, you know, there are many questions which are insoluble now in the world will immediately be solved. If truly one loved one’s neighbour as oneself, all the injustices in the world today would disappear.
— — — — — — —
To me, life is very simple. We have a creator, God, who is infinitely good, infinitely powerful, who demands simply that we love Him, that we just notice what He does for us… And if one loves Him, well, everything goes well for us.
That’s why one should always be happy, a Christian should never be sad, since whatever happens to one is will by God, or, at least, is permitted by God and for the good of one’s soul. And after all, it’s essential for us, isn’t it? God who is infinitely good, all-powerful, and who helps us.
Well, one has only to do that, then one is happy.