CowPi
 Journal

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror
up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look, you look, and instead,
here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.

— Rumi, from The Essential Rumi

An explanation for some forms of suffering…

by Daryl Furuyama at Whitehat Blackbox

There is a line from a William Stafford poem:

“It’s for the best,” my mother said, “Nothing can
ever be wrong for anyone truly good.”

And then I look at the suffering Jesus endured,
and the suffering of all people.
If any one was definitely good, it would be Jesus.
As for me, the only good in me is Jesus.

And yet he suffered.
I have suffered, and will again.
The people I love have suffered.
The stranger in the store has suffered,
and perhaps even now is trying to live with tragedy.

Why? I don’t know.
I do know that Jesus came and he suffered.
He was human. He suffered
with us, for us.

God never answered Job’s questions.
He is not going to answer mine.
God is the one who asks the questions:
How are you going to respond?
Are you going to receive or reject, keep or give?

The answer to the question is not a what, but a who,
not words, but the Word.
God is the answer to all questions.
And Jesus came
to show and to live and to be the answer.

I claim no deep understanding,
but I know—I know—with Jesus,
nothing can ever be wrong.

Near the end of the same poem,

“You don’t have to prove anything,” my mother said.
“Just be ready for what God sends.”

I ventured out recently into the blogsphere and discovered this meme via Sarx (with some links in the chain A and the original).

1. if the nature of god is omnipotent, benevolent, and anthropomorphic (that god is a person, who sees suffering as wrong, and can change all of it), why does god not act to relieve all suffering, or at least the greatest amount of suffering for the greatest amount of people the greatest amount of time?
2. if you were god, and you were omnipotent and benevolent, how would you respond to suffering?
3. if this is not the nature of god, what is the nature of god, that allows suffering in the world?
4. if these are the wrong questions to ask, what are the right ones?

— — — — — — —

The problem of evil is probably the best argument from atheists and agnosics against a belief in God. It most definitely causes much problems for the faithful too. Why would an omnipotent and good God allow evil in the world?

There is an intellectual and an emotional response to this question. Neither are direct answers to the question, but rather a response to the mystery of evil. Mysteries about God, and evil, have no final solution. They are not problems to be solved. We can only learn from them, experience them, but in the end, we are still puzzled by them.

This discussion is rather long, and so it is has been broken into several parts. First, an intellectual approach (or jump to the second section, an emotional approach).

Inspired by this article on constraints and brevity, and the website One Sentence, here is a story in one sentence:

I would have searched the world over to find the words to heal her pain, but there are no such words, only time and someone to just be there.

From Br. Joseph —

At some point in every faith journey, one finds him or her self taking an inventory of their core, central beliefs. Some of these beliefs are held very tightly, some loosely. The more central a belief, the more one aligns his or her identity.

Paula D’Arcy describes her seven central beliefs as certainties. These are listed below followed by some of my comments.

1) “I am certain everything is gift.”
This is the very foundation from which the first Beatitude speaks—blessed are the poor of spirit. (i.e. humility)

2) “I am certain we are entitled to nothing.”
See #1. Entitlement is an illusion that develops from one type of response to receiving gifts. (i.e. pride)

There is great freedom in realizing that one is not entitled to anything. All is gift. All comes freely from God. Why? Because God chooses to do so. God wants to; He does not need to. That is what love does. That is what love is.

With freedom comes responsibility to be good stewards of the gifts received. And with gifts comes, or should come, gratitude.

3) “I am certain the wells for pain and joy are not separate.”
See #1 and #2. This is difficult for many to accept. Not everyone can see the connection. One is not entitled to joy. And at the same time, one is not entitled to pain either.

The Buddhists say that the cause of all suffering is desire, and thus they seek to eliminate all desire. St. Ignatius of Loyola agreed that suffering comes from desire, but it is our disordered desires that cause suffering. Our drives, desires and wants, are energies given to us by God. They are gift. And because they are from God, they are good. By our re-ordering of these desires according to our priorities and our notions of happiness (not God’s), we cause dis-order and dis-ease.

4) “I am certain bitterness and healing are a choice.”
This is our response to #1, #2, and #3. You are free to choose how you respond.

5) “I am certain that running from your darkness leads to greater darkness.”
See #2, #3, and #4. Is this a definition of despair?

6) “I am certain the darkness is held ultimately by light.”
This is the source of all hope. See #1 and #7.

7) “I am certain that the words from Scripture, ‘In Him we live and move and have our being’ are not poetic; they are actual physical reality.”
See #1.

Our Lady of Mercy, pray for us…

This statement by Ronald Rolheiser, from his book The Shattered Lantern, got me to wondering.

When there is no pattern to our actions we experience meaninglessness.

Just because I do not recognize or perceive a pattern, does this mean that there is no pattern? Would God do this to me or to us? Would He just put us here to find our own meaning? Is everything relative and tiny then?

Is the understanding of suffering (and death, the final absolute for all) the last, ulitmate void? Is this the only void that we cannot cross by ourselves and so we must simply trust God that there is a pattern and meaning to it all? If I fail or falter in my trust in God, am I doomed?

Is the choice to love, to will the good of another, the only true and necessary pattern to discern? To say “Yes, I will love,” or to say “No, I won’t,” is this the only response to the ultimate source of meaning?

Questions, questions. Job had questions but You did not answer them. Words are not enough. Words are not enough to pray with to You. You are more worthy than words. This is a pale reflection of what you say to me, that I am more worthy than words. Instead, You sent Your Word in the flesh. He is the way across the void to You. He is the way of trust. There is only two words left to say—I love You, and thank You.

From Br. Joseph (Aug. 28, 2007) —

A few years ago, a priest gave a wonderful little homily on tarnish. You know about tarnish, that stuff that builds up and covers the shine of metal objects like gold, silver, brass and such. One summer, the sister in charge of the summer work-grant students had noticed how tarnished the beautiful, antique brass Tabernacle had become in the student chapel. She put several students to work on it. It took a lot of hard work and several days of polishing. After they were done, the Tabernacle shone bright like a beacon on a hill, just like it should for a king. (And it still does!)

In Father’s homily, he made note of this, and compared it to people. People throw a lot of tarnish around on other people. There are many, many ways we do this to each other. Sometimes we are ignorant of the tarnish we glob onto others; sometimes we do it on purpose. Either way, we are to blame. We add to the tarnish, to the dulling of the shine on the tabernacles of other hearts. The shine is always there, but we help cover up that shine, the shine of love, and it becomes harder for them to open up and to reach out to others.

Father also noted some people are tarnish removers, that is, they notice and help try to remove the tarnish and “stuff” that has built up over the weeks, months, years. They also try to help prevent more tarnish from being added. (Note: the Sacrament of Reconciliation does a much, much better job of removing tarnish!)

So, the choice is yours—add more tarnish, or be tarnish remover.

Keep hope alive. Dare to trust. Reflect love in all things. Be tarnish remover.

Our Lady of Mercy, pray for us…

I was talking with an older friend whose wife is the middle of battling the second stage of a debilitating disease. They chose to adopt two children years ago instead of passing this 50-50 chance, hereditary disease on to the next generation. Early in their marriage, he witnessed his mother-in-law progress through the disease that prematurely took her life. And now his belove wife is in the middle of it. They knew it was coming. And now it’s here. They have a few years left together, and they both treasure each and every moment of life.

His wife recently had a milestone birthday and all her family (daughters, brothers and their familes, grandchildren, etc.) came to visit and celebrate. This disease stops with her. No more in her family. But she still must battle it, with her husband at her side. Near the end of our conversation, he said, “If I had received everything I had wished for, it would have been so much less than what I did receive.”

Wow! God is a prodigal father. His gifts are always so much more than what we ask for, even when we do not think our prayers are answered. We cannot see.

In the Gospels, Jesus never prayed from a need-base, that is, from what was missing, but always from the abundance of the Father, to fill, to make whole. I am reminded of the line from the “Soul of Christ” prayer:

Jesus, with you by my side enough has been given.

Help me to see this Father; help me to live this. Please continue to bless my friends. Thank You for everything.

My deepest desire and most longing want is to see the face of Jesus Christ. Based on one of the Beatitudes, my daily prayer is for God to purify my heart so that I may see Him, see Him in others, and for others to see Him in me.
I often think or imagine or sense that I can see Jesus in others within their joy and laughter, in their bright shining eyes and smiles, and in their moments of spiritual consolation.
And although it is not my preference, I am far more certain that I see Jesus in others within their suffering and sorrow, in their tears and pain, and in their moments of desolation.
Christ is everywhere, in joy and sorrow, in laughter and tears, in peace and anger, in excitement and boredom, in certainly and doubts, in trusts and fears, in noise and silence, in known and unknown, in hope and despair, in love and hate, in heaven and hell. God is in the and/both, not the either/or—everywhere! Paradox and opposites become doorways to awareness of the presence of God.
Father, please teach me not to limit myself to any notions of who or what or where You are.