This morning I was awaken by a warm breeze blowing in from my open window. This was the first evening of the spring when I was able to enjoy the fresh air as I slept. The birds began chirping as the darkness of night began to fade with the rising of the sun. As my coffee brews I enjoy the silence broken only by the gurgling of my morning java. Fairly quickly the kitchen light is invaded by the brightness daybreak.
It is in the still, quiet of the morning that I feel closest to God. When everything is new again. A fresh start is at hand. The prior evenings anxieties and worries had been mulled over and thought out as I drifted off to sleep. Now, as I sip my coffee and enjoy the birds songs, God smiles and sits with me. We plan our day.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Finding Jesus
I've never liked that term. "Have you found Jesus Christ?" Or "I found Jesus!" To me it makes one feel that for a time Jesus was hiding from you. Or that He left.
It has taken me 40 years to draw myself closer to Christ. My "Annus Horribilis" last year took me on a roller coaster full of emotional drops and hills of momentary outpourings of support. As the ride came to a complete stop, I jumped out in search of a solid path. That path led me to the doors of the church. And for the first time in my life I realized they were solid and not the revolving doors that I had treated them as for so long. My friends like to joke about plaster falling on their heads if they walk in after a long absence. I have yet to hear of this ever happening.
The old familiarity of mass. The comforting prayers. The feeling of a new beginning each week. This became my solid ground. And for the first time I could look upon the crucifix and get an appreciation of what real suffering is. My upheavals seemed small and temporary. And it reminded me of the promise of resurrection. I recalled my Mom in prayer reflecting as she looked upon the cross. I found her path.
I didn't find Jesus. He wasn't gone. He was always right there. The best way I can describe this is that He was always standing nearby me. Watching me. But I was complacent with his presence. Like a familiar piece of furniture. You pass it by constantly, but do you ever appreciate it's beauty and functionality? Suddenly I noticed Jesus smiling at me. Holding open a new door for me. Giving me a pat on the back when my spirits were low. He's done this all my life, but I wasn't paying attention. I guess I would prefer the statement 'Have you realized that Jesus is always present in your life?'.
So as time takes me away from my 'horrible year', I begin to feel that out of the ashes of grief and despair comes a new awakening of a different world. A phoenix rising to a higher plateau. 'Annus Horribilis' has ended. 'Annus Mirabilis', my 'year of wonder' has begun. I didn't have to look far for Jesus, He was always there. I just needed an eye opening experience to see Him.
It has taken me 40 years to draw myself closer to Christ. My "Annus Horribilis" last year took me on a roller coaster full of emotional drops and hills of momentary outpourings of support. As the ride came to a complete stop, I jumped out in search of a solid path. That path led me to the doors of the church. And for the first time in my life I realized they were solid and not the revolving doors that I had treated them as for so long. My friends like to joke about plaster falling on their heads if they walk in after a long absence. I have yet to hear of this ever happening.
The old familiarity of mass. The comforting prayers. The feeling of a new beginning each week. This became my solid ground. And for the first time I could look upon the crucifix and get an appreciation of what real suffering is. My upheavals seemed small and temporary. And it reminded me of the promise of resurrection. I recalled my Mom in prayer reflecting as she looked upon the cross. I found her path.
I didn't find Jesus. He wasn't gone. He was always right there. The best way I can describe this is that He was always standing nearby me. Watching me. But I was complacent with his presence. Like a familiar piece of furniture. You pass it by constantly, but do you ever appreciate it's beauty and functionality? Suddenly I noticed Jesus smiling at me. Holding open a new door for me. Giving me a pat on the back when my spirits were low. He's done this all my life, but I wasn't paying attention. I guess I would prefer the statement 'Have you realized that Jesus is always present in your life?'.
So as time takes me away from my 'horrible year', I begin to feel that out of the ashes of grief and despair comes a new awakening of a different world. A phoenix rising to a higher plateau. 'Annus Horribilis' has ended. 'Annus Mirabilis', my 'year of wonder' has begun. I didn't have to look far for Jesus, He was always there. I just needed an eye opening experience to see Him.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Life, Death and Resurrection.
This Easter ends a very special journey for me. It began last Easter with a gathering of my family. I didn't go to mass that day as up until that time I only went when I felt the spirit moved me. I had all the God in my life that I needed. Easter with my family is always enjoyable, as any holiday we get together. My Mother and I had a fierce competition in Wii bowling. Then my family played cards for quarters. Mom clean our clocks. She also asked me to take a picture of her from above with her head back, as we joked about how it made our skin smooth out, making us look younger.
A few short weeks later my journey took an unexpected turn. Summoned by a phone call to the emergency room, we spent the day in vigil at the bedside of our unconscious Mother. My path took a drastic turn as I witnessed Mom's journey end.
From there I wandered through the dark abyss of grief. Going through the motions of everyday life in a fog of uncertainty and loss. One bit of comfort that came to me was the support from my Mother's friends and family in the form of several very kind mass offerings. We traveled to many area churches. Each time I tried to make sense of Mom's much too early demise. Each time I was drawn into the celebration of the Eucharist and the ritual and symbolism to which I was raised. Mom was gone, but she left me a map to follow.
When I was a young boy in school, Mom would often put a surprise in my lunch bag. I couldn't help but smile when I would find a special treat in the form of candy, or cookies, or a little note of encouragement. Now that Mom had gone, I would continue to find little notes she left for me in the form of memories long forgotten. I would recall her showing me how to hold my hands in prayer. Helping me to learn the 'Our Father' and the 'Hail Mary'. I remembered how she encouraged our involvement in church activities. She would explain the meaning of why we do the things we do as we helped her change candles, fill the holy water fonts, and wipe down the pews at St. Mark's church. The memories and lessons were tucked away in us to be found years later when we needed them. And we needed them now.
The special masses eventually ended. But the peace I found in church became such a part of my life that I started to find myself being "moved by the spirit" each week. Mom was guiding my hands in prayer to help me move on without her. After 40 years, I began to experience the path of Christ in a way I could never imagine. I learned to give comfort to strangers, hope to those who mourn, and to set an example for those who lost their way. For the first time I have experienced Lent in the way I was supposed to. Through sacrifice and passionate devotion. The Jesus Christ who I always knew as the figure on the crucifix, became a constant presence in my life. A daily companion. A teacher. A friend.
Easter Sunday this year will be bitter sweet. Moms not here. Instead I awake to find one more Easter basked prepared for me by her with love. While Mom's death came too soon, it came at a time of year that she would have chosen. As we prepare to mark the one year anniversary of her passing with a family gathering at mass, we are fortunate to be reminded of the promise of eternal life. We are reminded of the suffering of Christ and his resurrection. We are reminded that when life on earth ends, the kingdom of heaven begins. Each year the pain of her passing will be preceded by the reminder of Easter's promise. As a child my Mom guided my hands to prayer. When she left this world, she placed my hands in the care of Christ and sent me on my way. Your Mother never really leaves you. She just gives you space to grow until you see her again. And the promise of Christ tells me I will. Alleluia!
A few short weeks later my journey took an unexpected turn. Summoned by a phone call to the emergency room, we spent the day in vigil at the bedside of our unconscious Mother. My path took a drastic turn as I witnessed Mom's journey end.
From there I wandered through the dark abyss of grief. Going through the motions of everyday life in a fog of uncertainty and loss. One bit of comfort that came to me was the support from my Mother's friends and family in the form of several very kind mass offerings. We traveled to many area churches. Each time I tried to make sense of Mom's much too early demise. Each time I was drawn into the celebration of the Eucharist and the ritual and symbolism to which I was raised. Mom was gone, but she left me a map to follow.
When I was a young boy in school, Mom would often put a surprise in my lunch bag. I couldn't help but smile when I would find a special treat in the form of candy, or cookies, or a little note of encouragement. Now that Mom had gone, I would continue to find little notes she left for me in the form of memories long forgotten. I would recall her showing me how to hold my hands in prayer. Helping me to learn the 'Our Father' and the 'Hail Mary'. I remembered how she encouraged our involvement in church activities. She would explain the meaning of why we do the things we do as we helped her change candles, fill the holy water fonts, and wipe down the pews at St. Mark's church. The memories and lessons were tucked away in us to be found years later when we needed them. And we needed them now.
The special masses eventually ended. But the peace I found in church became such a part of my life that I started to find myself being "moved by the spirit" each week. Mom was guiding my hands in prayer to help me move on without her. After 40 years, I began to experience the path of Christ in a way I could never imagine. I learned to give comfort to strangers, hope to those who mourn, and to set an example for those who lost their way. For the first time I have experienced Lent in the way I was supposed to. Through sacrifice and passionate devotion. The Jesus Christ who I always knew as the figure on the crucifix, became a constant presence in my life. A daily companion. A teacher. A friend.
Easter Sunday this year will be bitter sweet. Moms not here. Instead I awake to find one more Easter basked prepared for me by her with love. While Mom's death came too soon, it came at a time of year that she would have chosen. As we prepare to mark the one year anniversary of her passing with a family gathering at mass, we are fortunate to be reminded of the promise of eternal life. We are reminded of the suffering of Christ and his resurrection. We are reminded that when life on earth ends, the kingdom of heaven begins. Each year the pain of her passing will be preceded by the reminder of Easter's promise. As a child my Mom guided my hands to prayer. When she left this world, she placed my hands in the care of Christ and sent me on my way. Your Mother never really leaves you. She just gives you space to grow until you see her again. And the promise of Christ tells me I will. Alleluia!
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