What is about to follow is the finished product of a talk I will be giving on June 24th in front of a small number of fellow parishioners (mainly from my bible study groups) at my local church. Well, not in the church... just in one of the rooms in the hall across the parking lot.
It incorporates some of my personal thoughts, experiences and reflections while visiting my family and friends back east (last month), and during my pilgrimage to EWTN (the Global Catholic Network) & The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament at Our Lady of the Angels Monastery in the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama.
I will be quoting extensively from a number of sources including, of course, the bible, sermons from St. Francis de Sales, excerpts and summations of information from EWTN's websites and Raymond Arroyo's biography on Mother Angelica (who founded the network and monastery 25 years ago), as well as notes from a talk given by Franciscan Brother Leo while visiting the Shrine in Hanceville, AL.
The first third of the talk gets a bit personal, so be gentle yet patient because there is a method to the madness. When I get to portions describing the Shrine and it's surroundings, I'll do the best I can to supply appropriate links to on-line pictures (I didn't have a camera with me, and I'm using a large picture book during my presentation to better show the folks attending on the 24th).
All that being said... I give you Part 1.
(UPDATE NOTE: What follows is a much more extended version designed more for posting in this blog. The actual talk will necessarily be trimmed, slightly rearranged and altered in some parts. I will be editing as necessary (both for the talk as well as in the posts).
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“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.” ~ Isaiah 43:18
“So do not worry… but seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
~ Matthew 6:31-35
There are a number of quotes that I have taped on different items in different places around my apartment. Some biblical, some secular. Some have been there for so long I forget that they’re there. But on occasion I’ll stop and read one of them - each one on a certain topic or for a specific reminder. One quote – attributed to American journalist and author, Fulton Oursler, who wrote the book “The Greatest Story Ever Told” (which was later made into a famous motion picture) – is on the monitor of my computer. It says:
“We crucify ourselves between two thieves: regret for yesterday, and fear of tomorrow.” ~ Fulton Oursler
I found myself once again facing my past. This has happened quite often. I’ll dwell on some distant memory, whether it’s centered on some happy occasion, a mournful event, or maybe a specific offense. And the mind begins to rewind and replay the events over and over; rehashing and rearguing until I turn over in bed for the umpteenth time and stare at the clock. 2:30 AM. Yes. Insomnia has reared its ugly head once again.
It’s gotten somewhat better over the years. The more recent day-to-day stuff still nags in the back of my brain at times. Maybe something happened at work, or a certain hot-button social or political issue is in the news, and that’ll spin between my ears. But, with regard to the things of the past, the older I get the easier it is to let things go. To forgive myself of things I’d done or hadn’t done, or things I’d said or hadn’t said. To forgive others of the same. To ask our Lord for forgiveness. To put things in proper perspective.
Nowadays, it seems that my brain has traded in most of the old hang-ups of the past for things which have not yet come to fruition. The future is where it’s at. It’s not a new bag of worries, but it seems to have gotten much bigger as my old satchel filled with bygone days has shrunk. If only I could have as much peace about present and future things as I do now with my past.
“Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.” ~ Psalm 116:7
It’s early in the morning. Very early. Dawn has yet to break. I lay in my old bed, 3000 miles east, in the bedroom of my youth. I’m trying to recover from jetlag, but the body clock is on autopilot. The clock on the wall ticks loudly each second, relentlessly. Through the window is heard the chirping of countless baby birds screaming for their tummies to be filled. And the parent birds are ceaseless in their search for worms to feed their young. The young cry out for comfort. And the parent obliges, taking care and taking watch.
It’d been a little over a year since I last visited my home town. And it’s been four years since my Mom had passed after many years of dialysis due to kidney failure. I don’t get the chance to fly back east that often. When I have, I’ve gone to the cemetery with my Dad – the last time in poor weather. But this day, in a few more hours, it will be the very first time that I will be at her grave site… alone.
While lying in bed, my mind must have drifted through a myriad of thoughts before I realized that the birds stopped chirping, and they were replaced with the plaintiff hoot of a lone owl. Woot woo-hoo! Hoo! Who! Who am I? Who was I yesterday? Who am I today? Who will I be tomorrow? Am I on the right path in life? What does the future hold for me? Will my career change? Will my income improve? Will I shake off some of my bad habits? Will I ever be married, have children of my own to feed and comfort like those early morning sparrows? When will that void in my life finally be filled?
What it ultimately comes down to is this: What do I continually search for, yet cannot quite seem to find? What do we continually search for, yet cannot quite seem to find? These questions are not new. People have been asking these same questions throughout the history of our existence. And Jesus, in His sermon on the mount, gives us a challenging response:
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?...
“Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”
“...And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” ~ Matthew 6:25-30
Those last five words can be jolting. “O you of little faith.” How much faith is enough? I’ve gone through a circuitous route with my own faith, having been raised in the Catholic faith, then strayed at times through my 20s during a period when I took issue with God regarding certain aspects of my lift at the time (even though, in hindsight, I was blind to other areas in which He had worked His divine providence, and healing, and mercy). In my 30s I slowly felt the yearning for that something other, and gradually and meticulously found my way back to the faith of my youth.
Each person goes though his or her own spiritual journey. And when you think you’ve reached a summit you wonder why things still aren’t quite going as planned. Questions still remain unanswered. Daily struggles still persist. And you say to yourself, “Isn’t my level of faith enough?”
“A man’s mind plans his way, but the Lord determines his steps.” ~ Proverbs 16:9
There’s an old phrase that goes, “God loves you right where you are. But He loves you too much to let you stay there.”
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” ~ Proverbs 3:5-6
I arrived at the cemetery later that morning, carrying with me the specially-made rosary I had given my mother as a going-away gift twelve years earlier. I know that she had said the rosary on these same beads at least three times a week (while going through her dialysis treatments) from that point forward until the last days of her life. Some of those fervent prayers, I’m sure, were said for me while I lived my life on the opposite side of the country.
There’s a story about this rosary. My mom told me about an incident that happened only once while she was saying the rosary in the dialysis unit while the machines cleansed her blood 3 hours a day, 3 days a week. She said that on this particular day she noticed that one of the decades started to give a certain glow. An orangey glow. Oddly enough, it was on the only section of beads which were artificial (the white ones); real moonstone being too fragile to make into beads. All of the other beads are authentic stones: red jasper, jade, aventurine, tiger eye, amber, and the “Our Father” beads made of bloodstone (green jasper with flecks of red jasper - a stone with a medieval legend that the flecks of red represent the blood of Christ fallen onto the green field of the crucifixion). Given her poor eye sight due to her medical condition, she pointed out the glow to someone else in the dialysis unit. And that person saw it too. Another person casually brushed it off as being caused by the glare from the sunlight through the window. That didn’t sway my mom. Yet, it never occurred again. No matter how much my mother tried to get those beads to glow.
After my mom had passed, my dad gave this rosary back to me knowing that mom wanted me to have it. Just a few days after returning to California after her funeral, I was in my apartment. I pulled out the rosary, thinking about her. And there was the glow… on the same set of beads. And, given that my Confirmation name is Thomas, I turned away from the living room window to shield the incoming sunlight from the beads. The orange glow still remained. And I knew that she was there, and that she was looking down from heaven.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
… a time to be born and a time to die.” ~ Ecclesiastes 3
Back at the cemetery, now four years later, I walked up to the gravestone with her name engraved into its rose-colored marble surface. The sun shining brilliantly. I took out the rosary from my pocket. I’ve had many conversations in my head with my mom these last few years. I’ve shed many tears during the last days of her life and since her passing. After several years, I’ve been able to move forward. There may be times when I’ll be driving down the road or sitting in a room with my thoughts, and my eyes will begin to well up. But, here at her grave site I find that I have no more tears to shed. Not even any words to say. Just a whole bunch of happy memories like an 8mm film projector flicking images against the back of my brain. And the Joyful Mysteries on the rosary to say in honor of her life.
While fingering the beads in prayer (through the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Birth of Jesus, and the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple) I think back - imagining the joy my own parents had when I and my brothers and sisters, one by one, came forth as gifts from God. And I thought of the countless infants throughout history who came forth into the expectant and loving arms of caring parents. And I also contemplate the countless millions who never took their first breath because of abortion throughout the world.
And through the final decade of the rosary on the Finding of the young Jesus in the Temple, and I think back to the various travels I’ve taken, and the worries that parents naturally go through, hoping that their child is okay when He flees the nest. And I think back to my return to my faith after straying for some years. A return that I know is due in no small part to mom’s constant prayers.
And I’m thankful for being given such loving and faithful parents; a mother and father who knew suffering and sacrifice intimately. And an extended family (siblings, nieces & nephews, aunts & uncles) that through all of our faults and foibles and peculiarities (myself included), is full of love, passion, care, and faith. It’s not that hard to count my blessings and realize that in many ways my cup overfloweth. How easy it is, when things are going badly, that we become blinded to these blessings.
Before I leave the cemetery, I bury a locket of hair; the six-inch remains of my once-long hair (it used to be much longer some years back). I called it the remains of my mild Samson complex. She always said that if I ever cut my hair she wanted to have it. And I wanted to keep my promise. It was time.
“A time to keep and a time to throw away.” ~ Ecclesiastes 3
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