tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14019753656021928112024-03-12T22:45:52.871-04:00Free Lemonade StandJohn Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.comBlogger387125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-19474683758172519502015-02-22T08:03:00.001-05:002015-02-22T08:12:03.190-05:00Piety and Pity: Pope and “pius” in Paragraph 49<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nDkhPqF7t9w/VOnTB92U3lI/AAAAAAAACa0/rQeLU64eO9I/s1600/Pity%2Band%2BPiety.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nDkhPqF7t9w/VOnTB92U3lI/AAAAAAAACa0/rQeLU64eO9I/s1600/Pity%2Band%2BPiety.jpg" height="320" width="231" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Pope gives Catholics a new sense of "Sunday Duty"</span></b></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>“Pius Aeneas”</i>,
Virgil called him; “Dutiful Aeneas”. The
Latin “pius” meant “duty”, to family, to society, to the gods. So Aeneas is depicted, fleeing from defeat in
the Trojan War, carrying his father and holding the hand of his son.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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As the Latin word moved through the flesh and blood of
generations, it became two words, “pity” and “piety”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>I often think that my Catholic churches are mostly inhabited
on Sundays by the pious,</b> those fulfilling their duty to their Father in Heaven,
with their children in tow. I was one of
those children-in-tow, and one of those parents going and towing. I continue, in a blend of duty and gratitude
toward the God of compassion and mercy I continue to find there, to go to Mass,
with no father to carry and my children too distant and grown to tow. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>But Pope Francis seems to be calling us not only <i>into</i> church and a sense of dutiful <i>piety</i>, but <i>out of </i>church with a sense of </b><i><b>pity</b>,
</i>of compassionate response to those on the margins. In the Gospel of the last Sunday before Lent,
Jesus reached out and touched the leper, becoming ritually unclean by doing so.
Francis writes, in Paragraph 49 of <i><a href="http://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_exhortations/documents/papa-francesco_esortazione-ap_20131124_evangelii-gaudium.html" target="_blank">EvangeliiGaudium”:</a><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><b>49. Let us go forth,
then, let us go forth to offer everyone the life of Jesus Christ.</b> Here I repeat
for the entire Church what I have often said to the priests and laity of Buenos
Aires: I prefer a Church which is bruised, hurting and dirty because it has
been out on the streets, rather than a Church which is unhealthy from being
confined and from clinging to its own security. I do not want a Church concerned
with being at the center and which then ends by being caught up in a web of
obsessions and procedures. If something should rightly disturb us and trouble
our consciences, it is the fact that so many of our brothers and sisters are
living without the strength, light and consolation born of friendship with
Jesus Christ, without a community of faith to support them, without meaning and
a goal in life. More than by fear of going astray, my hope is that we will be
moved by the fear of remaining shut up within structures which give us a false
sense of security, within rules which make us harsh judges, within habits which
make us feel safe, while at our door people are starving and Jesus does not
tire of saying to us: “Give them something to eat” (Mk6:37).</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>I delight in this Pope’s call not only <i>into</i> my warm Catholic church to be fed at Mass, but <i>out of</i> my warm Catholic church, into the
streets, to feed my brothers and sisters who sleep under cold bridges. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OdVWmYiSfmM/VMOgaW34XDI/AAAAAAAACaI/YOv9jN9t4BI/s1600/from%2Bthe%2Binside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OdVWmYiSfmM/VMOgaW34XDI/AAAAAAAACaI/YOv9jN9t4BI/s1600/from%2Bthe%2Binside.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The “in”-ness to which this particular writing in
Mark’s first chapter – believe <i>in</i> the Good News – calls us to <i>look</i>!</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Life lived <i>agape</i>.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Inside a lofty interior, like a cathedral or other public
building, our eyes are sometimes drawn upward by the architectural character of
the space. Something happens physically
when we look straight up. (You can try
this.) To look STRAIGHT up, we need to
put or head back very far, and if we don’t stop it, our mouth opens to allow
that upward turning. We are literally
agape. Our mouth is a gaping shape from
which our natural vocalization would be <i>Ahhhhhh</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we allow ourselves to stand in the middle of something,
we are opening ourselves to <i>Awwwwwwwwe</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Owned or Loaned?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A second thing that happens when we enter a place not our
own (which includes any interpersonal relationship) is that we relinquish
control. The word “relinquish” is from
the same Norse root as the word “loan.”
When we enter, we discover that something we thought we owned (our control)
is only loaned to us. When in the
posting two days ago I mentioned someone swinging the door open and saying “Come
IN” when all we wanted to do was drop something off – like “here’s a dinner for
you; I gotta go.” <a href="http://freelemonadestand.blogspot.com/2012/12/im-4th-of-magidoofus.html" target="_blank"> In 2012 I posted the story of a meal in a Migrant Camp in “I’m the 4th of the Magi: Doofus."</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Funny. We glibly say
that our children are loaned to us, our life is loaned to us, but when we look
at attitudes and behavior, we act as if we own them. Even in amorous love, we are subliminally
guided by syrupy lyrics like “You belong to me” and “Be mine”. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Restrained or Embraced?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A third thing that happens when come IN to a place or
relationship is that we are embraced.
The word “embrace” (in-bras) comes from French <i>embrassier</i>, to hold in the arms.
But it is natural for animals, including humans, to discern whether
being held is threatening or loving. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So Mark’s story of the beginning of the life of this
historical character Jesus is the story of a guy who wants to embrace us, or
even more quizzically wants us to let his Father, who we can’t see, embrace
us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But the Good News that he invited us to believe from the
inside is the Kingdom that has been promised to the striving, suffering,
wandering, failing Jews, now occupied by the Romans. (He swings the door wide open in a little
while, inviting <i>every</i>body, even the
Romans.) So those listening are looking
for shelter from this political storm, a promised paradise, and protecting arms
of a strong leader.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Will we let this invisible Father wrap us up and consider it
embrace and not restraint? </b>Will we come
in and light, relinquishing our plan made when we thought we owned our
time? Will we allow our emotional and
psychological jaws to drop, and limit our language only to <i>awwwwwe</i> and <i>ahhhhhhhhhh? </i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Jesus called, in this reading from Mark’s first chapter, the
first two of his homies, James and John.
But first he called us. Will we
enter? Will you?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Next: Kingdom, Free Will, and Kid-Proof Car Doors</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-4945173096461390832015-01-23T12:18:00.000-05:002015-01-23T12:18:51.110-05:00Mirrors and Selfies and Eyes of Love<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kzZOL4jlxJk/VMJ-XJVpgtI/AAAAAAAACZw/gDsmemrApO0/s1600/Eyes%2Bof%2BLove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kzZOL4jlxJk/VMJ-XJVpgtI/AAAAAAAACZw/gDsmemrApO0/s1600/Eyes%2Bof%2BLove.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy LocalStew 1/22/2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>How many times, I wonder now, had Gary sensed the unasked question in Suzanne’s face: “How do I look?”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>How many times did she hear the response in his unspeaking eyes: “You look <i>beautiful.”</i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The Pope spoke on January 9th about “mirror men and women”
who close themselves off from others, building a superficial and fragile sense
of self from their image reflected in a mirror.</b>
And research last year spoke of the compulsion to post “Selfies”, our
image taken literally from arm’s length.
Francis said that focusing in on ourselves hardens our hearts. Selfie research considered the need to
establish one’s existence by posting evidence of it, kind of a “Posto, ergo sum”
corollary of the Cartesian “Cogito ergo sum” premise.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe we just look in the mirror or take a
selfie to answer an ordinary question: “How do I look?”</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since reading about the Pope’s Mirror People reference, I’ve
reflected on my friends on the street, the ones who <i>live</i> there, without mirrors or selfies to see how they look. And I shudder to consider that they rely upon
our gazes for their sense of self-worth.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ls-xknCmcaU/VMKApzY5MvI/AAAAAAAACZ4/Ete98DkjBhA/s1600/eyes%2Bof%2Blove%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ls-xknCmcaU/VMKApzY5MvI/AAAAAAAACZ4/Ete98DkjBhA/s1600/eyes%2Bof%2Blove%2B2.jpg" height="107" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>There is a car <a href="http://gmauthority.com/blog/2014/09/ad-break-irresistable-staring-the-2015-cadillac-ats-coupe/" target="_blank">commercial </a>that shows a pretty plain-looking
guy walking unknowingly in front of a good-looking car.</b> Women look admiringly at the <i>car</i>, but he thinks they are looking
alluringly at <i>him</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Pretty soon his posture and bearing change;
he’s feeling pretty darned good about himself.</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Cut to a guy in layers of clothes, unshaven and carrying his
most essential belongings in a plastic bag. </b>How many looks of disdain or
averted eyes does it take before he feels pretty darned bad about himself? Aversion and disdain are, spiritually speaking,
looks that kill.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Yesterday I saw the <a href="http://westbloomfield.localstew.com/news/former-jcc-marketing-director-suzanna-lichtman-passed-away-this-morning" target="_blank">photo</a> on top that showed me that the opposite is
true too. Looks of love can give life.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Gary Lichtman is a real <i>mensch.</i> Wikipedia describes that word adeptly as “a
person with the qualities one would hope for in a friend or trusted colleague”</b>.
For years Gary was a colleague and friend at University of Detroit Mercy. A few years ago we learned that his wife
Suzanne had been diagnosed with cancer, and that the prognosis was not
positive. Yesterday was saw on his
Facebook page that Suzanne had passed away.
The photo! Look at their bright
young faces in the lower half of the photo!
I see promise and hope and possibility and potential. But it is the one on the top half that blows
me away, because I see Suzanne’s beauty and the love in Gary’s eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Suzanne and Gary and their daughter had visited us last
year, five years since our retirement had put us across the state from them.</b> Gary was his usual smiling self, all attention
and encouragement and affirmation and gratitude. So was Suzanne. I reflected on her freedom to be her best
self despite the hair loss and swelling that come with the cancer fight. After only moments of thinking of their fight
with cancer, I was fully drawn into their dance with life, their enjoyment of
the moments with us surrounded by the beauty of nature.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How many times, I wonder now, had Gary sensed the unasked
question in Suzanne’s face: “How do I look?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How many times did she hear the response in his unspeaking
eyes: “You look beautiful.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I was just sitting with my writer friend Steve, who is “winter
camping” in his van these months. </b> As we
shared an order of toast and a couple of cups of coffee, I shared with him that
I was writing this note about Suzanne, and her feeling beautiful because that’s
the way she was seen. And I shared too
my fear that those on the street may learn to feel ugly. He looked at me gently, and said, “For us, it’s
all about finding relationships that help us see our value.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Gary will, I hope, continue the work he does at the
university, helping people see our best face, the beautiful things and people
at our school. And I pray that he will
see Suzanne just looking at him, from time to time, with the same loving eyes
as those with which he looks at us, that tell him he is a beautiful Mensch,
that help him know his immeasurable value.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBgAFCe-HIs/VMDpVYmetJI/AAAAAAAACZg/AhHIzjP3FLc/s1600/Mark%2B1%2Bpart%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBgAFCe-HIs/VMDpVYmetJI/AAAAAAAACZg/AhHIzjP3FLc/s1600/Mark%2B1%2Bpart%2B1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I lean into life. I’m
awakened most mornings by the pull of a project,</span></b> or a task, or a word. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, my beloved sleeps, in the embrace
of Psalm 127’s second verse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>It is vain for you to rise early<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>and put off your rest at night,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To eat bread earned by hard toil—<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>all this God gives to his beloved in sleep</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking it up just now, I discovered that the <i>first</i> verse
leads into this morning’s posting perfectly:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Unless the LORD build the house,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>they labor in vain who build.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Unless the LORD guard the city,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>in vain does the guard keep watch.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Mark’s Gospel leans forward too.</b> 1/3 of the way into the
first chapter, Jesus has already been prophesized by John the Baptist,
baptized, tempted in the desert, and is into his Galilean ministry. Mark’s my kind of man. I recall Gust Kopack sweeping in from the
milking barn, jumping out of his coveralls and putting on his fishing gear,
calling to my godfather, “Come on, Joe, time’s a-wastin’!” And off they’d go for our breakfast trout,
the sun barely risen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So it is no surprise that when I anticipated getting into
this Sunday’s Gospel, it was all about the <i>call</i>
of Jesus. Drop everything and follow
me. Time’s a-wastin’.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we’re a third of the way through this Gospel before
Jesus calls Zebedee’s boys out of the boat.
His call comes only <i>after</i> he
calls all in his earshot to <i>“Repent</i>,
and believe <i>in</i> the Gospel.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Jesus didn’t say “believe the Gospel”. </b> I was all ready to jump up and go fishin’. But the word <i>in</i> stopped me cold. I’d
never noticed that little word. I am
inclined to work at believing the Gospel from where I am, outside it. I pick it up, read and study it, trying to
understand it. <b>But Jesus called me to
believe <i><u>in</u></i> it. It was like He was a sweet old lady to whom I
wanted to deliver a gift, who when she saw me, swing the door open, smiled and
said “Oooo! Come </b><i><b><u>in</u>!”</b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking at things from the inside is a whole ‘nuther thing
than looking at them from the outside.
From the inside of a place or a person or a relationship, our affective
faculties – our <i>feelings</i> – join our
cognitive faculties – our <i>thoughts</i> –
and we are given a three-dimensional picture, a four-dimensional
experience. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Do <i>you</i> lean into
life too?</b> Can you join me for a few mornings in accepting
the door-swung-wide-open invitation of Jesus to come <i>in</i> and light for a minute? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tomorrow: what it’s like from the <i>in</i>side.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-66460634285458419302015-01-05T08:08:00.001-05:002015-01-05T08:10:23.784-05:00Christmas to Epiphany XII - Tenderness as the Fruit of Patience and Closeness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KOR6t86bCgk/VKqKkw2KwiI/AAAAAAAACZE/KntNYSzCNfA/s1600/Delp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KOR6t86bCgk/VKqKkw2KwiI/AAAAAAAACZE/KntNYSzCNfA/s1600/Delp.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NrJ-ptkx9rM/VKqKkzompOI/AAAAAAAACZA/0j9tT7EcYg8/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BIV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NrJ-ptkx9rM/VKqKkzompOI/AAAAAAAACZA/0j9tT7EcYg8/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BIV.jpg" /></a><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">On this 12<sup>th</sup> Day of Christmas, my final entry in
response to the question of Fr. Delp – How are things different now that Christ
is born – and the three characteristics of God – the Patience of God, the
Closeness of God, and the Tenderness of God.</span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I desire to live a life of tenderness. I have had glimpses
of this in relationships with people facing difficulty. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>When my dad was progressively weakening with congestive
heart failure</b>, my wife and I would make more and more frequent drives to
Chicago, the six hours each way opportunity for preparation and reflection. For
those condensed weekends, I was able to focus caring and kindness, knowing that
my wife and I would soon be back in our car with time to reflect and recharge
our batteries. An unforgettable
experience was that of my dad who was not expressive of his emotions looking
into my eyes and saying “Johnny, you’re so kind to me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>When my friend Fred had been diagnosed with terminal brain
cancer,</b> I had the opportunity in my retirement to sign up to spend time with
him once a week. As with my dad, the
focused, short-term time with him allowed me to be very kind and loving. I was free to be the best of myself. Fred came to know me at my best, and in his
eyes I saw myself at my best as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>My relationships with people experiencing homelessness</b> has
mellowed over time, allowing me to focus on them, help them see their own
dignity and value…because I have been blessed to see them as good, as my dad and
Fred saw me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">As I have reflected on these experiences of tenderness, I
realize that tenderness is a fruit of patience and closeness. </span></b> These times with my dad, with Fred, with my
acquaintances on the street are really effortless. The effort that preceded
them were being getting past impatience and isolation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So today on the 12<sup>th</sup> Day of Christmas, I’ve
outlined what I’ve come to learn about Patience and Closeness, and set out some
closing thoughts on Tenderness</b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Patience </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->a.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> <b>
</b></span><!--[endif]--><b>With myself</b>: allow time to be simply loved by
God, to learn God as source of all, and my primary and essential identity as <i>beloved</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->b.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> <b>
</b></span><!--[endif]--><b>With others</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Grace
to keep in mind they will not grow as I think they should<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Grace
to keep in mind that they are as imperfect as I am<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->c.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>With God</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->God
as friend – is not made in my image; God’s ways are not my ways. God is
perfection, harmony, truth and beauty, goodness…but not as I define or expect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->d.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> <b>
</b></span><!--[endif]--><b>Withal</b>: nature other than man shows growth as
slow, seasonal<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 2.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level4 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Do I accept starts and lags in myself and others
as natural, or as failings of consistency and persistence, as imperfection to
be grown beyond?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 2.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level4 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Do I respect the season of my own life (retired
and aging)?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Closeness</b>: as night and day guide all of nature
to work and rest, closeness to God in solitude and closeness to God in human
companionship are gifts in alternation as well as combination.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->a.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--> <b>To others</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->This
Christmas gift of God-as-Love calls me to be accept the gift and share it. Being drawn into relationships is natural.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]--> Aversion to others is based on fear of them or
of my own inadequacy, each a failure of trust in God’s love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>iii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Physics
and grace consort to draw me to the other.
As I get closer, attraction increases, grace providing what is needed
for the relationship.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->b.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>To myself </b>- sitting with myself, accepting of my
imperfection, respecting my own needs, physical and emotional<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->c.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>To God</b>: time for nothing but God, in prayer, liturgy,
nature<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->d.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>To all</b>: delight in beauty of nature, including
people, without taking responsibility to nurture or change, to remake them
according to my preference<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Tenderness:</b>
My tenderness has come in focused relationships, condensed periods of
time. I thought momentarily that it was
like putting on a costume of kindness and acting out the part. But I think it was actually removing the
shell of my self-doubt and fear and acting as my true self. What difference it
makes to me that Christ is born – Fr. Delp’s question – will show in the degree
that I am this true self with my wife, my children, my neighbors, those who I
see without the gift of preparation and focus. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b>But I need to remember that the Pope spoke of these three characteristics as characteristics <i>of God. </i>They will never be mine except through the unearned and freely given gift of <i>GRACE!</i></b></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-42161292640846904292015-01-04T07:02:00.000-05:002015-01-04T07:02:18.384-05:00Christmas to Epiphany XI: Step Two, and a Longer Walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SaHBSB0lmsA/VKkqM5MCA-I/AAAAAAAACYw/6HSRAZtPMyU/s1600/2010%2Btom%2Bcarr%2Bphoto%2Boriginal%2Bgame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SaHBSB0lmsA/VKkqM5MCA-I/AAAAAAAACYw/6HSRAZtPMyU/s1600/2010%2Btom%2Bcarr%2Bphoto%2Boriginal%2Bgame.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This is the Eleventh
Day of Christmas, and Epiphany approaches quickly</b>. </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Fr. Delp’s question, how has the birth of
Christ changed me, has been playing in my mind – falling asleep, waking, and in
moments of quiet that have somehow invaded my busy days. </b> The question has found paths in my darkness
by the light of the three characteristics that Pope Francis says that God is to
us, and calls us to be to others – patience, closeness, and tenderness. I notice now that these paths, having been
walked on repeatedly, are becoming easier to recognize, easier to walk. God’s way is becoming worn in me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Walking ,walking,
walking…this brings me right back to where yesterday’s story left off – my learning
from relationships with people living on the street. Step one was finding a way to actually sit
down with them. Step two is walking the
streets with them.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I’d been helped through the first step – sitting down with
Malcolm and feeling my kinship to him.
But when our parish’s shelter week was over, I lost the opportunity for
a relationship with him.</b> It was a
Warming Center that let me proceed toward God’s call to me to “touch <i>them</i>.”
Sts. Peter and Paul is a parish in downtown Detroit that is staffed by
the Jesuits. With the urban mission of
the university and the urban commitment of the Jesuits and the Sisters of
Mercy, the parish opened “Sts. Peter and Paul Warming Center”. <b> <a href="http://www.sspeterandpauljesuit.org/center.html">http://www.sspeterandpauljesuit.org/center.html</a> </b>Brother Jim was a Jesuit who had started the Warming Center,
but led from the rear, empowering those who began as guests to become
hosts. So the luncheon was prepared by
those with the gift of feeding, and the speakers were those among them with the
gift of words. The room was filled with
people sitting at round tables. They
were law school people on lunch break, parishioners, street people, Jesuits and
Mercys, and others who supported the center. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I’d shared that
Ignatian Contemplation, inviting us to enter the story, to <i>be</i> there in it, and not just intellectualize, had been a powerful
influence on me, driving me to take the first step. And it was that gift that drew me powerfully
to take the second.</b> The luncheon
speaker told us that the Warming Center was special to him and the others who
were homeless because it was a place where they were welcomed, not
shunned. He told us something that I
never thought about. While there are
numerous places that those on the street can go for lunch and dinner and
shelter, the in-between times find them walking from place to place because to
stop is to loiter or freeze. Duck into a
restaurant or store to get out of the cold and you are asked to leave. Sit down and you are dangerously cold…and
seen as loitering, being seen as an eyesore or a threat. So, he said “We walk, as if we had somewhere
to go.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Just as my retreat
had “taken me in” – to the story of Jesus and the crowd – His simple mention of
“walking as if we had somewhere to go” took me in to life on the street.</b> As a passionate introvert, I feel capable of
being social when there is something that I can do, some use I can fill. But ask me to simply mix with people and I’m
tortured by self-consciousness. So at
conferences when I am presenting or participating in sessions, I’m
comfortable. But put me in a “reception”
in a large room full of strangers, and I want to escape. Since escape was not appropriate, I’d found a
way to cope. I’d walk randomly through the
room <i>as if I had somewhere to go.</i> I’d do this until we were free to sit down
for the meal…just like the person on the stage was saying. So those words “<i>as if I had somewhere to go”</i> transported me into a person on the
street doing the same thing. I was
walking to stay warm, self-conscious of the fact that I didn’t belong, averting
my eyes, looking at the cracked sidewalk.
And then I realized that I smelled, and that the clothes that I was wearing
were not my own. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>My retreat experience
of Jesus calling me beyond my revulsion to the crowd was so real that I knew it
as truth for me. And this very real walk
on the streets of Detroit in clothes not my own had the same certain truth for
me.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I’d been given three
gifts.</b> I knew in my mind what a
Warming Center was. I knew in my mind
why they were valued. But me than anything
else, I found that we have something in common, the street people and me. We have words to speak…and we find similar
ways to cope with our gifts being unneeded or undesired.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>And three responses
emerged.</b> I left the luncheon shocked to know that there were thousands of
people on the street in the city I held proudly as my own. I felt ashamed that I had lived so long and
thought of myself as a caring person so deeply, while this went on and I did
not feel it. And I was determined to
make this reality a part of my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The story has continued
to unfold since that day at Sts’ Peter and Paul.</b> After becoming deeply engaged with people on
the streets in Detroit and those who care about and for them, retirement in
Northern Michigan gave me the opportunity to find caring on a smaller and more
personal scale. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>See more about this; learn about my developing ministry with Home Sweet
Homelessness, a board game designed in a shelter that serves as a learning tool
to help close the distance between those with homes and those without. <a href="http://www.homesweethomelessness.org/">www.HomeSweetHomelessness.org</a> <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Tomorrow – Tenderness as the fruit of patient closeness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CJAErSSUWOs/VKfcLnc2QOI/AAAAAAAACYg/GpVEBvUAlPA/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CJAErSSUWOs/VKfcLnc2QOI/AAAAAAAACYg/GpVEBvUAlPA/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BX.jpg" height="186" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">On this tenth day of Christmas, we continue to reflect on
Fr. Alfred Delp’s question, what difference it makes in our lives that Christ
is born. A</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd we return to the model of the good
life provided by Pope Francis in his Midnight Mass homily as we look toward
Epiphany, the opening to that good life: </span><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">The patience of God, the closeness of God, the tenderness
of God.</span></b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>LEARNING AN UGLY TRUTH ON RETREAT</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://freelemonadestand.blogspot.com/2015/01/christmas-to-epiphany-viii-closeness-of.html" target="_blank">Yesterday’s posting</a> began to look at the closeness of God by
proposing that being close with another calls us beyond fear and self-doubt
through the gift of “actual grace”, a gift given freely to us as we begin to
act, to reach out. <b>And I promised to share the story of my own becoming close with people
who are homeless…despite my strong aversion to it! Here’s the story of the first small step.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>In my first 8-day Ignatian
retreat, my director had given me a story to enter in prayerful imagination.</b> </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>There I was in the
crowd as Jesus walked down the road, the crowd attracted by his healing and his
speaking.</b> By now I had been on retreat for a few days, and felt very close
to the person Jesus. And as I saw him
coming closer to where I was, each of us being moved by the crowd, I felt in myself
a desire to walk with him, right next to him, like the white minister I recall
walking next to Martin Luther King in a march in the 60’s. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>But the crowd was
thick and aggressive, pushing toward Jesus, saying “Touch me, Jesus!” “Love me,
Jesus!” “Heal me, Jesus!” <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at Jesus, flanked by some of his closest followers,
who were trying to give him room to walk.
I wanted to be one of them, one of Jesus’ friends. <b>I found
myself next to him, on his left, and as he looked straight ahead, I said “I
want to touch <i>you</i>, Jesus.” “I want to love <i>you.</i>” I want to heal <i>you!</i>”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>He looked at me deeply, calmly, and with the pity of someone who loves
one who does not understand, and gently said to me, “Don’t touch <i>me</i>, touch <i>them</i>! Love <i>them</i>! Heal <i>them</i>!”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I looked down, to where my heart sank. I felt revulsion for the crowd.
They were dirty.</b> They smelled, like
the baskets of dirty laundry that I remember my grandmother bringing for my
mother to wash when I was a small child. I literally sobbed to Jesus, “I don’t <i>want </i>to touch <i>them! </i> I want to touch <i>you!”
</i>I realized that I was <i>pleading</i>
with him. But he looked again at me,
kind but firmly repeating, “Touch <i>them.</i>
Love <i>them.</i> Heal <i>them.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<b>In my revulsion of the crowd despite Jesus’ clear mandate to me, I knew
that my contemplation had taken me to a truth in myself.</b> Where Jesus was
calling me to compassion for the crowd, I was stuck with my revulsion, my
distaste for them. I did not come to
resolution on this. I took it home with
me. If one can look at “sin” not as a
shameful act deserving punishment, but sin as distance from God, I would say that
I went home knowing my sin. I committed
it to prayer, but I did not resolve it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>BEING MOVED A FIRST STEP CLOSER<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Some months later I was in the
kitchen of our church hall making sandwiches for the guests of our rotating
homeless shelter,</b> with other members of my prayer community. I was concentrating on being productive,
spreading the peanut butter and jelly, bagging the sandwiches, there in the
clean, bright kitchen, so I could get back to my afternoon’s work across the
street at my job on campus. I was in the
huddle of my friends doing something charitable. Our quiet conversation paused as we realized
that the evening’s guests had arrived on their bus, and were walking single
file down the hallway outside the kitchen. We could see them through the narrow
opening of the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Suddenly I was back in that retreat chapel, and they were the crowd,
and I knew that Jesus was telling me to <i>touch
them</i>, but I was glad to be separated by the kitchen wall.</b> Again I decided to retreat with my sin in
place. I finished my work and got back
to my job. But I knew that I needed to
get past that wall.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The next day I went to the woman coordinating our rotating shelter and
told her I’d like to cook and serve a meal.</b> We did not serve the hot
breakfast from the kitchen, but from long tables out in the cafeteria. There was no wall to separate us from the
shelter guests. After serving breakfast
on that first morning, I hesitatingly took my own breakfast and as directed
joined the guests at table. They were
speaking to each other, and I felt incapable of being of any use to them. My eyes seemed glued to my plate. I felt like a failure. On the second day I took my plate and scanned
the room for someone sitting alone.
Malcolm was a slight light-skinned African-American perhaps in his late
30’s. His eyes were glued to his plate
too. I felt so different from him. I had no words. But I told him my name, and he told me his,
and despite the fact that no more was said, I felt that I had taken a first
step <i>closer.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>On the third morning, I watched for Malcolm to come through the line,
repeating his name in my head. Malcolm…Malcolm…Malcolm.</b> I wanted to remember it despite my jangly
nerves, feeling so out of place, so ineffective. It was toward the end of the meal when he did
come in, and my heart leapt. He glanced
at me as he held his plate out for the scrambled eggs I was serving. “Good morning, Malcolm,” I said,
smiling. I weep as I recall the
transformation in his face, his slight brightening as he looked at me fully and
said, “You remembered my name.” I told
him I’d been looking forward to seeing him, and each of us continued with our
tasks – him to getting his breakfast and me to serving others. I joined him again with my plate. A third person was at the table, and
conversation did not grow much. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The week ended after a few more
mornings. Malcolm and I said little to
each other, but he gave me a gift that took me to more and more steps closer
and closer to others who had previously been the crown I’d passively resented
as getting in the way of my getting close to Jesus. Malcolm had let me see his face, and had let
me look into his eyes as he looked into mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>While I felt better about taking that step, I knew it was still about <i>me.</i></b>
But Malcolm remained with me as a person as real as myself, and his gift
of being companion at that breakfast table soon had me taking another big step.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tomorrow: a next big step closer. my walking the streets in other people’s
clothes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wHXgUEhpwRQ/VKaoSfKRUHI/AAAAAAAACYQ/z3cFnEDBO6I/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BIX%2BGotta%2Bhave%2Ba%2BWITHness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wHXgUEhpwRQ/VKaoSfKRUHI/AAAAAAAACYQ/z3cFnEDBO6I/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BIX%2BGotta%2Bhave%2Ba%2BWITHness.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">On this eighth day of Christmas, we continue to reflect on
Fr. Alfred Delp’s question, what difference it makes in our lives that Christ
is born, through the Pope's three lenses: the
patience of God, the closeness of God, the tenderness of God.</span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don’t know what to <i>do</i>
with it, </span><span style="font-size: large;">I just <i>do with</i> it. </span>My friend said this the other day about moving beyond his reluctance.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<b>Fr. Delp’s question calls us not to answer, but to action,
to our letting the birth of Christ make a difference in our lives, to be, as
Pope Francis says, the patience, closeness, and tenderness of God in the world,
as Jesus was.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa.</i> I have three faults.</b> I am resistant to patience, closeness, and
tenderness. I want to move quickly, which I find easier alone, and find
tenderness difficult in light of my perceived masculinity. <i>Fear </i>and
<i>doubt</i> are names I give this
resistance in myself. But Delp’s question calls<i> me</i> to action. And I know that it’s God’s
grace that has taught me that action is not only possible, but rewarding.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A lifetime Catholic, I was taught in grammar school that
there are two kinds of grace, actual and sanctifying. I think of sanctifying grace as a something
like habit. Virtuous activity leaves
breadcrumbs along its path, making it easier the next time, and eventually a
trail is formed in our psyches. Modern
neurology would call this our brain forming neural pathways. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I think of Actual
Grace as a cartoon, or a science fiction special effect. The character stands at a chasm, driven to
get to the other side. </b> Urged by some
assuring force, the character steps out in trust, and (cue the special effects)
with each step, a bridge forms under the outstretched foot. The means of crossing is formed as the
crossing is made. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><a href="https://www.worldcat.org/title/we-make-the-road-by-walking-conversations-on-education-and-social-change/oclc/21483166" target="_blank">We Make the Road byWalking</a></i> is the title of a book by Miles Horton and Paolo Freire</b>, two
advocates of social change from the 70’s.
Miles Horton came out of undergraduate
studies ready to get the poor in Appalachia organized to escape poverty. But he <i>learned
</i>from the people there that change came from something more like a
conversation than a lecture. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Change is something
that we do <i>with</i> people. We change too.</span></b> The Samaritan was changed by the man on the
side of the road, perhaps more than the man he “helped”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The bridge that Actual Grace builds across the chasm of fear
or doubt has, according to Fr. Howard Gray, S.J., four steps: See, Feel, Help, and
Change. </b> If I allow myself see the person
in need, I will feel compassion. If I
allow myself to feel that compassion, I will reach out to help. If I allow myself to help, I will commit to
do all I can to help things (in the world and in myself) to change so that the
kind of thing that is hurting that person will not hurt others.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Seeing, feeling, helping, and changing is not a practice of
walking a trail alone. My friend’s
comment in <a href="http://freelemonadestand.blogspot.com/2014/12/christmas-to-epiphany-vii-pazienza-de.html" target="_blank">our earlier discussion of New Year’s resolutions</a> added a
word to the Swoosh brand mantra. He didn’t
say “I just do it.” He said “I just do with it.”</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We make the road by walking <i>with. </i>And the path is made
in <i>us</i> as well as in the world.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>For the story of the photo, see this <i><a href="http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2012/dec/5/good-samaritan-meets-obama-man/" target="_blank">link</a></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Tomorrow – I witness my with-ness and homelessness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-33893571732016628142015-01-01T08:02:00.000-05:002015-01-01T08:02:00.066-05:00Christmas to Epiphany VIII: Vicinanza di Dio (The Closeness of God)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w06Lhlu7nAM/VKVDiZlDr1I/AAAAAAAACX4/tPHg1ZCtU1o/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BVIII%2Bcloseness%2Bof%2Bgod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w06Lhlu7nAM/VKVDiZlDr1I/AAAAAAAACX4/tPHg1ZCtU1o/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BVIII%2Bcloseness%2Bof%2Bgod.jpg" height="320" width="270" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">On this seventh day of Christmas, we continue to reflect on
Fr. Alfred Delp’s question, what difference it makes in our lives that Christ
is born.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And we return to the stable, three-legged base of the good
life provided by Pope Francis in his Midnight Mass homily as we look toward
Epiphany, the opening to that good life.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Proximity. This is how God works. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Pazienza di Dio, </i></b><b><i>vicinanza di Dio, </i></b><b><i>tenerezza di Dio: t</i></b><b>he patience of God, </b><b>the closeness of God, </b><b>the tenderness of God.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>This morning we sit at the warming fire of the second
characteristic to which we are called, the <i>closeness
of God</i>. </b> This is a morning on which much
of Western culture celebrates New Year’s Day…and the Catholic Church celebrates
“The Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Closeness. What more
perfect model than the pregnant mother, in which, as Fr. Delp says, the tension
between infinity and temporality is set to rest. Zero distance. </b> Being married to a mother for 46 years now, I
can assert that the distance between mother and child remains zero in the
mother’s heart. The tension in the
mother is caused by the variance between this zero distance and the mathematics
of geography. Geographic distance x
maternal love = longing. Afterbirth: it’s
not merely a name for the physical connective tissue called placenta. It is a lifetime of feeling the pain of
separation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>In his description of the closeness of God Pope Francis describes
Jesus as an example: </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>"He was close to
the people. A close God who is able to understand the hearts of the people, the
heart of His people. Then he sees that procession, and the Lord drew near. God
visits His people in the midst of his people, and draws near to them.
Proximity. This is how God works. Then there is an expression that is often
repeated in the Bible: 'The Lord was moved with great compassion'. The same
compassion which, the Gospel says, that moved Him when he saw so many people
like sheep without a shepherd. When God visits His people, He is close to them,
He draws near to them and is moved by compassion: He is filled with
compassion".<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>"The Lord is
deeply moved, just as He was before the tomb of Lazarus". Just like the
Father who was moved "when he saw his prodigal son come home".<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Again, the use of maternity to illuminate the idea of the closeness of God. Jesus restores the zero distance in this story in Luke
7. </b> <i>Soon
afterward he journeyed to a city called Nain, and his disciples and a large
crowd accompanied him. As he drew near
to the gate of the city, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son
of his mother, and she was a widow. A large crowd from the city was with her. When the Lord saw her, he was moved with pity
for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” He
stepped forward and touched the coffin; at this the bearers halted, and he
said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!” The
dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p> </o:p>And Francis mentions two examples of male longing,
Jesus for Lazarus and the father for the prodigal son.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>R. Buckminster Fuller’s <i><a href="http://designsciencelab.com/resources/OperatingManual_BF.pdf" target="_blank">OperatingManual for Spaceship Earth</a></i> defines “synergy” as “behavior of wholes
unpredicted by behavior of their parts”.
</b> The
scientist too sees that by relationships, the impact of individuals increases. We do more <i>with </i>others that independently.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just as Jesus restored the son to his mother at Nain, Fuller
calls us to restore the earth by restoring our relationships. And Pope Francis, too, reminds us of this in
that same homily: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>"Closeness and compassion:
this is how the Lord visits His people. </b>And when we want to proclaim the
Gospel, to bring forth the word of Jesus, this is the path. The other path is
that of the teachers, the preachers of the time: the doctors of the law, the
scribes, the Pharisees ... who distanced themselves from the people, with their
words ... well: they spoke well. They taught the law, well. But they were
distant. And this was not a visit of the Lord: It was something else. The
people did not feel this to be a grace, because it lacked that closeness, it
lacked compassion, it lacked that essence of suffering with the people".</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tomorrow – more on the compassion through closeness as a
mutual restoration of hope<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kTUgpgkh8cs/VKPsdwFcwxI/AAAAAAAACXo/OJnphdVXKeA/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BVII2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kTUgpgkh8cs/VKPsdwFcwxI/AAAAAAAACXo/OJnphdVXKeA/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BVII2.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Road (Oh, Hell!) of Good Intentions</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">On this sixth day of Christmas, we continue to reflect on
Fr. Alfred Delp’s question, what difference it makes in our lives that Christ
is born.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It’s New Year’s Eve morning as I write. </b> Tonight my wife and I will go to the
traditional New Year’s Eve party at the home of some friends. Having already eaten too much over Christmas,
we will eat too much <i>more.</i> There will be those among the large
gathering, I suspect, who will drink too much, too. But this excess is very, very good, because it
takes us right down the entrance ramp to the American tradition of New Year’s
Resolutions. It’s an enormous highway, a
dozen lanes filled bumper-to-bumper…for a few days. Traffic thins out pretty quickly, and pretty
soon lanes merge and then merge again and by the end of the year, the road to
good intentions has narrowed to a lightly traveled footpath.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Pazienza di Dio,</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>vicinanza di Dio,</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>tenerezza di Dio.</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The patience of God,</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>the closeness of God,</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>the tenderness of God.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>As mentioned in yesterday’s posting, Pope Francis gave us a
tricycle to ride, stable and certain transportation. </b> And how perfect that the first of the three
characteristics to which he called us this Christmas season is <i>patience.</i> It is good, as well, that he calls us not
merely to patience, but to the patience <i>of
God.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Our <i>own</i> patience is inadequate.</b> At an Alanon meeting a few years ago, someone
shared a maxim that has stuck with me: expectations are premeditated
resentments. He was speaking of our
expectations of others, but I believe that the statement is equally true of our
expectations of ourselves. <b>Remember Francis’s essential premise, that
the central meaning of Christmas is not our call to love God, but to accept our
smallness and let God love <i>us!</i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday morning I had coffee with two close friends, and
our conversation began with a query about…New Year’s Resolutions. A blessing of our threesome is our spectrum
of preference and style on many things, even as we share the same values. The spectrum shown in a rainbow draws us to
look at something ordinary – light – opened to expose for a moment its mystery
and beauty. Here are some statements
that opened us to a colorful and stimulating conversation about intentions and
hopes. As we respect and appreciate each other, we spent some time looking at
New Year’s Resolutions from each other’s perspectives.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>What do I stand for <i>every</i> day? What do I stand for<i> any </i>day? </b>One was
inclined to desire consistency and continuity in his life, persistently caring
about certain issues or values. The
other was inclined to wake up each day and be present to the specific
experiences or awarenesses that emerged that day. Mission and Mindfulness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Don’t “should” on
me. I’ve already should on myself. </b>He might as well have said “’should’ is
shit!” For years I’ve tried to discourage
my wife from saying we should do something when what she means is that she’d
enjoy us doing something. But “we should”
and “we’ve got to” remains a common phrase.
But when my friend shared this phrase, I realized that the reason that I’m
so sensitive to my wife (or anyone else) putting a demand on me is that I’ve
already put too many demands on myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>More – Enough: </b>In
our threesome, one of us was quite inclined (driven?) to want to do <i>more</i>, while another was quite content
with the desire to reflect on the sense that he has, is, and does <i>enough.</i>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this last statement calls me to close. Among Jesuit-formed people, a name for God is
<b>“Magis” – the <i>more.</i></b><i> </i>This
Jesuit-formed Pope and our Jesuit-formed martyr Fr. Delp call us to know that
it is God who is enough. It is God who
calls us to <b><i>“Basta”</i> – Enough!</b> We are
not called to be Magis; that’s God’s work.
We are called to allow God to love us, and that, sweet Jesus, is <i>enough!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I believe that God
calls me not to the ten-lane expressway of New Year’s Resolutions but to walk
with Him on the narrow daily path, to experience God’s patient love. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Should I <i>resolve</i> to take God up on that? It would, I’m certain, be <i>enough.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tomorrow – the closeness
of God<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-15455376640845778202014-12-30T06:36:00.001-05:002014-12-30T06:36:06.299-05:00Christmas to Epiphany VI: Becoming the Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SZ1oAZbhkQ4/VKKMUMbthyI/AAAAAAAACXU/JaWCmDi1pSA/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BVI%2Bbecoming%2Bthe%2Bword.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SZ1oAZbhkQ4/VKKMUMbthyI/AAAAAAAACXU/JaWCmDi1pSA/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BVI%2Bbecoming%2Bthe%2Bword.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Before watching Pope Francis celebrate Midnight Mass, there were two times when I recall understanding a foreign speaker without knowing his language. Francis was the third.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Pazienza di Dio,<o:p></o:p></span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">vicinanza di Dio,<o:p></o:p></span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">tenerezza di Dio.</span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On this sixth day of Christmas, we continue to reflect on
Fr. Alfred Delp’s question, what difference it makes in our lives that Christ
is born.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The first was an Italian, like Francis.</b> Velio was describing to us the work in his
alabaster studio in Volterra, where our students spent their summer. His whole body spoke, and his old eyes gave
off a light that made his words clear. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>He became his words, and to see him was to know what he was saying. </b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The second was a priest, like Francis.</b> In a side chapel that provided intimacy in
the cavernous Frankfurt Cathedral, the celebrant’s homily was about the Good
Shepherd. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>He became his words, and to see him was to know what he was
saying. </b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>“The Word of God”; that is what John calls Jesus in the
first chapter of his Gospel.</b> There was a
point at which Francis illuminated that name without speaking it. Francis read from his text with bodily
gesture and eye contact, tempo and inflection, making the words come to
life. But at one point his eyes paused
on the congregation, and he looked intently at them, breaking the cadence of
his presentation. And his words that
were born in that silent pause “became flesh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Pazienza di Dio, <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>vicinanza di Dio, <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>tenerezza di Dio.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The patience of God,<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>the closeness of God,<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>the tenderness of God.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Francis <i>became </i>the
words – patient, close, and tender with us.
</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>He became his words, and to see him was to know what he was
saying. </i></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>What difference did it make to Pope Francis that Jesus was born? </b> He was changed
by the experience enough to become the words of truth that emerged from his
soul, filled to overflowing with awareness of God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Incarnation. Words
becoming flesh. Velio, the German priest,
and Francis call me to the almost irresistible beauty of this incarnation.</b> Almost.
I will need a lot of grace to pull it off myself, to be the words I’m
given, to change into God’s patience, and closeness, and tenderness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the next three days we’ll spend time reflecting and
praying with those three words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, here is a link to <a href="http://www.zenit.org/en/articles/pope-francis-midnight-mass-homily" target="_blank">Francis’s Midnight Mass homily…inEnglish</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-10663368397661552912014-12-29T10:01:00.001-05:002014-12-29T10:03:07.488-05:00Christmas to Epiphany V: Simeon’s Certainty<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0W7ow3nuUx4/VKFrXijyb4I/AAAAAAAACXE/dVkorlK5Zbc/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BV%2BSimeon's%2BCertainty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0W7ow3nuUx4/VKFrXijyb4I/AAAAAAAACXE/dVkorlK5Zbc/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BV%2BSimeon's%2BCertainty.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Now you let your servant go <i>in peace</i>." </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Simeon <i>knew.</i> </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">He was </span><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">certain.</span><o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>On this fifth day of Christmas, we continue to reflect on
Fr. Alfred Delp’s question, what difference it makes in our lives that Christ
is born.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Yesterday at breakfast, two of our adult children (in their
40’s) were sharing about their visits to church on Christmas</b>. Both enter church as outsiders, grateful for
the way we raised them but not “practicing Catholics”. That we could have a conversation about their
experience was a gift to us. They
noticed things, about the way the priest said and did things. These ways of expressing the priest’s own
faith evokes a sense of the holy in themselves.
They mentioned, too, their sense of freedom to enter, to observe, and
not be bound or forced. And finally they
shared that it was interesting to hear the congregation mumble together the
Creed. While the celebrant’s pace and
tone and inflection at the Consecration made it apparent that this was a very
holy moment, the droning of the Creed seemed to bring into question the reality
of their belief. It seemed merely words.
They agreed with my invitation that they
consider the tonal character of Buddhist chants that they have both experienced.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The point was clear.
The reciting of the Creed was hardly convincing. And that is why Simeon’s certainty meant so
much to me.</b> “Listen” to these words of
his as he sees Jesus in the temple where he has served for many years:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon. This man was righteous and devout, awaiting
the consolation of Israel,* and the Holy Spirit was upon him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he
should not see death before he had seen the Messiah of the Lord.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He came in the Spirit into the temple; and when the parents
brought in the child Jesus to perform the custom of the law in regard to him,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He took him into his arms and blessed God, saying:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>“Now, Master, you may let your servant go<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>in peace, according to your word,<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>for my eyes have seen your salvation,<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>which you prepared in sight of all the peoples,<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>a light for revelation to the Gentiles,<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>and glory for your people Israel.”<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The child’s father and mother were amazed at what was said
about him;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother,
“Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel, and to
be a sign that will be contradicted<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(and you yourself a sword will pierce)* so that the thoughts
of many hearts may be revealed.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Simeon's certainty brings him peace.</b> I often suffer indecision which I believe is
based on self-doubt. Fr. Ron Rolheiser wrote
of John the Baptist that as he was asked, “Who are you?” he could answer
clearly; he knew who <i>he was</i> because he
knew who <i>Jesus</i> was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Like John, Simeon spoke clearly and decisively; one might say
</b><i><b>prophetically. </b> </i>I consider again my children’s
observations while “visiting” Mass. The
words of the priest were to them more like Simeon, proclamations of their
truth. Prophetic. Perhaps my own indecisiveness and self-doubt
are more like the droning of the congregation reciting the Creed. More pathetic than prophetic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>What difference does it mean to me that Jesus was born? I want to be more like Simeon.</b> I want, in
believing in Jesus, to allow myself to be loved (as the Pope pleaded in his
Christmas homily), and to believe in myself.
I want to know with Simeon’s certainty who <i>I</i> am because I know who <i>Jesus</i>
is. And that means that my self-knowledge
is inextricably intertwined in my coming to know Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YSmG_oj5KJA/VJ_7Pa5T-ZI/AAAAAAAACW0/qwm_lkn8P00/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BIV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YSmG_oj5KJA/VJ_7Pa5T-ZI/AAAAAAAACW0/qwm_lkn8P00/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BIV.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Do I allow myself to be taken up by God, to be
embraced by him, or do I prevent him from drawing close?"</span></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pope Francis
asked this in his Midnight Mass homily. "'But I am searching for the Lord' – we
could respond. Nevertheless, what is most important is not seeking him, but
rather allowing him to find me and caress me with tenderness. The question put
to us simply by the Infant’s presence is: do I allow God to love me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We look again at Fr. Alfred Delp S.J.’s ultimate question in
light of the Christmas event: What difference does it make to me?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Five years ago I was given medical news that made me aware
that I could die at any moment. It is the reason I began this blog, and whence
its title. I thought that I’d been given
lemons. Everything changed because I saw death for the first time as real and
present. I acted more lovingly and
caringly toward my wife. I didn’t sweat
things. I delighted in the present, and was continuously grateful for the
past. My life changed. But I must confess that my life has mostly changed
back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>What difference does it make to me that I felt death near? I’m ashamed to say, not enough. </b>I too often fail to delight in
things, including my life companion. A
worry about the future, and that worry robs me of the present. But most of all, I allow my sense of inadequacy
to distract me from everything. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So the Pope’s question, and Delp's rings familiar; it stops me and turns me around.</b> God is actually in <i>love</i> with the thing about myself that I most reject – my smallness. Did I earn enough money in my lifetime to <i>enjoy</i> growing old with my wife? Can I drop my fears about the good that I can
do with others based on my reluctance to accept myself, flaws and all? Can I enjoy the company of others
undistracted by my thoughts that I don’t matter to them?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So as we contemplate the Christmas event, as we sit before
the image of the manger scene, perhaps you will join me in allowing the story
to take me in</b>. Allow yourself to be
lifted up into the story with me. Will
we find ourselves as the babe, feeling the warmth of Mary? Will we be Mary, or Joseph, or a shepherd, or
a sheep? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Contemplative prayer, like life in the love of God, is
something that the Pope reminds us is not <i>doing</i>
something, but <i>accepting</i>
something. Being drawn into the presence
of God, or for that matter, God in the present, is a gift. It is a gift already given. It is offered
every moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Pope Francis’s question is Delp’s. Will I let God love me, and experience my
life changing? Will you?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">This is the third day of the “12 Days of Christmas” leading
to the Epiphany. In 1944, Fr. Alfred
Delp, S.J. was writing in his cell in Tegel Prison, writing to us the faithful
about Christmas, and our response to the encounter. His last writing would be about Epiphany,
which means “opening”. It would for him
be the opening into the afterlife. He
would be hanged by the Nazis the day after Epiphany.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">How would we respond to the encounter of the Nativity if we
were actually there?</span></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Years ago in a prayer and study group at <a href="http://www.manresa-sj.org/" target="_blank">Manresa Jesuit RetreatHouse</a> near Detroit, a woman sat in prayer for days following Christmas, and
shared the following story. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I had imagined my way to the manger lighted by the
star. The path through the arid
vegetation was well worn, and my feet could feel the little stones through my
sandals. The path itself seemed to draw
me, giving me a sense of what “forward” was.
I was in kind of a fog of this feeling of the power of the path when I
realized that I had come upon the manger.
It was just a rough structure, just enough to hold up a roof, a kind of
alcove into which animals could…"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>"...As I was looking at the baby, my eyes drawn to the
swaddling, and the way it embraced and comforted him, Mary gently lifted him…<i>and held him out to me!"</i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>" 'Take him; he’s <i>yours,'</i> she said!" </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman began to weep now,
as she had wept there in prayer. Her
vivid description of the experience had brought us along, and as she was drawn
into this unexpected gesture of Mary, we were too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>What about you? Here is Mary, holding out Jesus to <i>you.</i> She is telling you that
he is <i>yours</i>. She is waiting for your response. How will <i>you</i>
respond? </b>This is what Fr. Delp is asking us. He challenges us not to make in our minds kitschy
nativity scenes with a cute little baby Jesus and a sweet little family of
three, with ox and ass and drummer boy. He challenges us not to walk away from
the manger. He asks us what difference
it makes to us that Jesus was God taking our flesh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I revisit the woman’s experience, and I find Mary
holding out the baby to me, I recall that my tears on her telling were awe and
gratitude and honor. That she would give
<i>me</i> her precious child! But this year as I went back to that moment,
I took the baby to my breast in embrace, and felt him rooting at my breast for
food. I felt embarrassed and then
inadequate. I recalled having held one
of my newborn daughters that way, and can still physically recall the feeling
of their rooting, their tiny mouth searching intently. I had looked with humor and confusion at my
wife, and can hear her saying, “Hold her in your arms, but not against your
chest.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I remembered that my cute little baby daughter…needed…to…be…<i>fed</i>!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>To accept Jesus into our life is to <i>care for </i>Him. The God who is
born to us is really human, really flesh.
The in<i>carn</i>ation means <i>this.</i>
God made man is a God who needs us to respond, not just watch, or pray,
or even adore. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think now as I write how this unspeaking newborn infant
and His calling me to responsibility brings to mind the Gospel of a few weeks
ago, calling us to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Christmas calls <i>us</i> to incarnation as well, to know that we
are flesh, that our faith is faith-in-the-flesh, just as this baby that Mary is
holding out to us as our own needs to be <i>FED!</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps you will find some light in sitting with this story,
sitting with Mary holding the baby out to you. For some tips on Ignatian
contemplation, praying by entering the story, <a href="http://www.ignatianspirituality.com/ignatian-prayer/the-spiritual-exercises/ignatian-contemplation-imaginative-prayer/" target="_blank">click here</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tomorrow: The Pope’s “piccolezza”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ff3797_Lc5Y/VJ2Y3-hpNDI/AAAAAAAACWU/wP9mutdEC2Q/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BII%2BFrancis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ff3797_Lc5Y/VJ2Y3-hpNDI/AAAAAAAACWU/wP9mutdEC2Q/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BII%2BFrancis.jpg" height="200" width="190" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7uLuYqcN0U8/VJ2XilVt0EI/AAAAAAAACWE/zklDef6LB1s/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BII%2Bpieta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7uLuYqcN0U8/VJ2XilVt0EI/AAAAAAAACWE/zklDef6LB1s/s1600/Christmas%2Bto%2BEpiphany%2BII%2Bpieta.jpg" height="198" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Midnight Mass in St. Peter’s. Our sweet human new Pope cradles the <i>“Gesu Bambino”</i> in his arms, walking with
his wobbling gait to the recessional hymn of the same name. </span> In front of him are eight young children,
just waist-high to him, in brightly colored clothes of their various cultures. At the elaborate Manger scene, Francis places
the baby Jesus in the manger, blesses and thanks the little children one by
one, even giving one of them a <i>zucchetto</i>
(the papal skullcap) that he had momentarily placed on his own head, in a
smiling, mute blessing. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Was it merely coincidence that Pope Francis and
the procession to the altar for Midnight Mass at St. Peter’s passed the Pieta
on the way, and again at the end</b> of Mass, the recessional,<i> “Gesu Bambino” </i>with
full choir, orchestra and organ vibrating the incense-smoky air? Here the stiff plaster <i>Gesu Bambino</i> in the soft arms of the smiling old Shepherd of Rome
and there in Ferrara marble the flaccid corpse of the King of Heaven in the
arms of his grieving Mother….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Yesterday we considered the caveat from Fr. Delp in Nazi
prison on the eve of Christmas 1944,</b> on the way to the Nazi gallows himself the
day after Epiphany. Fr. Delp warned us: “<i>One must take care to celebrate Christmas
with a great realism. Otherwise, the
emotions expect transformations the intellect cannot substantiate. Then the outcome of this most comforting of
all holidays can be a bitter disappointment and paralyzing weariness….”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>For me, validity of the symbol of the journey to the Manger
by way of the Pieta was reinforced on the recessional</b>, the strains of the sweet
<i>Gesu Bambino</i> hymn still reverberating
in Brunelleschi’s grand dome in clear D major, but bent to an ominous minor key
in passing the Pieta a second time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The reality is that the story of salvation is not
accomplished at Christmas; the stage is merely set. </b> Delp’s warning is that we look at the baby in
the manger not merely with emotions that warm our hearts with joy, but with our
intellect as well, that notices once, then twice that the joyful throng passes
by the Pieta once, and then twice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We are called not <i>to </i>joy but <i>through </i>joy,
transformed to hope that just as the story does not end at the manger, it
does not end at the cross.</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Tomorrow: It’s a boy;
He’s YOURS.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7Q5xv5eHinw/VJxXEmXD9UI/AAAAAAAACVw/POmNrZE3QKw/s1600/nativity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7Q5xv5eHinw/VJxXEmXD9UI/AAAAAAAACVw/POmNrZE3QKw/s1600/nativity.jpg" height="128" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A gift of this Advent has been the writings of Fr. Alfred
Delp, S.J. from his cell in Tegel, the Nazi prison in which he was hanged the
day after Epiphany, 1945.</b> In gratitude
for the gift of this experience, I aim to write on each of these “12 Days of
Christmas” between the Nativity and Epiphany. And I am writing to force myself (and
encourage you) to process the challenge that he gives us as his parting gift in
a question: What difference does it make
to us really, that Christ is born?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
Satisfied or Searching?</h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today on Christmas I begin with his caution that we not
simply walk away from the Nativity Scene satisfied, but rather searching.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fr. Delp meditated on the Christmas Vigil 1944, writing:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>“<i>One must take care to celebrate Christmas
with a great realism. Otherwise, the
emotions expect transformations the intellect cannot substantiate. Then the outcome of this most comforting of
all holidays can be a bitter disappointment and paralyzing weariness….”</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he struggles every day to rise above his own human
condition (Germany being bombed by the Allies, the Catholic Church having
capitulated to Hitler, and most immediately his imminent execution) he
continues: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>“Oh, you need to have counted the hours until your next piece of bread in
order to know what this means, and what tension is involved in rising above the
human condition.”</b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He goes on to explain, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>“</b></i><i><b>Eliminating
the tension…may have seemed like a relief at first, like liberation from an
uncomfortable burden. Yet over time, one cannot avoid recognizing that these
burdens are among the fixed conditions and prerequisites of life.”</b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tension” is the term that Delp used in the temporal/eternal
relationship within each of us. When
Mary answered “yes” to the angel, she relieved this tension, and within her
grew the God/man who could die/rise and save us from…what?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>So here our soon-to-be-murdered young Jesuit warns us not to
avoid the tension that is real,</b> remains real, between the promise of our own salvation
and the work of participating in the salvation of others. We searched for the Manger, after waiting for
The One. He calls to us: <i>“The God whose coming we celebrate remains
the God of promise!”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>We are not finished with the gift of Christmas. We have simply come to encounter The Way.</b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our search for Christ continues; it is a search for justice. As Delp experienced true hunger, he experienced
more acutely the meaning of our call – to “hunger and thirst for justice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Tomorrow: Papal Midnight Mass: from Pieta to Manger to
Pieta.</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-17233346373792800182014-12-22T09:53:00.000-05:002014-12-22T09:53:09.725-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hRhgvN-TduU/VJgtHMI8IyI/AAAAAAAACVg/OSNNf05YJ60/s1600/Overshadowing%2Bby%2BBright%2BWings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hRhgvN-TduU/VJgtHMI8IyI/AAAAAAAACVg/OSNNf05YJ60/s1600/Overshadowing%2Bby%2BBright%2BWings.jpg" height="180" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Holy Spirit will come to you, and power of the most high
shall overshadow you.</b></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here in the temperate climate, we may think of shadows as
negative – places of threat or sadness.</b>
The root of the word in Latin languages is “somber.” I grew up with a politically incorrect image
of a Mexican man leaning against a wall asleep under his <i>sombrero – </i>which means “something that makes shade”. Mexico and the location of the Gospel story
share a reality different from ours.
Both are hot climates. Shade is a
source of safety from the threat of the burning sun. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>In our culture, being “overshadowed” means that something –
or someone – is rendered less important than the thing or person overshadowing
them.</b> In our culture, we can miss
something beautiful in this line. The
Spirit is not diminishing Mary. The
Spirit is enfolding her in a protecting embrace. But more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Albert Delp S.J. speaks of Advent as relieving the “temporal-eternal
tension” which we experience as existential longing, an ache that frames our
very existence.</b> The enfolding of the
angel (and Mary’s acceptance of it) is the first stage in this process of relieving. The angel in its immortality (never ending-ness)
is a forerunner of the eternity of God (God’s always having been and never
ending) Don’t the wings that we have used to depict
the angelic image provide a kind of shawl (see <a href="http://www.mercyworld.org/_uploads/_cknw/files/2013/MCS%20Symposium%20Lecture%202,%20Aust%202013.pdf" target="_blank">Catherine McAuley’s spiritualityof the shawl,</a> enfolding and including the other) or umbrella or canopy or…sombrero? The Angel, who cannot embrace (for lack of
touch) , can enclose and shelter, without touching, without completely closing the
distance (or satisfying the longing).
Perhaps the angel is the promise, the foretaste of the union to come, to
come with her “Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>With Mary's “Yes” comes the complete relief of this “temporal-eternal
tension” </b>the complete closing of the distance between temporality and eternity,
the touch and physical embrace of God.
In that moment of conception, immortality surrounds Mary and Eternity
fills Mary. And in that moment she is
the first of us humans who know that truly God is within us and God is all
around us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>For
much of my life I felt the celebration of my birthday, on this shortest day of the year, to be overshadowed by
Christmas.</b> While resentment of God would have been beyond me, I spared no
self-pity. I felt that the proximity of
these two annual celebrations made my birthday somehow less.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fr. Delp, in his "Meditation on the Third Sunday of Advent from
Tegel Prison December 1944" (quoted above) continues more deeply into the “temporal-eternal
tension” by writing, as if of me (two weeks before his hanging, two years
before my birth)<i><b> “He has fallen into the experience of limitation. He experiences himself, and the world, and
all things, even though the colorful
wings of his mind, of his yearnings, press beyond all limits.”</b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>In this Advent Season of expectant waiting, in this season
of my life when age bends me more naturally to reflection, I am grateful to Fr. Delp for this
birthday present of turning my eyes from the darkness of the meteorological season to the
“colorful wings” of God’s Spirit, and the joy of being overshadowed by God who longs to be one with me, and yet waits for my “Yes”.</b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lV2HxFHcXgo/VJLJeFuz7PI/AAAAAAAACVQ/Cueg6Fph5BQ/s1600/light%2Bin%2Bdarkness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lV2HxFHcXgo/VJLJeFuz7PI/AAAAAAAACVQ/Cueg6Fph5BQ/s1600/light%2Bin%2Bdarkness.jpg" /></a></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Just as black holes draw everything into themselves, light
with the same irresistible nature reaches out to everything. Light is effusive and generous.</span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Eleven have died here in Traverse City in 2014, eleven who
lived on the streets.</b> Most of them were
addicted to alcohol. Most of them were
people I knew enough to see their faces as I type this. And I can see in my memory’s eye the way
their bodies moved when they were in the well-lit and caring shelter, and the
way they moved when they were on the street.
In the dining room of the shelter, they were off the booze and on their
meds and they were well fed and warm and clean and groomed. Two specifically
come to mind, the two most recently deceased.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Glenn was perhaps 40, his light complexion and beardless
round face almost cherubic.</b> Quiet in my
class at the Inn, and almost as quiet in the conversations we had at dinner, an
occasional smile would escape from behind his curtain as a faint, momentary
hope would make its quick trip through his resigned mind. Despair would be too active a word for his
emotional character. There was a passivity, a helplessness there. But at the Inn his face showed these sparks
of emotional activity when we’d see each other.
On the street his ruddy complexion increased the boyishness of his face,
made it seem even more obscene that he would be on the street, living under
bridges or in tents. But oh, how red his
eyes were in his constant intoxication!
Mine watered when I saw his, trying to cool themselves as his seemed so
hot. No sparks on the street. His mind seemed to have receded into the
layers of clothes that kept him from freezing, below the outer grime of his
winter coat, beneath the odiferous layers of clothing. Glenn was struck and killed by an unfortunate
motorist into whose path he had stumbled on his way to the rotating shelter in
a church in a nearby town. He didn’t want
to be too late to get in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Don was in his mid-60’s, but looked much older. He called himself “Hobo Don” </b>because he had
been a classical vagabond for most of his life, “riding the rails” in his
youth, having fled his abusive home in his teens. He was a sage, having absorbed bits and
volumes of idea along the way. He was
not one to chatter, to violate quiet with useless words. But how we would enjoy conversation about
humanity, about values, about the darkness of the world and the brightness of
human promise! He would tell me his
story, and want to hear mine. He would
look me in the eye and connect mind to mind, soul to soul. His intoxication was as classic as his “hobo”
persona. The first time we had a
conversation, he had been lifted out of a snowbank by a mutual friend, and the
armless chair there in the back of the local coffee place required him to
intentionally balance himself to keep from falling out. Yet while his body was at its limit with the
booze, his mind and spirit seemed in perfect balance. I told him that he had a gift of intellect
and wisdom that his drinking impeded. He
told me stories of the wounds that he suffered in his adolescence, hurt that
drinking dulled. “If I stop drinking, I’ll
<i>die</i>”, he said to me. One evening a few weeks in the rotating
shelter in a nearby church hall, I joined him as he stood amid the other street
people and those serving them dinner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How ya doin’, Don”, I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m having a hard time with judgmentality” he said, with
intellectual simplicity and directness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Whose” I asked, thinking that he was upset about others judging
him, or perhaps a gulf of estrangement between those served dinner and those
serving it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mine” he said, and let his eyes say the rest; no words
necessary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don died in the hospital, his heart unable to sustain his
body. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>This is <i>my</i> personal darkness </b>- these two and nine others who were in the shelters a year ago
who have died on the streets, in the hospital, and even on the toilet, having
taken an overdose to end his life after he had caused the death of another to
be killed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>But we who believe are called to put on vestments of light,
to go into their darkness </b>not to heal, or certainly not to <i>fix, </i>but simply to <i>be</i>
with those in the shadows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b>Just as black holes draw everything into themselves, light
with the same irresistible nature reaches out to everything. Light is unstoppable. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The coming of Light into the dark world is what we long for
during these darkest of days. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And carrying of the Light is that to which we are
called.</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-esG4pmhPx9M/VIRIUEnOpCI/AAAAAAAACUk/NrWipvDyWm8/s1600/self%2Bdoubt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-esG4pmhPx9M/VIRIUEnOpCI/AAAAAAAACUk/NrWipvDyWm8/s1600/self%2Bdoubt.jpg" height="320" width="242" /></a></div>
<h2>
When am I too lofty to love? </h2>
<h2>
When am I too lost to love?</h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>Prepare ye the way! Maybe it’s because I grew up in the 60’s,
when change was about being in the streets, moving the “establishment” to get
out of the way of justice. Maybe it’s because
I grew up when the Interstate Highway System was being built, running past our
ball field, those two-story high earth movers “making the rough places smooth”,
moving, moving, moving so much earth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe that’s why I've always thought of this Gospel as a
call to prepare the way in the <i>world.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>But this year it seems obvious to me that I am called to
prepare the way in <i>myself.</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When am I up so high in my security or comfort that I cannot
see the hungry and the poor and the naked and the imprisoned and the sick? I’d better come down to where Love can move
me by being present to other people, and I’d better pull the ladders down with
me, so I cannot go up there so easily again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When am I so low, in a fetal position of despair or
self-doubt that I avert my eyes, let my shoulders droop, consider myself
useless in the face of the pain of others, so many others or just this one so
needy other? I’d better let Love lift me
by looking into the eyes of others, so hope and self-respect can rise in me,
raising me up and in-spiring me, breathing life into me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4dAPS-Nzd9o/VIRMPUJ5pxI/AAAAAAAACUw/S0i2s6OLEKc/s1600/comfort%2Boverlooking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4dAPS-Nzd9o/VIRMPUJ5pxI/AAAAAAAACUw/S0i2s6OLEKc/s1600/comfort%2Boverlooking.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<h2>
<o:p> </o:p>While love never fails, love never forces. Our God created us free, and the choice to
come down from comfort or up from the despair is ours. </h2>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Thanks to EclecticThinktank and FishingForArchitecture for images.<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m9bzoPz_w1k/VILzuNirTlI/AAAAAAAACUU/EFkA1FDmhQE/s1600/love%2Bnever%2Bfails.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m9bzoPz_w1k/VILzuNirTlI/AAAAAAAACUU/EFkA1FDmhQE/s1600/love%2Bnever%2Bfails.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<h2>
Love is the Subject, not "I".</h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I awoke in a minor key. Last night we learned that the daughter of a
lifelong friend gave birth to her first son three months prematurely, and we
fell asleep feeling sad and helpless. In
the past week I had learned of two more homeless acquaintances who died
tragically, lengthening the string of beads that I powerlessly pass through my fingers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was feeling the failure of my ability to love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In verse 1 of <a href="http://origin.usccb.org/bible/1corinthians/13" target="_blank">chapter 13 of his first letter to the Corinthians</a>, Paul begins
with “I” as the subject. “If I should
speak of tongues of angels….” The next
two verses, similarly, begin “if I…, If I….” And they end in failure. Starting with verse 4, “I” am not the
subject. Love is the subject. Love does the action, and not me. And it is love that is patient, and kind, and
so on. It is love that never fails, and
not me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love as a verb: good luck!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps because Paul begins with himself as the subject of
the first three verses, I have always thought of this chapter on love as a call
to perfect my love, a call to love perfectly.
Of course, when it comes to perfection, not only do I stink at it, but I
keep aiming at it. Icarus,
moth-to-flame, red herring, I am drawn and distracted. It’s all about me, and discouragement
inevitably follows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Love as a noun: a call to witness.</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the subject of this message is love. Love is the actor. We are present to the act of love, witnessing
it as we do the sunrise. We do not make
the sun rise, and we do not love. We
would be foolish to try to raise the sun, and equally foolish to try to
love. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In an act of love, love emerges from our presence <i>with</i> (not <i>to</i>, because it is mutual) the one who is
the object of God’s love. If we are not in a place to see the sunrise, we will
not be moved by it. If we are not in a
place to see the other, we will not witness love’s unfailing unfolding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some years ago, I crafted a wedding candle for a couple of former students, who had chosen 1 Corinthians 13 as a reading for their wedding. I pray that they are also discovering love as something to witness responsively, and not merely to attempt.</div>
<br />
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-74222334829308138012014-01-26T11:26:00.001-05:002014-01-26T11:26:36.287-05:00Lear and the Lessens of Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjNvasQbIBs/UuUQxP4qT0I/AAAAAAAACPw/ljqj1zsxhDs/s1600/lear+langella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjNvasQbIBs/UuUQxP4qT0I/AAAAAAAACPw/ljqj1zsxhDs/s1600/lear+langella.jpg" height="132" width="200" /></a></div>
<h2>
A friend, in a heartfelt email, asked “Why do you two have to
be so far away?” I mused that we are
better, in a way, at a distance. At a
distance we become our ideal selves. </h2>
<br />
We
take time to read each other’s words…and never interrupt. We reflect and reply
out of the stillness that allows us to sit with their words. And we <i>incarnate them</i> from their words,
seeing their faces as we reply. With
repeated such exchanges over time, we begin to habituate this respectful,
reverent exchange.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend has lost two husbands and a son, and is leaving to
spend time with her daughter whose mortality is brought far too close by a
recurring brain tumor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Distance of geography, distance in death; we have been reduced to love, and that blesses us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Perhaps grief is the soul’s winnowing, the surface imperfections of those departed – in death or geography – gone on the wind; their essences brought into clearer relief, they can be our truer companions.</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Actor Frank Langella spoke of learning from playing King
Lear that as things were stripped away, his Lear became “lighter”. Amid the tragedy of loss, he found Lear – and
<i>himself</i> – feeling some relief of the
burdens of life at its fullest. And like
Lear was loved by his daughter Cordelia not for his power but for himself,
Langella was moved with gratitude for his own daughter, who “from her birth”
loved him simply because he was her father.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Langella discovered in playing Lear that letting go was a
relief. In his aging, he began to see
the beauty of a process of leaving life with nothing left, embracing this "lessening" as a source of joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pray for that same joy in my friend, that we who are
distant feel present with her in our essential goodness and love, as we share this very human process of lessening.<o:p></o:p></div>
John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-38124725287075406492012-12-29T08:47:00.000-05:002012-12-29T08:47:24.963-05:00Do Our Departed Beloved Seek Us?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mz68zopYMNE/UN7zcYqcXDI/AAAAAAAACIY/w9kvn222B-A/s1600/do+our+departed+seek+us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mz68zopYMNE/UN7zcYqcXDI/AAAAAAAACIY/w9kvn222B-A/s1600/do+our+departed+seek+us.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Father Angelo. He sang to my daughters on the living room
floor, they on his lap, he in his clerical black pants and shirt, his roman collar
in his front pocket, arousing toddlers’ curiosity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Piva, piva,
lowlaydooleva,</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>piva, piva,
something like that, </b>in his Milanese Italian, he from there, spending two years
at the my university as part of his training as a Missionary in his Italian
order.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Just last
week I was mentioning Angelo to a priest friend, a Jesuit who at age 70 is
going to serve in Africa, going because he burns to serve in a place where he
can serve in the face of possible death, to be so certain of love that he can
serve without fear. Angelo had gone
there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Yesterday
afternoon we went to visit Fred’s family, Fred who died two months ago</b> after
letting me share his deepest thoughts and memories in the year during which he lived
in the face of dying, first fighting the cancer that might be fought and then
accepting the death that should not be feared.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Kathy sat in
“his” chair, and I in “mine”, under the huge east-facing window</b> with its view
of the bay, steel-gray under steel-gray sky.
His wife, widow now, his brother and sister-in-law sat across from us
able to see the view to our back. As the
near-solstice light faded in late afternoon, his wife turned on the lights high
in the ceiling, remarking that one bank of them, those above the window, were
not working. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>As we were
talking, I noticed in my peripheral vision some flash of brightness</b> in the
now-darkening sky behind me, but ignored it, engaged in our conversation, our
careful, nervous conversation, here with Fred so recently gone, here with his
wife just after Christmas.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Sometime
later it was she who mentioned that flickering – how strange that it would be
happening just now – that flickering in the row of lights there above our
heads, above where he and I had sat, Fred and I, in our weekly ritual of coffee
and conversation. </b> They began telling
stories about people telling stories about being visited by their recently
departed ones. I listened, politely,
thinking rather about circuitry, and whether their fancy electronic controls
were saving them from the heat threat that would come from a short-circuit in
our more plebian on/off switches. This
talk of visitation from the dead was not for me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>This morning
I woke with a song in my head, <i>that</i>
song in my head, that “Piva, piva” that Father Angelo had sung to my tiny
daughters. </b> It would be ten years later
that he would die, just in his 40’s, of a disease he had picked up there in his
mission, in Africa, where he had served, as it turns out, in the face of death,
so certain of love that he could serve without fear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>So as I sat
down at my computer, I did a search. “Piva
Piva…” And up came the words l’oli d’uliva! Olive oil!
I clicked on the link, and began to weep. “Piva, piva l’oli d’uliva” is a children’s<i> Christmas</i> song. </b> It has been 40 years since Angelo sang that
song to my little girls, who are now as old as he was when he would come visiting
us from his mission, sitting with me on the front porch, looking old, wondering
why they could not find out what was wrong with him, what was making him so
tired.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Forty years
that song has been in my head, coming to me in my workshop, or while I’m
cutting grass, or just driving. The
flickering lights were just last night.
But now I recall Fred saying to me, sharing on his back porch his
comfort in dying, that he had heard not only that we can evoke memory of those,
soon like himself, who have gone. He had
heard that the way our brains store such memories, these memories can actually
seek us out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Our <i>memories</i> can seek <i>us. </i>Those of beloved memory can find their way to
<i>us</i>, to the conscious parts of our minds.</b></span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When Fred
said that, I was thinking about circuitry, the way our fancy knowledge about
brain electricity allows us to reckon such things, even skeptics like me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>This
morning, half way between the birth of the Babe and the visit of the Magi,
Angelo is singing to <i>me</i>.</b> I did not seek
him. He sits with me there in the floor,
singing this song to me, rocking me. I
am somehow as sheltered in his lap as my little girls were. I look down and see the worn weaving of the
rag rug, and the shiny black of his Italian trousers. I feel my head resting on his chest, and hear
his heart beating. I notice how
marvelous it is, that his heartbeat and rocking and tempo are all the same. I am not thinking of circuitry. I am wondering how he found his way to me,
today<i> this</i> morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=2217&c=120" target="_blank">Here is a link to the story of the song</a>, and a video. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ayPWWNGm6Uo/UNxE4pT9TeI/AAAAAAAACHI/NeCcAaNwAE4/s1600/Incarnation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ayPWWNGm6Uo/UNxE4pT9TeI/AAAAAAAACHI/NeCcAaNwAE4/s1600/Incarnation.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>When I think of the Incarnation <i>you</i> come to
mind.</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My friends Bill and Billie
(soul-mates named at birth) wrote this on their Christmas note. Oh, thank God it shows, I thought, that part of me that
makes them <i>think</i> this. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>What is “dross,”
my friend the writer had asked a few mornings earlier when I had used the word.</b> I had thought he was kidding; words are his
medium. I had begun to respond
literally, that dross is the scum on the surface of something, like tarnish. But even as I was saying that, I had suspected
that he was calling me to a deeper truth. Calling us
to a deeper truth…like these quiet days in the aftermath of the Christmas rush
of buying presents and decorating for the season and then the flurry of
wrappingcookingtravelingeatingeatingeating.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The “Word became <i>flesh</i> and dwelt among us.” In-carn-ation.</b> The perfectly pure Word of a perfectly
perfect God became flesh, like us. And
with that he joined us in this – struggle or dance? – of humanity, purity and
dross all mixed in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Dross is
that part of the metal that is not metal, </b>released from its hiding in the solid
by the melting process. The metal is
melted to make it workable, to form and shape it into some use. The impurities, that would otherwise weaken
it, come to the surface where they can be skimmed off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>So my
friends Bill and Billie see in me something of the pure in me. </b> It shows through the dross that I know is
there. That’s why I thank God it
shows. But I’m stuck sometimes with my
dross, my imperfections, that I and those who have to live with me see.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>I think my
friend the writer was asking a rhetorical question when he asked what dross
is. I think he was suggesting that to be
human is to be word <i>and</i> flesh,
eternal <i>and</i> dying, ideal <i>and</i> real, metal <i>and</i> dross.</b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: large;">Life is to be
lived as Christ lived it, in-carnate, in flesh.
</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>There’s a
teenager alive in each of us</b>, more often in some of us that in others, but
certainly in me. We can look in the
mirror and on a face with perfectly clear skin see one pimple, and that darned
thing ruins our day. Having an almost
perfect complexion becomes having a zit becomes <i>being a zit!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>We are <i>not </i>dross. That is not the ugly truth. That is the ugly lie.</b> We are not the sum of our faults. We are the sum of our humanity, this amalgam of
perfection and impurity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thank
God that those in our life see<i> beyond</i> the dross, see the good that is in us. And thank God they are, like God-with-us…<i>with</i> us in this struggle, this dance, of
humanity. Thank God that we can be
formed, by their loving affirmation, into something useful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Coming up</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Losing it: new year's resolutions and the crucible of humiliation</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
LOL: Love On Legs</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a> <span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A1rOxcLxE40/UNWqZMqumZI/AAAAAAAACF4/KSN6zJ6po20/s1600/4th+wise+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A1rOxcLxE40/UNWqZMqumZI/AAAAAAAACF4/KSN6zJ6po20/s1600/4th+wise+man.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My friend
Fred gave me a year...his last. And even as he lived an died an agnostic, he got me to the Manger. But I almost missed the whole thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>We met at a poverty
reduction event and struck up a friendship just before he was diagnosed with a
glioblastoma, a very aggressive form of brain cancer. A few weeks ago he died.</b> In the intervening year, we enjoyed what
most of us would compare to Mitch Albom’s much beloved story, <i>Tuesdays with Morrie.</i> Week after week I’d drive up the peninsula to
Fred’s house with my video camera and my notebook, and we would spend time on
camera, Fred reflecting on his life for posterity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Again and
again he would mention the bright young American-born son of Spanish-speaking
migrant parents…without immigration papers.
</b>At 12, this boy had come with his parents to a local charity looking for
help with tires for their car. The boy
had struck Fred because he served as his parents’ interpreter. Subsequently, Fred had discovered that the
boy, I’ll call him Antonio, was a very bright and hard working student, and he
began to find ways of encouraging and mentoring him. From attending his school events to
sponsoring him in a local summer program, Antonio became a grandson to
Fred. When Fred left video messages for
each of his three grandchildren to see after he died, he left one for Antonio
too. Again and again Fred would mention
his determination to see that Antonio had the same opportunities in life in
America that he himself had had as an immigrant from the Netherlands at 15.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>In the last
week of his life, Fred asked to see Antonio, to express his pride in him, his
certainty of his success in life, and his love</b>.
Antonio, his parents and two younger brothers came to Fred’s memorial
service. At the edge of a sea of
well-dressed white people, there were Antonio, his father and mother and two
younger brothers in clean but worn clothes of the poor. These were their Sunday clothes…and their
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday clothes too.
This image stuck with me, this meek, respectful family. I thanked them all for coming and promised
Antonio that I would call him to arrange to bring him a copy of the videos that
Fred had made for him.</div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Cue the camels. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">Hit the lights. Enter Magus #4, the Not-So-Wise Man.</span></b></blockquote>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Weeks went
by with his DVD buried on my desk.
Finally as Kathy and I were putting up our Christmas tree, Antonio and his
family came to mind and we were moved to try to share Christmas with them. I called Antonio and told him that I’d like to
bring over the DVD and a gift for his family.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>I came bringing
gifts, feeling good about doing it, but at the same time feeling, well, kind of
alien. </b>Antonio had said, when he’d given
me directions to pick him up to see Fred, “Watch for a big green migrant camp
when you turn right.” </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>A big green “migrant
camp”. It had turned out to be a pole
barn, a steel-sided utility building perhaps 30 x 90 feet, with a single door
on the end, and no windows. </b> On the right
side was a pattern of windows that suggested a row of five or six rooms
inside. When I’d driven up to that door the
first time, I’d not wanted to walk up to it, not knowing whether as a gringo I’d
be seen as a threat by whatever families lived there. So I’d called Antonio on my cell and told him
I was parked outside the door. He’d come
out to the car and we’d driven off.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>So now I am
driving up to that door again, Fred’s spirit motivating me, but still afraid of
entering that door. </b>I call Antonio and tell him I’m “parked where I was when I’d
picked him up before” and he comes out. Its
40 degrees and he’s in a tee shirt and wearing socks. I’m between my car and that door, trying to
give him the envelope, explaining the DVD inside, and the gift for his parents
to use for all of them, and I’m aware that he’s just in his stocking feet, and
I’m feeling clumsy about how I’m doing this.
He’s got to be feeling cold. I
just want to give him the envelope and go.
I want what is in the envelope to do what I feel incapable of doing.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But he is,
in his meek style, smiling and asking me to please come in.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>What follows
is a meal. But it is so much more.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next
morning, I’m sitting with my Tuesday morning men’s group, and we’re looking
together at the Visitation. I’m stunned
by the <i>awareness</i> that Elizabeth has,
that she <i>knows what’s happening there
inside her house that she is certain that Christ is there.</i> She is so <i>present</i>
to all of it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Was it the
word <i>aware</i> or the word <i>present</i> that opened my mind and my soul
and my tear ducts? Here, the week before
Christmas, I had been there. </b> I had sat
in this <i>shelter</i> that was so much less
than a house, not really designed for a family to bring a child into the
world. I returned in my mind to Antonio’s
family’s little room and saw his mother sitting quietly on the couch that Fred
had acquired for them, sitting behind Antonio and me as we ate the delicious
food she had prepared for us, just as she had prepared the “feast” that Fred
had told me about again and again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Perhaps this
makes no more sense to you than the end of the world that was to have happened
yesterday with the end of the Mayan calendar.
But I know that I was, this Advent of my 66<sup>th</sup> Christmas,
there at the manger. </b>And I had gotten there, and through the experience, and all the way back home, and slept the
night and woke up the next day before I realized that I’d been there. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Like the Magi, I’d come bearing gifts. But unlike them, I’d not seen the miracle.</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Jesuits
encourage a kind of prayer that calls us to put ourselves into the story, to <i>be </i>there, to make the experience not
intellectual but sensual, to “apply the senses”. So I blink back tears as I type this. <b>When I am at the manger this Christmas, I
will see the clean but worn apartment in that migrant camp, and feel the warmth
inside that door, and smell fajitas on the stove, and taste the freshly chopped
cilantro,<i> and hear the sound of Antonio’s mother asking him in Spanish to ask me
why I am in a hurry to leave why I don’t stay longer.</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<b><i>Don’t be a
Doofus. See the miracle. Stay awhile. </i></b><br />
<br />
Next: Christmas Presence<br />
<span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"><br /></span>
<span href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dc:title" rel="dc:type" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/">FreeLemonadeStand</span> by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.freelemonadestand.blogspot.com" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">John J. Daniels</a> is licensed under a <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/" rel="license">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License</a>.
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</script>John Danielshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093556296860836001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401975365602192811.post-16484741828027082482012-12-21T07:10:00.000-05:002012-12-21T07:10:41.437-05:00Dancing to Carols?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qNUngsCehmY/UNRPCcOd5GI/AAAAAAAACEo/aMBOq4mjZec/s1600/dancing+to+carols.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<ol><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qNUngsCehmY/UNRPCcOd5GI/AAAAAAAACEo/aMBOq4mjZec/s1600/dancing+to+carols.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qNUngsCehmY/UNRPCcOd5GI/AAAAAAAACEo/aMBOq4mjZec/s200/dancing+to+carols.jpg" width="199" /></a></ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>“Dance, of
course, </b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>is embrace and steps.”</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>It’s noisy
in the bayside resort where my friend Steve staffs the breakfast buffet. </b> Last night this space was the bar, and the
requisite televisions, with their news, sports, and weather, compete for my
hearing. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Say that
again?” I ask, turning my better ear toward him, not only to hear better, but
to let him know I need him to speak up.
I hate asking him to do that. <i>His voice is as soft and reverent as his
words…all</i> his words, now that I think of it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>“Dance
consists of embrace and steps. We spend
too much time trying to get the steps right.
We forget about the embrace part.”</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
How does he <i>do</i> that?
How does he know that he can say something so casually, like this chat
over morning coffee on my drive-by his workplace, that is like the things Jesus
would say to a woman at a well, or a beggar at a gate? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Lord, that I
might dance! I can already see, and I
have no sick daughter at home, and there is no hemorrhage, but oh, did Steve
just peg me!</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>I’m all
about the steps, you see. Getting it
right.</b> We were that way as kids, weren’t
we? Wasn’t it embarrassing for all of us
to get out there with our pimply faces and sweaty hands and try to appear
comfortable and adept? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Kathy and I
are known for our dancing. We’ve got the
steps. Everybody loves to watch us,
enjoying our joy. </b> We do a dance that we
learned 44 years ago when we met in college.
I dance with no one but her, and our daughters when I get the chance,
and soon our granddaughters. Our dance
is a sacred thing. “43 years of practice”,
I tell them when they praise us.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>When Kathy
had her “exacerbation”, the onset of what was quickly diagnosed as Multiple
Sclerosis five years ago, she was, for a few weeks, without normal balance and
very low on energy. At a niece’s
wedding, the steps could not possibly come.</b>
We stood together on the floor, she needing me for balance. Even as the tempo of the dance music moved
our skin, our muscles were leaden, our bones stone. Kathy’s arms limp, my hands holding on to
hers, our feet hardly moving, we unsuccessfully attempted to blink back the
tears that came. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I blink them
back now. I didn’t think of it as an
embrace. I thought of it as the loss of
dance.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Kathy has
her balance back, and most of her energy.
And we have our dance back. But
Steve is right, not only about my dancing, but my life. I am all about the steps.</b> I’m all about what to <i>do</i>. I’m always <i>moving</i>.
I’m always trying to <i>do</i> the
right thing…and I’m always pulling away. I live
encounters like I dance: quickly into them, intensely present and in synch,
reasonably adept. But now that I think
about it, I’m counting on the song ending, so I can…. So I can <i>what?</i> What is there that I need to <i>do </i>that abbreviates my encounters? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Why can’t I …<i>LIGHT!?</i>
Ahh. In this season of
light-in-the-darkness, perhaps it is a different kind of “light” </b>I’m drawn to
in Steve’s words. Kathy asks me often,
pleads with me, really: “Will you <i>light</i>
for a minute so we can talk?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I think
Steve is coming about the same truth as Kathy’s plea. It happens, he says, to be <i>his</i> truth, but it is also mine. The dance of life is not just about the
steps. It’s also about the embrace. T.S. Eliot refers so adeptly to this in “Burnt
Norton” in his “Quartets”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><b>At the still point of the turning world.
Neither flesh nor fleshless;<br />
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,<br />
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,<br />
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,<br />
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,<br />
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Without the
stillness of embrace, without resting in encounter, there is no dance. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>I gotta work
on my technique. I gotta<i> light</i> in companionship. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Christmas
gives us a great opportunity to enjoy the stillness and light in the embrace of
relationships, if we can remember not to be preoccupied by all the steps. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
NEXT: I'm Doofus, the forgotten fourth Magus. Come back tomorrow to learn why.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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