Seduction – or not
Over the past few weeks, I have been reminded repeatedly that “God is madly in love with you.” The message comes from scripture, from the Cursillo movement, from homilies and if I let it, from prayer. At first blush it is a comforting and exciting message.
Quite frankly, it is a frightening message to me. So often, I don’t want to be loved that much. If God loves me that much, and I accept it, how can that not call me to change? If God loves me that much, and I fall in to it, I must surrender and move forward in complete trust. And if I do that, I will be transformed in ways I don’t even know. Not sure I’m yet willing to do this.
Brother David Stendhl-Rast has suggested that “sin” might better be termed separation or isolation, and “grace” as belonging. In those terms, my “sin” is my unwillingness to be loved in this deep, transforming way. Yes, at times I move toward it — and I can think of once or twice when I believe I actually gave in and fell in to it. And, yes, those were moments where my life and my way of looking at life made some pretty sharp turns. Looking backward, I realize that these turns and changes are really “good things.”
So, why am I fearful? The Unknown and letting go are difficult for me. I can only ask that I be gifted with a call to this Love that is stronger than my own unwillingness to let go of myself and my perceived control. I take baby steps. I try to see through the eyes of Christ in one situation at a time. If I think of each of these situations or relationships as a piece in a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle, then each time I am able to let go, it’s like finding a piece that fits. You put it into the puzzle, and slowly, piece by piece, the entire picture of God’s love is revealed.
What do I do with this?
I somehow raised at least one child who falls on the opposite side of the political spectrum from her parents. She is a wonderful young woman, a wonderful Mommy to her daughter, a caring friend, a practicing Catholic. But, she probably would be an ardent Ayn Rand admirer, if she ever read the books. Can you tell I think Ayn Rand was just so wrong on so many levels?
That said, the other night I was staying over with her, and she brought up the current presidential election. I didn’t, she did. That lead to a discussion on approaches to social programs, child rearing and more. But what rather stopped me cold was when she said to me: “The difference between us is that you believe everyone is fundamentally good. I know better.”
The only response I could even think of was one that I had to bite my tongue not to say (because it would not have been said in a very nice tone): “And this is a problem because?” or “Duh! that’s what I’m going for.” She nailed it. She didn’t get my dander up really (even though I did think of some snarky responses). She caused me to pause and think “Thank you. It gives me great joy that you think that I am like that.”
This, I think, might be an instance where God let me know that on occasion, I am a witness to his overwhelming Love. It holds me up as I reflect on today’s second reading, where we are urged not to just hear the Word, but to act on it. Maybe, at times, I am able to do that. Certainly not always, but it must come through on occasion. If I ask Jesus to help me see with his eyes, how can I not be trying to see the good (or potential for good) in everyone around me?
What do I do with this? I’m still not sure, but, I am thankful that for one bright, shining moment, I was assured that I had reflected the God I know.
Farewell to Julio Suescun
It seems that being my friend is not good for your health of late. For a second time in less that a month — a friend has died early on a Sunday morning.
Julio was a Spanish priest of the Congregation of the Mission. He was one of my favorite people in the world, despite the fact that we communicated in an odd-ball spanglish language. His english was far better than my spanish, but he was always far more comfortable in spanish. We would meet most often at Maison Mére (the motherhouse for the CM’s) in Paris, although we also had the occasion to work together in New York a couple of times. Julio would come in bearing a sheet of paper, filled with tiny script, and proclaim “I have a few leetle questions!” They were never few, and never little!
We laughed and ate and drank our way through many levels of the web: HTML 1.0 hand coded, all the way to WordPress 3.3.2. With the others that we worked with, we explored parts of Paris and attempted to translate the phrase “Systemic Change” into comprehensible Spanish (a literal or direct translation does not successfully convey the meaning — it probably conveys something totally out of line with the intent).
One evening in New York, the resident New Yorker in the group was occupied with other obligations and ask me to escort Julio and Claude (a french priest and another story altogether!) from Jamaica Queens for a trip to the top of the Empire State Building and dinner in Manhattan. Mind you, I am an Alabama native who had braved Manhattan a couple of times in the firm control of others who knew what they were doing. Oh, and I had to be told how one might hail a taxi and how to know which ones were available! Off we went — we took the photograph at the Empire State Bld., we rode the elevators, we admired the city view from the top of the building and I think we bought a souvenir or two. We wandered toward Times Square and found dinner at Dallas BBQ (or something with a name like that). Not Alabama style BBQ, but still, a pretty good dinner. We walked up to St. Patrick’s, but it was closed up for the night by that time. And, I got us a taxi back out to St. John’s area in Jamaica. And I brought home change! The 3 of us laughed and spoke a variation of spanglish that incorporated French as well. SpaFranglish? I’ve never been afraid to tackle Manhattan since!
That year, when we left Julio off in Harlem (he was staying overnight with some Spanish priests who lived there) he gave me a hug that I shall not forget. He smiled a smile that is what I see in my mind’s eye when I sing the refrain to “Pescador/Lord You Have Come”
Lord, with your eyes set upon me, gently smiling, you have called my name
The Spanish is more beautiful, but I’ll have to copy it from the music to be sure I spell it correctly
I remember the year my husband (JP) and daughter (Marie) made the trip to Paris with me for the sort of annual meeting. On the first evening in town, a group of us walked up to see Notre Dame at night. Our guide was Juan Julian (another spanish priest) and he and Julio debated whether Notre Dame was best seen by night or by day. They then proceded to argue over who would buy Marie’s gelato for her (all the while, she was trying to pay for it herself. One of the Spaniards won.)
The last time I saw him in person was also in Paris. Due to an unfortunate turn of events, Julio and I were the last 2 left in Paris at the end of the week. I was able to reschedule my flight so that we left within an hour of each other. We both had colds. We enjoyed my favorite lunch – [French] soup a l’onion at a cafe near the motherhouse and shared a taxi out to Charles de Gaul airport. That was the day of trying to sort out the concept of Systemic Change. I’m not sure he every completely bought in to it, but we discussed in spanglish. the cabbie turned out to be a spaniard as well, despite working in Paris and speaking French. All was well until we stopped to drop Julio at his terminal on the way to my terminal. Again, there was the hug, the kiss on both cheeks, the sad parting. I sat in the back of the cab, and the cabbie paused before asking if it was ok to leave. I have no idea what he thought the relationship was. But as I look back, I wonder if I somehow knew that I would not see mi amigo in person ever again.
Trinity Sunday
Jack’s homily today touched heavily on a sequence of orders given in the Gospel reading. It seems that Jesus admonished his followers to 1) go an make disciples of all 2) baptize and finally to 3) teach. His observation was that the church seems to have gotten this a bit upside down. We do lots of teaching and put great resources there. We do quite a bit of baptizing — infants and even older folk. We seem to have somehow lost the first priority, which is to make disciples. I can definitely see that there are a large number of well taught baptized [Catholic] Christians. It is more difficult to see that same number of disciples.
I’m trying not to be judgmental. But, if we were all disciples in love with God, I would think that there might be more evidence in the world. I’m sure I would make a bigger impact if I were more of a disciple.
Be that as it may, there was another thing about the Gospel that caught my attention. Jesus tells the disciples to go [back] to Galilee and go to the mountain. Back to Galilee — back to where Jesus himself began his journey and ministry. Go to the mountain: as Jack reminded us, the mountain is always “close to God.” If it was good enough for Jesus, I guess it has to be good enough for me.
This week, I think I’ll try to get to Galilee and spend some time trying out that mountain. Maybe it will work, and maybe I won’t know if it worked or not. The “knowing” about whether it works is not so important as the willingness to go there.
Time to get walking. Time to head up the mountain. Time to remember that God beyond all names has filled us with Her Spirit.
Amanda
Wisdom observes that the rain falls on the good and the evil. Bad things and good happen on the say day. What looks to be a blessing now may be seen as a curse later and that which is seen as a curse or great misfortune now may later turn out to have been the best thing that could have happened. My mother always told me that “life isn’t fair.”
My friend went to bed Saturday night and never woke up. At this point, I have no idea why she never woke up. She was only 51 (several years younger than I am); she was energetic, full of life and love for her God, her children and her grandchildren (not to mention so many others in her life). She gave a lot, and gave up a lot, to be my setups boss for the most recent Women’s Cursillo in the Mobile Archdiocese. We disagreed about many things and, I believe, held each other in great respect and love through our different approaches. We agreed on many more things in this life. She frustrated me at times, and God knows I frustrated her. And we laughed and laughed and laughed in each other’s company.
She helped me to know that while I don’t have a strong personal devotion to the Rosary or to St. Joseph, what I can truly appreciate is the fact that she did. I will always treasure the special rosary she gave me this spring… the one crafted from one that I believe was her mother’s at one time. The one with the missing/broken bead and the St. Teresa of Avila medal carefully added by her (St. Teresa was our “Patron Saint” for the Women’s Cursillo this time around); Yes, she gave it to me with the missing bead, and pointed it out — we are not perfect, and it was so perfect in it’s imperfection.
There is a part of me that is screaming “Why?” and a part that is yelling “This is NOT RIGHT!” and an even bigger piece that is just downright mournful about that gaping hole that has been ripped in the fabric of my daily life by her untimely departure. I think of our discussions over the past few weeks and wonder about some of the things that we talked about: uncertainties about the future, not being sure which way we were being called to go, pain and hurt in some relationships, and healing that seemed to be happening almost in spite of us. I need to talk to her and share with her the pain of losing a friend and ask her help in dealing with it — and then it smacks me between the eyes that she can’t be there for me because she is the one that I’m missing.
Time will make this bearable. Time will bring perspective. It always does. One must walk through the loss and learn to love all that it has to teach. But, forgive me for wanting to jump ahead and skip this part.
‘Manda — I love you, and I miss you.