As we watch television, read news or hear from our friends and relatives, we know of persons who have recently died. The number of sick who have died from the virus without the comfort of family is staggering. Multiplied exponentially is the number of persons grieving the death of their loved ones. Multiply again, and we are aware of thousands of more persons for whom grief never completely leaves.
To all in grief, be aware that grief is not predictable. Grief may be a chronic pain, or it may occur unexpectedly. It has no beginning and no end date. Nor should we feel pressured to “get over it.”
Let us pray for those who have died in this pandemic, as well as their mourners. Let us offer the sacrifices of our isolation or inconvenience, as well as our own grief, for them. May the Sorrowful Mother intercede for all of us. She understands.
Joan Rivers said, “No matter how trapped in the Krazy Glue of life you may be feeling, you can get unstuck. My favorite way is to make a list of all that I have to be thankful for.”
Every night when I turn off the light I lay my head on the pillow and begin thinking about the happenings of the day for which I am grateful. I try to remember the one for which I am most grateful, a trick that reminds me of several other things. The list gets longer as I fall asleep in the process. I trust that gratitude is the Goo-Gone that wipes out the problems of the day.
If you have read today’s Gospel for Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent, you saw Jesus’ life-saving forgiveness and kindness toward the woman caught in adultery. Her horror of facing death by stoning was transformed into grateful relief, as the accusers slunk away and Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.”
Have you noticed that during his journey to the cross, the only people whom Jesus addresses are women? Traditional stations suggest Jesus met his blessed Mother and Veronica. Although we have no recorded words, it’s easy to imagine the gazes of compassion between Jesus and his mother and with Veronica. As he meets the women of Jerusalem, Jesus feels the pain that will be theirs when Jerusalem is destroyed.
Another story about a woman occurred two days before Passover when the chief priests were plotting to arrest Jesus. Jesus was at a meal at a house of Simon the leper. A woman poured an alabaster jar of nard on Jesus’ head. Though onlookers scolded the woman for the waste, Jesus appreciated her kindness. He said, “She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mk. 14:8-9) Three paragraphs later in Mark’s gospel we read of the institution of the Eucharist. Unlike the institution of the Eucharist in Luke that includes “Do this in remembrance of me” there is no request about remembering Jesus in Mark’s gospel. Instead the reader is asked to remember the deed of the woman. Service and Eucharist are inseparable, as seen again in John’s gospel when there is no record of the institution of the Eucharist; instead we read about humble service in washing feet.
You are probably missing the reception of the Eucharist, along with your parish family. As you pray a spiritual communion, consider ways to be of service today. Those acts are inseparable from the Eucharist, for you and the recipient are an extension of Jesus Chris the Lord. We are all the Body of Christ. Amen.
I live in a house with three other Sisters of Notre Dame. One is a teacher who right now is meeting a math group on line. Two other Sisters are making protective masks. I am sitting here hoping to send a blog that will keep up spirits in a time of isolation and buoy hope in a scary time.
In Tuesdays with Morrie Morrie Schwartz writes: “Devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you meaning and purpose.” This is the kind of devotion that surrounds me: dedicated teaching, protecting first-responders, and writing blogs that give me purpose. In addition, our small community meets daily for prayer and fun.
In a book by Harold Ivan Smith titled A B C’s of Healthy Grieving one gentleman writes “I want, at least, to be in places where joy is happening. Then, if there are any extras, I can take a ‘doggybag’ full of joy home with me for tomorrow.”
Give someone some joy today, so that they will have a doggy bag for tomorrow.
We’ve all heard “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” Dick Ryan uses a different image: “Suffering can be like a grain of sand in an oyster; it can create a magnificent pearl.”
I can’t hear the word “pearl” without thinking of John Steinbeck’s The Pearl. Even teaching the novel for the twelfth time, I am continually fascinated by the many layers of the word “pearl” with all its lovely and ugly connotations.
The pandemic has caused a tsunami of suffering. Yet it is my hope that the pandemic can create a magnificent pearl. With prayer and good will our global village can learn that our present modes of living are not sustainable. We need to reverse global warming. We need to flatten the curve not only of COVID19 but of economic inequality. The extra care given to the elderly may lessen the ageism that creeps into our culture. The news has heightened the plight of the homeless, making us more aware of all their needs, starting with a roof over their heads.
It is my hope that goodness, systemic change, care for our planet and one another will be more contagious than the virus. How terrible it would be if we let our present suffering not be transformed into pearls.
We hear the O Antiphons on the remaining days of Advent. Each day the Gospel Acclamation at Mass and the Evening Prayer antiphon before the Magnificat begin with O and include a Messianic title, such as O Wisdom or O King of All the Nations. These O antiphons probably began with monks in centuries past. The monks did something special on the days of December 17 through December 24. Maybe Advent had been a little too penitential, and they had to lighten up before the Christmas feast. Anyway, it’s said that they had treats made from peanuts on the day when the Messiah was addressed as Root of Jesse. They ate an orange on the day when the Messiah was named “O Dawn.” My favorite is the day of “O Key of David” when the monk in charge of the wine cellar used his key to bring out a fine wine for the monks’ dinner.
One time the superior in the convent in which I was living did the same thing; that is, she provided some little treat every day during the O Antiphons. Just something to look forward to during the last days of teaching before Christmas vacation. Try it! It’s sort of fun!
Did you ever look in a puddle and see treetops and clouds? Looking down you see the heavens. Looking down you see what is above. When Mary and Joseph looked down into the face of Baby Jesus, did they see God in his heaven?
There’s movement in Advent. We seem to be on a journey. Forward and deeper. Forward in crossing off the days until Christmas. Forward in opening windows of Advent calendars. Deeper into the mystery. Come, all ye! Let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord! Let Advent be a pilgrimage. “Come, let us climb the Lord’s mountain” (Is. 2). Join the parade with Jesus of Nazareth. See him with the centurion entreating Jesus’ cure for his paralyzed servant. Walk by the Sea of Galilee and experience Jesus’ compassion for the sick and hungry. Pass by the two blind men. (Was Jesus playing a game of faith with them?) Go around to all the towns and villages, proclaim the Gospel of the Kingdom. Stand upon the heights. Wherever you are catch the joy, for God is coming to dwell among you.
Frederick Buechner writes in The Alphabet of Grace: “Religions start, as Frost said poems do, with a lump in the throat, to put it mildly, or with the bush going up in flames, the rain of flowers, the dove coming down out of the sky.” Does Advent similarly start with “a lump in the throat”? On the very first day of Advent we pray in the Collect for “the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ.” There it is again—another liturgical year, another chance to meet Christ anew, another lump in the throat stuck there by humble awe, blessed anticipation, and awareness that we still haven’t awakened to all that we are meant to be. So let’s heed St. Paul’s admonition to the Romans (13:11f) to “throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” Stay awake! Be alert! The bush may go up in flames, clouds may rain flowers, and God himself may drop “dovingly” upon the earth.
If five persons gather during a grief support session, how many persons are sitting around the table? I have the privilege of leading grief support groups for nine weekly sessions. On the last day participants seem reluctant to leave. They feel it had been good to be together in a circle of acceptance and understanding. Each one felt loved, an occurrence that Frederick Buechner calls “this ancient and most holy miracle.” Over the weeks miracles of healing gradually surfaced, hesitant individuals became a community, pain became less poignant for oneself and more open to the pain of others. When speaking of loved ones, were these deceased spouses and parents and siblings present? As we walked out on the last day, there was something more than five grieving persons and a completed workbook. How many persons were really present? As Frederick Buechner writes, “A miracle is when the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. A miracle is where one plus one equals a thousand.”