Holy Demolition

Death and resurrection: The sacred path by which our Parent bestows mercy upon their creation. One thing is destroyed, and something else rises in its place. The extinction of the dinosaurs. The great flood of Noah. Countless plagues, wars, and natural disasters. A dance of destruction and rebirth, over and over again, never to end.

And it does no good to fear one and love the other; they are a package deal. Everything dies: the birds in the sky and the lilies of the field; prey and predators; you, me, and the works of human hands. It all comes tumbling down eventually, to become foundation or fertilizer for the next thing. We have found the mythical phoenix, and it is us!

So what shall rise from our present plague? The politicians and pundits are quick with a prediction, or at least a fantasy. The truth, however, is that we cannot know from this end of the story. Those twists and turns that lie in store for our children are a mystery. And let us be glad, for mercy is ever so delightful when it takes on a surprising form.

Now, none of this absolves us of our duty to love our neighbors as best we can. Yes, life always finds a way, to emerge and to thrive. But it matters whether that happens with our assistance, or in spite of our opposition. Do you strive for the common good, or just your own? Be honest, for our Parent already knows, and so do your siblings.

At the end of the day, divine will is in the open for all to see, leaving us with a choice: Do we accept it and cooperate with its unfolding? Or do we rage against it, living out a pipe dream of human mastery of the universe? Either way, death will come, and resurrection will follow. May your heart come to recognize the wondrous mercy of both.

Ordinary Saints

My favorite part of the Easter Vigil liturgy is the singing of the Litany of the Saints. Sadly, due to the postponement of baptisms and confirmations, this melody was confined to my heart and soul this year. On the upside, adding some "unofficial" saints to the roster was much easier than normal. I have written elsewhere about my friend, Fr. Greg Coiro, and my cousin, Nicole Bidwell. And now, it is my duty and privilege to introduce you to a few other departed companions: Kevin and Donna Huckaby, and Roger Scoggins.

Donna hired me to teach religion at St. Francis High School, and became my mentor and friend. She was the epitome of what Catholic education should stand for: God and grace first, everything else second. Such a vision ruffled certain feathers, but also touched and transformed many lives. Donna loved us, students and staff alike, and strove each day to help us become the people whom God created us to be; most powerfully, by sharing the story of her son, Kevin, on the quarterly senior class retreats, known as Kairos.

Kevin developed a seizure disorder while still a toddler. Doctors predicted a terribly short lifespan, but he bested that by nearly fifty years. Donna would recount harrowing tales of hospital visits and dark nights of the soul, alongside joyful ones about a man whose mind never outgrew the unconditional love of a child. She spoke of the power of friendship and the necessity of forgiveness, especially of oneself; lessons that Kevin taught her over the decades. As an adult, he resided in group homes nearby to where my wife and I live, so we had the good fortune of spending time with him. He loved the Beach Boys, and Mary Poppins, and eating at IHOP. He couldn't talk or walk very well, but he sang gleefully and moved faster than you expected. And when Kevin smiled, you smiled back.

Eventually, however, illness and seizures got the upper hand, and death came for Kevin in October of 2018. Donna had already been struggling with dementia, but went downhill quickly after this and died last year, just after Christmas. I suppose her soul couldn't bear the separation. Several years ago, I took a photo of the two of them in the park, walking hand-in-hand. That is how I see them now: mother and son, together, forever.

In the intervening years, I left St. Francis, took time off to write, then found a support staff job at a public middle school, which is where I met my friend Roger.

Roger was the school's head custodian. The world might sniff at that job title, but no one who ever knew him would. He was the hardest worker on campus, bar none. That alone would merit respect, but he gave a lot more of himself than just time and energy. Like all such people, his generosity was often taken advantage of; but he refused to allow that to make him less kind or joyful. He shared his friendship abundantly and broadly, but had a special fondness for the "special needs" students, who returned his affection with gusto. Roger was a true gentle-man, strong and tough, yet unashamed of saying "I love you" to his friends; and unquestionably, one of the finest men I have had the honor to know. He died just a few weeks ago, appropriately enough, on Valentine's Day.

Now, don't get me wrong, these were not perfect people. Kevin could be moody, even to the point of violence in his later years. (Some of his caregivers said, jokingly or not, that he had finally entered adolescence!) And Donna was so focused on him that, by her own admission, she neglected her other children at various times. Which brings us to Roger, whose stubbornness kept him from addressing his health issues until it was too late. No, these were not perfect people. But they were good people, who loved their brothers and sisters, and did their very best to serve the One who is parent of us all.

And here's the best news: they are not alone. The key theme of Kairos was, "If you want to find God, don't look up, look around." An assertion that the Divine Presence lies within each one of us, ready to be shared with the world like living sacraments. Not all of us, of course, are willing to tap into such grace. There are some, however, who are unafraid to walk in friendship with Love and Love's Author. They rarely make the news. Nor are they mourned by millions. But they are the salt and sparkle of our world. And I give thanks for all of them, especially the ones whom I have been blessed to know.

My sisters and brothers, Nicole, Greg, Kevin, Donna, Roger, and all the ordinary saints who toil in anonymity for the sake of faith, hope, and love, pray for us!

The Great Why

Why? How many of our prayers boil down to that single word? Why am I here? Why do You let me suffer? Why must I die? Why? Why? Why?

We want answers, yes. But more importantly, we want to find a sense of order within the chaos. We want to know that the events of our lives, the events of history, have meaning and purpose. Because our great fear is that all of this is nothing more than a collection of random and capricious moments. Unfortunately, Truth is not our friend here.

For the vision we seek cannot be seen from our perspective. Your life is a single piece in an immeasurable jigsaw puzzle. Are you a key part of the image, or one of the multitude of background elements? Will your neighbors snap into place tomorrow, or in a thousand centuries? Is the ultimate point of your life a forgettable interaction that shapes someone else into that essential piece? You will never know, not now at least.

So if we cannot know, then our choice is whether or not to trust. Trust that our Parent did not create us by accident. Trust that our crosses will carry us where we need to go. Trust that lives cut too short, by virus or firearm, do have meaning and purpose. Trust that one day we will see the big picture and come to know what all the fuss was about.

And when that day dawns, the puzzle spread before us, and we finally grasp our place in this most magnificent tapestry, the very last thing on your mind will be "why".