Epitaph

A beautiful life

Full of hope, pain, joy, tears, love

Thank You for this gift

In the Beginning

"Adam fell that men might be;

and men are, that they might have joy."

~ 2 Nephi 2:25

Original what:

Sin? Consciousness? Grace?

Myth enshrining memory,

A moment in evolution

and we switch

from Ape to Man

from This to That

from Feeling to Seeing

Sublime visions

of something wonderful

for the brave and the foolish

Oh, but the works of human hands

Schemes and dreams to make heads spin

Faster! Higher! Stronger!

So many lessons learned

So much wisdom forgotten and ignored

Are we better, worse, or just different than what came before?

Two roads diverged on that ancient savanna

and we chose the double-edged sword

which clears the undergrowth, while discombobulating the soul

O blessed day!

O wretched day!

Paradise lost, and found

by those brave or foolish enough

to awaken the heart

and be

Father Adam, pray for us!

Mother Eve, pray for us!

Unconquerable Joy

My freshman year of college, one of our dormmates delivered the same line every single day when asked how he was: "Better than ever!" Perhaps life truly was that good to him, but none of us believed so. We saw his words, and the stupid smile which accompanied them, as a performance. Maybe he was trying to impress us. Maybe he was a devotee of the cult of positive thinking. Either way, Happy Guy's greeting came across as fake. And whenever I consider the nature of happiness, his is the first voice I hear.

Wealth. Power. Fame. Security. Amusement. The world wants us to be happy, and it has taught us that these are the quickest paths to the prize. Unfortunately, the only reward to be found at the end of those rainbows is a cheap high. The exhilaration might be superb, but it always ends too soon; leaving you desperate for another fix. Happiness is fleeting, and the perfect gift for a fickle master to dispense to its loyal subjects.

Our Parent, on the other hand, desires something very different for us. Something messy and disturbing; where doubt, pain, and fear walk hand in hand with faith, hope, and love. They show us the cross, then ask us to carry it with Them to places unknown, no matter the cost. And if you say yes, you will taste and feel something wonderful, something that might occasionally resemble happiness, but only from a distance. You will know deep in your heart and soul that you are walking the road They created you to walk. In short, you will know joy. And nothing will ever be the same again. Alleluia! Alleluia!

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!

Strange Grace

These are strange times indeed, all thanks to a microscopic virus. Panic and pushback; anxiety and boredom; our world upended on a daily hourly basis. And in the background, Sister Death lurks much closer than normal. We would be fools not to tremble with fear; and even bigger fools to ignore the opportunity which lies before us.

In making the latter statement, please do not mistake me for one of the many politicians and ideologues now drooling over the possibilities of enacting their agendas. Yes, those kinds of opportunities are present in a crisis, but so is the chance for transformation of a more profound sort: to see Truth as it really is and to live accordingly.

Our existence on this little rock in the universe is nothing short of extraordinary. We are surrounded by the most majestic acts of creation, from towering mountains to a grain of sand. Just look at the world that exists in the smallest garden! This is our family. This is the kingdom. We have the honor of being a part of something wonderful.

And most of the time, we ignore such truths in favor of the rat race we think of as reality. We spend our days fighting over petty fiefdoms; using and abusing our siblings as if they were commodities; believing ourselves to be the masters of destiny. And then a tiny virus comes along, and forces a choice: tighten the mask or open your eyes.

Unfortunately, most of us will choose door number one. We will place our hope in smart people and smart ideas, and the fleeting salvation that such faux saviors bring. Perhaps our trust will be rewarded with a cure and a return to normality. And perhaps we will find ourselves desolated, begging for smarter people and smarter ideas.

Would the ultimate outcome change if more of us chose door number two? Probably not. Suffering and death is our lot in life. So what is the point of looking? Nothing, to the gods of power and success that most of us worship. But to our Parent, to the One who painted us into this glorious canvas, Their vision is the supreme gift.

For that is what you will find behind door number two: the grace of beholding this life, this cosmos, your brothers and sisters, human and beyond, past, present, and future through the eyes of They who created it all in the first place. And once you look, you will never be able to turn away, even after the sheer beauty drives you insane.

Which is why most of us choose door number one. Who wants to love their enemies, let alone embrace the cross upon which they will nail you? Who wants to make servanthood their fondest dream, and to aspire to be a useless one at that? Who wants to be a failure at the very things to which your heart and soul are calling you to do?

Crazy, bonkers, nuts; and more True and Real than anyone cares to admit. Neither fame nor riches will prevent you from becoming worm food. The smart people with their smart ideas cannot take their power with them. And even our grand civilization will one day go the way of the dinosaurs. Suffering and death is our lot in life, all of us.

So if our fate is to suffer and die, let us do so with clear eyes and full hearts, living in the truth of who we are and why we are here, and eagerly welcoming grace in whatever form it might choose to manifest, even as a pandemic. Yes, ours is a strange Parent, who has gifted us with a strange home. Let us give thanks for both, always.