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!

Unintended Consequences

Shelter-in-place. Quarantine. Lockdown. Whatever the name, we are enduring this time of isolation for the sake of our brothers and sisters. And it is working! We are slowing the spread and flattening the curve. Our sacrifice is undoubtedly saving lives.

But what about the collateral damage of our pandemic response? How many siblings will succumb to treatable illnesses, because they are afraid to go to a hospital? How many siblings will be drawn to suicide, because this is the straw that breaks the camel's back? How many siblings will be pushed into starvation, because they lack the basic resources needed to survive an economic shutdown? When all this is over, and the balance sheets have been tallied, will the cure have been worse than the disease?

Every human intervention comes with a cost. And too often, we leap into action without considering the nature of that price or whether it is worth paying. This is partly due to our overly exuberant faith in the power of smart people and smart ideas. It is also, however, the product of our tendency to value some siblings more than others.

Should we have acted differently? Probably not. We did what we had to do to rescue the siblings in front of our faces. But when that new day dawns, which it inevitably will, let us temper our celebrations with a bit of melancholy; for our victory shall come, as they often do, with a horrid price tag. And when the next enemy appears on the horizon, which they inevitably will, let us put on the armor of humility before we run off to battle.

The Noble Path

In the pre-virus era, local animal-rights activists held weekly demonstrations at the gates of a Los Angeles slaughterhouse. They gathered not to seek the factory's closure, but to love those who would die within its walls. As one participant said, "Even though we're not going to save one single pig, what we can offer for just a second is basic decency for a living being." This, my friends, is living in the kingdom.

Acknowledging the strange and the different as your brothers and sisters. Loving those neighbors fervently, without chasing utopian fantasies. Planting seeds of grace, trusting our Parent to use them however They will. And embracing the delicious paradoxes which ensue along the way. This is the path we are called to travel.

Now, to live in the kingdom is a hard and confusing task. Seeing beauty in the ugliness of life. Accepting uncertainty as a gift. Such traits do not come naturally, but neither are they reserved to the few or the special. Every soul is capable of the journey; all that is necessary is a heart foolish enough to desire it. And for those who manage to summon up the courage, a universe of unquenchable joy awaits.

The Great Game

Biden or Trump. For the next six months, a cacophony of voices will loudly demand that we pick one, while ominously predicting chaos and tribulation should the wrong man be elected. Such cheerleaders are fools, who have far too much confidence in the efficacy of smart people and smart ideas. And we shall become even bigger fools, if we choose to drink the Kool-Aid they are selling.

Once upon a time, our Brother counseled us to "repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God." These words are a reminder that our leaders are not divine, the state is not a source of grace, and both are players in a contest of power, not love. Sometimes the competition brings nice toys to the people, and sometimes it leaves them with a stocking full of coal. Politics is a useful tool for building human fiefdoms, but a piss-poor one when it comes to living in the kingdom.

Be that as it may, it is our civic duty to participate in the game. So let us perform the task wisely, refusing to turn it into something greater than it actually is. If you trust Biden or Trump to advance the common good, give him your support. If someone else, someone guaranteed to lose, has earned your respect, do not be afraid to vote your conscience. Always remember, the kingdom is here and now: yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And nothing that happens in November can alter that reality.

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".

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.

The Fourth Revelation

Once again, our Parent chose to speak to me during a lightning storm far from home. This time I was on a pilgrimage to Nauvoo, Illinois, final resting place of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Whatever the merits of the Book of Mormon itself, I am certain that he spoke with and for God, and I have become very fond of him. I had been stuck in the mud for quite some time. I could feel our Parent's words within me, but not the path to release them. I heard Joseph's voice in my head, calling me to visit, assuring me that all would be revealed. So I went, and my brother was proved right.

The words that God shared with me, under the title "The Fourth Revelation", have been published on the "Book of We Are" website. It is an open letter "To the Princes and Powers of this world. And to the People who enable their rule." It asks us to take a brutally honest look at the world we have created, and then challenges us to choose better, for our family. I hope you read it. And I really hope you share it.

So why create a new blog to make this announcement? I have been asking our Parent that question for some time now. And the answer I keep hearing is that their revelation is not wedded to the liturgical calendar, so neither should be my writing. They have things they want me to say that are bigger than Catholicism and Christianity. So I need a venue appropriate for such expressions. I have no idea where this project will go, but I trust God to guide me, with some help from Joseph and his fellow saints.

"Let us begin, brothers, to serve the Lord God – for up until now, we have done little or nothing." ~ Francis of Assisi