She was just 7 years old the first time I laid eyes on the little blond imp, and I was 15. It was three years after my mother had died, and my father ended up marrying her mother, who had been through a rather unpleasant divorce. I was the typical sullen teenager and she was a little bit of a bratty kid. But I was thrilled at the prospect of having a mother again, sort of.
It didn't all turn out to be a bowl full of cherries. Young Ruthie was difficult at times, demanding and strident. I was withdrawn, never sure how to react to a stepmother who was unpredictable, at least in my eyes. She would be upset with me over something she assumed I knew she did not approve of, and I would often just retreat to my room with hurt feelings and no idea why. In other words, we did not always communicate well. But somehow, we muddled through.
Fast forward to about four or five years ago. I'd encountered Ruth a few times at family gatherings, but by and large her mother had managed to keep the two families fairly separate, often having family affairs twice, once for her children and once for me and my bunch. She talked a lot about her family, and so I felt as if I knew them even though I rarely saw them (she had four children altogether, but only Ruthie had ever lived in the same household as I did).
My father died at age 95, back in 2005, in January. That same year, Ruth was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember thinking how horrible it was for her mother, losing her husband of 35 years and then having to deal emotionally with her youngest and closest daughter's diagnosis.
A year or so later, I encountered Betty and Ruth in a restaurant in Salisbury, quite by accident. Ruth was wearing the "do-rag" that signals the hair loss that goes with radiation treatments for cancer. We hugged and spoke briefly.
A few years after that, Ruth was in town to settle her father's estate, a farm in Pocomoke City (which had belonged to her mother's family originally). We got to know each other a bit better then, while she was in town. In 2009, I visited Ruth in Las Vegas., By that time, it was a foregone conclusion that Ruth's cancer was terminal, but she was so full of life and sunny in disposition, it was hard to imagine that she was really that sick.
It was the last time I saw her alive. We spoke on the phone a few times, my daughter visited her just a few weeks before the end, and we texted and facebooked from time to time.
When I learned of her passing on April 16, a week before Easter, I was not surprised, but I was saddened. She'd been living in California for the past year, so I wasn't able to be involved in her day-to-day life, but she had wonderful friends and neighbors surrounding her, a loving husband who devoted himself to caring for her and she reconciled with her surviving brother.
I believe she is in a better place now, where there is no more pain and suffering. She did suffer unimaginable pain, I deduce that from things she said, although she never, ever complained to me.
Ruth was a people person, I heard that over and over again at her funeral. She enjoyed outdoor activities, but was not really what you would call an athlete. She wasn't an artist, nor a musican, nor a writer. She was purely a people person who lived in the moment, and when she was with you, she was genuinely fascinated with you, your life, your thoughts. Her smile, infectious laugh and presence could light up a room, and she didn't even have to try. That's why she had accumulated such a devoted following of friends over the years. With all the broken relationships and ways we find to abuse each other in this earthly life, Ruth was a healer of relationships, a shining example of how we should all treat each other. She wasn't bitter or angry about her illness and unfortunate fate, or if she was, she never expressed it to most of us. She posted this in the "about Ruth" section of her facebook profile:
"Every day is a gift - so enjoy!!! Enjoying each & every day of my life."
And she did, I truly believe she did. I hope that she is now resting in the loving arms of God, free of pain and sorrow, and waiting for the rest of us to catch up with her someday.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
How good it is to be here
Lent is officially over today, but this is the first chance I've had to write about last week's Gospel reading, the Transfiguration, when Jesus revealed his divinity to Peter, James and John. Peter, the Apostle who so often put his foot into his mouth despite his good intentions, said upon seeing Jesus as divine, alongside Moses and Elijah, "Master, it is good to be here."
He wanted to erect shelters and stay put because it was such a profound and compelling moment.
I was standing in the choir loft while that Gospel reading was proclaimed in church, because we rang handbells at that Mass. I felt a glimmer of understanding and empathy with Peter at that moment, looking down on the congregation and out at the church structure that is so familiar to me. It was indeed good to be there at that moment, I was in my comfort zone and feeling very blessed to be a part of it all -- the liturgy, the parish and the Catholic Church.
But as the reading points out to us, we cannot simply remain safe and secure in our comfort zones, all of us. We come together as church, as a faith community, and we sing and pray and proclaim and listen. We contemplate and we respond. And it's the response part that compels us to stand up at the end of Mass, and upon hearing "The Mass is ended. Go forth in peace to serve God and one another," to respond, "Thanks be to God." And then, it's over. We must go forth into the world and live our lives. We cannot stay where we feel good. We are nourished by our liturgy, our public prayer and our fellowship with each other, but that nourishment is not for our personal benefit alone. It is to give us the strength we need to go out and be an example to the rest of the world, to lead us each week to a slightly better understanding of what God calls us to do and become. We can't keep it to ourselves, and if we just sit safe and secure in the pews and listen, absorbing the lessons and the good feelings, we accomplish nothing and we do not ourselves grow in faith.
And so we look forward to next time, but ideally come away each Sunday with a little something more than we had when we walked in an hour before.
He wanted to erect shelters and stay put because it was such a profound and compelling moment.
I was standing in the choir loft while that Gospel reading was proclaimed in church, because we rang handbells at that Mass. I felt a glimmer of understanding and empathy with Peter at that moment, looking down on the congregation and out at the church structure that is so familiar to me. It was indeed good to be there at that moment, I was in my comfort zone and feeling very blessed to be a part of it all -- the liturgy, the parish and the Catholic Church.
But as the reading points out to us, we cannot simply remain safe and secure in our comfort zones, all of us. We come together as church, as a faith community, and we sing and pray and proclaim and listen. We contemplate and we respond. And it's the response part that compels us to stand up at the end of Mass, and upon hearing "The Mass is ended. Go forth in peace to serve God and one another," to respond, "Thanks be to God." And then, it's over. We must go forth into the world and live our lives. We cannot stay where we feel good. We are nourished by our liturgy, our public prayer and our fellowship with each other, but that nourishment is not for our personal benefit alone. It is to give us the strength we need to go out and be an example to the rest of the world, to lead us each week to a slightly better understanding of what God calls us to do and become. We can't keep it to ourselves, and if we just sit safe and secure in the pews and listen, absorbing the lessons and the good feelings, we accomplish nothing and we do not ourselves grow in faith.
And so we look forward to next time, but ideally come away each Sunday with a little something more than we had when we walked in an hour before.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
A Side Trip
I was planning a series of blog entries on The Prayer of St. Francis, and I will continue that next week. But today, Sunday, I want to write about the Gospel reading I heard at Mass today.
Here is the reading:
A reading from the Gospel of John (9:1-41)
As Jesus passed by he saw a man blind from birth.
His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
Jesus answered, "Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.We have to do the works of the one who sent me while it is day. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made clay from his saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, "Go wash in the Pool of Siloam" -- which means Sent.
So he went and washed, and came back able to see.
His neighbors and those who had seen him earlier as a beggar said,"Isn't this the one who used to sit and beg?"
Some said, "It is," but others said, "No, he just looks like him."
He said, "I am." So they said to him, "How were your eyes opened?"
He replied, "The man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes and told me 'Go to Siloam and wash.' So I went ther and washed and was able to see."
And they said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I don't know."
They brought the one who was once blind to the Pharisees. Now Jesus had made clay and opened his eyes on a sabbath. So then the Pharisees also asked him how he was able to see. He said to them, "He put clay on my eyes, and I washed, and now I can see. So some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, because he does not keep the sabbath." But others said, "How can a sinful man do such signs?" And there was a division among them. So they said to the blind man again, "What do you have to say about him, since he opened your eyes?" He said, "He is a prophet."
Now the Jews did not believe that he had been blind and gained his sight until they summoned the parents of the one who had gained his sight. They asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How does he now see?" His parents answered and said, "We know that this is our son and that he was born blind. We do not know how he sees now, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him, he is of age; he can speak for himself."
His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that if anyone acknowledged him as the Christ, he would be expelled from the synagogue. For this reason, his parents said, "He is of age; question him."
So a second time they called the man who had been blind and said to him, "Give God the praise! We know that this man is a sinner." He replied, "If he is a sinner, I do not know. One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see." So they said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?" They ridiculed ghim and said, "You are that man's disciple; we are disciples of Moses! We know that God spoke to Moses, but we do not know where this one is from." The man answered and said to them, "This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything."
They answered and said to him, "You were born totally in sin, and are you trying to teach us?" Then they threw him out.
When Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, he found him and said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" He answered and said, "Who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?" Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, the one speaking with you is he." He said, "I do believe, Lord," and he worshipped him. Then Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see might see, and those who do see might become blind."
Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him," Surely we are not also blind, are we?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you are saying 'We see,' so your sin remains."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That is a really long and rich-in-meaning reading. St. Augustine of Hippo wrote (about this passage) that "If we reflect on the meaning of this miracle, we will see that the blind man is the human race ... you already know, of course, who the 'One sent' is. Unless he had been sent, none of us would have been freed from sin."
I would never pretend to know more than St. Augustine, but here is the thought that occurred to me upon reading the passage in church before Mass started, and after the Gospel was proclaimed at Mass as well. It was so compelling that I actually took one of the pencils in the pew and a scrap of paper and wrote down my impressions. I never do that. Not until today, at least.
For me, and for Catholics in general, salvation is not a moment frozen in time, an instant of revelation that happens and then is gone. It is a lifelong journey of discovery, learning, setbacks and sharing. This gospel reading absolutely reflects that concept. We have a man (the human race or all of us as individuals) who was born blind (unknowing, in sin and subject to the darkness) who, never having seen a thing before because of his birth defect, encounters Jesus. Jesus asks him to follow a ritual that is not the cure, but is indicative of that person's obedience and willingness to step out in a leap of faith, in a sense. The man goes and does as Jesus told him, and upon completion of the instructions given to him by Jesus (who is God), his eyes are opened.
Think about this for a minute. His eyes are opened and he sees, but he cannot yet know what he is seeing; he is simply bombarded with images, light and dark, colors and shapes, that are all foreign to him. He sees, yes, but he still does not understand. He returns to Jesus and acknowledges the gift. He then finds himself talking to Pharisees, the Jewish authorities of the day. They challenge him, asking him who is responsible for opening his eyes, asking how it was done and pointing out that Jesus must not be a man of God because all of these events take place on the Sabbath (no accident there, either). The man at first only responds with the facts: I was born blind, this man made clay and sent me to the Pool of Siloam to wash, and now I can see.
But as the Pharisees continue to question him more deeply, a greater understanding emerges. Who is Jesus? He is a prophet, the man replies - a dawning of understanding, a first step on a journey of the heart, mind and soul. The Pharisees continue to question him, and he begins to respond with some flippance: I told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?
Then the man, responding to their declaration that they are disciples of Moses, and they know Moses was a man of God, by saying even more insightfully: "We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything."
Amazing progression of understanding. This is how it is with us, too. Someone who has never heard sounds before may, through modern technology, gain some sense of hearing. But hearing for the first time doesn't necessarily mean understanding. If you took Helen Keller, who was born deaf, mute and blind, and gave her normal hearing and vision all at once, she would have been more lost than she was in her silent, dark world, at least for a time.
The most awesome thing I ever heard, I believe, was when a friend of mine who was born mostly deaf had a cochlear implant and heard things for the first time. She told me one day at lunch that she had been spraying something on her niece's hair and heard a sound. She looked around, but could not figure out what it was. She picked up the spray bottle again, and heard the sound again. She looked at me and said, with all the awe and wonder of a child, "I never knew that a spray bottle made a sound like that!" And she imitated the sound for me.
What an eye-opener that was. She could hear, but it would take her a long time to truly understand everything she heard.
We are no different. Even when we have that conversion moment, that "Aha!" lightbulb-popping moment and we suddenly realize that God is beckoning us, the journey is just beginning.
That is why Catholics do not say they were "born again" in the same sense that many Evangelicals do. We all agree that there is a moment when the journey begins; for Catholics (and others, too, it's just that I only really know Catholicism in any depth), that first step requires a deep and definitive response, a leap of faith and a setting-off on a lifetime journey sort of response. We are "born again" in the sense that we have had our eyes opened, much as that man did in the Gospel passage. But like that man, who had to respond to Jesus in order to really be changed, we, too, must respond, must become different in a striking and definitive way.
Here is the reading:
A reading from the Gospel of John (9:1-41)
As Jesus passed by he saw a man blind from birth.
His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
Jesus answered, "Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.We have to do the works of the one who sent me while it is day. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made clay from his saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, "Go wash in the Pool of Siloam" -- which means Sent.
So he went and washed, and came back able to see.
His neighbors and those who had seen him earlier as a beggar said,"Isn't this the one who used to sit and beg?"
Some said, "It is," but others said, "No, he just looks like him."
He said, "I am." So they said to him, "How were your eyes opened?"
He replied, "The man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes and told me 'Go to Siloam and wash.' So I went ther and washed and was able to see."
And they said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I don't know."
They brought the one who was once blind to the Pharisees. Now Jesus had made clay and opened his eyes on a sabbath. So then the Pharisees also asked him how he was able to see. He said to them, "He put clay on my eyes, and I washed, and now I can see. So some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, because he does not keep the sabbath." But others said, "How can a sinful man do such signs?" And there was a division among them. So they said to the blind man again, "What do you have to say about him, since he opened your eyes?" He said, "He is a prophet."
Now the Jews did not believe that he had been blind and gained his sight until they summoned the parents of the one who had gained his sight. They asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How does he now see?" His parents answered and said, "We know that this is our son and that he was born blind. We do not know how he sees now, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him, he is of age; he can speak for himself."
His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that if anyone acknowledged him as the Christ, he would be expelled from the synagogue. For this reason, his parents said, "He is of age; question him."
So a second time they called the man who had been blind and said to him, "Give God the praise! We know that this man is a sinner." He replied, "If he is a sinner, I do not know. One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see." So they said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?" They ridiculed ghim and said, "You are that man's disciple; we are disciples of Moses! We know that God spoke to Moses, but we do not know where this one is from." The man answered and said to them, "This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything."
They answered and said to him, "You were born totally in sin, and are you trying to teach us?" Then they threw him out.
When Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, he found him and said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" He answered and said, "Who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?" Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, the one speaking with you is he." He said, "I do believe, Lord," and he worshipped him. Then Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see might see, and those who do see might become blind."
Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him," Surely we are not also blind, are we?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you are saying 'We see,' so your sin remains."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That is a really long and rich-in-meaning reading. St. Augustine of Hippo wrote (about this passage) that "If we reflect on the meaning of this miracle, we will see that the blind man is the human race ... you already know, of course, who the 'One sent' is. Unless he had been sent, none of us would have been freed from sin."
I would never pretend to know more than St. Augustine, but here is the thought that occurred to me upon reading the passage in church before Mass started, and after the Gospel was proclaimed at Mass as well. It was so compelling that I actually took one of the pencils in the pew and a scrap of paper and wrote down my impressions. I never do that. Not until today, at least.
For me, and for Catholics in general, salvation is not a moment frozen in time, an instant of revelation that happens and then is gone. It is a lifelong journey of discovery, learning, setbacks and sharing. This gospel reading absolutely reflects that concept. We have a man (the human race or all of us as individuals) who was born blind (unknowing, in sin and subject to the darkness) who, never having seen a thing before because of his birth defect, encounters Jesus. Jesus asks him to follow a ritual that is not the cure, but is indicative of that person's obedience and willingness to step out in a leap of faith, in a sense. The man goes and does as Jesus told him, and upon completion of the instructions given to him by Jesus (who is God), his eyes are opened.
Think about this for a minute. His eyes are opened and he sees, but he cannot yet know what he is seeing; he is simply bombarded with images, light and dark, colors and shapes, that are all foreign to him. He sees, yes, but he still does not understand. He returns to Jesus and acknowledges the gift. He then finds himself talking to Pharisees, the Jewish authorities of the day. They challenge him, asking him who is responsible for opening his eyes, asking how it was done and pointing out that Jesus must not be a man of God because all of these events take place on the Sabbath (no accident there, either). The man at first only responds with the facts: I was born blind, this man made clay and sent me to the Pool of Siloam to wash, and now I can see.
But as the Pharisees continue to question him more deeply, a greater understanding emerges. Who is Jesus? He is a prophet, the man replies - a dawning of understanding, a first step on a journey of the heart, mind and soul. The Pharisees continue to question him, and he begins to respond with some flippance: I told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?
Then the man, responding to their declaration that they are disciples of Moses, and they know Moses was a man of God, by saying even more insightfully: "We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything."
Amazing progression of understanding. This is how it is with us, too. Someone who has never heard sounds before may, through modern technology, gain some sense of hearing. But hearing for the first time doesn't necessarily mean understanding. If you took Helen Keller, who was born deaf, mute and blind, and gave her normal hearing and vision all at once, she would have been more lost than she was in her silent, dark world, at least for a time.
The most awesome thing I ever heard, I believe, was when a friend of mine who was born mostly deaf had a cochlear implant and heard things for the first time. She told me one day at lunch that she had been spraying something on her niece's hair and heard a sound. She looked around, but could not figure out what it was. She picked up the spray bottle again, and heard the sound again. She looked at me and said, with all the awe and wonder of a child, "I never knew that a spray bottle made a sound like that!" And she imitated the sound for me.
What an eye-opener that was. She could hear, but it would take her a long time to truly understand everything she heard.
We are no different. Even when we have that conversion moment, that "Aha!" lightbulb-popping moment and we suddenly realize that God is beckoning us, the journey is just beginning.
That is why Catholics do not say they were "born again" in the same sense that many Evangelicals do. We all agree that there is a moment when the journey begins; for Catholics (and others, too, it's just that I only really know Catholicism in any depth), that first step requires a deep and definitive response, a leap of faith and a setting-off on a lifetime journey sort of response. We are "born again" in the sense that we have had our eyes opened, much as that man did in the Gospel passage. But like that man, who had to respond to Jesus in order to really be changed, we, too, must respond, must become different in a striking and definitive way.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Reflecting on the Prayer of St. Francis
The prayer of St. Francis
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. I want to be a peacemaker, not a troublemaker. Really, I do. But sometimes I catch myself venting frustrations or saying divisive things. Sometimes I say things I do not think will be divisive, but they are. Sometimes I'm not sure that making peace is the right thing to do. Should we not speak out about injustice, advocate for causes we believe in or somehow try to make a difference in a world that mostly is motivated by nonpeaceful tactics?
On the other hand, isn't peace what we long for the most in this life? Doesn't strife and turmoil wear us down, exhaust us and drain us of resources we need to get through our days?
I have met people -- not many -- who exude peace in a remarkable way that makes others feel at peace, comfortable and relaxed. How do they do it? That's what I want to do. We are called to act for social justice, to stand up for the innocent, the victimized, the weak and vulnerable.
But maybe we don't have to do it in a militant way. Maybe I can center myself in a way that will enable me to embody peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Why is it so easy to hate, so difficult to love? That seems backward. What happens when we act out of hatred? Do we make the world a better place? I don't think so. But boy, it sure feels good sometimes. Well, for a little while. Actually, only while we're doing it. When we've spent our hatred, we feel demeaned, uncomfortable, guilty. So why do we do it? Let me sow love instead. If I give in to the urge to be hateful, I feel bad about myself, but if I resist and instead give the benefit of the doubt, return love where anger or bitterness is offered, I feel good about myself and perhaps in the end, the other person feels better, too.
Where there is injury, pardon. This is the heart of the Christian faith. Turn the other cheek. Father, they know not what they are doing. It's easy to lash out at someone who hurts us, but far more beneficial to forgive, understand and offer goodwill in return. Beneficial, but difficult. It takes strength and resolve.
The rest of the prayer, I will save for another Lenten post.
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