The Truth Is…

most of us, almost all of us, will eventually be forgotten.

We’re born into a moment of history in a place and a time. Things happen to us and we change things ourselves in ways large, sometimes, but mostly small and then, when our time is done we exit. We go one way and the rest of the world another. The dead rest and fade away, even the tombstones will one day crumble to dust, and the living keep on living until their turn comes.

For a while we’ll be remembered and missed. But as the years march on the people who recall us will themselves be recalled and each generation that fades away dilutes the recollections. A fortunate few will leave something behind but most will not and all of us will become anonymous as time does it’s inevitable work. Even the Beatles will one day be forgotten.

We humans know this somewhere inside, in a place we don’t often visit and basically never want others to see. It makes us afraid, sometimes, to think of being extinguished or sorrowful in the recognition of our, sooner than we can imagine, disappearance. Indeed we rage against the dying of the light.

It would overwhelm us, it does overwhelm us, except for the possibility of Pascha, of something more, of resurrection. One can choose, I suppose, to be outrageous, to be affluent, to be infamous, to embrace celebrity even at the cost of our soul for the sake of being remembered, of being something more. Yet there may be more.

What if our memory, everything we will ever be, could be placed not in the human hands but God’s? What if our treasure, everything we could accomplish, could be stored away in a place currently invisible but most certainly real? What if this is just a beginning, this life, and not the sum total of everything there is? What if Pascha, resurrection, was not just an event of the past or a hope for the future but a way of life where existence is not measured in months and years but in eons and stages and everything we are, if its given to God, remains in His memory forever?

Tonight it will be Pascha again. Easter. For those who understand the Sun will rise at midnight and for those willing to grasp it comes the truth that there’s so much more, so very much more indeed.

January 23

Only you, Lord, do I seek,

My haven, my rest, my constant in change.

Only you, Lord, do I seek,

My spring in the desert, my gentle snow.

In the night when my soul is tired I find your rest.

In the day when work encompasses me I know your strength.

In my broken moments you are oil and wine

When I am deceived you lead me home.

Only you, Lord, do I seek,

My calm on the ocean of life.

Only you, Lord, do I seek,

My life stronger than death.

Adios Facebook!

I’m weary of the noise, weary of the half baked conspiracies, weary of the anger, and thinking about how much of my life was wasted has wearied me even further. It’s time for some detox, time for pure water from the Scriptures and the Saints to wash over and through me. Time for rest. Time to do good things. Time to exchange meaninglessness for grace.

Adios Facebook!

2021

It is good to be here, dear friends, despite the world, the politics, and the general hysteria and anger.

Everything around has been reduced in the knowledge that almost everything can be taken away and all we have now is our faith, our prayers, and our belief to carry us on and through.

Therefore we have all we need.

These are interesting times

in the United States.

Those of us who’ve lived long enough have, of course, seen these before, more than we can count and, of course, each presents itself as “the” crisis of our times as if there was no before or after. For those who are younger without that history it must surely seem that way.

The genius of the American experiment is not that everything has always been perfect. In over two centuries there have been injustices, crimes, scandals, and any number of cringe worthy moments. It’s as historically blind to say these never happened as it is to say everything has always been riddled with them.

Rather, the wisdom of this Union lies in its capacity for self correction. Within its mechanisms has always been the means to face and correct what has gone astray, even if those mechanisms are, in and of themselves, riddled with human frailty. Of course, some things took too long, decades too long, but the point remains; they did happen and they still can.

Contrast this with the experience of those states where totalitarianism, of the Left or the Right, has been proposed as the avenue of utopian social change and been implemented on the promise. The record is clear, massive human rights abuses, a complete lack of respect for human persons and property, wealth for those in control with poverty for the masses, and death on an industrial scale.

Is our Union perfect? No, there is perfecting to be done. However the mere understanding that such perfecting can be done is why this Union, its constitution, its laws, its customs, and its potential for improvement, should be preserved if for no other reason that, even flawed, it is still the better alternative to any other and especially to those proposed by people who believe they can create the future by vandalizing the present.

Looking for Light

There are dark things happening in the world.

As much as I try, for the sake of my soul, to keep the news at arm’s length, it finds a way in. Its hard to watch cameras sharing scenes of violence, especially knowing they’re doing it mostly to keep your eyes glued to the screen for their commercials.

Illness? In my work with Seniors with dementia producing illnesses I’ve experienced more people who’ve died of Covid than I have fingers and toes. So have all the others who work with me. So have countless nurses and providers all over this country. A decade or more, perhaps to the end of our lives, we’ll remember these days and those faces.

But the light, the light is still shining out there if you dare to look for it, if you choose to turn off your yammering TV and see beyond the walls of quarantine. First the light of God which is undimmed by any of the darkness of this world. Second, the light of God shining through the goodness of humans who’ve chosen to do good for each other, sometimes even at their own peril. Third, the goodness of God in the creation that reveals itself like a rose in the middle of thorns. All of it is there, undenied, undying, and real to those who have the faith to see with eyes attuned not to just the present but also to that which is real beyond the present.

We all see what we want to see, what we’ve been conditioned to see, what our culture tells us to see. Some much of it is one dimensional, a present of only the here and now and that’s both unreal and a shame. Unreal because truly there is so much more than only that which meets the eye in any given moment and a shame because if a person hasn’t figured out how to see with the eyes of faith they will be forced to live without seeing the whole picture, to live as if the TV was all there is.

Simplicity…

Walking down the street tonight on a cool, late spring, evening, a Facebook post from an acquaintance sending me down memory lane.

The post was a church somewhere in northern MInnesota, a building plain inside and faux log cabin without. There were musicians with guitars and people singing and it called to mind a simpler time, a time of college and gatherings like this in a world that seemed somehow less byzantine than today.

I know, we weren’t sophisticates and a certain kind of naivety oozed from us and yet the world seemed full of potential, of faith, of a certain kind of possibility. We weren’t sure where we would go and how things would play out and yet there was a kind of joy because we understood that God was with us.

Frankly, that seems absent now. Too many agendas. Too many things on the task list. Too many competing influences and not enough time sitting around campfires singing songs of praise and thinking only of the moment and the stars above.

My heart is too often filled with noise. My soul is too often shaken the jackhammer of busyness for its own sake. Where are the evening stars? Where are the loon sounds? Where is the simple faith I remember having and the joy that followed it?

I want my memories back and I hear their call like the call of Jesus telling us to come with our labors and burdens and find, in Him, our rest.

Survivor

It’s a long time time since I’ve been here, a world away from those days just back from Kenya and the missions.

A little thing called Covid 19 was between there are here. I got it. I survived, and then I went back to work with others who had caught it. Most survived.

The price was high. Not just the illness but the hours breathing through a hot mask, the sweaty PPE, the showers at the end of the day, watching the funeral home come. Crying when they did and crying when the survivors left the unit. Communing a sweet lady while wearing a haz mat helmet for vestments. Praying hard. Worrying for my wife and family. Sleeping alone to keep others safe.

People ask me what I want.

I want a month somewhere quiet. I want people to stop calling us “heroes” because we do this every day. I want people to understand I’m not myself yet because that jolly, caring person, has been pushed real hard and is very tired. I want people to know that I’m glad I experienced what I did and returned to do the service I could, but there was a cost.

Everything seems different now. I cry very easily. I roll down the windows in my car every time I can because fresh air has become like gold to me. I sleep when I can, sometimes too much and sometimes too little. The day determines the night. They say one needn’t fear in the valley of the shadow of death but that doesn’t mean it won’t take a piece out of you as you walk through.

Still, my faith is still there and so is my hope. I’ll catch up with the rest of the world in a little bit.

See you there.