No complaints…well, almost!
Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away (Matt 24:35). How true is this statement of the Lord, which he gave in the context of his description of the end of the world! We have nothing solid to cling to, finally, but his words, which are of eternal weight. By comparison, all else is lightweight indeed.
Do you ever find yourself returning to the words of Scripture that have been of particular significance in your life? As life moves steadily on through its various stages, those words of the Lord continue to deepen and extend their significance to new phases of one’s existence.
An example of this is that I recently had to move out of the poustinia where I had lived for the last seven years or soand rejoin my priest brothers at Regina Pacis dormitory.
With Parkinson’s disease now steadily advancing, it was getting too difficult for me to manage living in a log cabin in the woods with no running water, etc. With balance in jeopardy more and more, and walking getting more difficult, and a wintry landscape to negotiate, it became clear that it was time to move back into “civilization.”
I am grateful I have somewhere to go, of course, but a little sad to be leaving a way of life I loved. And I’m not finding it easy to accept the physical diminishment that is part of the package.
Heaven and earth will pass away… And so do we as part of that created reality. Little by little, usually, but more rapidly in some instances. The season of Lent reminds us of this truth, of course, beginning with the ashes at the beginning (remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return), and ending with Jesus’ death on the cross in solidarity with us all.
Some years ago, when I had already been living with illness for several years, I had a sense that the best way to understand the meaning of this sickness would be found in the Lord’s words about the Eucharist at the Last Supper, This is my body, given up for you; this is my blood, poured out for you.
I wasn’t thinking of this so much as a word for the present, but one that would apply more to the future as the illness would run its course.
Now, some years later, I begin to see the relevance of those words in my life. As I become able to do less, and in a sense, to give less in tangible ways, that very deficit can be transformed by these words of the Lord into a continual offering in imitation of the one made by Christ himself.
The problem is that however spiritually true and satisfying that all may sound, before I surrender to almost any word of this sort, a tremendous battle takes place in me. Smooth and easy submission to God’s will in matters requiring some kind of sacrifice is generally not within my experience.
I have a hard time taking a liking to saints who surrender to God’s demanding will easily and with utter childlike trust! I feel I am in a whole other league. Call it the Jacob league, or the Job league. These two Old Testament figures are more helpful to me, because their pathway to surrender is so lengthy!
Take Jacob, for instance (see Genesis 27-33). After he cheats his brother Esau out of receiving from his father the blessing of the first-born, he has to run for his life. He stays with Uncle Laban for years, eventually getting out of that situation with a couple of wives, a batch of children, and numerous livestock.
That is all to the good, except that the route back home passes through Esau’s territory, and said brother is reported to be heading out to meet Jacob with 400 armed men! God, in other words, is arranging things in such a way that Jacob, the conniver, must face his brother and himself, and there is no escaping this confrontation.
The night before he will meet Esau, Jacob sends everyone across the ford of the Jabbok River, and he is left alone in the night to wrestle with an angel who represents God himself. The combat is fierce and lasts until dawn, and Jacob refuses to let go of his opponent until he gets himself a blessing and receives a new name: “Israel,” which means something like “strong against God.”
Yes, Jacob is strong against God in one sense, but he still has to face his brother (which turns out to be a peaceful encounter after all).
I so much identify with Jacob’s experience. I, too, must fight against God in some sense, as part of surrendering to him. What he asks may be for my benefit, even for my salvation, but it will also involve a dying in me that is real, very real, utterly real. And that part of me that is destined for the chopping block (so to speak) protests vociferously, every time. Sigh.
Job is another case in point. After forty-some chapters of Job’s complaining against God and questioning God’s ways, interspersed with chapters expressing the shock of his interlocuters at the insolence of his words, only then does the Lord respond, putting Job in his place for sure, but also chiding his friends for not speaking truly about him as did his servant Job!
Job admits he had been mistaken in his words and repents when he sees God face to face, but I have often identified with Job’s words such as, why don’t you take your eyes off of me and give me time to swallow my spittle! (Job 7:19).
Admittedly, the ending about seeing God face to face is beautiful. I think of the face of Christ crucified, identified with every suffering imaginable.
That brings us back to where this article began: moving out of poustinia and back to the dormitory because of Parkinson’s disease.
I would be a liar if I didn’t admit that I am worried and somewhat frightened about the future. I wonder just how debilitated I will get. I wonder just what aspects of the priesthood I will still be able to live out as time passes. Will I have to give up celebrating Mass publicly? Will I no longer be able to preach or to teach, at least in the usual ways? Will I be able to walk?
And how will I react if and when these things come about?
I suppose the answer will be found somewhere in God’s word as usual, and that the pathways trod by Jacob and Job will once again have to be followed.
My hope is that like the disciples on Easter morning, after I come to the empty tomb and hear the angels proclaim the message, He is not here but he has been raised as he said, I, too, will remember his words, having laid every complaint and question and tear at his feet.
