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Something to Think About

As I walked along the blacktop to my car, leaves crunched and shattered beneath my feet. A cool autumn breeze refreshed me after this particularly long day. Cars hurrying off the College of Lake County Campus intruded upon my reflection, and my thoughts wandered. I considered the depth of my fatigue, the paperwork stacked neatly on my desk, and the onset of November. If the boys were home, I would give more thought to October 31. Since Mike commutes to Bloomington these days for work, his Halloween observance will likely be limited to a quick dinner with coworkers and a leisurely call to Abby, his fiancé. Tim and his classmates in Champaign will no doubt celebrate the Eve of All Hallows with more creativity. Since the boys are not home, there are no costumes to prepare, and my thoughts return to the first days of November...

When I was a child, Halloween and All Saints Day blended together in our parochial setting. When we celebrated Halloween with school parties, we attended these parties dressed as saints. We were ever aware that the Eve of All Hallows simply anticipated our celebration of All Saints the following day. Any association with witches, ghosts and goblins was a pagan imposition upon a religious feast. November 2, however, stood on its own merit. All Souls’ Day –now called The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed– drew a good deal of attention from me and my contemporaries because, on this day, we could accomplish some serious good.

Years ago, Catholics observed All Souls’ Day by visiting their parish churches frequently. It was said that one soul could be released from purgatory as a result of each visit. In an effort to insure the eternal happiness of as many of our departed as possible, I made a multitude of visits to our parish church. If my piety netted the desired results, I single-handedly acquired the eternal happiness of all of my departed family members by the time I was twelve years old! Though I look back upon my fervor with a chuckle, I do not take the journeys of those who are heaven bound lightly. I have particular interest in one such sojourner, my mom, since she has joined the ranks of All the Faithful Departed. So, November 2 takes on renewed significance for me this year.

My grandfather and Uncle Gee, both of whom lived with us, and my dad all passed away by the time I was eight years of age. Because I loved each of them very much, I did not fret about their status in the afterlife. My grandfather had been disabled for years. When he passed away, my parents assured us that Grandpa enjoyed new health and happiness in his new home with God. Uncle Gee, who suffered the effects of a childhood bout with polio, passed a few years later. My mom and dad reassured us once again. Uncle Gee no longer walked under the weight of his severely hunched back, and he, too, rejoiced at home with God. When my dad passed away, my mom did not have to explain a thing. By this time, we knew without a doubt that our dad was perfectly fine. These forty years later, my faith tells me, once again and without a doubt, that another departed loved one is perfectly fine. You see, through my mom’s death to this world, she has been born into God’s world. She now enjoys personal knowledge of the author of the Parable of the Prodigal Son. If Jesus could conceive of a human father whose love for an ungrateful, wayward son brought absolute and unconditional forgiveness, how much more powerful must the love of our heavenly Father be?

Now, the Church does not presume to know what happens between we humans and our God during our tremendous journeys from this life to the next, and neither do I. If we are not quite ready as we approach our heavenly homes, it is up to our loving and merciful Father to help us along as He sees fit. What the Church does do is to designate The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed to remember those who have gone before us. Today, we acknowledge our love for those whom we have lost. We recognize the goodness within these loved ones which caused us to love them so. We also acknowledge the imperfections in which we all share. So, we pray for them and we pray for ourselves, that each of our journeys to God’s embrace are swift and fruitful. Today, we celebrate the potential for sainthood that exists for our departed just as it exists for us all. In the mean time, may each of us appreciate God’s merciful presence in our lives. May we accept his forgiveness graciously. And may we never place limits upon what God has declared unlimited –the love and mercy He extends here and at home.

 

 

Something To Think About

A few weeks ago, Mike and I drove to Minnesota for a baptism. The first grandchild of some dear friends made her appearance into the world, and her parents asked Mike to baptize her. Sweet Maggie was born prematurely quite unexpectedly. She gave her parents, and everyone who loves them, quite a scare. It was days before Maggie’s mom and dad could hold her, and it was weeks before the doctors were convinced that she would go home one day. Imagine their joy when Maggie’s parents finally nestled their daughter into her own crib in her own nursery!

The timing of our trek up north was perfect. The trees that adorn our parkway began to change colors and gave a pale hint of what was to come. As we drove through Wisconsin, the colors bordering either side of the highway became more vivid by the mile. By the time we reached Minnesota, Mother Nature revealed her most glorious foliage. What a show we enjoyed, until the sky clouded up. Within minutes, rain drenched everything in sight and washed away the color before our eyes. Autumn’s brilliant palette gave way to the dull gray storm that seemed intent upon keeping us from little Maggie’s baptism. The good deacon was driving, and I watched the color drain from his knuckles as he clutched the steering wheel, seemingly for dear life. There were moments when I could see nothing ahead, and I wondered how Mike managed to keep us on the road. His eyes seemed to be focused on the rear lights of the huge semi plowing through the storm ahead of us. When I lost sight of the lights in the blur of raindrops that pelted the windshield, Mike persisted. I closed my eyes and prayed silently for a safe end to our journey. Little Maggie had been through a good deal to get to this day, and a little rain was not going to stop us from celebrating with her, was it? After what seemed an eternity, we pulled up to the curb in front of Maggie’s row house. The downpour became a drizzle, and we entered Maggie’s home unscathed. By the time we joined Maggie’s family in the living room, the sun shyly peeked from behind a cloud. A beautiful stream of yellow poured through the window. All was well with Maggie, her new parents, and the rest of the family who had gathered in her honor.

As I observed Maggie in her mother’s arms, I recalled the familiar warmth of my own first born. The glances exchanged between Carrie and her daughter spoke volumes about love. When Maggie’s dad held her, I was awestruck. The arrival of this tiny little girl transformed the boy I once knew. James was once the grade schooler whom I watched play baseball with our son, Mike. James was once the upper classman who showed Mike and his own younger brother the ropes at Warren High School. James was once the eldest of the neighborhood kids who tested the waters at college and doled out wisdom regarding dorm life. Now, James is Maggie’s dad, and he sees life as he has never seen it before. The devotion in James’ eyes toward both Maggie and her mom is unmistakable. I can only guess that he sees love more clearly than ever before as well.

As I read today’s gospel (Mark 10:46-52), I find myself overwhelmed by the perceptiveness of the blind man who happens to notice Jesus passing. Jesus’ ever-protective followers tell the blind man to be silent and to leave Jesus alone. The blind man persists, however, because he sees precisely what is happening before his eyes. Mark tells us, “...he kept calling out all the more, ‘Son of David, have pity on me.’” As always, Jesus rewards the blind man’s faith by asking him what he wants Jesus to do for him. The blind man responds, “Master, I want to see.” Though Jesus sends the man off with his wish fulfilled, rather than leaving, the man follows Jesus “...on the way.” This man who seeks sight from Jesus overwhelms me because his life has been so difficult up to this point. His people do not look kindly upon beggars, especially when an affliction such as blindness is the source of their poverty. They see such infirmities as God’s punishment for personal sinfulness or the sinfulness of one’s parents. Yet, the blind man embraces what he sees in Jesus in spite of what once was.

Mike and I continue to relish the autumn colors that embellished our trip up north, though the storm is long forgotten. Carrie and James celebrate their life at home with little Maggie, while those long days and nights in the hospital fade into memory. Today, we are each invited to do the same - to see what Jesus places before us, to seize one more opportunity to embrace new life, and to set aside the fear, sadness and sorrow that once was for what is. Mary Penich, 2003