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Even More 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. Mary Penich, 2003

 

Something To Think About

Each year, as I listen to today’s gospel (John 20:19-31), empathy toward Thomas wells up within me. He and the others anguished over the loss of Jesus. They saw themselves as cowards who did nothing to save their Lord. Only John had the consolation of having been with Jesus at the foot of the cross. Yet he, too, did nothing to help when Jesus was taken from them. Scripture tells us these sorrowful mourners spent hours huddled in fear as they attempted to make sense of the past week. Is it so difficult to understand why Thomas doubted his friends’ report of having seen the Lord? He saw the angry mob that took Jesus. He knew what Jesus had endured. Thomas reeled from the loss of everything. How could he possibly believe what the others were saying?

From time to time, I have shared my mother’s journey with you. Now eighty-two, she has spent her adult life as an independent and productive person. Though she married at only twenty-two, she quickly assumed a partner’s role in the household as my dad worked nights. She managed the daily routines of the family. She assumed several typically male functions to preserve my dad’s energy when his heart ailment was discovered. It was she who bounded up a ladder to paint or to hang wallpaper. She sat on second floor window ledges to wash windows or to hang screens. She laundered clothes and cooked as our dad slept in preparation for another night’s work. My mother seemed to relish caring for her beloved who, by the way, was always at her side on his days off. Before work on Saturday nights, both bathed us, dressed us in our pajamas and tucked us into bed before Dad left. My parents seemed to do all they did with some sense of joy. They loved one another deeply. Perhaps it was this love that made them capable of the unexpected. When my father died just seventeen years into their marriage, my mother’s independence and productivity kicked into overdrive. Her sense of joy remained, comforting her and spurring her on. When she remarried some years later, she skillfully taught the lessons of her first marriage to my step-father. When he passed after twenty-five years, he died a loved and happy man. My mother, as was her custom, carried on, her productivity and independence in full bloom, until this past September...

I suppose the hardest part of Thomas’s dilemma and my own is the discernment of reality. Both Thomas and I witnessed things that we perceived to be true. Thomas saw Jesus plucked from his midst and murdered. I saw my mother living an independent life. Why should Thomas believe that Jesus had risen from the dead without proof? The disciples might have been delirious in their fear. Why should I have believed doctors who used words like dementia in reference to my mother? They did not know her the way I did… Just a week later, Jesus came to Thomas to reveal the truth. Just days ago, Jesus revealed the truth to me as well.

Jesus returned to the disciples when Thomas was among them. Jesus addressed Thomas’s doubt immediately. Though Jesus appeared to deal with Thomas harshly, it seems to me that his intent was just the opposite. Jesus owed Thomas no proof of his resurrection. He predicted it often in his preaching. Jesus could have left Thomas to wallow in disbelief. The others had seen Jesus in his glory; they received his peace and his call to share that peace. What use to Jesus was Thomas? Like us all, Thomas had a unique role to play. It was Thomas who would touch the most skeptical ones because he had walked in their shoes. It was Thomas who would retell his story of doubt to inspire the hardest of hearts –including my own- to recognize the presence of God in their lives.

I defend today Thomas because I found myself walking far too comfortably in his shoes. Over the past weeks, as my mom entered another decline, I echoed Thomas’s doubt in my half-hearted prayer. This Lent, when I intended to walk more closely to my Lord, I shouted at Him from a distance quite frequently instead. “Where are you for my mother?” and “How can you stand by and watch your sister suffer so?” were but a few of my oft repeated complaints. Oblivious of His presence in all of this, I remained quite angry until my mom came to stay with us for a few weeks. I found myself looking at her and melting. I love this woman. I don’t resent coaxing her out of bed each day or overseeing her showers. I watch her face, once vibrant with interest, as confusion takes over. I worry about how she is feeling in all of this, but I never worry about her being here. As he did to poor Thomas, Jesus snuck up upon me. Unfortunately, I did not have Thomas’s sense, and I did not drop to my knees immediately to proclaim my faith in His presence. Instead, Jesus loved my mother through me for six whole months before I realized what He had done for her and for me. My Lord and my God! Mary Penich, 2002