Soulful Muse

That’s the line the priest says at Mass after holding up the bread and wine and repeating… or is it declaring, the very words of Jesus at the Last Supper.

“Throw-away-line” to move us on to the next part? Hardly. It’s among the most important pronouncements made at Mass. Combining mystery and faith may sound redundant … but each is the culmination, what makes up, our spiritual lives.

St. Thomas Aquinas wrote over eight million words in some on the greatest theologies ever written. (I’m glad I was not chosen to do the counting.) Yet, yet, he never finished his final volume. Years ago I was often told that he said, “It was all for nothing,” as though dismissing his vastly worthy work.

Recently I read that Thomas really said, “Everything I have written is straw.” In the 12th century straw was very important in making hats, roofs, beds, and food for the livestock. Clarifying further, Thomas said, “Everything I have written seems to me as straw in comparison with what I have seen.”

I’ve often said that if a mystery is solved then it was no longer a mystery; meaning that there was no need for faith.

Mystery? Agatha Christi never, ever wrote one, single mystery novel. She wrote novels about puzzles. Puzzles to be uncovered, one piece inserted awkwardly inside another piece insisting that it would fit but it just doesn’t fit. Through further piecing she then cleanly, beautifully placing pieces together assembling a solution.

Thomas tried to puzzle our beautiful faith into a complete puzzle and admitted that this “mystery of our faith” is, indeed, not a puzzle. Thomas attempted too neatly and cleanly to connect the “this’s and thatnesses’” of our lives and narrow them down and reduce them to written words, his written word. Assembled completely, comfortably, and confidently the written word. Would you call that mystery?

Does that solve and resolve the “mystery of your faith?” Is that the summation of our little faith with that stupid dismissive line, “Let go and let God.” Let God to do what? Let God do what and to whom?

There is no mystery in that statement. There is only our “passing the buck.” How can mystery live without our faith? How can our faith survive without its vast mysteries? What would faith even look like without a lot of mystery associated with it? How could those two words ever be said and believed without combing, matching and marrying each other?

I hoped we all honored the Immaculate Conception. Human Mary sinless, doesn’t even die? Mystery/Faith anyone? Advent’s number three is today and the incarnation of God is about to once again appear. Mystery/Fatih anyone? God created and now God will soon walk and travel the very same journey that we all journey.

It’s the straw. It’s not the straw of 12th century, Thomas, but the continuing, growing straw of that empty manger and those empty parts of our lives. No longer the straw of hats and roofs but, for us now, especially, during our trying times, it’s the straws of compassion, mercy, listening, uniting and never dividing.

Growing up, our family hallway room had the stable scene with all the expected characters but with an empty manger – the food-place of food. There’s was no place to place the baby Jesus. The five of us kids were asked to do good deed during these four weeks for someone. If done, we were able to put some straw into that manger to welcome this newborn babe. Boy, did we do our four-week duty. Small children enwrapping ourselves into the mystery of this Godly birth and then living within, throughout our lives, the faith of our lives.

“The Mystery of Faith,” the priest says. Never a mystery to be solved but wonderfully and gloriously a mystery to embrace, hold onto, clasp and caress. Never a faith to be fully known but a faithfully living life full of mystery empowering us to endure.

We all have spiritual/faith questions and doubts about this life and our eternal life. That’s normal and healthy. After the priest says that supposedly “throw-away-line,” here’s what St. Thomas said from an anonymous source, “Hidden things are sought more avidly, and the concealed seems more venerable, and the things long sought are cherished the more.”

Things hidden, sought more avidly. Concealed, even more venerable. Long sought after thing cherished all the more. Just in case you need some Advent words for this season and throughout your lives; clothe yourself and live without your heart and soul “avidly, venerable, and cherished.”

That is the religious mystery that calls for our living faith.

“The Mystery of Faith.”

On behalf of us all, I hope you can’t wait until I sing it.

Don’t Hesitate

by Mary Oliver

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

“Thanksgiving Day?” One day? Why not make it a week of thankfulness? A day, sanctioned by the government [which many of you abhor, “Even more government control”], to honor one day which the Church honors each and every day as we gather at this holy, thanksgiving table.

“Thank you.” Thank you to what and to whom? Thankful for what and for why? All our personal reflections as this November week slowly unfolds.

We may passingly remember “thankful memories” during a day’s passing moments. But, this week, this only week, can we mindfully recount, embrace, remember and now…more importantly relive the thankfulness that was extended to us, the thankfulness that happened to us and the thankfulness that we extended to those we love and especially those whose names we’ve touched but never knew.

The longer you live the more thankful you become, both about your life and the all events and the happenings that happened to you.

And now, in November’s third week, we sincerely thank those thoughtful people who either sought us out or we sought providing two simple words.

“Thank you” for thanking someone for something that’s expected of them? That’s not Thanksgiving, that’s called, “service.” Still, it’s important.

“Thank you” no longer becomes two words for a deed done or a done deed. “Thank you” becomes a bond. A bond between you and God and now a bond between you and that special person you thanked or the one who thanked you.

(Housekeeper, first parish says to me, “Thank you for thinking of thanking me.” I smiled and never forgot.)

Gospel of Matthew

¹¹⁹ Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. ²⁰ And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me five talents; here, I have made five talents more.’ ²¹ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.^[c] You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’ ²² And he also who had the two talents came forward, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me two talents; here, I have made two talents more.’ ²³ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’ ²⁴ He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, ²⁵ so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here, you have what is yours.’ ²⁶ But his master answered him, ‘You wicked and slothful servant! You knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I scattered no seed? ²⁷ Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and at my coming I should have received what was my own with interest. ²⁸ So take the talent from him and give it to him who has the ten talents. ²⁹ For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. ³⁰ And cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

Game show host, Bill Cullen, is the first host of “The Price is Right” for nine years. However, there’s only just one teeny-weeny, little hiccup. Due to childhood polio he could only walk a few steps. The studio built him a nice podium to stand behind the entire show. He went on to host twenty-two other game shows.

You initially suspect, then begin to dream, then test and retest again and again and again.

It’s the birth of a talent, whether it’s five or one, living and slowly simmering within you that, well, wants to let itself grow and mature. A “talent,” as Jesus calls us it in the gospel but we believe it to be gift, a divine gift.

To bury the talent, for safe keeping as though it has no expiration date, as the sorry, last fellow did to protect himself and not lose himself to the glory and honor of God.

Talents require training and lots of practice but that suspicion and that dream, and those tests, multiple tests, only earns us those Christ-like dividends that have absolutely nothing to do with money but yields the worth and worthiness of our lives.

Aspiring talent? Third grade and the nun calls on the young boy and asks him to say his name. He stutters away and the class bursts out in laughter.

“Bury it,” he must’ve thought to himself walking home. His family only chimed in with the classmates’ laughter.

“Just get on with your life and bury it, It’s only a possible talent, who will ever even notice?”

Country singer Mel Tillis stutters away his interview with Johnny Carson. The interview ends by Mel singing a flawless country ballad. One talent – UNburied – unveiled – unfolded and UNfolding.

But back to that young kid. After taking care of grandmother’s lawn duties and enjoying her treat of braunschweiger, on rye with onions, she takes her afternoon nap. Her second empty bedroom became his invisible stage to perform as a gameshow host. Holding her spatula as his microphone, he dreamed away. He became Bill Cullen. It was glorious afternoons spent totally in his mind with an imaginary audience applauding until 3:00 pm. He then needed to replace her spatula before she woke up.

Growing up he listened to Chicago’s WLS and WCFL disc jockeys talk away and into the beginning of a rock song. He stutteringly suspected…dreamed…and tested that talent. However, there’s only just one teeny-weeny, little hiccup. Over thirty years on the radio and over forty years as a priestly preacher.

What talent has strengthened your relationship with God and then expressed and shared in and through others? You don’t need five of them…you only need one. Even the difficult one.

The last servant sadly says to his Lord, “I hid and buried your one talent Lord [given to me] only to give it back to you [unused] fearing you [or, really, fearing myself] what you would have done to me. [And, what I could have done with it.] I’m sorry.”

The sun begins to set on this November night as I look out my kitchen window. The bright sun that lit my day, all day long, slowly turns to glowing, multiple, softer colors to soften the transition to my night’s dawn.

Unfortunately for us today, we merely turn on more lights and even more lights to assure us that the sun is still lit and will remain brightly lit.

The darkness of night brings about a restful sleep to begin a new sunny day. But now, while still awake, it is complete darkness outside my kitchen window. Darkness. Darkness surrounds me but never, ever envelopes me. Darkness quiets me. Darkness gives me unbounded space. Darkness gives me that pause that sun does not allow. Darkness gives me far more than me.

Doing and performing? That’s the task of sunlight. Darkness? The darkness of light empowers us with a perfect spiritual opportunity for reflection. “Darkness of light! Oxymoron? Not a chance.

Turn off some of those evening lights. Immerse, revel yourself into the darkness that is the most important part of your evolving life.

Unfinished business? Lifted up to God, complete with a thankful heart. Hope? Only with the grace of God can you continue. Resolution? Sometimes it is simply over, or there maybe a sunny tomorrow. Regret finally forgiven and forgotten? The best of all, dissipated and dissolved into the mystery of life. Peace of God? Far beyond the daily sun offerings but savoring God’s melancholy sunsets together with God’s entwining midst into the unraveling of our darknesses.

“Good night.” It can take on a new and more meaningful expression for you and for those whom you wish it.

Two significant Catholic days separated by a quick, single … one second. “All Saints” followed by “All Souls.” As though they are not the same, we need to separate them.
 Separate? Apart? Not the same? Not equal? Not in my world.

Like any young person and now an older one, you still and always begin with your parents and then move onward meeting others throughout your life.

My Dad did not have a wheel with spikes rolled over his body. (Catherine of Alexandria.) Mom was never beheaded (unlike how many other saints) but, sorrowfully, beheaded herself through her unreconcilable lifelong pains that haunted and hindered her from the person she aspired to be.

Both souls? You bet. Both saints? You can bet once again. My gentle, super-introverted, quiet dad provided a home for five loud kids. As adult children, he sat next to our kitchen fireplace, smoking his cigar and intently listened to the recent dramas from each of us. Each without opinion or comment. Mother? Never missed preparing nutritious meals for five growing children complete with ingredients and vitamins unheard of in the fifties. Both souls or are saints? You judge.

Yet, please don’t judge. We have only one Judge. Our life’s gift is to observe and look at all the souls we encounter and then witness the saintliness they show us. I encountered many souls during my years and, yes, I’ve also been keenly respectful for the sainthood that each one possesses.

It takes the Church generations to generate a saint while we come across souls every single day. What is the distance between the two? One second. Or, is it a single, selfless moment or a lifelong friendship that that soul becomes a saint?

In writing this, I recall many saints/souls persons in my life. They don’t have a Church’s date but they have me. They have me every day. They help me look in the morning mirror while brushing my teeth wondering if I’ll remain a soul and will I be a saint?

Or, better yet, why can’t I be both?

For newcomers to Alexian Village, here’s my sad “All Saints List.” For those who know me, you’ve probably forgotten, so here’s my sad list once more.

Tiffany, Courtney, Heather, Tracy, and Brittany.

Poor things have no one to personally pray to. They are unable to mirror or manage the behavior and actions of a saint in their own lives. Someone to whom aspire, inspire, move, rouse, stir, animate, fire the imagination, and most importantly, encourage.

For that is what those who lived among us did and now do within us. Their lived lives now become verbs. Action words. Words that lead to action. Saints.

Why else would the Church create and use the past lives of men and women to continue living actively in the lives of those named after them?

In the Beatitudes, Jesus cleverly, as usual, holds out opposites to make a positive, pious point. He takes an extortionist named Matthew to write for us his beautiful Gospel. He takes a Jew-killer, blinds him for a while, and whose writings we hear at every single Mass. Changes his name to Paul, smart move Jesus.

To be gender-neutral, there’s also Leroy, Harold, Walter (my dad), and Horace. Poor guys … and gals.

Jesus even endows Oscar for his saintly-lived life in El Salvador for the benefit of the truly least fortunate. And, nobody names their kid Judas but what a potent name. If it wasn’t for Judas Jesus would not have been crucified, which last time I checked, is a pretty important part of our salvation story.

Yet, there is hope for those sadly named guys and gals. We offer adoption to them holthis day. Pray that they uncover a hero/heroine that we call “saint’ adding some of those active verbs making their life’s journey holy, meaningful, and worthy.

So, to Leroy, Tiffany, Harold, Courtney, Walter, Tracy, Horace, and Brittany? Good luck.

To those of us carrying and bearing saintly names, we can only say, “thank you” to our parents and hope that those names walk us with us throughout our lives.

Oh, by the way, my great niece’s name? Nova. I rest my case.