Category Archives: Hearing God’s Voice

Discerning Demagoguery

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/dem.a.gog/ – a person, especially a political leader, who wins support by exciting people’s emotions rather than by holding and expressing good or morally right ideas.

Preface:

Dear readers, I have never gotten overtly political in this forum, but recent events weigh on my conscience and compel me to share some serious concerns I have about the upcoming presidential election and its potential implications. Specifically, I would like to address the candidacy of Donald Trump.

Although I will reference both immigration and abortion (below), my intent is not to probe either of those hot-button issues in any depth. Rather, I intend to address them only vis-a-vis Trump’s candidacy.

In the interest of transparency, I do understand the need for countries to have secure borders; however, I also believe that immigration policies should be humane and should recognize the dignity, and the often desperate circumstances, of those seeking work and/or refuge in our country. Likewise, I am unashamedly pro-life; however, I believe that a pro-life position should be consistently applied, i.e., it should include every person (including the undocumented) and every phase and aspect of life from conception to natural death.

With those necessary qualifications expressed, I cautiously proceed. Please know that what follows are my personal views and should only be seen as such; however, I share them here in the hope that you will consider their merit.

—

A few days before Christmas, Donald Trump made some particularly inflammatory remarks at a campaign rally in Durham, NH. Speaking about undocumented people, Trump employed language reminiscent of fascist propaganda when he accused them of “poisoning the blood of our country.” Hearing his ugly rhetoric, it is not a stretch to recall, as many have done, the rampant anti-Jewish indoctrination in Germany from the mid-1920s until the mid-1940s. And yet, many cheer Trump on, including many professing Christians. This utterly bewilders me.

—

Considering the strong appeal he has with many Christians, it’s interesting to juxtapose Trump’s repugnant comment with a sampling of the Bible’s instructions regarding strangers/sojourners (i.e., migrants and/or immigrants).

“The stranger who sojourns with you shall be to you as the native among you, and  you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.” (Leviticus 19:34, RSV-CE)

“Thus says the LORD of hosts, render true judgments, show kindness and mercy each to his brother, do not oppress the widow, the fatherless, the sojourner, or the poor; and let none of you devise evil against his brother in your heart.” (Zechariah 7:9-10, RSV-CE)

“Come, O blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.” (Matthew 25:34b-36, RSV-CE)

“Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40b, RSV-CE)

—

Since Trump would be a far less viable candidate sans the Christian vote, I believe it’s also worthy to consider that the vast majority of undocumented people entering our country are Christians themselves, i.e., they are brothers and sisters in Christ to those U.S. citizens (and voters) who profess Christianity. And, they are among the “brethren” of whom Jesus speaks in Matthew 25:40b (see above).

In Trump’s mind, is it these undocumented Christians who are “poisoning the blood of our country?”

—

Russell Moore, Editor in Chief and Director of the Public Theology Project  at Christianity Today, has been outspoken about the crisis Donald Trump has brought about in Evangelical Christianity. He recently shared in an NPR interview that multiple Evangelical pastors have told him about being confronted by members of their congregations for preaching “liberal talking points.” When the pastors responded that they had actually been quoting Jesus himself from the Sermon on the Mount, they were told, in so many words, that Jesus’ teaching is weak and doesn’t work anymore.

Can Trump’s ego-centric, brash, and often overtly hostile manner really be neutering the teaching of Jesus himself in the minds of some Christians?

—

On Christmas Day, one of the holiest days on the Church’s calendar, Trump posted a “Christmas message” that was actually a curse directed toward his political (and legal) opponents. He concluded his rant this way: “MAY THEY ROT IN  HELL. AGAIN, MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

So, to be clear, Trump is wishing his opponents an eternity of misery and torment in a place lacking any hint of love, kindness, mercy, gentleness, consolation, compassion, etc. Yes, his Christmas message is a curse.

How many alarm bells must sound about this man before we awaken?

—

In chapter 5 of his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul provides a perspective that, as a Christian, I find enormously helpful for discernment; and, I think Paul’s guidance can (and should) be used when discerning something as important as a vote during a presidential election. Therein, he lists  the “works of the flesh” and the “fruit of the spirit,” which he sees as opposed to each other. He explains it this way:

“But I say, walk by the Spirit, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you would. But if you are led by the Spirit you are not under the law.

“Now the works of the flesh are plain: immorality, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger, selfishness, dissension, party spirit, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and the like. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit. Let us have no self-conceit, no provoking of one another, no envy of one another.” (Galatians 5:16-26, RSV-CE)

It is important to note here that St. Paul’s use of the word “flesh” (Greek sarx) does not refer literally to the human body. Rather, it refers to a way of life that puts the self and its gratifications first.

—

I implore my Christian friends who support Donald Trump’s candidacy to read Paul’s message in Galatians 5 with Trump in mind. Does he manifest the “fruit of the Spirit or does his character more closely reflect the self-centered “works of the flesh?”

—

One thing I have heard frequently is that many Christians are willing to overlook Trump’s flaws because they view him as a modern-day Cyrus the Great, the Persian leader who was instrumental in helping Jews return to the Holy Land and to rebuild the Temple following the Babylonian captivity. The New York Times had an interesting article exploring this theme back in 2018/2019. It was titled: “Why Trump Reigns as King Cyrus.”

While Christian nationalists, as the NYT indicates, may laud Trump as a potential king, a concept that must appeal strongly to their candidate’s unbridled narcissism, I believe that many Catholics first began supporting Trump precisely because of the hope that he would be instrumental in overturning Roe vs. Wade, a hope that has been realized. Now, with many battles still shaping up over the abortion question in individual states, they may still see Trump as the strongest advocate for their cause. As a pro-life Catholic myself, this is frankly what concerns me the most.

This is just one man’s opinion, but I have come to believe that the Republican party was never truly committed to overturning Roe vs. Wade. Why would they be? As long as the Democratic Party maintained its fierce commitment to abortion rights, and as long as the Republican Party claimed to be pro-life, they knew they could count on a significant voting block being in their corner.

Admittedly, this may be a cynical view, but I think the Republican Party has long viewed the abortion question opportunistically. As long as abortion was touted by the Catholic hierarchy and by Evangelical leaders and pastors as the preeminent moral issue in election campaigns, the Republican Party could count on a good number of its “pro-life” candidates being elected to Congress. Thus, Republican legislation, sometimes in direct conflict with Catholic social teaching, could often be pushed forward successfully.

In that respect, I think Donald Trump was a shock to the Republican machinery in Washington, D.C. He did push forward on the abortion question by appointing judges, including to the Supreme Court, who would vote to overturn Roe vs. Wade. When this happened, the abortion issue shifted from a tool of the Republican establishment to a tool of Donald Trump, a dangerous transition indeed.

St. Paul warns in 2 Corinthians 11:14 that “Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.” I believe that the abortion issue is now being used by Trump as a Trojan horse, allowing behaviors and attitudes heretofore abhorrent to Christianity, and to a democratic nation, to be normalized.

So, Trump is cheered for his strength as he literally curses his opponents, and all Jesus can offer is the weak and foolish advice to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44)

—

I believe Trump’s most blatant  attempt at securing kingship – at least so far – was revealed during the assault on the U.S. Capitol on January 6th. Since that grim day, Trump’s enablers in the media have consistently whittled away at the notion that January 6th was an insurrection. Now, even when confronted with overwhelming evidence to the contrary, millions are willing to accept the lie that the election was stolen and that the assault on The Capitol was a peaceful protest.

—

Many good people, because of their firm pro-life commitment, have proven vulnerable to Trump’s deception. So, even when their candidate publicly extols the virtues of dictators like Putin and Kim Jong Un, and even when he admits his intention to act as a dictator if he returns to the office of the presidency, people cheer wildly for him and feed his dangerously voracious ego.

I believe Donald Trump poses an existential threat to our nation. But, I also believe that people of conscience and discernment, including Catholics and other Christians, hold the key in this next election. Trump cannot contend successfully without their support.

So, do we choose the values of the kingdom of God as articulated in the Sermon on the Mount, or do we choose the coarsening, corrupting values of the would-be king? Quite literally, at least within the democratic process currently in place, the power still rests in voters’ hands.

Where do we see the fruit of the Spirit leading us?

Gambling, Shame, and Oranges: A Leggy Love Story

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And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed. (Gen 2:25)

If an afterlife affords us the chance to pose questions to the Almighty, I’ll have (at least) one at the ready. “Why are so many people – okay, okay, why was I – so prone to shame during my life?” And, if allowed a follow-up, “Why do so many of us – or, why did I – allow shame to wield such stifling power?”

—

My cousin Michael came to mind unexpectedly one day toward summer’s end. I was instantly awash in fond recollections but soon found myself shaking my head with the realization that he and I hadn’t seen one another in nearly 30 years.

Once, we’d been quite close. From boyhood into early adolescence, a trusted hallmark of summer was Michael’s annual two-week (sometimes longer) stay at my first family’s home. He was two years older than I; and, during those visits, I always felt as though I suddenly had a big brother watching out for me, guiding me.

Michael and I never had a falling out. As we grew older, our lives simply went in different directions, and we gradually lost contact. My only adult encounter with him was at our mutual uncle’s funeral in the mid-1990s. Unfortunately, that brief but warm reunion never led to further contact.

With my curiosity piqued on that late summer day, I searched for Michael online. To my surprise, one of the top Google results turned out to be his obituary. I discovered that he had passed away on January 1st of this year after what was described as a “hard fought battle with cancer.”

The happy memories that had rushed to mind just moments before were all now tinged with sadness.

Then, I thought about short pants.

—–

Michael’s final stay at our house was during the summer of 1971. I was thirteen years old and he was nearly sixteen. Since the previous summer, the difference in our ages had become more conspicuous, and the dynamic in our relationship followed suit. That summer, he was more interested in girls than in games, but I had yet to make such a transition.

One day during his visit, we took a bus ride during which he chatted up a couple of girls while I sat awkwardly by his side. To my discomfort, a plan was made to meet up with them again after dinner. I was very nervous but also determined to follow Michael’s lead.

After we’d eaten, he suggested that we change clothes for the scheduled rendezvous. I wasn’t sure why that was necessary but decided to go along. Once the bedroom door was closed for privacy, he looked at me quite matter-of-factly and spoke these indelicate – and, ultimately, indelible – words.

“Your legs are really ugly.  You should never wear shorts.”

Michael honestly cared about me and was not at all trying to be mean. Rather, in a big-brotherly way, he was trying to help me be more attractive to girls by encouraging me to hide one of my least attractive features. His concern wasn’t handled in the most sensitive of ways, but I’m certain it was well-intentioned.

Of course, I looked down at my legs, which I’d never really thought much about before, and I saw that they were indeed thin and bowed. I would never again be free of that awareness, which quickly morphed into shame. I peeled off the shorts I’d been wearing and pulled on a pair of bell bottom jeans.

“Much better,” he affirmed.

—

When I learned of Michael’s death, amidst the many memories, his “counsel” echoed loudly in my mind.

More than 50 years later, I still find even the thought of wearing short pants deeply disquieting.

—

I had crushes but never dated in high school. And, on the night of my senior prom, I went bowling. I had asked a young woman to be my prom date, but she politely declined. I simply couldn’t muster the courage to try again.

When my friends Rick and Pat picked me up, it was just getting dark. Enroute, we passed a couple of limousines, likely filled with some of my classmates. I crouched down in the seat and turned my face away from the window.

Pat must have noticed. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Unable to hide my embarrassment, I confessed that the prom was that evening, and I was not going.

Both were respectfully quiet for a few moments. Then, with a smile on his face, Rick blurted, “How about a dollar a string and a nickel a point?” A modest gamble always enhanced the experience for him.

“Works for me,” I responded, and we drove on.

I lost that night – twice, in fact, if you count the bowling, but my supportive friends softened the blow.

—

For much of my adolescence, I was wracked with shame and self-doubt. I had good friends, but love seemed unreachable or, at best, unsustainable. Then came Marianne.

—

I’ve never been much of a party person, even during my college years; so, choosing to attend the English Society’s end-of-semester gathering was a bit out of character. It helped, of course, that my friends Jimmy and Mike would also be there.

Wine in hand, the three of us were clustered together talking when a beautiful, unfamiliar young woman approached our group.

“Is this where the upperclassmen hang out?” she asked with a sweet smile. I was mesmerized.

These days, when recalling that moment, Marianne will say that she wondered why this guy’s eyes were so wide and staring. I wasn’t even aware of it at the time.

While the notion is very romantic, this was not an experience of love at first sight, though love would easily follow. Rather, and this is so difficult to explain, I knew at that moment, with a mysterious certainty, that I was staring at my future. The experience was like a stirring deep in my mind or heart or both that overwhelmed me.

If a brief conversation followed, I have no recollection of what was said. I’m not sure that I spoke at all, and I didn’t even get her name.

The party – and, with it, the academic year – ended, the crowd dispersed, and a long Marianne-less summer began. It would be my last such summer. In the ensuing months, I suspect my friends grew weary of my frequently expressed preoccupation.

“I know her,” my friend Jerry said at one point. “Her name is Marianne Auclair. She’s the friend of my friend Chris, and I’ll introduce you this fall.” His promise both terrified and thrilled me.

Eventually, September arrived. Unbeknownst to me, Jerry and Chris had worked out a plan to bring Marianne and me together. On the first day of classes, Jerry and I were walking together when we saw Chris and Marianne approaching from the opposite direction. My initial excitement quickly yielded to fear.

“Hey, look who’s coming,” said Jerry. “This is it!”

“No Jerry,” I countered in a panic. “I’m not ready!”

“Oh yes you are,” said Jerry. And there was no escape.

The introduction happened. I told Marianne that I remembered her from the party in the spring and asked if she’d had a nice summer. We talked a bit about the classes we were taking that semester, and said that maybe our paths would cross again soon. With that, we parted company.

“Was that okay? Did I seem overly anxious? Did I make a fool of myself?”

Jerry laughed and assured me that things had gone really well. “Now the ice is broken,” he said. “It will be easier next time.”

One of us suggested getting something to eat. We weighed our options and decided on Engine House, a pizza and sandwich place about a mile from the campus. Owing to the distance, the restaurant was not a typical college hotspot. When we got there, in fact, it was nearly empty, and we were the only obvious college students present.

We placed an order and then waited by the counter for our food. After a few minutes, a bus pulled up to the corner just outside, and two people got off. One was a young woman I did not yet know. Astoundingly, the other was my future.

When they came inside, I was beyond exhilarated. While I’d been terribly nervous during our introduction just a short time earlier, I now had a sudden surge of conviction that her presence at Engine House was no coincidence. I had to act.

As I walked over to greet them, I noticed a puzzled expression on Marianne’s face.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said. Then, turning quickly to her companion, “Lisa, this is Steve. Steve, this is my roommate, Lisa.”

Lisa and I exchanged pleasantries, then I pivoted and looked directly into Marianne’s captivating eyes.

<Deep breath!>

“I can’t believe we’re both here,” I marveled, “but this gives me an opportunity to ask you an important question. Could I take you out to dinner on Saturday?”

She thought for a tortuous moment, and then said, “Well, how about if I make you dinner instead?”

We dined together for the first time on Saturday, September 13, 1980. She made me a tomato and cheese casserole, which is now one of my favorite dishes. We’ve been an exclusive couple ever since.

—

There is a story I like to tell that, I believe, demonstrates the blessing this woman, this gift of God, has been to my life. Its simplicity is its depth.

During the work week, I’m typically up by 3:00 a.m. because I find early morning to be the best time to pray. Fortunately, Marianne is a deep sleeper, so she seldom stirs as I stumble from the bedroom.

These days, I delay breakfast until I arrive at work several hours later, but in the past it was my routine to start the day with a piece of fruit (usually an orange), an ounce of mixed nuts, and a cup of black coffee.

Since my teeth are quite sensitive to cold, I would take an orange out of the fridge and put it on the kitchen counter before going to bed. One night, I forgot to do so; and, when I woke up in the morning, one of the first thoughts that crossed my mind was that I’d be eating a cold orange that day. When I got to the kitchen, however, there was my orange sitting on the counter.

Marianne!

I know it may sound like a small thing, but my life is brimming with such routine acts of loving kindness.

—

Marianne and I have been married for nearly 42 years. She is still my future, but she is also the central figure in a very rich past. We are blessed with children (3) and grandchildren (9), who are the beautiful fruit of our love.

And, guess what! My bride loves my legs. She has seen them, stroked them, massaged them, and even kissed them countless times. In her presence, shame evaporates.

—

“How about a dollar a string and a nickel a point?”

“Thanks, but not tonight, Rick. I’ve got a standing date… and I just might wear shorts.”

“… and I wish we could be friends.”

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Author’s note: 

Composing this essay, which deals with the healing of a tragically fractured family relationship, has confronted me with a dilemma. How much personal information is necessary to disclose in order to tell the story? After anguishing over this question, I have ultimately decided to adopt a minimalist approach.

Most readers, I dare say, have suffered through broken relationships that they wish could be repaired and restored. The specific details of the rift, while perhaps a curiosity, are not of paramount importance. Rather, it is the path to forgiveness and reconciliation that is the “good news.”

So, while what follows is admittedly incomplete, I will try to do my noble topic justice.

_____

My mother glanced warily at the bustling crowd just ahead of us on the platform. “Hold tight to your brother’s hand, Stephen,” she cautioned. “And give me yours too.”

As I followed her into the throng, the inevitable jostling began. Try as I might to fulfill my charge, the bumping and pushing ultimately got the better of me.

“Ma!” I cried out as I felt David’s fingers slipping from my grip. Turning around, with raw panic in my heart, I realized that my little brother was nowhere in sight.

_____

Mercifully, we found David rather quickly that day; and, the relief I felt when his hand was safely back in mine was almost otherworldly. Only much later would I come to see that blessed childhood moment as a harbinger of a far deeper reconciliation awaiting our older selves.

_____

The Bible is rife with tales of conflict between brothers. The “prodigal son” and his resentful older brother are characters in one of Jesus’ best known parables. The birthright struggle between Jacob and Esau, the shocking cruelty visited upon Joseph by his brothers, and the struggle for the throne between Adonijah and Solomon are other notable examples. How deep are these fetid roots? Well, the story of Cain and Abel might lead us to conclude that fraternal strife is as old as humanity itself.

Sadly, David and I fell readily into that familiar destructive pattern.

_____

My brother, who passed away at age 61 in September of last year, lived a life that I understood poorly since it was so very different from my own. We grew up in an alcoholic household and both of us gradually adopted blended roles within our dysfunctional family system. I became the hero/rescuer and David the scapegoat/acting out child. Rivalry proved inevitable.

The dynamic between our parents was a further complication. By the time David and I reached adolescence, our mother had all but given up on her husband exercising a fatherly influence in her sons’ lives. Her solution was for me to become a father figure in David’s life, even though I was less than three years older than my brother and definitely not equipped for the task. I tried to fulfill my mother’s expectations by assuming authority in David’s life, but it only resulted in his deepening resentment and distrust.

_____

In many respects, David seems not to have had a fair chance at life. Our father, who was prone to angry outbursts when intoxicated, once looked his younger son in the eyes and flatly told him: “You were a mistake!”

The damage inflicted by such a declaration, especially when spoken by one’s own father, is incomprehensible. Not surprisingly, David bore the weight of those awful words for the remainder of his life.

At the age of twelve, David was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, a condition that made him insulin dependent and left him feeling “different” from his peers. A year or so later, his sense of difference was further magnified by the growing realization that he was gay. Today, at least in some quarters, such an awareness would be met appropriately with love and acceptance, but this was the early 1970s.

My brother suffered for who he was all those years ago, and he coped by retreating into behaviors that put him at heightened risk. I sincerely loved him; however, in my ignorance and immaturity, I kept trying to redirect his life rather than simply being a supportive big brother. The result was alienation that seemed insuperable.

_____

David’s adult years brought further challenges – mental illness, disability, codependency, erratic personal care of his diabetes, and persistent substance abuse. Though my grasp of his struggles matured with time, we eventually reached a point where holding a simple conversation became virtually impossible.

The deathblow came when, with the full support of David’s psychiatric team at a Boston hospital, it became necessary for me to take a tough-love stance with my brother. For the next decade, David embarked on a campaign to harass and publicly discredit me. I wrote about that dismal period in my essay titled “Waiting for God.”

_____

David was by no means an evil person. In fact, he had deep faith and a terrific capacity to love and forgive; but, I was his relational kryptonite.

Part of his brokenness was an inability to distinguish feelings from facts. He often acted out of his emotions, which had been horribly scarred. I see that now. He also seemed to need a villain, someone he could identify as the root of his distress.

Knowing my faith and my long history of involvement in the Church, he dubbed me the “Preacher of Death.” (Enter villain, stage left.)

_____

On the night our mother was actively dying, I summoned my courage and called David to give him an update on her condition. As soon as he heard my voice, he erupted in rage and then hung up. A bit later on, I called him again to let him know that our mother had passed. I quickly conveyed the terrible news so as to be sure that he would hear me. Again, he flew into a tirade before hanging up abruptly. That may have been our lowest point as brothers.

_____

Through the years, I continued to reach out to David, but the result was always the same, utter hostility. I came to dread the sound of his voice while still wishing things could be different between us.

I petitioned God about my brother countless times with no result. Exasperated, and to guard my own sanity, I finally determined to cut myself off entirely from David. I told God as much; but, even as the words left my lips, I could sense the Healer had other intentions. Shortly thereafter, this thought came to me. If our voices are triggers, perhaps we could communicate another way – via texting.

I felt great peace about this plan. I resolved to write to my brother and simply say: “I love you, David, and I wish we could be friends.” If he responded angrily, which I absolutely expected, I would only respond with the same message: “I love you, David, and I wish we could be friends.”

I hit the send button the first time with trepidation. Although frightened by what lay ahead, the volleying had now begun. I don’t recall how many times David responded with anger; but, as I continued to extend my text-based olive branch, his tone slowly softened. When it became apparent that taking our communication to the next step was finally possible, I began folding in small talk, but I always ended our back and forth correspondences with the words: “I love you.”

Then, he began doing the same!

_____

In my opinion, the word “miracle” is tossed around far too easily. Still, even the skeptic in me sees God’s hands (and heart) all over this reconciliation. Further evidence can be found in the timing.

Just a few months after David and I finally began living our vocation as loving brothers, he received the awful news that he would need to have part of his leg amputated due to an aggressive infection in his foot and ankle. Diabetes! We were able to walk through that experience together. And, the former “Preacher of Death” even served as David’s power of attorney and healthcare proxy.

_____

David’s final months were spent in a nursing facility. We spoke frequently, sometimes multiple times a day, and I visited with him at least once a week, usually bringing one of his favorite snacks and/or a cup of Americano coffee.

We often spoke of our childhood, sharing fond memories of events and people and looking through family photographs. It was such a blessing!

One day, mindful that we’d never really had a chance to speak with one another about the loss of our mother, I asked David if he would like me to read him my essay that recounts the events leading to her death. He said that he would like that very much and listened attentively as I read “My Mother’s Hands” aloud. Afterward, with tears in his eyes, he told me that the essay was beautiful. That meant the world to me.

_____

Before closing, I would like to share just a couple of details about David that I believe reveal something about his heart.

Our mother eventually remarried after divorcing our father. Her new husband, Earl, was a very good man, but he and David struggled to get along. Earl’s impatience with David was quite evident; and, since they lived in the same small apartment, the tension between them could be palpable.

Toward the end of his life, Earl was in hospice care at home and was very weak. When he reached the point where he needed help to get from his bed to the bathroom, there was David with his arm around Earl, supporting him all the way.

When David himself was in hospice, he looked forward to visits from the chaplain, a Catholic priest, who always brought David the Eucharist. Once he had received the Sacrament, he would often call me to say: “I just received Holy Communion and want to share the blessing. The peace of the Lord be with you.”

_____

On the eve of David’s death, I was privileged to sit by his bedside, (once again) holding his hand. My little brother was safely in sight, and both of us were at peace.

Did You Hear?

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“Every moment and every event of every man’s life on earth plants something in his soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of men. Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost, because men are not prepared to receive them: for such seeds as these cannot spring up anywhere except in the good soil of freedom, spontaneity, and love.” (Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation)

—

Since reading it for the first time decades ago, I have felt powerfully drawn to this observation (above) from Thomas Merton. I go to it often seeking inspiration; but, I also enjoy reconsidering its implicit challenge. What, after all,  is the quality of my soil? How many precious “seeds of contemplation,” which are really words of God expressed through the ordinary circumstances of my life, have been wasted on me? How can I become a better listener?

—

After all, perhaps God speaks through…

The chirping of birds, the barking of a neighbor’s dog, a rush of wind…

The distant laughter of children at play, the “noise” testifying to human ingenuity, the traffic encountered during a daily commute…

Footfalls of a loved one approaching, the words “I understand” spoken compassionately by a friend…

A stranger’s yawn on the train, captivating music, a whispered “I love you”…

A trickle of water, an insect’s buzz, a cry for justice…

A sigh of relief, pages turning in a treasured photo album, a blessed silence…

The rustling of young leaves with their textured beauty set against the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky…

The crunch of those same leaves under foot in late fall…

A distant foghorn, the scrape of a razor over morning stubble…

The subtle sizzle of a candle’s wick, tears, even bitter tears…

The creak of a rocking chair against the deck of a porch, a panhandler’s “Friend, can you spare some change?”…

The rush of a river’s current fed by melting mountain snow, the fluffing of a pillow…

A familiar, tender memory, an interior aching for meaning…

The soft breathing of a sick child, who has finally fallen asleep…

The click of a camera shutter after capturing a precious moment…

Forgiveness given or received or both, a stick figure drawing by a very young child…

Moments of surprising stillness that invite participation, a forgotten person’s loneliness, a favorite teddy bear…

Condensation on an ice-cold glass of lemonade, morning dew, a hot shower after finally exiting a sickbed…

A great work of art, a witnessed act of kindness, receiving breakfast in bed…

A good listener, the crack of a wooden bat against a baseball, a frisky wink…

An unset alarm clock… a dentist’s “all done,” a street sweeper’s scratch and grumble fading in the distance…

A face smiling back in a mirror, acceptance, poetry, a happy surprise…

The first careful sip of morning coffee, the scent of a Christmas tree, an example of beautiful penmanship…

The first snowflake of the season, an orb weaver’s majestic trap, the twitching of a squirrel’s tail…

The view from a mountain top on a crystal clear day, the imagination of a child, the pages of a diary or prayer journal…

Mutually respectful dialogue, words in a holy book, an unexpected visit from a wonderful old friend…

And… [Thoughts?]

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What if the voice of God can be found/heard in the “seeds” of life all around us, and we need only till our soil?