Monthly Newspaper • DIOCESE OF BRIDGEPORT

“All the unhappiness of men arises from one single fact, that they cannot stay quietly in their own room” (Blaise Pascal).

Today, in both secular and religious society, the presumption seems to be that shared experiences are the only ones that count. However, a more mature spiritual life involves the neglected disciplines of solitude and silence.

Jesus had a manifest need for solitude. He often sought solitude. He needed to be alone quite a bit. After an outpouring of healing he sought quiet withdrawal—Mk. 1:35: “In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.” There’s Lk. 5:1516: “Crowds of people came to hear him and to be healed of their sicknesses. But Jesus habitually withdrew to deserted places where he could be alone and pray.” He even spent whole nights in prayer—Lk. 6:12: “He departed to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer.”

The renown spirituality scholar, Henri Nouwen, stated that “without solitude it is virtually impossible to have a spiritual life. We do not take the spiritual life seriously if we do not set aside some time to be with God and listen to Him.” St. Athanasius said that solitude is as essential to the spiritual life as water is to the survival of fish.” And the Muslim Sufi, Sarnad, taught that if you wish to meet the Lord, then practice solitude. We need to spend time without other humans, to be alone with God.

There’s the astounding and galvanizing story of John Fairfax, who alone in 1969 rowed across the Atlantic. He was at sea for months on end with only himself for company. He kept a diary of his journey. He wrote that for a while he experienced loneliness but reached a point of liking it. There was “the vibrancy of the stillness.” He came to realize what mattered to him in life and what did not. He switched his transistor radio on for shorter and shorter periods each day and sometimes not at all. “I loathed having my solitude shattered by the sound of human voices chattering.” Even the diary in which he recorded his progress came to feel like a hinderance. “Writing spoiled things; it was like having company.” After months without human contact, Fairfax was invited aboard a passing German ship. The German crew was kind and gave him delicious treats and supplied him with some needed goods. Fairfax wrote: “but once these had been supplied, I craved for the solitude that had been mine for so long.” Back in his boat, he felt relief. “Solitude was like a cherished companion without whom I was at a loss.” So much so that, spotting another ship a few nights afterward, “I switched off my torch, lest they see it and I watched the ship disappear.”

In 1934, Richard Byrd volunteered with a group of others to establish a weather station deep in the Antarctic, near the South Pole. The last minutes found his would-be companions turning back. Byrd settled in alone, and stayed for four and a half months, as the temperature outside the hut dipped to 83 degrees below zero. Byrd became meditative. He wrote that out of the silence came a “gentle rhythm.” Just as John Fairfax aboard his tiny boat on the Atlantic, Byrd wished he didn’t have to have the radio on. Speaking of his experience in Antarctica he said “I felt more alive than at any other time in my life. I became better able to tell what in the world is wheat for me and what is straw. I was never bored.” In his diary for April 14, Byrd recorded: “took my daily walk at 4 PM today. I paused to listen to the silence. There was great peace. I could feel a oneness with the universe.” On another occasion, writing in his diary, he refers to feeling more alive than at any time in his life. He wrote of gaining something he had not fully possessed before—an appreciation of the sheer beauty and miracle of being alive. After his time in Antarctica Byrd noted: “I live more simply now, and with more peace.”

These solo adventurers tell of being not just unafraid of solitude but loving it. They became totally at home in it. Our Catholic spiritual writers call us to build times of solitude into our lives, times that should be treasured and guarded. We should carve out a sacred place for ourselves, a place designated for times alone with God.

Preferably, one should identify a place in one’s home, and build a time of solitude into the day. One unplugs from the demands of family life and trusts that God will care for one’s family while one is in solitude for a little while. Occasionally, one may bring young children to share in this special time. One may be surprised at how well children respond.

In classic Catholic tradition, processes like illumination, purgation, letting go, transformation can result from this practice. We can learn how lovely apartness can be, and when alone we can be more alive. The time set apart for being and listening may grow from 10 minutes to 20 minutes and perhaps a half hour. We strive to be faithful to the practice. Ideally, one may have some access to woods or the sea. Hosea 2:14: “I will allure her, and I will lead her into the wilderness, and I will speak to her heart.” But for most of us there are the words of Mt. 6:6: “Whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father in secret.”

Praying involves more than vocal prayers. Indeed, Jesus warned against wordy prayers (cf. Mt.6:7).

Do you remember that scene in “The Ten Commandments” when actor Charlton Heston, as a Hollywoodesque Moses, was coming down Mount Sinai with the stone tablets and saw the Israelites engaged in all kinds of debauchery, violence, insurrection, rioting, idolatry, thievery, swindling, licentiousness, adultery and anger…pretty much like modern America?

While he was busy on Mt. Sinai, negotiating with God, the people were left to their own devices, and things went downhill fast. God wasn’t good enough for them. They wanted something new to worship, so they had Moses’ brother Aaron craft a golden calf. It was an open invitation for them to pursue their baser instincts, which they quickly did.

Now, forgive me if I get my details from Cecile B. DeMille instead of the Book of Exodus. It may not have happened exactly this way, but it was pretty close. Charlton Heston did such a good job that if you haven’t seen the movie, rent it.

Moses hadn’t even given the Israelites the Ten Commandments, and they were already breaking them. Just as the mob was about to offer human sacrifice to the idol, Joshua blew the shofar, and Moses appeared on the hilltop and saw the people he led out of Egypt engaging in what the modern media would probably characterize as “largely peaceful rioting.” He was enraged and uttered the imprecation: “Woe unto thee, O Israel! You have sinned a great sin in the sight of God!”

At that point, Edward G. Robinson, who played the insidious obstructionist Dathan, yelled back, “We will not live by your commandments, WE ARE FREE!”

And Moses bellowed: “THERE IS NO FREEDOM WITHOUT THE LAW!” Wow. Hollywood got it right that time.

Then, Moses broke the tablets on the golden calf, and all the idolaters fell into an abyss, which probably makes you wonder where Moses is today when we need him. Of course, today Moses wouldn’t have to break the Ten Commandments because everyone else already is.

So what’s my point? That scene from the movie reminds me of the evening news with the rampant crime, chicanery, and civil unrest. You may be thinking, “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. Things are looking up. Our leaders have everything under control.”

Here’s the way I see it: When you take God out of the equation, as the Israelites did, the numbers will never add up. All the laws, causes and campaigns won’t make sense without God. You may be committed to political solutions, but you need a purpose. And that purpose is God, who should be the starting point, not an incidental factor in our lives. We’re like those Israelites.

A recent survey by the Marist College Poll explored trends in faith and religion in the United Sates and concluded that Americans are less attached to practices such as prayer, worship and traditional institutions than ever before. An overwhelming number of the respondents, 72 percent, realize something is wrong and say our country’s moral compass is pointed in the wrong direction. That means instead of pointing toward doing what’s right, America’s moral compass is pointed toward doing what’s wrong. That conclusion is shared by 90 percent of Republicans, 77 percent of Independents and oddly only 51 percent of Democrats.

Why is our country in such a deplorable state? I think Nobel Prize author Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn discovered the answer when he was trying to figure out why Russia had gone so far astray. He wrote: “Over a half century ago, while I was still a child, I recall hearing a number of old people offer the following explanation for the great disasters that had befallen Russia: ‘Men have forgotten God; that’s why all this has happened.’ Since then I have spent well-nigh 50 years working on the history of our revolution. In the process, I have read hundreds of books, collected hundreds of personal testimonies, and have already contributed eight volumes of my own toward the effort of clearing away the rubble left by that upheaval. But if I were asked today to formulate as concisely as possible the main cause of the ruinous revolution that swallowed up some 60 million of our people, I could not put it more accurately than to repeat: ‘Men have forgotten God. That’s why all this has happened.’”

And the same is true of America.

When I was little and it came time to bid visitors farewell, I would hide upstairs. There’s something about goodbyes that has never sat well with me. I would rather freeze everyone in time the way they were when we were enjoying ourselves together.

They say that change is the only constant in life, but I’ve never done well with transitions.

It is at these times that I remember Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8:

1. There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.
2. A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
3. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build.
4. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
5. A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
6. A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
7. A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
8. A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Change is uncomfortable and can be scary, but it is inevitable. The more we can lean into its natural rhythm in our lives, the better equipped we will be the next time we are faced with something unexpected.

Over the years, the beach where my family vacations in Massachusetts has experienced physical changes. Every year, there are noticeable differences to the formation of the dunes due to erosion. Tide pools and sandbars pop up in different places along the beach, as its new landscape is revealed after a long winter.

These changes are natural. As natural as the tides. When we step onto the beach at the beginning of the season, there is always something new and exciting to discover. As I seek to grow and make changes in my own life, I am trying not to let worry and fear of the unknown take hold. I am trying to treat each new venture as I do the discovery of the changing seaside landscape, and approach it with excitement rather than fear.

As much as we’d like to freeze time, growing and changing is healthy and natural. We should celebrate where we’ve been, what we’ve learned and the people we’ve met along the way. There are valuable lessons that we learn during each stage of life and that will only continue as we move forward and gain more life experience.

Things take time. Change takes time. Healing takes time. As does the gradual transition between each season. We should give ourselves the same respect as we do nature, saying, “for everything there is a season.” We should look at change with the same anticipation as we do the excitement of the start of a new season, full of hope for the fullness of days to come.

Let me tell you an Easter story. I know it’s a little late and that I should be setting my watch for Ordinary Time…but something happened on Easter that I’ve been thinking about for weeks.

Let me start by saying strange things happen when you ask for the grace to see people the way Jesus does. It can change your view of the world. It can change your view of the way you’ve been living your faith. And it can lead you to the unsettling conclusion that you have a lot of work to do, no matter how old you are or how set in your ways you are.

A preliminary explanation might be helpful: Since I’ve never done very well in crowds, I usually try to avoid events— and Masses—where everyone is crammed together, especially at Christmas and Easter. I can still remember when my friends tried to drag me out of my dormitory room and drive to Woodstock with them. I resisted, and it was the right decision for a lot of reasons, one of which was the mob of 500,000 young people. As soon as I saw that crowd, I would have started walking back to New York City alone.

Because of this inability to deal with crowds, I went to the 7:30 Mass on Easter, which I quickly learned wasn’t early enough to avoid the packed pews. But it’s a good thing that people are returning to church.

Predictably, there were a lot of people I’d never seen before, and I started grumbling, “I don’t want to be squished between strangers and singing, “Jesus Christ is risen today!” Even worse, many of them weren’t wearing masks, and I still had residual anxiety about COVID-19. (I forgot my mask so that compounded the problem.)

During the Liturgy of the Word, I began falling into my usual hypocritical state of mind because the Church was filled with many people who didn’t know when to sit or stand or kneel. With these self-righteous thoughts festering in my brain—I think Satan had a lot to do with it—I got up to receive Communion and found myself standing in line behind a teenager in sweatpants, a T-shirt and stylish psychedelic sneakers.

Just as I was about to take his inventory, I did a dangerous thing, which I don’t advise you to do unless you’re prepared for the consequences. I said a prayer to Jesus that always makes me feel ashamed. The prayer consists of eight highly volatile spiritual words: “Jesus, let me see them as you do.”

I only had to say it once. In no time at all, he answered me. (The answer came a lot faster than when I ask him, “Jesus, do you think I could win Power Ball?”)

My annoyance, my negativity, my criticism vanished. I realized Jesus wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t critical, angry or resentful that this young man was there. He was absolutely ecstatic. I felt sudden joy, walking behind this teenager in his athletic pants and colorful Nikes with his weird haircut.

I’m convinced Jesus was glad to see him at Mass, and even gladder that he received his Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity in the Blessed Sacrament.

When I get self-righteous, I often forget that He wants to draw all people to Himself, even the ones who annoy us, who despise us and who anger us. It’s not my place to decide who is worthy because Jesus died for them all, and that makes them worthy.

For many years I complained about people who only come to Mass on Easter and Christmas, forgetting conveniently the years I went to Mass only on Easter and Christmas. Plus, there was that time at midnight Mass on Christmas that I should never have gone to because I had been partying too much that night and well…you get the idea.

To my thinking, Jesus was telling me, “Quit your belly-aching. Do you hear me complaining because this kid is at Easter Mass? I’m really happy!”

The prayer “Jesus, let me see them as you do” always works, usually to my embarrassment. Try it. But be prepared for the results.

For many of us, youth is gone, and the days are upon us that please us not. Life’s drama can grow wearisome and leave one with a sense that one has had one’s fill. Death comes on the scene; it is less abstract, more real. With aging one is more open to the realization that we have an appointment with death. Death is there, somewhere ahead of us. It is an appointment we cannot break. Therefore, it is not unexpected that, as one ages, there is an inquisitiveness about God, and one is disposed to a growing interest in spirituality.

For many believers, there is a kind of spiritual maturing. One can feel that one has lived a life of faith stuck in the shallow end of the pool. Many of the old things begin to lose their luster. There’s a realization that that which was good for yesterday, may not be right for today. There’s Paul’s metaphor in First Corinthians 13:11: “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.” Earlier in the letter (1Cor.3:2), Paul made the same point: “Brothers and sisters, I could not address you as spiritual people… but only as mere infants in Christ. I gave you milk, not solid food; for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready.”

Many people’s conception of God changes with time. Many were raised to connect God with rules, regulations and customs; and God was looking on approvingly or disapprovingly. For many, this might not be cutting it anymore. People want more from religion than rules. Strikingly, many are more open to more silence and contemplative practices.

John 6:44 states that “no one can come to me (Christ) unless the Father draw him.” John 4:19 states that “He first loved us.” These words imply that we do not get to God by our own efforts we are found by God. Holiness is not something achieved by one’s own actions, but is a gift from God. Sanctification is primarily the work of God. St. Basil the Great made the puzzling statement that “love of God is not something that can be taught or achieved.” Another quote: “Bernard of Clairvaux declared: “You would not seek God at all, nor love God at all, if you had not been sought and first loved.”

These verses also imply the idea of God’s persistent pursuit, and that God leads each person as He sees that person has needs. In her book, Ways to the Knowledge of God, Edith Stein asserts that the way to God is different for each individual. John of the Cross stressed that no two people travel the same route to God. The spiritual world is God’s territory, and God adapts Himself to His creatures. Different humans are led by different paths. Each person’s spirituality is custom designed.

These citations imply that there are as many ways to draw near to the Divine as there are people in the world. God has endless ways to draw people to Himself.

Something Therese of Lisieux wrote is a component to the idea that each person’s life with God is unique. Therese wrote: “I wondered why God has preferences, why all souls don’t receive an equal amount of grace. He caresses certain privileged souls from cradle to grave (Story of a Soul, p. 13).

This statement is echoed in Isaiah 33:19: “I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and will show mercy to whom I will show mercy.” There is also God’s enigmatic statement in Isaiah 65:1: I have been found by those who did not seek me; I have shown myself to those who did not ask.” Thus, God does give more to some, to some less. It’s His unfathomable choice. It is perplexing, puzzling, mysterious. God is master of His own gifts.

Sometimes, when I’m on a train platform, or in a train seat, I wonder how God presents Himself to, or is apprehended by the person standing or sitting near me.

There is the scene in the third chapter of John’s Gospel where Jesus tells a Pharisee named Nicodemus about being “born again”—referring to a spiritual rebirth. Jesus goes further and says: “The wind blows where it will, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know from where it comes, or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit” (Jn.3:1-8). The implication seems to be that the kind of rebirth Jesus has in mind is elusive and mysterious and entirely God’s doing.

Allied to these citations is that of Philippians 1:6 where Paul says: “I am sure that God, who has begun this work in you, will bring it to completion.” We should learn to think of ourselves as God’s work, God’s handiwork. From my own experiences, I’ve found that any notable experience of God feels much more like Someone has found me.

It is God who sanctifies us. God does not love us because we are good. God loves us because He is good.

A few more observations:

As the number of persons participating in our churches is dramatically decreasing, the number of persons in the country interested in spirituality is proportionally increasing. Contact with the worldly may arouse a longing for the spiritual. Spirituality is the hook back into the faith.

Many moderns stress that they are spiritual, but not religious. I don’t think one can be spiritual and not religious. However, people can be religious and not spiritual.

Finally, there is Julian of Norwich’s (d. 1413) statement that “most people are spiritual babies.”

I have always been fascinated by the idea of time travel. My favorite books and movies all center on the manipulation of time and space and what we, as humans, would do if we had autonomy over it.

As I grow older, time is something I never seem to have enough of, and I constantly wish for more. There never seems to be enough time to get laundry done, go grocery shopping, finish multiple projects and read all the books you want to read (because that, of course, is the highest on my priority list).

In actuality, as I get older, the highest thing on my priority list is quality time with my friends and loved ones. It is my “love language,” as they say. Time with my closest people is what fills me up and gives me the strength to do all those other things on the weekly task list.

My current goal, now that life is returning to an almost “pre-pandemic” state of busyness, is to try and retain some of that time that I so greatly miss. I am taking all the necessary steps in my life to get there. Of course, this requires some changes and shifts in priorities, but I feel that it is essential to make these changes for my health and well-being.

My sister’s wedding is just a few days away as I write this. She is getting married at our home parish of St. Catherine of Siena in Trumbull where we went to school and received all our sacraments. I am looking forward to it with great anticipation. I know it will be a hectic day, but I am making it my goal to remain present and not get caught up in the schedule but rather enjoy every moment.

My most considerable excitement for the day, besides celebrating my sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law, is being able to see friends and family that we haven’t seen in a while and have everyone gathered together at once.

We tend to glorify busyness in our modern world, but I relish challenging that. Our worth isn’t defined by how busy we are; our value is defined in Christ. He created us all in His image, and in that, we can find peace.

I read something recently to the effect of “we shouldn’t save saying all the wonderful things about our loved ones for funerals; we should say them at birthdays and weddings and happy celebrations so that things never get left unsaid.” I loved this sentiment.

In light of the recent acts of violence in our country, this is even more pertinent. The time we have with our friends and loved ones is even more sacred. I don’t want to have to look back and wish I could time travel in order to say and do the things I wanted to, in order to tell the people I love how much they mean to me.

Jesus’ message was love, and I feel like we are losing sight of that. We need more love; we need more understanding, and we need more time. All we need to do is look to His example of how He treated and loved others and we have all the answers we need.

Back in the tumultuous ’60s when I was a teenager, I was a self-proclaimed authority on hypocrites…and mostly everyone I encountered was a hypocrite, especially the people in church.

Sad to say, my distorted beliefs led to countless arguments with my mother, who in her simple piety was always in church and praying the Rosary. I suppose by default I counted her among the hypocritical masses I used to denounce.

“They’re hypocrites, I tell you! All of them!” I would sneer. At 16 years old, I was an authority on the human condition. “Church is filled with hypocrites!” I told her.

If they had a training program for 20th century Pharisees, I could have gotten a scholarship.

I was not alone. It seemed that every teenager in America had the solution to the world’s problems, but no one would listen to us. We were angry young men and women.

For her part, my long-suffering mother would respond calmly: “They go to church because they realize they’re not perfect… like you.” Ouch. That last part hurt, and it still hurts 50 years later.

Looking back, I have to say, “Mom, wherever you are—and I hope it’s the good place—you were right, and I was wrong.” Most of the people I criticized were good people trying to become better people.

There’s a saying that could have come right out of St. Augustine’s writings, but it appears in the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book, which says: “We are not saints. The point is that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines….We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.”

That should be the attitude of Christians everywhere. None of us in perfect. And there’s no standing still in the spiritual life. If you’re not moving forward, you’re moving backward.

Throughout history, critics of the Church have used religious hypocrisy as an excuse to justify everything from atheism to outright assaults. That’s one reason the so-called “Nones” have abandoned organized religion.

It also has been an excuse for critics of religion like Christopher Hitchens, who wrote “God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything,” Nathaniel Hawthorne, author of “The Scarlet Letter,” and Sinclair Lewis, who wrote “Elmer Gantry.”

Of course, the fact that believers are flawed is hardly proof God doesn’t exist. It just means we humans are imperfect by nature and in serious need of redemption. Our failings are not God’s.

Jesus recognized the effect that religious hypocrisy could have on believers when he said of the Scribes and Pharisees: “Practice and observe whatever they tell you, but not what they do, for they preach, but do not practice. They bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with their finger. They do all their deeds to be seen by men.”

When it comes to hypocrisy, it’s always good to leave the judging to Jesus and concentrate on our own imperfections…or as they say in AA: “Take your own inventory.”

“Do not judge, so that you may not be judged,” Jesus said. “For with the judgment you make, you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? How can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”

One of my favorite prayers was written by St. Ephrem, a 4th century deacon who lived in a cave above the city of Edessa. He clearly understood our fallen state and recognized the need for redemption.

“O, Lord and Master of Life, take from me the spirit of laziness, meddling, ambition and vain talk,” he wrote. “But give me a spirit of prudence, humility, patience and love. Yes, Lord and King, grant me to see my own sins and faults and not judge my brother. For You are blessed forever and ever.”

I like to think my mother was praying for my change of heart because decades later, when I look out at the congregation, I don’t see a gathering of hypocrites. I see a lot of sinners like me. And I try to leave the judging to Jesus even though it’s not always easy.

One of the things I am most grateful for in my life are my strong female friendships. Some of these women I have known for my entire life. We see each other through the most difficult times, and we celebrate with each other in our achievements, accomplishments and good fortunes.

I know how rare it is to have such strong connections last into adulthood. I appreciate them beyond measure. I know that they will be there for me whenever I call, and I hope they know they can count on me to return the favor.

It has always stood out to me that three women were the ones huddled under the Cross during His crucifixion. In His most desperate time of need, I can imagine that their presence made all the difference.

Just as the women in my life are always there, through good times and bad, the women were there, walking with Jesus on His way to Calgary, holding Him up, wiping His face, supporting Him in whatever way they could.

I can imagine that he looked into their faces and saw His pain reflected back to Him.

I can imagine that Judas’ betrayal must have been all the more difficult to bear, given the amount of time they spent traveling, living and sharing together.

I can imagine that it would have been exasperating when His apostles could not keep watch with Him while He prayed.

In my moments of need, a quick call or FaceTime with a friend can lift my spirits and bring solace to my soul. I know that I can come to them without judgment and they will know exactly what to say or do.

As we grow older, it brings me immense happiness to see all my friends grow into the wonderful women they have become and are continuing to become. I am sure that Jesus’ apostles were absolutely devastated to lose Jesus before His time? I am sure they anticipated being able to see Him become the man He was destined to be.

That is why, I can imagine the apostles were all the more shocked and awed upon Jesus’ resurrection. Especially after three days of hiding in fear and sadness, getting to spend time with their friend once more, all together, was a comfort to their broken spirits.

Mary Magdalene was the one to discover the tomb was empty. The women went to the tomb to care for Jesus’ body. I find this so like the women in my life. We check in with each other to make sure we return home safely, we are in each other’s bridal parties—throwing engagement parties and showers to celebrate. We bring each other soup and medicine when we are sick. The second time Jesus left the apostles, He left them with His Spirit, and a promise that He would remain with them. He knew exactly what they would need to continue on and bring forward His message to the world. And that they did….

“S cratch his skin and you come upon bereavement, uncertainty, fear, and pain” (Abraham Heschel, Man Is Not Alone, p. 69).

I’ve become convinced that somewhere in the inner life of almost everyone is a wound that has never healed. We are all wounded in one way or another, and lurking in all of us, as the Catholic novelist, Alice McDermott, put it, “there is the hunger to be comforted: (The Ninth Hour, p. 189).

I’ve also reached the conclusion that everyone is afraid of something. We all have secret fears to face. To be human is to be afraid. We are all scared and lonesome. There is the essential loneliness of everyone.

I’ve come to believe that possibly the greatest struggle for most people is learning to deal with disappointment. There is no end to a disappointment, it crops up again and again. People cannot simply shrug it off. We moan for lost opportunities. All people, at some point, are grieving and look backward with regrets.

There’s more. We are inevitably both victim and victimizer. We all betray other’s love, in some way. No one is totally reliable. There is so much betrayal. The world is overcrowded with unhappy love. Our own individual lives have brought a share of evil into the world. As Jesus put it, “Only God is good” (Mk.10:18).

No doubt, I’ll be regarded as giving a picture of a world that is filled with unhappy people, the wounded, aggrieved, and disappointed, burdened with regrets, memories of past injuries, the weight of all the unfairness of their lives. What I’m trying to say is that from listening with a good ear to people, one can conclude that when you get to know a man or woman carefully you can always begin to feel pity. We need to be kind, for everyone is carrying a heavy burden.

Of course, the world does not only consist of the wounded, aggrieved, and disappointed. In the midst of it, existence is charged with goodness. In the midst of it all there is kindness, indeed heroism, sacrifices. So much charity and decency radiate. One can get a sense of the positive and loving in humankind.

And there are so many luminous things in life: springtime, mimosa trees, blackbirds, Mozart, love, wine, dancing, the smile of a friend. There are many moments of being surprised by joy.

One can be gripped by the joy of being alive, “abounding in thanksgiving” (Colossians 2:7).

There is the grandeur of human existence. We are to enjoy life’s goodness. Life contains moments of exhilaration.

Still, a fundamental, unalterable truth of life is that we will certainly encounter a lot of sadness as life goes on. Everyone has a sad tale to tell. There is the incurable sadness of human existence. Therese of Lisieux spoke of “our sad earth.” There is no doubt that life will show us all the face of loss.

The main thing I want to say is that I think that each of us is put here to help dilute to some degree the misery in the world. This is what Jesus did throughout his public ministry: “Jesus went throughout Galilee and curing every disease and every sickness among the people” (Mt.4:23).

To some extent we all live life under the sign of the cross (Edith Stein). In the end we fade, wear out, disappear. While there is still time, we strive to be willing to be, as our faith calls us to be, stirred with a deep sense of compassion for people who just want a bit of happiness in a grim world. We strive to show some love, affection, give some recognition, appreciation, understanding, make their world somewhat of a less lonely place. Above all, friendship is listening; listening is the exercise of love. “If you do not close your ear to others, you open God’s ear to yourself (Saint Peter Chrysologus).

This Lent, I went through the same ordeal I’ve gone through since fourth grade, when the Sisters of St. Joseph asked us what we were “giving up.”

It was a daunting concept for a 9-year-old, and it’s still daunting decades later. I can almost hear Sister’s voice. Correction #1: I can actually hear Sister’s voice as she stood at the front of the class in her black habit and stared ominously at us kids, whacking her 16-inch ruler against her hand. Correction #2: There was no ruler. I just added that for dramatic effect because every person I know who was taught by nuns has a story about the “16-inch ruler.”

After she explained Lent, Sister asked, “So what are you going to give up?”

In a terrifying act of public confession or commitment—or whatever it was supposed to be— we had to proclaim our intentions, right there on the spot. A collective gulp resonated through the classroom.

My classmates did some quick thinking, and many of them resorted to the time-honored tradition of responding, “Candy.” The more ambitious students, who wanted to get into Sister’s good graces, replied, “Candy and ice cream.” I suppose it would have been terribly unsettling if someone said, “smoking” or “swearing.”

So candy it was although, truth be told, I never succeeded in my resolution. Usually around Week Four, I lapsed and snuck some Peanut M&M’s and was consumed by guilt.

That “giving up” concept seemed to fall out of favor a few years ago, when we were told it was outdated and that instead of giving up, we should be giving alms.

This Lent, I decided to try something different. My goal is to get closer to Christ. I want to “up my game,” as athletes say. Golfers do stuff like this all the time, so do bowlers. Very often we’re trying to get better at something, but how much effort do we put into getting better spiritually and improving our relationship with Jesus?

I’ve come to the conclusion that if we’re not getting closer to Jesus, we’re moving further away from him. There’s no standing still. That’s a fundamental law of spiritual physics.

Yes, I want to get closer to Christ. And while I can commit to praying more rosaries, doing some meditation and adding a few other devotions, I’ve decided to take a different approach, one I discovered after I wrote a story about a young woman who entered a monastery in Roswell, New Mexico.

Last year, Brianna Farens of Shelton was invested as Sister Maria Antonia of the Holy Wounds of Jesus in the cloistered religious order at the Poor Clare Monastery of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

She had been headed for a career in medicine, inspired by her father Dr. John Farens, when the Holy Spirit intervened and she discovered her true calling was to follow Christ in the contemplative life.

Before then, she went into her own spiritual desert for several years—praying, searching, discerning and waiting for Jesus’ directions. During that time, her prayer was a simple one. It is a prayer that all of us should say every day because it’s a prayer that Jesus will always answer. It is: “Lord, I just want to be closer to you.”

Jesus will never deny that request because the primary goal in our lives should be to grow in holiness. When you say that prayer, you can be sure you’re coming closer to Jesus even if you don’t realize it. You might not immediately detect the changes, which can be imperceptible to us, but not to him because Jesus works at his own pace.

As the Lord told the prophet Jeremiah: “When you search for me, you will find me. If you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me.” So, I’m taking him at his word.

This Lent, I’d urge you to say, “Lord, help me move closer to you” as often as possible. You won’t regret it. Thank you, Sister Maria Antonia, for a prayer of immeasurable value.

And just so you don’t think I’m sitting down on the job, I also resolved, somewhat reluctantly, to give up candy so hide the M&M’s.

I recently stumbled upon an Instagram post by one of my favorite contemporary poets, Morgan Harper Nichols, that stood out to me in a big way.

It was a simple drawing of a rest stop sign that said “Rest Stop: 5 miles” and in parentheses stated, “And you are not weak for needing rest.”

Morgan wrote, “How wonderful would it be if the ‘rest stop’ signs that lined the interstate also lined the interstate of life.”

I immediately reposted.

In my adult life, I’ve often found that it takes me a longer time than most to recover from busyness. I am very easily overstimulated. After being around large groups of people—or even after simple tasks such as talking on the phone or going to the store—I need to give myself a break, sit in quiet, or lose myself in a simple task like reading a book.

I have often felt weak for needing this. So Morgan’s reminder that you are not weak for needing rest really hit home for me.

We need to pay attention to the things we need in order to be our best selves, and we need to make that clear to others. This is something I’m working on.

I know exactly how much I can take on, and I know exactly when I’m pushing myself too hard and saying yes to too many things. This self-awareness comes with practice, but I have little ways of noticing. I start to forget things and make silly mistakes, and that is when I know I need to pull back.

In our modern society, this isn’t something that is often accepted. People understand when others are physically sick, but that seems to be the only time we allow for rest.

Sometimes saying, “I just have too much on my plate right now and I simply cannot take this task on,” is not accepted. Because everyone’s busy, and everyone’s tired and everyone needs rest.

People will push back on you when you try to assert your needs.

But Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

We have a Sabbath day builtin for rest.

Jesus often took solitary time away to rest and he encouraged those following him to rest, as well. “He said to them, ‘Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.’ People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat” (Mark 6:31).

As the weather starts to get warmer and spring approaches, let us turn our faces toward the sun.

We have all lived through a pandemic that drastically changed our lives for almost three years. I’d say that, alone, is a good enough reason to allow for rest.

What is life if not lived, and how can we live if we don’t allow ourselves the time?

I can’t imagine that Jesus’ disciples, upon His crucifixion, wished for anything but more quality time with their loved one. And if we are too overwhelmed with tasks and to-do lists, when can we have that time? It is often not until a tragedy such as a loss or an illness occurs that we allow for rest.

But I challenge you (and myself) to not let it go on until then.

This Lenten season, can we listen to ourselves and those around us who are crying out for rest?

The year 2022 is already almost two months old. God created the world and with it time. We are temporal beings. I have difficulty comprehending the enormous time spans geologists and astronomers speak of. When a geologist tells me that the earth is 4.5 billion years old, or an astronomer that a star is ten million light years away, I think of how my life is bounded by hours, days, weeks and months. A million or a billion years have little meaning.

Lately, I frequently recall my boyhood time, those lost days never to be relived. There was all the dreaming and hopes of those days, so many hopes which have lost their wings. There was the boyhood sense of time. Time stood still for a while. A day could seem endless. June and summer seemed an infinity of time.

With aging, days seem so brief and slip away so easily. The realization that the early hours of a morning are already spent saddens me. The afternoon slipping away brings a gloom, and the evening advancing into the moat of lost time brings melancholy. The days are used up so quickly one by one. In his Ode, The Wreck of the Deutschland, Gerard Manley Hopkins compares the transitoriness of life with the sand slipping inevitably through an hourglass (stanza 4). Shakespeare put it this way: “like the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end.”

I grow more and more conscious of our earthly span of time. “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (Psalm 139:16). How many more chances will I have to welcome the Spring? We can’t dam the flow of time. I think of all the years passed, with their thousands of days and hundreds of thousands of hours. Sometimes I wonder about the rains and snows of my years. How many were there? How many drifting clouds have passed above me; how many winter winds have pounded me; how many gardens have flowered and faded around me?

We are given the gift of years, but as we grow older time can become an enemy. Our infirmities make us notice that part of our substance has been spoiled and engulfed—an end product deposited by time.

Life involves the destruction of much that is close to one and most dear. I think of all the people I loved who are gone. Family and friends die, while children flower, etching time and mortality even more sharply. Time steals that which we love. I want to keep everyone I love from leaving. But time keeps slipping them away.

The Second Vatican Council stated that God’s Spirit directs the unfolding of time (Gaudium Et Spes, 26). It also says that we are made for God, made to move to all that God is: the fullness of love, faith, peace and joy.”

There is a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins titled That Nature is a Heraclitean fire.

It was one of the last poems Hopkins wrote, shortly before his death at age 44 in 1889.

The poem begins with a description of clouds; the movement of clouds across the sky is described. The poem pictures cloud shadows on the walls and buildings, sunlight through trees. Hopkins then moves on to a description of the winds. He gives a description of a cloudy, windy day after a rainstorm. The opening lines convey a delight in the world of nature.

Then Hopkins writes of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus (535- 475 BC). Heraclitus wrote about fire being an essential element in the world. What he meant by that was the idea that everything was in a state of flux, continually changing. More specifically, “fire” was Heraclitus’ way of indicating that everything which had been created would eventually be destroyed. He spoke of “Nature’s bonfire.”

Heraclitus observed that nothing is stable. All things are subject to time and annihilation. It is a world where nothing lasts. Everything, no matter how beautiful, must die. This includes human impermanence. Humans, too, must suffer obliteration like everything else. Humans too are destined to be put out like a candle.

Hopkins’ reflections continue to spiral downward. But then, with the dramatic word “Enough,” he turns to ideas about the Resurrection, which counters the darkness of human extinction. Hopkins declares humans to be “immortal diamonds.” A diamond is something that was previously buried in the earth but is as permanent and immutable as anything we know. It is something solid and everlasting. A diamond is something that can reflect and sparkle with a light that shines on and through it. A diamond suggests something permanent and unchanging. Hopkins is saying that we humans have eternal worth. We shall rise and bloom to fade no more.

There is the resounding affirmation of the last lines of the poem:

“In a flash, at a trumpet crash, I am all at once what Christ is, since he was what I am, and this Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, is immortal diamond.

Is Immortal Diamond.”

(Jack—workday, ordinary human; joke—foolish person; poor potsherd—shard of broken pottery; matchwood—something that spends itself in a short, temporal flame, short lived)

Hopkins also wrote: “All life death does end and each day dies with sleep. Now it is all death life does end, and each day lives forever.”

(In Westminster Abbey, the most notable religious building in England, the traditional place of coronations, there is the “Poet’s Corner.” This is a wide wall where slabs of stone are embedded. The stones contain the names of famous poets and a few words most associated with the poet. In 1976, Hopkins was established in Poet’s Corner. The slab bearing Hopkins’ name also has the words “Immortal Diamond.”)