This day is not your final destination

Wait for the Lord; / be strong and take heart / and wait for the Lord. (Ps. 27:14)

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. (Matt. 11:28-30)

There are places of experience in life that unless we have entered ourselves, we can only theorise and paraphrase what we have read. As a much younger theologian on my pastoral calls, though with the best of intentions in my heart, I still could not rightly grasp the depths of the suffering when comforting a parent who had lost their child, or of a distressed soul that was in a battle with a terminal disease. It is precisely the same when it comes to those interior and invisible battles that we fight in the mind. One can see a broken arm in a cast, for example, and offer empathy, but a mind that is hurting could be dismissed, for the "cast" cannot be seen. The true understanding will invariably come only from those kindred souls who have themselves entered into these deeper places of Gethsemane, where they, too, have agonised in their own pain and asked of their Creator to lift the cup of sorrows from their heart.

Being an Eastern Orthodox theologian I had the most wonderful literature in my hands, most of it meaningful and impactful, and if it helped when I was ministering, and indeed it did, but only for a while. How were those suffering souls to get through the night, when the momentary comfort offered to them as a sweet balm, was to wear off after we had all gone home. Who could in truth understand the depths of their anguish? As Henri Nouwen had said from his own experience, only “wounded healers” are able to bring healing to others. Is this not once and for all demonstrated by our Lord’s sacrifice on the Cross? Later we will find this divine charity expressed in the early church’s first Christological hymn that pointed to the God-Man’s kenosis, Phil. 2:5:11: “And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!” (v. 8). Of course, this cannot mean that we do not reach out to others whose pain we might not fully comprehend. As Christians, as human beings, we are called to minister to all peoples, but as we are told by our great teachers of pastoral wisdom, there are times when our presence alone could oftentimes be enough. They refer to this ‘being there’ as a “compassionate presence.” A tender-hearted embrace could mean much more than some well-intentioned parroted words. To console someone who is on the precipice of despair requires love in practise, and large amounts of intercessory prayer.

Being weak in health as you yourself are, I cannot fail to feel much sympathy for your plight. But kind Providence is not only more wise than we are; It is also wise in a different way. It is this thought which must sustain us in all our trials, for it is consoling, as no other thought is. (Elder Macarius of Optina)

Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become fully aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him. By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true. (Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning)

What then of suicidal ideation that originally prompted this small reflection. To begin with some fundamentalist communities might have us believe this is unacceptable for a practising Christian. But for those who are familiar with the Word of God, and with the hagiographical tradition of our Church, they would know that melancholia, for this is the correct word and not the commonly expressed depression, and which William Styron did very well to point out in recent times, is not unfamiliar to those who have loved our Lord. And not ironically, to those who have been the more passionately desirous of His presence in their lives, often the hurt could be more— for His absence at certain hours could seem unbearable. This condition is particularly evident in the lives of the Old Testament prophets who were tasked with some outwardly impossible missions by an “invisible” God that was not yet manifested in the Incarnation. Do recall those persevering prophets, Job, Elijah, King David, Heman son of Korah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and the others.

If the only home I hope for is the grave, if I spread out my bed in the realm of darkness, if I say to corruption, ‘You are my father,’ and to the worm, ‘My mother’ or ‘My sister,’ where then is my hope—who can see any hope for me? (Job 17:13-15)

Elijah was afraid and ran for his life. When he came to Beersheba in Judah, he left his servant there, while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep. (1 Kgs 19:3:5)

All of these souls, mortal and subject to the uncertainties of the human condition, like you and me, entered into the deepest depths of melancholia. After that tribulation to emerge giants of our faith. To become first-hand witnesses not only to the power of prayer and the attainable knowledge of our Creator, but also testifying to the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit, as Christ Himself did reveal in Gethsemane in facing that most momentous crisis of his earthly life, to ultimately place everything before the Father: “If you are willing, remove this cup for me; nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done” (Lk. 22:42). Ministering to those brothers and sisters experiencing this compressing trial, what has helped in my prayer time with them, is to confess that this test has also not been absent from me; that not a few of our saints have themselves been tempted by this dread and have been delivered from their mental ordeal; importantly, they [we] are not to feel guilty, for these responses to life are not absent from the universal human experience.  Moreover, to reflect daily on the covenantal promises of our God:

No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it. (1 Cor. 10:13)

We have an additional advantage, while secular psychotherapy aims to treat the mind or psyche, in the Church our pastoral counselling also seeks the healing of the nous, the “eye of the soul” or spiritual centre, and through participation, too, in the life-affirming and medicinal Sacraments. We have been blessed with many spiritual tools to heal and to comfort the deeply distressed, to remind them as often as might be needed, they are not alone—and that one keeps living because they are precious and unique in the divine providence of their Maker, that He has wonderful plans for them from even before they were born: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart” (Jer. 1:5). Be an active listener and remind the broken brother or sister, their story matters and that their best days are still ahead. Celebrate their achievements and inspire them to keep moving forward with endurance and perseverance. This dreadful sadness that is at this very hour compressing their spirit, making it seem that all is lost, is not their final destination. We are not broken. We are healing. They are us and we are them. There is still work to do before we finish the race—and new opportunities to love and to be loved, to create and to inspire creation in others. Day by day, all will be well. Keep busy with meaningful things and surround yourself with sympathetic, gentle souls. A new day dawns tomorrow. Wait for it.

How Does One Deal With A Life Changing Moment

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed every day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, because we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen; for the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Cor. 4:16-18)

How does one respond to a new challenge in life, when almost overnight, everything changes dramatically? You look in the mirror and you recognise that your old physical self is to a large extent gone. There is denial. There is grief. And yes, in the middle of the tears and self-pity, an anger that could surprise you. Perhaps worst of all, the onset of a gnawing despair. You are in fact experiencing the inner and outer metamorphosis. All the self-help books in the world are of no use, for their premises are no longer relevant to you. The man looking back at you is not the man you once knew. The body you inhabited for sixty-five years can no longer serve you in the same ways. One can pretend to the world that these natural human emotions do not apply to them, that you have been able to rise beyond such fallible responses. Yet, and this much I must say, if you have belonged to the community of believers, and you have seen abundant evidence of Jesus Christ, the God-Man, at work in your life, then you will not question your faith nor put away the trust in the providence of your Creator. But your hitherto public stoicism, and those standard rejoinders to the problem of pain, as theologians have long framed this paradox—so much suffering in the world and still at the same time the goodness of God—will be thrown into upheaval and shaken to its core.

What this “thorn of the flesh” is for the present writer is entirely irrelevant. It is not the affliction itself that is of concern to him, nor is his experience at all unique. What he describes here is an undergoing that belongs in whole or in part, to at least some of his gentle readers. The question, then remains, how does one deal with a life-changing moment that has to some degree, made different much of one’s life. The saint, for there are saints who either live here in our midst or in monasteries or in faraway deserts, will reckon this as part of the soul’s journey toward redemption. Then there are too, the stoics, who courageously accept it all as part of the greater story of the cycle of life. But there is something very much in common to both of these positions, the acknowledgment whether be it manifest or tacit, of the joyful-sorrow of life and of the inevitability of our report here in this world one day coming to its close. From Siddhartha Gautama, to Socrates, to Saint Paul, to Blaise Pascal, to Martin Heidegger, to Sophrony Sakharov, to Viktor Frankl, to Irvin D. Yalom, to Dean Rickles, this ontological acquiesce is there in every profound thinker that has walked the earth. There are those winter seasons in which, as my dear friend Joseph Carvalko writes in one of his enthralling essays, that we are drawn to think of our souls in different ways until that time when they reach "that final purpose" (Paradox of Hope).

Pass then through this little space of time conformably to nature, and end thy journey in content, just as an olive falls off when it is ripe, blessing nature who produced it, and thanking the tree on which it grew. (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations)

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. (Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning)

https://stockcake.com/i/butterfly-life-cycle_3152617_1654139

So we live each day grateful for all we have been taught, not despairing of the new stories we will now live through, and ultimately grateful for these additional narratives we might now write down. For these things, the precious fruits of courage and perseverance are not at all outside the realms of reality and have been manifested in the lives of so very many. And more recently we witnessed this in the life of my late and much beloved Momma. Not long before she left us she “woke” from her deep sleep and in English (her second language which to this point she had almost completely forgotten) to say: “I saw Jesus. He said He loved me.” Her countenance was amazingly bright. Of course, one can interpret these fabulous words in different ways. We took them at their face value, and at that moment she gave us a vision of meaning above and beyond what I could hope to describe here, that change when even at its most difficult hour is not bereft of the light. Suffering can only be met head on, there are no shortcuts to the problem of pain. There on those hard edges of Gethsemane, where the human spirit is tested that it might be refined as gold, awaits the revelation of our true name written on the white stone (Rev. 2:17).

Our eyes and hearts can become opened to astonishing depths of love (now re-defined and re-experienced on account of our new condition) and to all-encompassing fields of compassion once only imaginable when we were at our very best—those days when we refused to chase away the birds from our fruit-trees and considered the practise of forgiveness as the highest expression of agape.

Even with all of the hard knocks and heavy collisions along the way, we all have a fabulously rich story to tell. Whether we can write it down or not, will matter only very little. The narrative will take on its own life to become our legacy. I remember an elderly monk from Mount Athos, Father E., who would refuse to wear laces on his boots. One afternoon after the refectory I summonsed the courage to ask him ‘why’ [and here I must confess to paraphrasing him a little]: “One must be prepared and on time for the unexpected.”

Is life unfair? Yes, but what does this mean

For myself I have been parted from my possessions, stripped of my offices, blackened in my reputation, and punished for the services I have rendered… [s]o then I may cry aloud… (Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy)

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Rom. 8:28)

In my younger days, filled with enthusiasm for theology and navigating the early stages of what some might call a “messiah complex” (a term familiar to seasoned seminarians and priests), I would have confidently answered the question, “Is life fair?” with a resounding “yes”. At the time, I believed I had a firm grasp on divine providence. I was young, healthy, and felt as though the future held limitless possibilities. Vigour and optimism, pulsed through me, even though I had already witnessed suffering. Still, I believed that my perspective aligned with the nature of God’s justice. I was also familiar with the story of Job and had reflected on his unwavering faith amid trials; a story that, despite its initial horrors, ultimately had a positive ending. The biblical narrative of the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ was, as you might expect from a young seminarian, at the very heart of my worldview. But then, things began to change. Not my worldview, nor my steadfast belief in divine providence, but rather how this very theology was to be practically understood and lived out beyond the seminary walls and course textbooks.

As my life became richer with experience over the years, I began to confront certain harsh realities— loss, illness, death, and the injustices that came with them, whether they affected me directly or those close to me. At the same time, my travels exposed me to the stark economic disparities across the world. This combination of personal encounters and global contact led me to question the early assumptions I had that everything was, in fact, “good”.  In my role as a pastoral cleric, as I would then have conceived of myself, my visits to the wounded and terminally ill and especially to the young, were precious opportunities to offer comfort to those grieving. And then there were my weekend walkabouts through the cemeteries of Sydney where the message of the Cross in its deeper manifestation was made known to me. Over time, this became less about offering the idea that everything was divinely planned and more about acknowledging the raw pain of loss, helping others find solace in the midst of their despair.

My self-confidence began to erode after clashes with my superiors, which eventually led to my departure from the ministry. I found myself adrift, without an identity, and at every turn, blocked from new opportunities by the Church I had once served but could never stop loving. In time, more followed. Loss of valued friendships and my good reputation. There are many ways to stand up a human being against the wall to execute them. Later the taking away of my intellectual labour and eventually chronic illness with its everyday pain. Before that, one branch of my extended family was wiped out due to disease. Was this fair?  It was a question I found myself asking more and more. I must accept that, in my case, having requested to be relieved of my ministry for reasons I still cannot openly share, I did also contribute to my own tribulations and for this I am alone responsible. But what about the suffering of others— those who had brought none or very little of this anguish upon themselves? People stripped of their rightful place, denied the chance to reach their potential; the seemingly undeserving rising to positions from unqualified persons, or worse, placed there through bribery or fraud. Even more heartbreaking when innocent children are ravaged by illnesses, or in other places, made to die of hunger and thirst due to economic conditions. Such suffering is not optional. Was this fair? The Scriptures themselves also seem to speak to this truth about the unfairness in life: “Under the sun, the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happens to them all” (Ecc. 9:11).

I am not here to argue for a theodicy nor delve into the famous "problem of evil," that I have tried best I could to address in my novel and in a few of my essays, but simply to ask: Is life fair?

A saint would more than likely say, “Yes, life is fair, for it is all preordained by a just and all-knowing God.” I am not a saint, of course, and as such, I can no longer make such sweeping declarations. I cannot view the world through the same lens as those enlightened souls, blessed with unwavering faith. As I approach my 70s, I have come to understand more deeply the unpredictable nature of life, its shocks, disappointments, and uncertainties. This is not to say that there are no moments of pure joy; indeed, those moments exist. But life’s duality— the intertwining of joy and sorrow— is the lesson we must learn, one that speaks to the core of our existence. There is a spurious saying attributed to the Buddha, yet it persists since it is informed with tried and true wisdom: “Pain in life is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Pain is what the world does to you, suffering is what you do to yourself by the way you think about the pain you receive.” I well understand, these are enormous enquiries to make of the human mind, it is not inconceivable that for a serious thinker, they could last a lifetime.

Let me pre-empt my few, gentle readers by saying this: life is not fair. Even so, what does this mean? My own response, which is all we can do for now, comes from a man who, though jaded, endures. Nothing more, nothing less. I have witnessed and experienced both the beauty and the harshness of being active and involved in the world. In the same way to you, for we are made from the same essential elements, or “mud” and “clay” as mythologies and religious traditions have described. I could easily quote a long list of philosophers and writers, Friedrich Nietzsche, Hannah Arendt, Primo Levi, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, for example, who have eloquently explored the inherent unfairness of life. It would be enough for now to read the chapter which features Ivan Karamazov’s well-known argument in "The Grand Inquisitor" from Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. In it, the intellectual and analytical Ivan Karamazov, raises a compelling argument about the existence of suffering in a world supposedly created by a benevolent and omnipotent God— arguments that can be traced to the Russian philosopher and theologian, Vladimir Soloviev (and a close friend of Dostoevsky’s). Jesus Christ himself in the Garden of Gethsemane asks for the cup of suffering he was about to endure to be taken away from him (Lk 22:42). I will return to this pericope in a moment which has on more than one occasion saved me.

Through these brief reflections, dare I call it “flash theology”, I find a path toward self-healing, like I do with most of the humble ponderings that I share on this web site. Primarily, these reflections serve as a conversation with myself and, later, as something for my children to read. But I also hope they offer some meaning and a little solace to the occasional visitor— to a soul on its own irreplaceable journey, seeking a quiet park bench to rest for a moment. In recent months, I have been compelled to reflect on this problem even more deeply, due to personal losses and the pain endured by a family member. But, as I have shared earlier, the question of life’s fairness is one that has long weighed on me. Beyond the comfort of Scripture, particularly the Book of Psalms, I have oftentimes reflected on Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. In essence, the Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, Frankl, offers profound insight when we feel ourselves to have become overwhelmed: “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” The interesting thing here is that Elder Ephraim of Katounakia, an Athonite monk, in his own way, conveys a very similar message:

Everyone has a cross to carry. Why? Since the leader of our faith endured the cross, we will also endure it. On one hand, the cross is sweet and light, but, on the other, it can also be bitter and heavy. It depends on our will. If you bear Christ’s cross with love then it will be very light; like a sponge or a cork. But if you have a negative attitude, it becomes heavy; too heavy to lift.

The Agony In The Garden by Gustave Dore

And so I now return to the Lucan pericope of Christ’s passion in the Garden of Gethsemane to offer my final thoughts. On a personal note— and I believe I speak for most— there are moments in life when we feel that things are unfair. However, unless we allow ourselves to be entirely undone by these struggles, we have at least one time-tested way forward: to acknowledge the cup we did not seek and to accept it as a sign. “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” (Lk. 22:42). Here in His underserved punishment, the God-Man acknowledges both the presence of suffering and the overarching goodness of God Himself. If we endure, transformation awaits us, just as it did for Jesus Christ after Calvary, in His resurrection. This endurance in perseverance is not about resigning from life; rather, it is about recognising that, even during the most challenging of trials, there exists a path toward realising the fullness of our potential as human beings. Accepting, too, that there are many things to be grateful for, in spite of any injustice that might surround us. So, yes, life might not always be fair, but its “joyful-sorrows” are not without meaning.

Like a tree I would be blasted by wind, struck by sun and rain, and would wait with confidence; the long-desired hour of flowering and fruit would come. (Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco)

Over the years, I have come to personally understand and have observed in the lives of others that, in the face of pain, an unfairness done to us can often lead to unexpected rewards, and beyond all measure. In fact, there is a freedom in it, along with a unique opportunity for genuine growth, even if for most of us, this may seem paradoxical or counterintuitive. So, yes, together we can say, “Blessed are those who mourn” (Matt. 5:4). I do not pretend. Little of this is ever easy. It can be brutal to the spirit of a person, and unbearingly so at times. Is there someone whose mental anguish you can help to alleviate with a word? Have you the power to right a wrong where an unfairness has been done? Even by that one single act of kindness, souls have been saved to affect generations. It all goes too quick. We soon enough grow old. It is then that these certainties of the human condition reveal themselves to be our infallible truths. As for the suffering of the innocent, those who do not have the time, nor the means, nor the luxury that we have been blessed with, tangible hope can only touch their lives through the opening of our hearts in communion, that heroic compassion may burst through. Time and time again, it has been revealed acts of supreme generosity, to the extent of self-sacrifice, are not beyond our reach— if only because we are capable of the divine, capax Dei.

Then there are those periods in our life

Tempe, Arizona

In Shellharbour, NSW, one afternoon in 2018 waiting at school for my children. Courtesy: Michael Family archives.

Then there are those periods in our life when it would seem are reserved for the darkest thunderstorms. And the heavy rains keep coming. Most of us can look back on our lives, especially as we move deeper into middle age and pinpoint three or four of the toughest times. If we could survive those trials then surely we can survive the present ones and those yet to come. It is critical if we should feel ourselves becoming overwhelmed that we look back on those testing weeks, and months and sometimes even years, to see how we pulled through and what lessons can be drawn. Life is indeed a series of ‘ups and downs’ with the ups ever fleeting while the downs have a tendency to linger. This is why I will often refer to one of my favorite maxims gleaned from the desert dwellers that our existence is one of “joyful sorrow”.[1] I have also through my own ups and downs found great comfort in the words of Saint Paul:

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing to the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Rom. 8.18).

In recent months it has been one of those periods for me. They have been emotionally and physically difficult. I have had to navigate five deaths each one holding a specific significance in my life with three of these opening up an abyss of triggers affecting my mental well-being. Physically I was once more experiencing severe pain owing to a dental procedure to do with my jaw. We witnessed our eldest boy dealing bravely with having his boyhood dream taken away from him. Nepotism is such a terrible thing. A fortnight ago I also left my beloved UOW to go into possible retirement. A self-identity crisis [and I’ve had a few of these] are not good at any age. And in recent weeks I was preparing for my flight to the United States to catch up with the children and Katina. A trip I was greatly anticipating. Except I now have a fear of flying after almost dropping out of the sky and into the Caribbean on board a small Cessna a few years ago. All these things started to gradually overwhelm me. My blood pressure too rose dangerously which can give rise to other complications. I wept but these were not always the tears of prayer. If truth be told I was suffering in ways not dissimilar to earlier dark times, despite my being older and I would hope a little wiser.

The details behind these recent trials do not matter. They remain peripheral to this entry. For you can be certain that someone somewhere is battling with darkness more impenetrable than our own. Like my beloved Aunt Stella whose entire family was wiped out within the twinkling of an eye or Leo who everyday educated me mowed down riding his motorcycle by a drunkard who until he died one morning could only speak by flicking his eyelids. You try to reason through all of this? You either risk losing your faith or going mad. There are no shortcuts either. You cannot go round suffering. You confront it at the center and by sheer force you compel yourself forward. It can be brutal. It can be ugly. But it is the only way, and it is worth the struggle to get to the end of the race. It is the one true place where we discover our name. There is light on the other side and it is there waiting our entering. “I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me” (Ps. 23:4).

But I would like to share with you how this storm too was pushed through that I can now sit down and write these few paragraphs in the relative calm of our little apartment in Tempe, Arizona. I would like especially for the next few minutes to resonate with my younger readers. One of the deaths I spoke of above had in fact to do with the tragic loss of a beautiful young boy. And this is mourning beyond words. Together with the deaths of the bishop who had ordained me into the priesthood my first father confessor Archbishop Stylianos with whom after years of estrangement I had not reconciled and weeks later the sudden passing away of one of my dearest friends our national poet, Les Murray, brought mortality directly into my heart and it did wage war against me one more time. I was taunted amongst other doubts that my own life had been of little if any merit and that for the greater part my few talents had been wasted.

In dealing with the above experiences which came parceled in one hard fist and which not surprisingly released the ‘black dog’ together with an exacerbation of my OCD invariably following behind like a beast in pursuit of its prey, I went through a series of extreme emotions and temptations. And so it happened during these ‘visitations’ that a number of life’s sufferings and impulses arrived closed together: the raw impact of death, the specter of hopelessness, the unbearable thought of the loss of grace, lost opportunities at reconciliation, the weightiness of an overriding guilt, hurting through the unfair treatment meted out to my eldest son, the onset of a melancholia, frustration and anger, the crisis of identity, and strong physical pain. I had confronted such distresses in the same battlefield before but I was younger and more vigorous in spirit. The closest and the most terrifying yet, even more potentially devastating for me, the agonizing aftermath of my leaving the priesthood and the technical issues behind our multiple attempts of trying to save my doctorate which would at times quite literally delete line by line before our eyes. I do not wish for anyone to experience anything of this which was unremitting in its persistence and seemed to me an almost catastrophic situation that would not come to an end. During these times the soul does struggle in its efforts to pray. Do not be alarmed if this is happening to you. It is a natural phenomenon as the ideal situation for prayer is peace, and tribulation is not a peaceful condition. Christ Himself labored in prayer during His most difficult hours on earth: The Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane (Lk. 22:43f.). It is vital to persevere in our own ‘garden of the soul’.

So how can one deal with these multiple attacks? If there is a general formula I would like to know. There is no such thing and we each walk into these green fires on our own, and one way or another, we emerge different beings to what we were the hour before. There is no ‘general formula’ except for tears and the disquisition of whether to live or die. You can choose to live or die in a multitude of ways. This is because each one of us carries single life experiences into the ‘fire’: a present informed by a different past; a different set of values and beliefs even though we might belong to similar faith communities; we are of different ages and significantly of varying degree of resilience. In the extreme, and there are those amongst us who have been to this frightful place, suicidal ideation infiltrates our waking moments right through to our sleepless nights.[2] Yet, there is common ground, even if by virtue of our shared elements of flesh and blood. There is a ‘soft’ intersection of experiences where the crux of the human condition is at its most visible and sensible. It could be that place which Frankl has memorably called ‘man’s search for meaning’[3] or “the will to life” described by Schopenhauer as the fight for self-preservation.[4] For those who move and breathe within a belief-based community both these great pillars of hope and action can be summed up for example by Saint James’ connection of faith to perseverance through trials (Jas. 1:2f.) or to Buddhism’s teaching of Virya Paramita the perfection of perseverance through courage.[5]

Irrespective of our background or philosophical perspectives what these and other deeply felt insights borne from the observation of humans striving to survive are saying: there is meaning to your life, so will yourself to live.

It is possible, others many before us, have gone through these green fires and have come out alive the stronger and the more compassionate. They practice forgiveness of themselves and towards others. Suffering which never lies can do this to us. Adversity can be our most trusted friend. Blessed are they who mourn. It has been done before, and if we should persevere but another day, this too, it will pass.

Postscript Yesterday morning after I dropped off Eleni at summer school classes, I took my long walk down Southern Ave., Tempe. The heat would be unbearable if not for the fact it doesn’t ‘burn’ you like the summer scorchers back home in Australia. The forecast for today is 110 ℉! My ritual has been to take an initial short break at the Back East Bagels for a light morning breakfast. Then the much longer trek retracing my steps back past the school left into Rural Rd., to spend the next three hours at Tempe Public Library. I love spending time in libraries. Cicero well compared libraries to gardens. This evening George is leaving with his Arizona rugby teammates for Denver, Colorado, to contest the Regional Cup Tournament (RCT). Tomorrow morning Eleni and I will be flying out to join him to catch some of the round games.

And yet this impromptu postscript had another reason. On my way to the library yesterday turning left into Rural in the corner of the road my eyes caught sight of a little bird lying motionless in a ditch. It could have been a House Finch. I am not sure. It was dead still. It faced upwards its wings folded around its brown breast like a cloak. Eyes and mouth closed. It might have died for the lack of water. I don’t know. We can never know the whole truth. Not even about ourselves. I wept like a child. Is this normal? Do these things happen to you as well? I thought of the thousands of men and women and children who would on that day likewise die anonymously in the world whether of thirst or famine, homeless somewhere on a city street, or by themselves in a hospital bed. Anonymously and alone like this little bird which, too, had a history and stories to tell.

[1] https://pittsburghoratory.blogspot.com/2012/05/joyful-sorrow-compunction-and-gift-of.html

[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CIq4mtiamY

[3] https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/hide-and-seek/201205/mans-search-meaning

[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Will_to_live

[5] https://www.learnreligions.com/virya-paramita-perfection-of-energy-449709

Random Thoughts (2)

It hurts too much to truly love, more deeply than the greatest betrayal, so we define love in the most absurd and mundane terms, forever failing to understand its ‘terrifying’ and unyielding power.

Do not put off the giving of your charity or the forgiving of your enemy for the day after tomorrow. With the blink of an eye your universe could go dark. And an opportunity forever lost to carry some small piece of light over to the other side.

You will be robbed of many things, childhood dreams and secret labors. The goal however was not the result of these things, but the response to these losses. This was the real purpose which deep down you always knew.

It is all too normal to oftentimes confuse romantic love with fleshly desire. There is common ground between the two, the longing and the lust. More truthfully it is the fear of dying alone in those depressing places which we dread too much to ponder on.

Hunger and thirst are the primary movers [and then afterwards the Creator if we should find some spare moments to reflect upon the divine], all else are choices with which we seek to define ourselves to the world for its crowns of dust.

We are by our nature both political and religious beings, it is how we are ‘wired’ and as much we might try to wash these innate inclinations away, it is not possible so we scrub and scour and still the ‘stains’ will remain.

Every time we silence our true voice we die a little more, like a beautiful song drawing quickly to its end.

If you have two friends rejoice daily. If you have three weep and fall to your knees. Blessed, blessed that you are.

Next to war there is no greater destructive consequence than our idolizing of other human beings, the ‘personality cult’. The elevating of another person to ‘star’ or ‘celebrity’ status is not only the beginning of the destruction of that person, but also reduces the giver of that status themselves. And is not the cause of all war the personality cult in the first place?

I will see light to the extent that I walk in the Light; I will walk in the darkness to the degree that what I do contradicts the truth which has been revealed to me. And it is the accumulation of these contradictions which can ultimately become our greatest ‘stumbling block’.

We are to be judged with how we have responded to the Light with our conscience “bearing witness” to the integrity of our thoughts and actions (Rom. 2:15). So be delighted enough to allow for each heart to discover its own path and its own way home. But you must remain faithful to that which was set aside only for you from the beginning.

The most beautiful things will remain hidden, the flower with the heavenly aroma hidden in the rocky cleft of the highest alp, the greatest poem forever lost in the draw of a demolished bedroom, the profoundest music not put down on paper, the most incomprehensible sacrifices seen only by guardian angels.

Your brother and sister, your next door neighbor, despite the violence and the suffering which we witness each evening on our television sets, they are by their very nature good people. There are far more ‘righteous’ people in the world than there are ‘unrighteous’. Have you asked a stranger for a cup of water and have been given a cup of stones?

Enlightenment is not a mysterious process available only to an elect group of people. We have without need complicated it with the passing of time. The first and perhaps most challenging step towards enlightenment, is to desire it in the first place. That is, to find ‘meaningfulness’ in that very moment.

I know how deeply you are suffering, but hold on a little more. This, too, it will pass. You have travelled far to reach this place and measured many distances upon this earth. For the present, for now, this is where you must be.

Nothing is insignificant, all acts and all things, touch upon the eternal.

I am neither more decent nor any more devout than you. And so I must all the time remind myself of this apocalypse by committing it to words.

MGM