On the Overwhelming Power of Forgiveness

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. (Lk. 6:37)

He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies. (Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Absolutely nothing will help us if we are not lenient toward the weaknesses of men and forgive them. For how can we hope that God will forgive us if we do not forgive others? (St. Nikolai Velimirovich)

When we are able to see the suffering in him or her, and see that that person is a victim of his own suffering, then it's easy to forgive. Recognize the suffering. Understand the suffering. And by having the desire to help that person to suffer less, you will be able to forgive very easily. (Thich Nhat Hanh)

To forgive, to truly forgive, to wipe the slate completely clean, is beyond the capacity of most of us, if only because we are creatures made of memory. From this arises an old, oft-repeated truth: I can forgive, but I cannot forget. And yet, we do surely try. On those occasions when we might succeed, there is a joy that settles upon the heart, a peacefulness, something not easily described. Call it a lightness of being, or even an acceptance of the foibles of the human condition to which we are all subject. When I look back on my own life, I find that some of my deepest joys and my most enduring hurts have to do, above all, with the asking or the giving of forgiveness. We often read that asking for forgiveness is harder than offering it. I have found, however, that both of these life-changing charisms are equal in measure, though each demands a different kind of humbleness.

To ask the other for forgiveness is harder in the first instance because it will normally mean that we must make the first move, and so we put ourselves in an extremely vulnerable position. If this action of opening our heart to another is rejected it can deliver a mental pain to rival, or in fact be worse, than a suffering we might feel in the flesh. Particularly when the rejection comes from someone we have loved. And often in the cruellest form of all: silence. Such an experience can unleash a devastating range of emotions, from a sense of worthlessness to having one’s integrity and intentions called into question. How, then, does one respond to such a brutal rejection? The pain if it be possible is compounded, if we should happen to hold a theology that will see in the other the very Image and Likeness of God.

There is, needless to say, no simple answer but only what our own hearts reveal to us. One thing we must not do is allow another, whose heart does not wish to embrace ours, to extinguish our spirit. Our souls are far greater and infinitely richer in their potential than any hard rejection we might face. To dwell on this truth alone is to make room for divine providence to take its course. At the same time, we can never know what tomorrow may bring, even the joyous possibility of reconciliation. Compassion never ceases to amaze, for even the greatest of enemies have, in many instances, found their way back to each other. What has brought me comfort is carrying the other’s name into prayer. Admittedly, after a strong struggle, that name grows sweet, until the pain itself is almost forgotten. There is a mistake many of us have made, and it is a compulsion that given our angst is not difficult to fall into. We try to get the other to bend their compassion towards us by hammering repeatedly on their door when they have made it clear they have shut us out. By continuing to ‘knock’ we not only do an additional harm to ourselves but also to the other whose time has not yet come. It pulls us further into our own despair, and it hardens the heart of the other. Let us make our peace with a sincere and genuine spirit and then turn towards the souls who love us and see in us not only our heaven-sent gifts, but also that which is common to us all, our brokenness and need for acceptance.

Now we come, let us say, to the flip side of the coin. And for a large number, this has proven the more difficult, if only because once we forgive, the memory of the injustice committed against us remains. Once more, in such matters, we can only speak from experience and learn best we can from the wisdom writings of those who have gone before us. To forgive demands the giving of the benefit of the doubt for a trust has normally been broken, but also the practice of other-compassion and an outpouring of love. This forgiveness is rarely easy when we are young. Early in life, lacking a broader existential perspective, we tend to see the world in stark polarities. We have not yet come to a nuanced understanding of the complexities and contradictions of the human condition. Concepts such as loyalty and betrayal, yes, undeniably important, assume almost mythical proportions when life is viewed through a murky lens.

https://pixabay.com/es/photos/par-rosa-flores-amor-rosas-boda-3640166/

As we grow into our middle and later seasons of life, a precious awakening occurs, like the shock at suddenly seeing the iridescent shine on a drake’s head or the exhilaration of being introduced to Bruckner’s symphonies for the first time. We come to the self-realisation that we, too, have missed the mark. Jung would speak in terms of “individuation” and of coming face-to-face with our shadow. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Looking at the accusers who brought the woman caught in adultery before Him, the God-Man responds: “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her” (Jn. 8:7). And who amongst us would claim to have never been a prodigal or has not considered pulling the arm back before casting the stone? Not only in biblical but also in those inspirational Levinasian terms, the “Other” is my salvation and not my hell. We are all of us, boats in the ocean, with rust and brine on the waterline.

Put in more earthly language, none of us is perfect. Though we might sometimes dare to convince ourselves that we are at least a little more perfect than the other. And who has not? So, then, forgiving the other for misdemeanours that we ourselves could be guilty of, is not as impossible as it once could have been. In this way, too, bringing the other to prayer, and allowing time to do its work, can become a great liberation for the soul. This is not to idealise forgiveness nor to trivialise the hurt that has been done; to forgive a grievous wrong demands an act of moral courage. Yet, in that one act alone, power is paradoxically restored to the one who forgives. This is the charism of the transformative power of love, for it endures, it does not fracture nor can it be broken, like a young oak tree that grows to become “windproof” as it matures. By far there are more gentle and compassionate people in the world than those who would will us harm. Let us allow for the possibility that we are acting in good faith.

Forgiveness is not a question of prescribed rubrics, in either its asking or its giving. It remains a profoundly personal act. Nor is it always a decision of a single moment. In any case, it cannot be hurried, especially when deep trauma is involved. Boundaries may need to be initially set. There is no “one size fits all” formula, any more than there is a single eye colour. What remains essential, if forgiveness is what we seek, is prayer, patience, and the belief that the potential for the redirection of another soul is rarely absolutely lost. Over time, forgiveness draws us further into those tremendous realms of self-sacrificial love revealed by Christ on the Cross, who forgives even as He is being executed (Lk. 23:34). From this mystical place, the thinnest divide between divine and human, the greatest graces and mysteries will flow. 

Finally, if I may add a personal reflection drawn from my own experience and from listening to others during my earlier vocation as a spiritual advisor. Asking for forgiveness liberates the soul from its guilt and resentment, and allows for the heart to be loved again. As much as we need creativity to survive, we also need to practise forgiveness so that we may live our humanness to its fullest expression. And for those who are able to forgive, this one act of grace alone, renouncing the claim that they once held over the other, can reverberate across generations. It can even save a brother or sister from death, for we know there are many ways in which one can die. It will foster beautiful friendships, or completely destroy them should we hold on to the bitterness. Rocks can crack bit by bit to then fall apart under the stress weathering of the sun. And such is the power granted to us from our Maker (or, indeed from the Universe) that with a single word—yes— (or, no) we can alter the direction of the future. The temptation is to forgive yet still deny access to those we have forgiven. For those of us who are members of the community of believers, we are asked to discern what it means that God Himself remains forever open to the cry of our lament and requests for mercy.

Seminary: The most difficult thing would be to change ourselves

Sydney-Gerringong

In Sydney this morning I had an interesting encounter with a young person at a bookstore when the conversation for one reason turned to seminaries (from the Latin seminarium for “seed plot”). Chance meetings can prove a catalyst to go back into past stories of our lives. I hope one day that I might be able to write down my own seminary experience, the place where some of us go that we might receive an education in theology. It is only afterwards we learn those places are in reality but a training ground for spiritual survival. Even now and after almost four decades, it is not an easy thing for me to revisit this period of my life. Allow me, if you will, to share but a small reflection going back to those times.

This college is unique—and it belongs to all of us. It could be said that it has an Australian body, a Greek mind, a bilingual tongue, and a heart that is distinctively Orthodox. (Dimitri Kepreotes, SAGOTC Students Yearbook, 1988)

Following the final address of our Archbishop Stylianos, His Eminence Metropolitan Maximos read a warm message from His Holiness Patriarch Demetrios. This concluded the official opening and dedication of our new College; the dream was over and the reality of it all was just about to begin. (Spiros Haralambous, SAGOTC Students Yearbook, 1986)

Around fourteen young men of different dispositions and backgrounds started out in our first year of seminary in 1986 as the inaugural class of this new theological school in Australia (being an Eastern Orthodox institution and an accredited member of the Sydney College of Divinity SCD it was the first of its kind in the Southern Hemisphere). Some of us believed we were going to change the world. No more than a few weeks had passed and then there were nine. The “Messiah Complex” which afflicts a large number of seminarians did not last long. We were enthusiastic but hugely foolhardy in our aspirations. Those of us left after that initial loss of numbers were compelled to lower our original enthusiasm and expectations. Now it was simpler, or so we thought, how are we going to change the already compressing atmosphere of our new place of learning. Surely, we could at least do this—could we not? No, not even this. It is true I also discovered, what a discerning soul once said about seminaries, that they will (as a rule) “relegate Jesus to the background.” Not too many more weeks would pass and then we were down to seven.

Finally, let it be said that nothing good comes easy: should you be sincere in studying a “faithful theology” be prepared to carry thy cross. (M. G. Michael (Ed.), SAGOTC Students Yearbook, 1986)

We have triumphed in that we have grown and learnt to accept not only our responsibilities, but our limitations as well, to be more sensitive to our brother’s needs, to realize the importance of study—more importantly, to kneel in prayer. We have failed in that we could have been less assertive, less demanding, slower to anger and reprove, more humble. (Fr. Jeremiah Michael (Ed.), SAGOTC Students Yearbook 1988)

At the start of the second year two more of the younger seminarians would leave. We were now officially down to the “pioneering five”, as our little group would come to be known. As time progressed and each one of us would do battle with their own particular demons and personal disappointments, we arrived at the hardest and most difficult realization of them all—the most difficult thing would be to change ourselves. Metanoia does not play games. I should have known better. I was one of the older seminarians, a former police officer and already a graduate of another academic institution. I was twenty-five years old. Yet, even I would fall into these deep traps. Now, almost forty years later, I continue to fight with the last of these admissions—that indeed, the road to the restoration of the self is not only arduous but also long-lasting. Which, I must confess, has not become any easier and not for any lack of belief. Unless we learn to forgive but more importantly ask to be forgiven, we will not make spiritual progress. Human nature is terribly complex and we can be deceived even by the noblest of our ideals and intentions. So, please, give each other the room and space to grow and to evolve. Who among us has not been broken? The Japanese art of kintsugi has a great deal to teach us. We cannot ever fully know the background story of another soul’s journey or how our actions might adversely hurt them. These things, as well, you learn in a seminary. To teach the Divine Word, and to preach the Gospel, the “Good News”, is not to be taken lightly:

Not many of you should become teachers, my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly. (Jm. 3:1)

Outside some of the basics which we were able to collect over the four years of study (alas to afterwards even mangle many of those lessons), there remain two enduringly meaningful compensations from that time. First, we have the spirit within us to endure through almost anything so long as we have a reason, that is, a “meaningfulness” to persevere. Second, the most beautiful gift we can offer the other is compassion, that is, to “suffer with the other”—and that any pastoral theology however impressive in its exposition bereft of this charism is entirely, and absolutely without meaning. Lest, I have discouraged any soul from attending seminary (and this is certainly not my intention) there will be great days of spiritual delight, too, when you will believe with all of your heart and mind that here in this place—the sometimes “furnace”—is precisely where you had to come. You will learn to pray if indeed this is the desire of your heart and you will fall to your knees in earnest supplication. Studying theology is good. Practising the content of theology is even better. My only purpose here to forewarn you it is an arena where you must be well prepared to engage in spiritual warfare, at times brutal, with the self and the “bad” side of the ego. Pressures will arrive from every side. You will in all likelihood lose friends. You will be betrayed by some in whom you have placed your trust and perhaps had even loved. Your passions will surely be magnified. We come to seminaries wanting to be a Bonhoeffer or a Spurgeon or a Saint Maximus the Confessor, and then reality hits home hard. Above all let us work diligently on our own piece of clay and where we can help the other to do the same. For this is our lifelong task. Along the lines of what Carl Jung termed, “individuation” (the process of self-realization). We are made in the “image” but we forever work towards the “likeness”. I have thought of Christ’s “forty days and forty nights” (Matt. 4:1-11) in the desert as an analogy in some ways to the seminarian’s own testing—and especially if it leads to the priesthood.

All five who remained were ordained. Of these five, one would later ask to be relieved of their Holy Orders. This fellow was me. A decision, I must also confess, one cannot ever rightly find peace with. Particularly, if you belong to a believing community with entrenched religio-cultural values which are parts of each other. Yet, there is no escaping the fact that I took my hand off the plough and I will one day have to give an account to my Lord. Though I have referred to myself as a theologian, I do not wish to be known as one. The word alone, theologos (“one who speaks of God”), terrifies me for its implications and for the truth that I have every day fallen short of the mark. I am, indeed, the very least of the brethren. It is enough to ponder on the grace and mercies of our Creator. To be occasionally filled with an overwhelming awe—and to find opportunities to share this awe of the “tremendous mystery” with our neighbour. During our long walks down by the edge of the Pacific, that I might keep in practice, our beautiful husky, Mishka, will listen patiently as I ‘sermonize’ to her on the vitalness of endurance. Other times I will preach to the fish and the rocks and the trees, for all things are moving towards their transfiguration. This has now been my ‘captive’ congregation since the time of my exile. The photo which I have posted here after much toing and froing, I had not been able to hold for a long time. It is fine now. I have come to be grateful for that hour. I have understood a lot more of that journey in the ensuing years. And why it was necessary for me to cross this path. In spite of that, good things are never too far away for as the Scriptures say: “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).

MG Michael Family Archives

The world at this moment is looking towards Europe with a broken heart

But Jesus said to him, “Put your sword in its place, for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” (Matt. 26:52)

“Hullo, my relatives.” (Native American greeting)

“Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. This is not a way of life at all in any true sense. Under the clouds of war, it is humanity hanging on a cross of iron.” (Letter to Everett “Swede” Hazlett, July 22,1957, Dwight D. Eisenhower)

“All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal.” (Once There Was A War, 1958, John Steinbeck)

“The cocks don’t crow to wake the morning, [t]here’s not as yet a sound of man, [t]he owls in glades call out their warnings, [a]nd ash trees creak and creak again." (Taras Shevchenko)

Source: https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Banksys-Armoured-Dove-of-Peace-on-the-side-of-a-Palestinian-house-near-to-the_fig1_319293800

The world at this moment is looking towards Europe with a broken heart, and those among us, that are compelled to prayer, send supplications to the Creator that a benevolent intercession may quickly put an end to this war which has broken out in the Ukraine. May it be the brave Ukrainian people survive and endure best they can and that the Russian political leaders come swiftly to their right senses. Howard Zinn, the American World War II veteran, philosopher and historian, expressed the awfulness of war with powerful comprehension as to its ultimate cost: “[t]here is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.” We are all members of humanity, “consideration of others” and  “philanthropy”,[1] the defining characteristic of this universal body of ‘blood-beat’. And unpalatable as this might sometimes seem to us, that we are ‘tied to the hip’ regardless of our nationalistic or eschatological predispositions, this world is all we have. Our one and only opportunity to live out the meaningfulness of “compassion”, that is, to suffer together with our neighbour. To make our life, and the lives of those around us, the best they could possibly be. All else, however spectacular or mesmerizing it might very well be, like flying rockets to Mars and the like, is at best but a welcome bonus. At worst little more than a distraction, a bug about the ears, to the plaintive cries of all those who are needlessly maimed and killed in theatres of ruinous conflict across the world. The only real winner is the military-industrial complex and the defence industries which drive it. As Metropolitan Anthony Bloom has said: “[t]here is no idol that doesn’t claim blood.” [2] The sad truth that throughout the history of the human race, it has been much easier to find the devil in ourselves, and even easier still to point him out in others, than to genuinely seek after the Creator, or the ‘Form of the Good’, in our own hearts. And, yet, I must confess, there are hours when it could be hard to know the difference, like discerning what stands behind the shadow of a shape caught between the rays of light and the cold ground.

[1] https://www.etymonline.com/word/humanity

[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l2OtD5OkHHo

On the many different faces of loss

Source: https://blog.sleepingangel.com/?p=2932

Loss makes us feel incomplete

Loss makes us feel incomplete, for some time it can change us. How we feel about ourselves, and how we might present to others. There is a contraction to our perception. That is, how we might see and understand things. We instinctively put limits on our prospects. We don’t like the feeling of something “gone missing”. It’s like that uncomfortable feeling we get when we see a coffee table or a chair without one of its legs. Sometimes it can simply come down to symmetry and ballast.

Why do we feel the impact of loss so acutely

What is loss? “[t]he fact or process of losing something or someone”. It is etymologically related to the Old English los for ‘destruction’. This is what it can feel like at its worst, to have been broken apart. In the Old Norse los was used for the “breaking up the ranks of an army”. In divers ways we could feel ‘lessened’ or ‘inferior’. Made weaker by our loss. Consider a marriage which breaks down with one partner walking out on the other. This can cause for one of the partners to feel a loss of dignity and self-confidence. When a young person fails an examination, they might question their intelligence, again suffering a loss of self-belief. Our personalities are diminished, we believe or otherwise convince ourselves. Others might during a moment of cruelty make sure to convey to us, that we have lost some of our shine. We are made to feel humbled before our peers and friends. Nobody for instance, wants to hear these dreadful words which can stay with us a lifetime, “I have lost respect for you.” The hurt compounded immeasurably if it happens that it is undeserved. 

On the question of loss and its many faces

Every moment of our lives we are losing something. Our brain cells die in the thousands per second. As we age our hair falls out. We lose our teeth, our eyesight dims, and so too our vigour. We can feel ‘destruction’ going on about in our own body. And then to discern its evident dent on the bodies and minds of our older loved ones. We lose them too, and people comfort us, they “share in our loss”. Then the hours and days that we ourselves have left remaining on the earth, these, too, are lost. The question is then, how do we cope with loss and what are the different types of ‘loss’? Sometimes we are at a “loss for words”; or are made to “lose face”; we can “lose our peace”; we “lose our memory”; or “lose hope” and even “lose our mind”. People also “lose their self-belief” and can also “lose their faith”. We have all of us, lost things. Lost something. It can be natural or forcible. And our response to loss can reveal us to the world. It tests us. Loss can denude us. “Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive.” (Haruki Murakami)

What can we give to people who have suffered loss

How do we respond to others who are experiencing loss? The first thing is not to patronize. Nobody likes to feel they are being talked down to. The best way is to begin with: “I might not know exactly what you are feeling right now, but I, too, have experienced loss.” Almost always there is common ground to be found in another’s loss. It is best to remain silent for a while, and only to listen. Oftentimes we can help replace that which has been lost, a replacement toy or a new pet for a child, or a favourite book or a pair of reading glasses. But other times the loss is heartbreaking and enduring. The loss of a loved one. This is irreplaceable. This movement of charity towards the other will require the marvellous charisms of empathy and compassion. Each situation will require a different approach for there are many different types of losses, and each of these will be felt differently. If someone is grieving allow them to grieve, do not be tempted to tell them ‘how’ to grieve. Severe psychological or mental pain is personal and some things cannot be “fixed”. It is good that you are there. Empathy and compassion, to have ‘feeling’ for and to ‘co-suffer’ with the other, will open up our hearts to the anguish of the other’s loss. So we listen, we try to walk in the other’s shoes. We do not turn away. Sometimes we might even be as the ‘good shepherd’ to go after the ‘lost sheep’ (Lk. 15:3-7). “Loss” could become a mission of seeking out the wounded. 

Do not feel harried or be too quick to replace what is lost 

Sometimes we might panic and hurry to replace what is lost without too much thought or proper consideration for the outcomes. This rush to replace what has been lost, that is, to quickly fill the vacuum, can introduce other more hurting and lasting losses. It can lead from one mistake to another. Like an amateur painter who in trying to remove one smudge will inadvertently create a dozen more. If something is taken from us which, for example, we reckon to be rightly ours, we  could be tempted to retaliate without thinking through the consequences. A more discerning response could yield the better result. Bad choices can only lead to further experiences of loss and disappointment. The rush to find a new partner, for instance, which is not uncommon, can lead to further loss of self-esteem and heartache. I like very much how Ann Voskamp has put it, “[i]n our rushing, bulls in china shops, we break our own lives.” So wait, let us pull back for a season, re-organize ourselves to ‘count our losses’. Then we can during our quiet time make those new plans in moving forward. For those who belong to believing communities, it is prayer which will inspire the next movement.

How loss can oftentimes be good for us 

We are too often conditioned even from our earliest times to the reckoning that ‘loss’ is unavoidably bad for us. “Loss of playtime” let’s say, and later to be upgraded to “loss of privileges”. It then becomes a conditioning exercise, behave and things will be restored, with the result being, reflection time or alternatives can be overtly discouraged. This in itself could be the bigger loss. When I have experienced loss, whether that could be status or health, that is, loss on a personal level, I accept the early days will be hard. Then I tell myself, this has been for the good, because I have acquired new knowledge to do with resilience and a deeper faith in those things, I hold to be true. I am still alive and new words and definitions have been gifted to me. I can now grow further into my potential. It can soften my heart. It can break it. This makes it easier for revelation to enter deeper into its folds. Loss, too, could be good for us in this way, upon realizing that something is “missing” we might be as the woman who having ten silver coins loses one, to then “light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it” (Lk. 15:8-10). 

A telling Old Testament story

Joseph’s “long coat of many colours” (Gen. 37:3) brought him into conflict with his older brothers for it reinforced to them that he was their father’s, Jacob, favourite son. On account of their envy they conspired to sell him into slavery after having initially planned to kill him! The story is one of the most well-known from the Old Testament. Joseph owing to his prophetic gift ultimately rose to a high position in the land of Egypt, indeed to the highest most official position next to the Pharaoh. There came a time of reconciliation which shocked his brothers, but Joseph cognisant to the divine providence of God understood that ‘evil’ [and in this case a terrible loss of homeland, trust, and family] is not always what we might assume it to be: “But Joseph said to them, “Don’t be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives” (Gen. 50:18-21).

When the loss seems to us too unbearable

There are those losses which will seem too unbearable to us. Here, too, there is a way through this aching. We know this, for not few have been to such fiery places after even the most dreadful of losses, have been scorched, and returned to share their testimony. But we will have to ultimately work through this labyrinth and come to terms with it, for ourselves. This is the hardest truth, “[w]hat is to give light must endure burning” (Viktor Frankl). Bitterness and anger are normal human reactions. Yet we should be especially weary that these emotions do not keep too long in the heart which is our ‘spiritual organ’ and functions in an analogous way to the eye, filtering darkness and light. Change following loss can, and does hurt, and it will often hurt a lot, but it can make all the difference. It is temperature shock which hardens steel. It is intense heat which changes molecular structure. Franz Kafka who was fascinated with ‘transformation’ considered “patience” very high on the list of virtues. So endurance, once more, becomes the big key. It took Christ an eternity to reveal his blinding glory to his creation, “where his face shone like the sun” at his Transfiguration (Matt. 17:1f.). Allow for time and grace to make the necessary changes, similarly to hitherto unknown colours, created with the passing of the years on natural landscapes. “When all else is lost,” wrote the epigrammatic Christian N. Bovee, “the future still remains.” I know, too well, sometimes it can be like breaking your knuckles on steel. Some pain will not go away, but with time it will be lessened. But keep steadfast, day by day. Ultimately, that is the greatest secret. And we, all of us, know this to be true. 

Sometimes, too, we just need to lose things

Sometimes, too, we just need to lose things. ‘Stuff’ which is weighing us down, or causing us harm. Toxic relationships, for example. Addictions. Bad habits. Phobias. Things which are possible to overcome. These types of losses should never frighten us, but on the contrary, they should fill us with the most wonderful of all the expectations, lit., “an awaiting”. Like the very eager, but controlled trombones, in Shostakovich’s 9th Symphony. Or the terminal buds of lotus roots in pools which will bud when the temperature is just right. 

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