Present In Memory

19 February 2013  
Here at the old farm house, near Power, MT, nothing is heard but the wind, and it blows nearly incessantly. Several times a day, a pick-up truck passes on the gravel road. Before 6:00 am, well before light breaks, the winds and its effects are all that I hear outside. In the house, by my side, I hear Moses breathing.  And I hear nature breathing with that incessant wind. That is all I hear, except for the constant buzzing in my ears, which is something I have lived with since a young Marine discharged a Howitzer on Mount Fuji to see the Navy chaplain jump out of his skin. I was that Navy chaplain, and my ears were unprotected. I jumped, and the young men laughed. The sudden thunder of the 155 mm Howitzer left my ears ringing loudly for days, and only gradually faded into the constant buzz-hum with which I live. Other than this ever-present buzzing, the sound of the wind, occasionally of branches tapping on the roof, of Moses breathing or scratching is all that I hear.

Into the silence come thoughts. The Wind is nearly personal, so real as to seem alive, so alive as to seem to have its own will and way. Inside the house, we do not feel the wind, although the candle flame keeps dancing, so I assume that wind quietly breaks into this small, old house high on the Plains. A couple of hours ago we took a short walk outside in the utter darkness. Walking outside here, at every moment, every step we take, the wind is present to Moses and to me, as an accompanying friend, or mysterious spirit. It roars more than whispers, or whispers only when it is not roaring in our ears, buffeting our bodies, chilling our skin.

Perhaps the wind blows thoughts into my mind. In any case, thoughts come in the dark silence. Many diverse thoughts come to mind, but she returns to my mind again and again, every few minutes: Zoe, who died three weeks ago. On the day she died, Bob drove Zoe, Moses, and me up to this old farm house, where I thought she would come in for the last time. But she stayed outside, lying down in grass, sunlight on her beautiful black fur. I observed her, and took several photographs. How unlike Zoe, who was ever full of life, on the prowl, searching for rabbits, on watch for deer and antelope, exploring in one direction after another. Here she lay, still, with head up, watching, keeping an eye on me, as I could see, but not willing to engage the world with her fading body.

Now she comes back to me in thought only. Zoe is gone physically.  As I do my chores, or read, or listen to music, suddenly vivid thoughts of Zoe, memories from the past, arise into consciousness. Some of these thoughts are so vivid, so intense, that all else is forgotten, my attention is utterly arrested, and the past moment becomes alive again in memory. When feelings arise, most are sorrowful, because I am aware that these moments that constituted our life together are past, and I think, “She is gone.” But is she? Physically Zoe has departed. Through mind, through the activity of remembering, I am not conscious of her being absent, but of her presence, and of a shared experience. Feelings are quiet, not observed, until the memory of her fades, or I think, “but she has died.” In remembering moments, however, I am not aware of any feelings, but of Zoe’s presence.

She is there, outside, lying in the sunlight, watching me. She is on my bed, her head on my pillow, resting. She is crouching in grass, watching for rabbits. Zoe is sitting before me, gazing up into my eyes, telling me—or so I presume—that she is hungry and wants food. She walks to the door in the living room, and stares over at my in my black leather chair, indicating that she wants to go out into the dark night, not only to relieve herself, but true to Zoe, to explore, to see what she can find. And memories of being with her elsewhere arise—back in Belt, or at Black Eagle Memorial Island, swimming in the Missouri, in our yard in South Dakota, walking on the frozen river when she was so young, running through corn or soy fields. So many memories. Writing these down brings a swell of sorrow, and a welling up of tears in my eyes. And sighs. I loved this dog so much, and no doubt, she loved me. We had eight truly action-packed years together. And now?

Now there is silence, and darkness outside, electric lights inside. The memories of Zoe, as real as they are, lead me to wonder:

If shared experiences with Zoe, now memories, are so vivid and alive in me in some moments of space-time, is it possible that to God, all of her life, every moment, is ever present and most vividly known? If my limited and relatively weak mind can let Zoe be present for a few moments of remembering, what does the mind of the Creator do with a creature? To the One to whom all is known, and loved, is not every single moment of Zoe’s life still utterly alive, known, fresh? And given how creative the Creator is, is it not possible that in God’s knowing Zoe, she remains so present as to be truly alive, and in ways not limited to past experiences, or to the past at all?  Is it possible that every creature is alive forever in the mind of God?

When I think of “eternal life,” of true life that extends beyond space-time, I do not think of “resurrected bodies,” or of “immortal souls” floating around in some heavenly twilight zone. No, when I think of “eternal life,” of true life, I think of God, and that “to Him all are alive,” using that utterly profound phrase from St. Luke’s Gospel. What more does one need or want? To be alive in the mind of God forever—a Mind utterly unlimited, unbounded by space-time, or by any limits on imagination—is real life, true life, eternal life. That and nothing more. No bodies to decay, no food to eat, just utter freedom and joy in the mind of the Creator, in which there is no past, no future, but only the eternally present.

I wonder more: If Zoe is alive in the mind of God, and without her dog body, is she still a dog? She would not have another nature, but all natures have bodies, at least in our realm of concrete experience, space-time. Is Zoe now some kind of spirit-being, her real person unbounded by body and limitations of dog nature? When a being dies, does it lose its nature, and become utterly one with unbounded Being, with God? Again, if only God abides in eternity, in what form, in what ways, do creatures of space-time have a share in God? We try to limit God’s creativity to satisfy our desire to exist, and imagine, as noted before, “resurrected bodies,” or “immortal souls.”  Suppose that a being does not exist beyond death at all, any more than God exists beyond death, and simply is? That is the question. Are multiple unlimited beings possible? Does every being (or being-thing, creature) leave not only its body on earth, but its nature, and enter an unlimited, unbounded state of “pure spirit”?  Or again, is “God all in all,” and every particular form of being—every creature—ceases to exist at death, and is in no way a unique, distinct being beyond space-time? To such questions I shall return at a later time.  Now I simply wonder.

                                                   ***

“Zoe, are you here?”  I do not see her, or hear her, or smell her. Is she here? Where? In this living room with me? Not that I can see. No, Zoe is not in space-time. “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” Is she in my mind? To some extent, surely she is, for I can recall shared experiences. Am I not grateful to have lived with such a creature for eight years? Am I not grateful that such a free spirit, such an independent creature existed? How can I not be grateful for so many delightful, sometimes challenging experiences? If Zoe were here with me now, what would I say? To Zoe in God, and to a far lesser extent, in my mind, I say:

“I love you, my dear Zoe, now and forever. Thank you for giving me so much joy for eight years. Thank you for loving me with such open-hearted devotion. Thank you for bearing with my yelling and bouts of irascibility, as I tried to bear with your utterly free spirit and alpha-female ways. I loved you just as you were, and you loved me as I was. I love you as you are, and you love me as I am. And out of love for you, I will look after, tend, protect, and love Moses, the third member of our Pack, our family. I will love him as I have loved you, dear friend.”

“In You we live and move and have our being.”

A Lesson From Zoe

A brief note, written to my family, on a practical matter, which is meant as a friendly reminder:

Obviously I remain burdened by thoughts and feelings from Zoe’s final illness and death. There is a lesson in what happened to her from which I draw this note. Zoe was always strong, and lived with very good health for her 8 years. Rummy and Moses were considerably more sickly along the way. Whereas Moses has a rather poor coat, allergies, very itchy skin, must vomit if he gets a stomach ache, has a JCL/ACL problem that makes him limp at times, has a problem in one ear to which I must frequently attend, and so on, Zoe was strong, healthy, with a beautiful coat, could run longer and further than Moses, well muscled, and so on. And yet, cancer hit her suddenly and hard, and from all appearances, killed her in 2 months.

There is a lesson here for us. Except for Sister Deb, we are all in our ’60’s. We should not have the attitude of a woman on a commercial who says: “I am in my ’60’s, and I have a good, long life ahead of me, with lots of plans,” or words to that effect. Whenever I see that commercial, I think: “No way, lady, you are deceiving yourself. In your ’60’s, you do not have long to live”. Life is relatively brief and vulnerable to so many illnesses, accidents, mental challenges, and so on, that we would do well to think that we do not have many years left to live on earth. And act accordingly.

If Zoe could succumb to cancer so quickly, so could one of us. Both of our McKane parents had serious problems from cancer. I have already had skin cancer in my ear that grew into my mastoid bone (discovered by Zoe). Both had heart problems, Daddy was diabetic, Mama died from strokes. Rather than assume that we will live as long as our parents did, we should not take such longevity for granted. It is foolish to do so. We are all overweight, and except for Deb, not one of us gets sufficient exercise, and I dare say that we all need to improve our eating/drinking habits.

We do not know what the future brings, but prudence should tell us to treasure these days and months.This is not a “who cares what tomorrow will bring” attitude as in a popular song (“Today”), but a reminder to realize that any one of us could become seriously ill and even die within a relatively short span of time. To dismiss this note as “morbid” is, I think, unfair. I am trying to be practical and prudent. We can all learn a lesson from the way Zoe, relatively young and very healthy, was killed so quickly by cancer. And perhaps unlike any of you, I live in constant awareness that one false move by Moses, one impulsive run into a street, could be fatal. Or for me: again, with temperatures near 0 F, fresh snow on the ground, and much driving to do on bad roads to perform my duties this week-end, I would be foolish not to think that I could be in a serious or even fatal accident. Roads and the “highway” here are dangerous in good weather. And for those of you living in urban areas, surely you know how risky driving can be. One speeder or driver not paying attention could seriously injure or kill any one of us.

Far more than “financial planning,” we need sober awareness of the relative proximity to our final illnesses and death. This awareness does not move me to “retire early” and have a “merry old time” now. On the contrary, it indicates that I must consider what is most worth doing, take steps to do it now or as soon as possible, and be sober-minded about the proximity of serious illness and death. I have long been aware of the nearness of death. But now I realize more vividly that cancer or heart disease or some other fatal illness may be at work even now in this body—and if one or more disease is not present now, in a relatively brief span of time, serious illness or accident will strike.

Such is a warning painfully heard in Zoe’s sudden illness and death.

Towards Lent, and Adult Faith Classes

02/22/2014

As we prepare to begin Lent, I wish to encourage all of our faithful to reflect on ways we can enrich our spiritual life during this “season of grace.”  It is too easy, I think, just to “give up candy,” or something to that effect. I urge each of us to consider a number of spiritual exercises: additional prayer (and that may include attending daily Mass); quiet time alone, as in healthy walks, allowing the spirit some freedom without noise; spiritual reading (Scripture, life of a saint, a recent church document, etc); action to assist those in need (sick, shut-ins, mentally disturbed, poor); an attempt to eat more healthily during Lent (such as increasing intake of fruits and vegetables, abstaining from sweets). This list should be explained briefly in homilies as Lent begins.

Adult faith classes will be offered, as I think that attending and sharing in our discussions should be a good spiritual exercise during Lent. This year, rather than offer adult faith class in both Belt and Centerville, I will modify the approach.

At Holy Trinity, each Sunday during Lent, all are invited to attend Mass, share a simple meal, then share our faith. The timing immediately after Mass, with a meal, has worked very well. I propose that beginning on the First Sunday of Lent, we will read and examine the Mass readings for the following week. Each person should bring a set of Mass readings for the following Sunday to class. Discussion will be based on the readings, and folks are free to raise questions or comment in response to these readings. During the last session, we will briefly review the liturgies of Holy Week.

At St. Mark’s, rather than offer weekly adult faith classes, perhaps two presentations will be offered. I have learned that sporting events hurt attendance, so I will try to find two evenings when no event is being held in the school. Although I have not firmly decided on topics for these presentations, I tentatively suggest the following: One presentation will be on the use of photography as a form of prayer, something I have done for years, and wish to share, if we can find a good screen for viewing. (Note: It is painful to see how projecting digital images dilutes and distorts them, and I will consider an alternative.) The second presentation may be on the Liturgies of Holy Week, which are so extraordinarily rich that they deserve careful reflection to enhance our common experience during the services (Passion Sunday, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, Easter Sunday).  An alternative would be a presentation on the theme of “Life and Death.”

Responses from the faithful on these plans should be appreciated.

Salt, Light, and Law

The gospel readings heard at week-end liturgies now are drawn from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, as remembered in St. Matthew’s Gospel. These three chapters serve as a summary of Jesus’ teaching on the Law of Love that he presents in all of his teachings and actions. After blessing the faithful in the 9 beatitudes—ending pointedly with the words, “Blessed are you when they persecute you”—Jesus effectively replaces the Law of Moses with his New Law. Note well, however, that the Law of Moses is not rejected or watered down, but deepened and made more interior. It is not enough under Christ Jesus not to murder. As disciples, we are forbidden to harbor hatred in our hearts, or wish anyone eternal damnation or destruction. On the contrary, we are commanded to live and to love as Jesus himself did, and through our lives, to help realize the Reign of God for all creatures.  

After blessing his People, Jesus tells us that we are salt and light for the world, but these words include stern warnings: We are not to lose our “saltiness,” our Christ-like devotion to God, to truth, to loving service; and we are warned not to hide the Light of God in us by withdrawing from the world, by refusing to proclaim Christ in words and deeds. God in us must be lived and shared. Otherwise, we are not fulfilling the Lord’s will for us to be “salt and light” for the world—a world all-too-burdened by suffering, death, sin. Rather, our task is joyful and life-giving: to live Christ boldly. And Christ assures us: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life.”

And then comes Christ’s New Law for his disciples. It was fashionable in Christian churches during the ’60’s and ’70’s to downplay the law, to emphasize “love” at the expense of radical obedience to God and obeying His commandments. What many of us discovered—sometimes through painful lessons—is that the Law of Moses and the New Law of Christ are ignored or disobeyed only to our own loss. Those who break God’s Law and teach others to do so are leading people into lives of misery, even if they do it out of ignorance. Put more positively: in fulfilling God’s Law, to the best of our ability, trusting in the help of God, we enter into Life, we experience joy, purpose in living, strength of character, peace. For “in His will is our peace.”

Learn well the Law of Moses, and the Law of Christ, and teach them diligently to our children, and put the LORD’s words faithfully into practice. And be careful of sharing in a cultural tendency to water down right and wrong. “Woe to those who call evil good, and good, evil.” 

Moses writes a brief memo on my being a hermit

Note from Fr. Paul:  Moses said to me last night, “Pa, I’m sorry, but with these paws of mine, I can’t type on your iPad, so could I just tell you my thoughts, and you write them down for me?” “Yes, Moses,” I replied, “I will write down whatever you tell me.”  “And would you send it out so others can hear my thoughts, too?” “Yes, little one, I will send what you write to be posted for others to read. Just keep it brief.” “Pa, have I ever said much?” “No. Moses.” “Okay, now just type what I say, please." If my Pa becomes a hermit Call me Moses. That’s the name my Pa, my human master, gave me. (You know him as “Fr. Paul” and “Bill,” but he’s Pa to me.) He also calls me Mousi, the Moose, and Mani, and now Butterball. (Yes, I was eating Zoe’s food for the past several weeks—and mine, too!). [Editor’s note: Moses has been known to filch food off of counters, too. He plays “grab and run” really well.  He is not as innocent as he looks.] I know that I don’t shine the way Zoe used to—and still does—but Pa tells me that I am “a good boy.” Okay, I am not so bright, not so fresh and creative, but I am usually well behaved.  Besides, some people think that I am a lovable fellow. I need people. Pa is not enough for me.     I am talking to you now because I am concerned about this hermit thing. My Pa a hermit? Your “Fr. Paul” a hermit? Makes me wonder about you human beings and your strange, two-legged ways.     It is true. Pa called me “Moses of Lone Willow” as my registered name. So maybe back then he was already thinking about taking a hike into the woods, sitting down under a willow tree, and eating berries—you know, the way hermits do. Who else but a hermit would think about Lone Willows? Besides, I came equipped as a standard boy dog, but Pa had a dog-doctor cut off my boy parts. I did not ask for that, I was not consulted. He forced it on me. Was that right?  How would you like it? Is that what hermits do? Maybe so. Better to eat more berries, and leave me alone. I am six years old—see, this many. 6. My Pa is old. His hair is almost on fire. My hair is black, but now he is turning me white, too. White like him. Hermits must like white hair. And eating lots of granola and berries in the woods. Do they smoke stinky plants in the woods, too? I wonder. Now I ask you: Is my human Pa a hermit? He had a girl friend, you know. She lived here with us for a long time. Do boy hermits have girl friends? It was Zoe. He loved her very much. They made a nice couple. Is that the way hermits live? Maybe I should be a hermit, and get a girl friend. But would she love me the way I am now?     Pa told me that hermits live in poverty, that they own almost nothing. Boy, does my old man spend money, and have lots of stuff! He buys many bags of food, and drives us around in a fancy white car he calls “Princeton.” Do hermits drive around in Cadillacs? Do hermits have an iPhone and an iPad? Do they have lots of books—like my Pa does? Pa has a casket, too. Maybe hermits sleep in caskets. Seems really weird to me.    What more can I say? Just ask me. I live with your “Fr. Paul.” He talks to me a lot. In fact, he rarely shuts up. Do hermits talk so much?    He’s not a bad guy, really.  I like him most of the time. He feeds me lots of food. He even shares his blueberries with me. Are hermits so generous?   If my Pa becomes a hermit, what happens to me? Your friend, Moses

Notes on Grief (4): Thoughts on a Wonderful Life

A few days to live, still rolling in snow

Emotions are part of reality, but only a part, and one must ever strive to balance the power of emotions with the more objective, balanced perspective that reason provides. Even as one must feel and acknowledge emotions such as grief and accompanying emotions and thoughts, as a human being one must at the same time struggle to rise out of the turbulent water and breathe fresh, clean air. Emotions are one’s own, whereas reason is common to all; hence, overly indulging in emotions such as grief isolates and intensifies one’s separation from others, whereas reason brings us together in commonly shared reality.

Among the fascinating comments by friends to me in recent days was that one of woman parishioner, who emailed me after the last Sunday Mass, saying, “I hope things weren't too unbearable for you today. You surely could give lessons on how to `hold it together’ in public.” Although I, too, had thought that it could prove challenging to perform my duties with four week-end Masses given Zoe’s death only a few days ago, actually performing my duties was not difficult at all. At no time did I feel tested in my soul to “hold it together” in public. Rather, I have been in fairly good peace since accepting God’s will expressed in the “spiritual exercise” written several days ago.

So it is not “holding it together” which attracts my attention; on the contrary, I wonder at the relative peace and quiet in my soul, given the intensity of my love for Zoe. I know well that waves of grief may still arise. Indeed, looking at some photos of Zoe early this morning brought in some tingles of sadness, but I also laughed as I recalled her zany personality and antics, and I delight anew in her zeal for Life. Rather than being overwhelmed by sorrow, I explicitly give thanks for our eight action-packed years together.

Without a doubt, Zoe was a powerful force in my life from the day after Rummy died. Reminding myself of some of our times together stirs up diverse feelings and thoughts, but I am not left wallowing in grief. Her final illness and death would bring more sorrow to me than they do if I isolated these last several weeks from our years together. I do not wish to forget the many happy adventures we shared, our love, the strange kind of relationship we often enjoyed, and Zoe’s abundance of antics that would “test the patience of a saint.”

Of all the consoling words spoken to me in the past five days, the ones that keep echoing in my mind were uttered by a number of persons in different ways, which can be summarized: "You gave Zoe a wonderful life.” Well, God gave her a wonderful life, and I was privileged to share in it. And what these friends are reminding me is that I should recognize the good life we had together, and be thankful. Their words sparked a thought in me—one which I used to consider: There would have been many owners of Zoe or a dog like her who would not have been so patient, so indulgent, so understanding of her Alpha Female ways. But I not only tolerated her, I adored her, I utterly delighted in her uniqueness, and I am thankful for that. On the other hand, I am aware that Zoe could have belonged to a skilled dog trainer who could have made her an outstanding hunting dog, or a champion in field tests, because she surely had these potentials. Under divine Providence, Zoe had me as her owner, and I think that our friends have discerned the truth: Zoe had a wonderful life, and for this I am truly thankful.