"So That Where I AM, You Also May Be"

Christian faithful see in Christ what God is doing to each human being, to humankind, and ultimately to all of creation (Romans 8).  This “seeing” is not with eyes, but with a mind enlightened by faith. Through the opening of the soul called “faith,” one recognizes that the divine presence is divinizing or immortalizing reality from within. “Without faith, the divine escapes being known,” as the ancient philosopher, Herakleitos, wrote some 500 years before Christ. What God has done and is doing in Christ Jesus, he is continuing in those who, like Christ, open themselves to His deifying presence. In other words, human beings are being transformed into Christ, “from one degree of glory to another,” as the Apostle Paul reminds his disciples in Corinth. To approach the same reality from a different angle: What we see by faith take place on the altar, through the action of the Holy Spirit and prayer, transforming bread and wine into Christ’s body and blood for us, God continues in our hearts and minds through the divinizing actions of the Holy Spirit dwelling in us. Through faith we are in the process of becoming what we are in Christ.    In the words of St. John’s Gospel heard at Mass this Sunday, “I will take you to myself, so that where I AM, you also may be.” What Christ tells his disciples is not that he will remove us physically from the world, but by his action and our response, draw us into himself now and eternally. Christ did not appear to establish an evacuation plan to liberate us from reality. On the contrary, reality—God’s creation—is good, and ordered by God for the good of all creatures. In faith-union with Christ we experience the power, the life-giving, the immortalizing presence of the One who is—free of the limitations of time and space, free from death. In reality God’s creating power is ever at work. In the concise formulation of Thomas Aquinas, “Grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it.” Grace is the free, uncaused presence of God at work in us who open ourselves to God through faith. As we open our hearts and minds to God as Jesus did, we become graced, or “sharers in the divine nature.” Surely Christ Jesus does not abandon us, but perfects us, to the extent that we willingly and freely cooperate with his Spirit at work. Hearing the Gospel with faith, as we do when we listen attentively at Mass, God is reaching into our hearts and minds by the word of Christ, and moving us to turn toward the unseen God, and live in his light and peace. Flooded by the presence of the Resurrected Christ, we are do indeed become the body of Christ in the world, and bearers of God’s wisdom, peace, and joy to one another. Even as we know our limitations and weaknesses, God work’s his strength through us as instruments of his deifying presence. “In everything God works for the good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose.”  Alleluia

"Were Not Our Hearts Burining Within Us?"

St. Luke’s story of the Resurrected Christ appearing to two disciples while walking along the way to Emmaus (“Warm Spring”) communicates the reality and truth of Christ.  It is a priceless account, evidently composed by St. Luke and used as a part of his climax to his Gospel, which is the first half of his story of God in Christ (the Gospel) and Christ present through the Holy Spirit in his faithful (the Acts of the Apostles).  The Emmaus-road account is so complete that it contains the essence of what has been called “the Christ Event.” If we knew only this one story of Jesus, it should be enough to elicit a living and saving faith in us. The essence of faith is the opening of the soul to divine Presence.  

Note at least the following elements of the Emmaus Way story:  the Risen Christ appears to his disciples, as he wills; he enters into a dialogue with disciples, asking questions and answering them in turn; Christ challenges their thinking and especially their lack of faith; he abides with his disciples, or remains with us, at our request; his simple action of breaking bread with his disciples is sufficient for us to recognize that he is present with us. And once made known to us, he no longer needs to appear bodily, as we recognize him alive in us. And note especially that the Risen Christ speaks his word to his disciples, and that his words have a powerful affect in our minds:  “Did not our hearts burn within us, as he talked with us on the way, while he opened to us the scriptures” (Luke 24:32)?  Without the presence of Christ through faith, reading the scriptures is not spiritually nourishing, but merely eyes glancing over dead letters on an antique page.

It is my long-standing opinion that Luke, “the beloved physician,” and disciple of the Apostle Paul, has shared with us his own experience of Christ in the Emmaus Road account. I do not mean that Luke was walking along the road, nor that the details bespeak his experience. But trusting faith in the Risen Christ, who reveals himself to his disciples, who is known to them in the Eucharist, in the “breaking of the bread,” and especially the encounter with Christ’s Word burning in his heart was St. Luke’s experience.  Why would this man take the effort to write his Gospel and the Acts unless he himself had experienced Christ, and wanted to communicate that experience in writing for the benefit of others?  He was being “a good steward of the mysteries of God.” St. Luke surely knew intensely what it means to have his heart set on fire by the Word of Christ dwelling in his soul, and he had to share this life-giving experience.  No one who encounters Christ Jesus, the fully deified man of God, crucified for us, risen and alive in God forever, can keep the experience of Christ to himself or herself.  “Did not our hearts burn within us, as He talked with us on the way, and open to us the Scriptures?” That is surely my experience, too.  Is it yours?  The pneumatic presence of Christ in our souls makes our sharing  in the sacraments—and especially the Eucharist—a living experience, and not a lifeless routine. 

Alleluia!

"Death and Life Have Contended..."

We know something about life, and something about death. We have not experienced the full reality of dying, nor have we experienced the fullness of life—true life, eternal life. In the dying and rising of Jesus we hear the story of a man who suffered for us through undergoing a most cruel death, and we hear of his being raised beyond death to the fullness of life, true life, in the “Resurrection.”  By faith we see the man, and we trust the real Presence of God in him. The Jew, Jesus of Nazareth, is both the victim of the story, and its hero.  “He was crushed for our offenses,” in the language of an anonymous Jewish prophet. Jesus personally experienced rejection by his own people, envy, hatred, and extreme cruelty, understood by his disciples to be for each of us, and for all. And by the power of divine love, Christ overcame evil, sin, death on behalf of all.  “Love is stronger than death.” You and I must suffer and die. But our suffering need not be meaningless or wasted. We can accept it as a sharing in Christ’s salvific suffering—meaning, accepted to benefit ourselves and others, leading us to God. And our death in the body is not an ultimate end, but in faith-union with Christ, our dyings and physical death itself are a passing over into life eternal, “the Kingdom of God.” “Death and Life have contended in that astonishing war.” As I write these words, I can hear in my mind the masterful treatment of this event by the incomparable composer, J. S. Bach, in his Easter cantata, “Christ lay in the bonds of death.”  Through his music, he has Life swallowing up death, and even making a mockery of it, resolving into an ecstatic “Alleluia!” In Christ, we see and hear that evil gets defeated by goodness, sin is expunged by divine mercy, hatred yields to the greater power of divine Love, and death is transformed into the midwife of true Life.   In Christ, with the Jew Jesus as victim and as hero, God has triumphed decisively for every human being. Or in the more grandiose vision of the Apostle Paul, God is “liberating all of creation from its bondage to decay,” and giving each creature a share in “the glorious freedom of the children of God.” Or in the simpler words of Jesus in St. Luke’s gospel, “To God all are alive.” That is the reality we celebrate in the death and-Resurrection of Christ Jesus. To the One, ever living and true, be thanksgiving and love now and into eternity.

When the Well is Dry

3/20/2014

 

Within an hour, this bulletin must be finished. Nothing has come to mind to write as a mediation. What does one do when the well is dry? One returns to the Source of all that exists.

LORD God Almighty, God of Abraham, Moses, and the prophets, God of Jesus Christ, the Apostles, and the host of saintly people through the ages, In You all begins, each being has its origin; and in You we all have our End without end: Help each of us to honor You more generously with our lives than with our lips, To revere You in our hearts, and in the heart of our neighbor, and in every creature: Help each of us to love You not only as You are, but also in all whom You love, including in the man, woman, child who is hurting, who needs some support.

LORD God, as you came to the rescue of your people enslaved in Egypt, move us to have hearts of compassion, and hands to take action to help relieve the sufferings of others. Surely You in your infinite goodness are drawn to suffer in and with those who suffer; help us to do likewise, as we draw on your strength and compassion. Inspire us, LORD, to suffer with and for one another, that we may truly be your people.

As we continue on our Lenten journey towards Easter, As we continue on our life-long journey home to You, Eternal One, forgive, cleanse, and heal our defections, our sins, our betrayals of Your will and justice; and strengthen our will to do good, to reject evil, and to overcome evils with good. Strengthen us, LORD, with the Life and Love by which you conquered sin and death, and set us free from slavery to ourselves that we may serve You in deed and in truth.

LORD, what can I possibly say or do to be a source of blessing to your people? Keep me from betraying You, from hurting any of them, from betraying their trust. With St. Francis, LORD, make me, make each of us, a channel of your peace, a vessel of your holiness, a conduit of blessings You pour into your people.

To You, eternal Father, only-begotten God, and Holy Spirit, be honor and obedience now and into the timeless age of eternity.  Amen.

Some Thoughts As We Begin Lent

Lent for you will mainly be what you choose and work to make of it. Simply going through a liturgical season, without active involvement, without thoughts and choices and actions on your part, will do very little for your spiritual life. If you wish to grow in grace, to become more truly a disciple of Jesus Christ, then you must “change your ways,” and undergo real disciplines of body and mind. Is there one of us in our parishes who is truly ready to meet the LORD “face to face”? Well, we stand warned in the Scriptures: “Now is the acceptable time, now is the day of salvation.” Repentance—understood as a real change of life—is something that you and I must do here and now.   There is an old Latin saying, “Look to the end.” Before undertaking a task, know your goal, be aware of what you are aiming for, or else your actions will be more or less random, haphazard. As we begin Lent, there are two ends which we need to keep in mind: the end of the “journey of Lent,” which is Easter; and the end of the “journey of Life,” which is union with God beyond death. The second end is the greater, and the end that a spiritually alive, healthy human being must keep in mind daily: “Prepare to meet your God.”  As Lent unfolds, we need to keep in mind these two ends: that the liturgies and Scriptures are moving us towards a joyful celebration of Easter, “with heart and mind renewed.” And we must keep in mind why we must change, why we willingly undergo “the discipline of Lent.” We deny ourselves some food, drink, rest, entertainment, shopping, and so on, in order to give more thought for our final end. God is drawing us day by day to the Easter that has no end, to Life beyond the flow and ebb of time, into the eternal Now. God is not drawing us primarily to liturgical celebrations and religious practices, but to Himself. Each of us needs to be mindful of this ultimate End. As Lent begins, each of us would do well to ask ourselves a few questions in the silence of our hearts: Why am I here? Why do I exist? What is the meaning of my life? How well am I truly living a life of faith and love of God? Do I show my discipleship of Jesus Christ by how I am living? What do I need to change, in order to become more like Christ, or at least a more noble, self-giving disciple? How is the grace of God being offered to me today? What is God’s grace, and how does one worthily receive it? What is God asking of me that I should not put off? Am I really engaged in a process of conversion, or do I secretly think that I have “arrived,” that I am “part of the church” and therefore beyond God’s demand to change my ways?   Given our common liturgical practices during Lent, each of us could ask ourselves a few more pointed questions: Do I take time to read over the Scriptures at Mass before they are read, and before the homily? Do I make a real effort to think about what was read and preached at Mass, or do I let the teachings “go in one ear and out the other”?  Do I try to come into church before the celebration begins, to quiet myself, and prepare to enter into Christ’s Word and Sacrifice more wholeheartedly? Do I really renounce my sinful ways, and ask for divine correction? Or am I just going through the motions of being a “good Catholic”?

Notes on what to do with the remainder of my life here

Three points by way of introduction: First, I have never been one to try to plan my future in any detailed way. Second, my mind has often been focused toward “future” beyond space-time, toward eternity. Third, if I did not see value in some rational planning for future time here, I would not bother with this exercise.

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                                The ultimate goal and life “here”

What follows is not a plan, but at best, a prelude to a plan. I have not given sufficient thought about “what to do” in time remaining to me here. It seems true that I have never been one to try to plan out my life in advance, and surely not in details. At best I have tried to consider what I will be doing in the next year or two. In a life with so many changes, many of which have come without human willing or forethought, rational planning has seemed all but impossible to me. Despite this pattern, however, I shall attempt, in coming weeks, to give some coherent thought about “what to do” in time remaining to me. 

As for time and eternity: Historically, in centuries saturated with Christian experience and thought, “future” meant primarily non-time beyond death, not coming temporal years. That conception changed radically in the period we call “modernity,” from roughly the 17th century to the present.  Now, “future” is usually understood to mean “here on earth,” or even somewhere in “outer space,” but not—for most people, most of the time—life beyond death. Since my youth (late teens), I have been far more focused on what St. Ignatius of Antioch plainly called “getting to God” than in building up my life and future in this passing world. Had I not repeatedly chosen to spend my mental and spiritual efforts in the “search for God” according to the philosophical and Christian traditions, I would have sought more lucrative employment, found a suitable wife, raised a family, and worked hard to acquire a degree of “security” and “empowerment” for life in this world. Obviously, I have taken a different path.

Having been able to keep no salary until about age 50, I have had to spend considerable time investing to provide for my eventual retirement, as I chose not to aim at returning to St. Anselm’s Abbey, but to be independent “in the world.” Such financial planning is not the issue here, as saving and investing money is a means to an end, not the end sought. Investing is for the sake of independence and “empowerment” (as Jeanie recently wrote) to accomplish one’s chosen tasks. That much is evident. That I also invest to gain knowledge and experience, and as a mode of entertainment, is not the issue here, either.

At age 63, I do not regret time and effort spent in the quest for God (the Anselmian fides quaerens intellectum, faith seeking understanding); on the contrary, I regret not having engaged in this intellectual-spiritual work more avidly and intelligently. While still seeing the ultimate goal of life as union with God beyond death (the Christian transcendental hope), I have long sought to avoid a mental split between life “here” and life “there,” as if one lives one way now, another way after death. On the contrary, I appreciate the philosophers, mystics, and saints East and West who sought to live now, to the extent possible, the life in which they would participate “then.”  In other words, I fully accept the Platonic understanding of “eternal life” (and he coined the phrase in western culture): not as life “after death,” or primarily as “everlasting life,” but eternal life as true life, here and now. And this true life, eternal life, is a sharing in that which is eternal, deathless—namely, the divine. So my goal is eternal life, understood not as “life in heaven,” but as a real participation in ultimate reality. And this Life transcends the confines of space-time.

Perhaps a question or two may clarify and sharpen what is meant: What do I consider the ultimate goal of life, and how does one achieve it? The old catechism was not wrong, even if simplistic: the goal of life is happiness here, and eternal life with God beyond death. But for me, these two ends are not separate: happiness is eternal life, in the sense of true life. The goal of life is true, complete, and lasting happiness. Believing this to be true (and such is the common belief in the Greek philosophical and Christian perspectives), it seems to be clear what I must do with time remaining on earth, does it not? 

                                                ***

                            A brief note on happiness and eternal life

What is happiness? Aristotle’s famous insight is as good as any I know as a starting point: “Happiness is an activity of the soul in conformity with virtue.”  The virtuous life engenders happiness. And as Aristotle proceeds to show in the Nicomachean Ethics, there are two distinct kinds of virtue, each with its kind of happiness: the active life achieves happiness through right action, through exercising the moral and intellectual virtues (summarized as courage, self-control, justice, and prudence); and the contemplative life, the life of study, finds its fulfillment in “immortalizing,” and “becoming divine to the extent possible,” using Aristotle’s phrases. Through contemplating the divine, man becomes like what he contemplates. 

I agree with St. Thomas Aquinas that for us in this world, the best life combines the active life of virtuous activity (doing good, loving one’s neighbor), and the contemplative life of loving God. Without living virtuously, and loving the person near us, who has a claim on our hearts and actions, what could loving God possibly be, but an escape into a void? And true love of neighbor—seeking the happiness and well-being of one’s fellow creature—is an outflow of one’s love of Goodness, of the Good, of that which in Christian tradition is called “God.”  

                                               ***

                                      So what am I to do?

Rather than develop these thoughts in the abstract, I return to the practical question: What do I intend to do with any time left me to be physically alive?  What is the best at which I should aim, and how can I best achieve it?

From what I have written, it would not be reasonable if I sought to spend my remaining time in amusements or entertainment, would it? But again, as Aristotle teaches, amusements have their place if they serve to refresh the soul for virtuous activities and contemplation (study, thought, prayer). As we eat to do good and to think, so one allows time for amusements and “diversions” in order to be more fully engaged in the essential tasks of life: loving God and neighbor, doing good and seeking to understand reality. The danger for all of us, myself included, is that such “diversions” can become primary, or usurp the proper focus of life. As Irving Babbitt wrote, “All life is either diversion or conversion.” We see much evidence that our society is obsessed with diversions: consumerism, drugs, booze, entertainment, “being connected,” trips, porn, and so on. A foremost danger for me is that diversions such as following business news, surfing the web, playing a card game, shopping, and so on, can and often do eclipse the larger, more true goal to bear in mind: doing good to one’s neighbor out of the ongoing search for God (the truth of reality). 

What kind of activities ought I to perform in order to be happy, to share in true life, eternal life? What do I have to give to others, that may benefit them?  How can I best serve the well-being of others, and at the same time, actively seek to love and to know God? This question, and others like it, determine for me any future plans I would wish to develop. Good questions guide good actions and right understanding. What questions must be asked?  How shall I proceed?

I ask the questions not in the abstract, but concretely, given who I am, what talents or skills I may have, what opportunities to benefit others. I do not ask now, “How can a human being best serve others?” but “How can I best serve others, and respond to the God seeking me through seeking truth, goodness, beauty?” 

Now for a few partial answers open to re-examination, revision, rethinking.

Having written all of the preceding material four days ago, one practical thought keeps returning to consciousness: Stay where I am, if permitted by church authorities, and seek to assist these parishioners with their lives, to the extent that I am able to do so. I cannot justify “retiring” in order to have more “leisure time” to “do what I want.”  If I manage my time well, I already have sufficient time for leisure (schole) in the proper sense, as analyzed by Aristotle: freedom from necessities, in order to engage in a virtuous life, through good deeds and study, as outlined above. Admittedly, there are days and weeks when I am overly busy for my good or that of others, but these periods pass. 

Some kind of “early retirement” would not only bind me to the necessity of struggling to “make ends meet” with a small Social Security check and relatively small savings / investments, but could give me too much opportunity to waste time on “personal projects,” on activities done “because I want to do them,” and not really focused either on what benefits others or on the life of the mind in the sense of contemplation and the search for truth about reality. I seem to give my best to others when duties demand me to do so, as in preaching, teaching, ministering to the sick and dying, and so on. As I reject being “a hermit,” so I am not interested in providing for myself a life of ease to do whatever I want, when I want it. 

A large practical problem for me is that without having duties to perform, I have not engaged sufficiently in genuine prayer, study, or contemplation; nor do I have a solid record of seeking the well-being of others, beyond the range of my required duties. In religious language, I have not had a clear sense of being “called” to some particular work, other than what my duties require of me. The one clear exception to this last generalization is this: I have long felt drawn to seek God through study and writing. That much I know clearly. But when given the time and means to do so, I have often diverted myself in diversions, and avoided the hard work of contemplation in the real sense.

In other words, given who I am, it makes more sense to remain in my present job, working with these people, and seek to serve them better. At the same time, I owe it to myself to engage more actively in the “search for God” to which I truly feel drawn. 

Concluding note: I shall continue this discussion below, perhaps on 27 Feb 2014 (today).  What I have written could be circulated, as to family; what I need to work on is private material: a critical analysis of ways that I divert myself from the search for God. Each soul must do this work for him/herself. “Know thyself.”  Come clean in the solitude of one’s heart.  How am I spending my time?

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.”