Well, I’m
back. I think. Not having had so much as a sniffle for over 2
years made me cocky, so when I caught a cold last Friday night, it came on fast
and severe. And I thought I really was
going to some dark places during the first 3 days (providential?) of my
illness. Fortunately—unlike in years
past when I usually had to suffer alone and on the road—Marilyn, Alicia, and
Lily were here to keep me from going completely insane.
The first couple
of days I was in and out of sleep. What
was unusual is that I barely looked at my phone to check social media, and I
probably turned the TV on once for an hour.
Mostly, I slept. And dreamt. What was strange about it was that for those 2
days, I had one long, continuous dream. If I woke up for a while, I would just
sit in my chair with my eyes closed until I fell asleep, and the dream picked
up where I left it. It was like, as they say, my life was flashing
before my eyes. I don’t want to be overly
dramatic, but it truly felt that way. I
was seeing not only my entire family from both my mother’s and my father’s
side, but anyone I had ever met from my wife’s family as well! I even “reconnected” with many friends (and
foes), some of whom I’m sorry to say I had forgotten, or at the very least
filed away in the deepest recesses of my memory! I think the strangest thing about the dream
was that it had a “This is Your Life” vibe to it. I was presented with all of these different
individuals and shown how my relationship with them changed my life for the
better—even those I have called “foes”, no matter how insignificant our
relationship may have been at the time.
As I got
better, the dream finally ended, but for the last couple of days I’ve been
trying to make sense of what the purpose of my deep self-reflection was. I find it somewhat comforting that, although
I didn’t feel much like doing anything else, I did feel a strong desire to
continue praying my Rosary each day, meditating on the life of Christ—and my
own spiritual life; and how very, very far I am from perfect, as Jesus tells us
we must be to enter the Kingdom of Heaven [Matthew 5:48].
In our
minds, often in the deep recesses, we each carry concepts of what we long for
our lives. These are our plans, our hopes, our ideals, everything that gives us
direction and meaning. They shape our
daily commitments, our lives’ work and worth.
They include
school and career plans, designs for a life partner and a family, hopes for
financial security and possessions to ease life’s pains and chaos, respect of
our families, friends and communities, enough power over life’s variables to
call our own shots and keep threats at bay.
These
concepts are endorsed by our cultures, our societies, blessing our efforts with
acceptance and applause for achieving certain goals. Our lifestyles, in a sense, become “idols”.
Then, out of
nowhere, the unexpected happens. A
spouse is unfaithful, a child overdoses, the diagnosis is cancer, the rejection
letter comes from the ideal university, a toddler is diagnosed with autism, the
company sends a pink slip, the mentor dies of a heart attack, a loved one is
murdered or permanently disabled by a drunk driver, or—an example each of us
can relate to—a pandemic comes out to nowhere.
The trauma,
unplanned and disruptive, derails any loyalty contract we have with our dreams,
our ideal life, our carefully mapped out path to happiness. Our idol is knocked off its pedestal.
Such
disruption, such discontinuity, can lead some to retreat, to seek comfort in
what will never give comfort…drugs, alcohol, gambling, addiction to sex,
dominating others, craving more status or possessions, all to fill the hole
left by the disappointment, the “failure” experienced when life as we plan it
is shattered.
One thing
that helped me interpret my illness-induced dream is the story of a focused,
goal-oriented man whose life’s work was assured to be the work of God. He won praise and status among his peers for
stamping out the new group of followers of Jesus.
Then, out of
the blue, he was literally knocked off his high horse.
Dazed and
confused, he retreated to sort out the meaning of the trauma.
In time, by
the slow workings of the Spirit, this fanatic of Jewish righteousness grew in
his awareness of his new identity to become the man God wanted him to become.
He
surrendered, giving his entire self to a whole new set of loyalties. The rest is history…Christianity crossed the
barrier of being a Jewish sect to extend its reach to all Gentiles, to become
radically all-inclusive [Acts 9:1-20].
The
extraordinary experience of Saul of Tarsus was not unique to him. Sooner or later each of us will experience our
own tumbles from our high horses. These
moments are Providential. Rather than
retreat into depression or a superficial distraction, they’re occasions to
awaken to a deeper, richer relationship with Christ. We learn, as Paul learned, that God’s love and
grace is all we need when we surrender to the new reality God gives us [Ephesians
2:8-9].
Our fullness
of life is found in our connection to the Body and Blood of Christ. This nourishment gives us life when all is
bleak, dark and deadening [John 6:52-59].
The setback,
the giving up what we made too important, our idol, becomes a gift to
strengthen our dependence on God, to help us see the path God intends for us,
to provide what we need to live solely to do God’s will, God’s plan and God’s
goals for us. This transformation is
painful. It really hurts. And it demands
total self-giving, total humility. As I
said, I’ve a long way to go.
We learn the
meaning of our new reality when we pray in silence—and maybe with a little
suffering attached—which is the language of God.
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