In one of his many stories from the East, Jesuit Anthony De Mello describes a man being chased by a tiger, coming up to a cliff, then climbing down to catch hold of a small branch jutting out of the rock face.
With the tiger above and thousands of feet below, the man sees berries growing on the branch in his hand. In his final moments he picks one, and as the story goes, it tasted so sweet. At the moment we accept death as inevitable, life takes on fullness and freshness.
As a kid growing up in churches (and even later as an adult), there were frequent announcements for upcoming events like youth camps, retreats, concerts, Christmas pageants, outreach, and so on. Often, it was promised that if you attended, lives would be changed, and indeed some often were.
At conferences or leadership gatherings, one of the most common buzzwords is revival. Embedded in that very term is the idea of returning to a former state, an initial essence or vitality that has been lost.
Several years ago, Fr. Richard Rohr taught a Summer intensive at a nearby Seminary and gave an evening talk as well with a Q&A session.
Among the many topics touched on that night, he explained to a group of Protestants something of how the Franciscan lineage functions within the greater Catholic tradition. He clearly identified with the tradition and was proud of the work of Franciscans both lay and monastic.
There’s this idea in certain circles that we create the world we live in. It’s one of those sources of conflict between the more spiritually minded and the more practically minded.
What about the bombs that drop on innocents. Or the shots fired at the underprivileged. Or the death caused by natural disaster. What about infants that die of disease. Can we just think those away? Can we wish them away? Can we pray those away?