Star Gazing

by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM, April 24, 2016

Just what is the real disaster?  Our answer to that question may go all the way back to our childhood, to a worldview that was shaped and formed by what we saw when we first looked up at the heavens.

Recently, I attended an orientation on spiritual care, an aspect of relief efforts deeply needed in the aftermath of disasters of every kind.  Disaster significantly disrupts people’s lives and impacts them on every level.  When dealing with the harsh realities of a world turned upside down, vulnerable, fragile people dealing with catastrophic loss are greatly in need of immediate tending of their urgent physical needs, of course.  They’re also deeply in need of a ministry of presence, of compassionate, caring people who can accompany them as their capacities for hope and resilience are restored.

At the orientation session I attended, someone asked for a broad definition of disaster and received the response, “a natural or man-made situation that causes suffering.”  Reflecting on disaster later that day sent me to the dictionary in search of other words that are the fallout of the tremendous dis-ease that enters people’s lives in frightening and violent ways at times of overwhelming disaster.  Look up “dis” in the dictionary and you’ll see that the list is long and includes dis-placed, dis-possessed, dis-oriented, dis-illusioned, dis-mantled, dis-missed, dis-stressed, dis-turbed, dis-connected.

StarsinskyIn a landscape blanketed in grief and loss, another definition of disaster also applies, and it’s the one I embrace.  Madeleine L’Engle defines “disaster” by its etymology, its root words:  dis and astrum—“separation from the stars”.  So dis-aster is, quite literally, finding oneself distanced from hope, from dreams, weighed down by a worldview devoid of light and promise.

This is the definition of disaster that most resonates with me.  When I was a toddler, my family moved to suburban New Jersey, to a home set on the top of a hill.  My father, transplanted from urban Newark, embraced life in the countryside wholeheartedly.  Sometimes late at night, long after we had fallen asleep, he would shake us awake, wrap us up in blankets, and carry us out to the second floor deck.  There, our sleep-filled eyes would slowly open to a midnight sky ablaze with stars.  The enormity of all that sparkled above us left us hushed with awe and wonder.  I grew up believing that my name was written in those stars, and a hundred astronomers could not have convinced me otherwise.

Perhaps this is the same worldview expressed by the poet Rilke when he prayed:

“Ah, not to be cut off,
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.”

This is my prayer today and every day for you, for me, for all those we love and carry in our hearts, for our sisters and brothers everywhere in our beautiful, yet wounded world.

Takeaway

What is your earliest memory of looking up at the night sky?

What do you see when you look at the heavens now?

How would you describe dis-aster—separation from the stars?
My thanks to all who participated in “Naming the Deep Breath,” a retreat day I led at the IHM Center in Scranton, PA, on April 23.  It was a grace to pray, reflect, and share your wisdom around our practice of living in the present moment.

NOTE:
To automatically receive a new blog as soon as it’s posted:

Scroll down to the end of this page.
You will see a “Follow” button in the lower right hand corner.
Click on “Follow” and a form will appear for you to fill in your email address.
After you do that, you’ll receive an email asking you to verify your address.
Click on this link, and you’ll receive a confirmation that you’re now automatically subscribed.
Thanks for signing on and Following!
 

Seeing Beyond

by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM, April 10, 2016

“Why do you weep?” is one of the first questions of the resurrection.

That early Easter morning query came back to me in a fresh and unexpected way this past week.  I was in South Jersey preparing to give a parish mission on mercy, and was staying in a house located within walking distance of the boardwalk.  Being both a New Jersey native and an early morning walker, I was looking forward to strolling along near the ocean each day, breathing in the salt air and moving into a contemplative frame of mind as I listened to the rhythm of the waves.

But as I stepped outside that Sunday morning, I was greeted by strong, howling winds so fierce I could barely stand upright.  I was quickly blown back inside and surrendered my plans for a walk, but not before the gale force winds blew debris into my eye.

No problem, I thought, I’ll flush out whatever grains of sand have stuck to my contact eyewithtearslens.   I quickly removed the lens, but in spite of repeated rinsing with eye solution, the irritant remained fixed.  Tears and mucus built up as my eye tried to expel the foreign object.  With the constant discomfort sometimes escalating to pain, I could think of nothing else but finding relief for my eye and my blurring vision.  Many hours later, I was able to find an eye surgeon who treated the abrasions in my eye and put an end to the flow of tears.

That “eye opening” experience brought me back to some of the questions of the Easter readings and how the eyes figure into those early Sabbath morning conversations.  In John’s account of one of the appearances of the risen Jesus (John 20:11-18), Mary Magdalene stands outside the tomb of Jesus.  She’s in distress, in mourning, numbed by the horror she’s witnessed and by the loss of this person, Jesus, who is beloved to her.  John paints a picture of her at the gravesite, tears running down her face.  One wonders, is it the tears in her eyes that prompt two angels dressed in white to inquire of her, “Woman, why are you crying?”  What do the angels see in her eyes?

A bit later in the story, one also wonders: is it Mary’s face wracked with grief, her anguish and loss expressed in tears, that prompts Jesus—whom she at first doesn’t recognize–to ask with gentle tenderness, “Why are you weeping?  Who are you looking for?”  What does Jesus see in her eyes?eye

So this Easter season holds an invitation to ponder:

What do I notice when I look into the eyes of others?
What do my own eyes reveal of God’s tenderness and mercy?
For what, for whom, am I weeping?

Takeaway

In the coming days, reflect on any of these Scripture references to eyes:

Psalm 17:8,  Protect me as you would your very eyes; hide me in the shadow of your wings.
Psalm 121:1-2,   I lift my eyes to the mountains; where will my help come from?  My help will come from God, who made heaven and earth.
Matthew 6:22,    The eyes are like a lamp for the body.
Matthew 7:3-5,    Why, then, do you look at the speck in your brother’s or sister’s eye and not pay attention to the log in your own eye?
Mark 12:11,  This is God’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.
Luke 10:23,  Blessed are the eyes which see what you see.
Luke 11:34,  Your eyes are like a light for the body.  When your eyes are sound, your whole body is full of light.

My thanks to Father Peter Joyce and the people of St. Maximilian Kolbe Parish, Church of the Resurrection, in Marmora, NJ, for your wonderful witness of welcome and living faith during the parish mission on “Widening the Reach of Our Mercy,” April 3-5.  A joy to be among you!
NOTE: 
To automatically receive a new blog as soon as it’s posted:

Scroll down to the end of this page.
You will see a “Follow” button in the lower right hand corner.
Click on “Follow” and a form will appear for you to fill in your email address.
After you do that, you’ll receive an email asking you to verify your address.
Click on this link, and you’ll receive a confirmation that you’re now automatically subscribed.
Thanks for signing on and Following!