Guest Blogger: Donie O'Connor--"There's Always Something"

Note: I am delighted to welcome to this blog my good friend, Fr. Donie O'Connor. Donie is a Mill Hill missionary priest, who has served the poor in Africa. For the past two years he has served the congregation of Christ the King Church, Pleasant Hill, California, and done so with great generosity of presence and  wisdom.

I ran excitedly into the kitchen, tripped and broke my nose. I can still hear my mother’s words: ‘There’s always something.’ Yes with eight children there was never an empty moment in our home. My mom died peacefully at home at the age of ninety, six years ago. I remember sitting on her bed and joking with her about this incident and what she said. With a gentle laugh she sighed: “When I pass on, put that epitaph on my gravestone: ‘There’s always something.’ ” 

And there always is. All of us identify with my mom. All of us recognize her frustration. All our moments are crowded with uninvited guests and unsummoned grief. There are voices everywhere commanding our attention inside and outside.

There is always something big or small that steals the substance of ‘the now.’ Something casts its slanting shadow that prevents us from entering into the richness of the present moment. An anxiety, a lingering regret, something that should be done or something I should be doing. A lingering headache or heartache, an unpaid bill, a bitterness or a jealousy. Yes, something lurks around the corner ready to rob the present moment of its joy.

The late Dutch spiritual writer, Henri Nouwen in his little gem, Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life, documents this. “Our life,” he wrote, “is a story where sadness and joy kiss each other at every moment.” And they can co-exist.

There is a tinge of poignancy that invades every moment of our daily lives. It seems there is never a clear-cut pure joy or a clear-cut pure motive. Even in love’s passionate rapture, there is the reflection of sadness. In every satisfaction, there is the awareness of limitation. In every risk, there is the element of danger. In every love, the fear of hurt. In every success, the dread of jealousy. Behind every smile, there is a teardrop. In every friendship, a distance. In every freedom, there are consequences; and in every embrace, there is loneliness. In every dawn, there is twilight.

There’s always something!

- - - - - - - - - -

Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story

(c) 2012 by Alfred J. Garrotto

With My Own Eyes

Of the many books I read during the past year, the late Henri J. M. Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming has had the most enduring impact. The author described how he became interested in exploring the deeper meaning of the gospel parable of the loving father and ungrateful son (Luke 15:11-32). In the course of his reflection, he came across Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn's 17th century depiction of that graced moment when the wastrel son kneels at the feet of his father to beg reconciliation. This family circle also includes an elder, "faithful" son faced with the sudden reappearance of his despised sibling.

When Nouwen learned that the original painting was on display in St. Petersburg's Hermitage State Museum, he traveled to Russia. His desire was to study the masterpiece, meditate on it, crawl inside the main characters of the scene.

To accomplish his goal, Nouwen obtained special permission to pull up a chair and sit opposite the painting. This he did for hours, under the watchful eye of a grumpy room monitor, who was unused to having her tourists linger for more than a glance and a "Wow!" before moving on to view room after room of treasures collected by Catherine the Great (1729-1796) .

While meditating, Nouwen easily identified with the weak-willed prodigal. Next he turned in spirit to the older son and found himself again in the taken-for-granted good boy. Only when the author turned his gaze to the father did he understand the essential lesson of Jesus' parable. Yes, we are like the younger son . . . the older son, too. But, our call as human beings is to be like the father, whose love is so indelible that it eliminates any possibility that his ungrateful son will be welcomed home. This unconditional love is our model and our goal.

After reading The Return of the Prodigal Son, I added the Hermitage to my list of "must see" places in the world. Little did I know the opportunity would come so soon. Desperate for passengers, Princess Cruises offered a cut-rate trip to the Baltic Sea. Seeing a two-day visit to St. Petersburg on the itinerary pushed my wife and I to sign on.

On the morning of July 9, 2009, as we headed for the Hermitage, I approached our tour guide, Natasha. "Is there any possibility that I could see Rembrandt's 'Return of the Prodigal Son'?" I asked. "Of course," she said and kept her promise. We entered the Rembrandt exhibit and there I was, staring at the floor-to-ceiling painting with my own eyes. I stood close enough to touch this 350-year-old canvas, but I'd have suffered the scorn of that no-nonsense woman in the nearby chair. And who knows what else? Access to the painting was so free that I was able to take the above photograph, as long as I didn't use flash. Too soon, our tour moved on. I envied Nouwen and the time he had to absorb not only the painting's beauty but its essence.

According to the Rembrandt Prints website (http://www.rembrandtprints.org/biography.html), "Return of the Prodigal Son is considered one of the most moving paintings in religious art because of its profound insight and sympathy for human affliction. A boy weeps as he kneels at the feet of his father who forgives him and welcomes him home." I could not have said it better.

Later, in the museum shop, I purchased the 16" x 12" print on canvas that now hangs on the wall over my workspace. I reminds me of the kind of father I am called to be--and want to be.


[See also my post of July 2, 2009, below.]

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Deja Vu: For the First Time

After living through World War II, the Cold War, and the fall of Communism, I will soon be visiting some historic places that will seem familiar. Yet, I've never been there. This year's vacation will take us to Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Gdansk (Poland).

Berlin. One of the two most significant cities of my early youth. The other being Tokyo. From 1941-1945, they represented everything evil in the world. Over the years I have become a WWII "buff." I devour almost any fiction I can get my hands on related to those years. Among my favorites are Jeff Shaara's (unfinished) trilogy (The Rising Tide and The Steel Wave). I'm taking with me on the trip Killing Rommel by Steven Pressfield (2008). Now, I'll have an opportunity to tour Berlin and see some of its historic sites for myself.

St. Petersburg. Having lived with the (former) Soviet Union from 1945 to 1989, I will finally get to set foot in Russia. Apart from the historical significance of this land in my lifetime, I have a personal spiritual interest in visiting what used to be Leningrad. The Hermitage museum houses Rembrandt's painting, "The Return of the Prodigal Son." The master's rendition of the scene in Luke 15:21-24 is stunning. During the past year, I read the late Henri M. Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming. I've always loved this parable--as most everyone does, religious or not--but I never understood it as thoroughly as I do now, after reading Nouwen's rendition. Before writing the book, he traveled to the Hermitage and spent hours before the painting meditating. I won't have that kind of time or access, but I am eager to see this masterpiece in person, even briefly.

Gdansk. Can't wait to be in the place where Lech Walesa founded the Solidarity movement. Brave dock workers challenged the all-powerful communist regime in Poland. Though suffering greatly for their resistance, they played a major role in toppling one of the first cards that brought down the entire USSR and its satellites. At the end of every Mass for decades, Catholics the world over prayed for the conversion of Russia. Few of us thought that in our lifetime we would witness Communism's demise. I don't know if "conversion" is quite the right word to use, but the fall of the Berlin Wall was a milestone on the world's timeline and my own, too.

Sounds heavy, doesn't it. Esther and I do plan to have fun, along with absorbing all the historic significance of these places.