The Wisdom of Understanding Backwards

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." Soren Kierkegaard

Royal Library Garden
Copenhagen, Denmark

When I happened upon this quote, I knew that another piece in the puzzle of my life had fallen into place. I don't expect this jigsaw to be completed in my lifetime, so it's always exciting when a new part fits snugly among its interlocking predecessors.

Kierkegaard, the 19th century Danish philosopher, theologian, and poet, is recognized as the first existentialist philosopher. He died at 42, quite young compared to today's life expectancy in the developed world. Yet, it's clear from the above life-defining statement that he had learned an  important truth about wisdom. The only way to live is forward, relentlessly forward, frighteningly forward. Only when connecting one's "life dots," linking them into a single, unified chain, do bits of understanding surface, those exhilarating Aha! moments of "so that's what it meant." The mystery of the future remains, but with each new level of understanding comes a deeper sense of peace and--more important--courage to keep going forward along the dimly lit road ahead.

The experience of understanding backwards has played a major role in my life. In my teens and twenties, I made a life choice that I sincerely intended to be "forever." In my thirties and forties, I experienced a call to some indefinite, but siren-like, "new." For the next decade-and-a-half, I saw my life as consisting two opposed, but equally important, halves. Then, something changed again. Another piece of the puzzle of my life fell into place, cozying up quite comfortably with my life, Parts I and II. I now see clearly that each new expression was a link in a single chain. 

In one sentence, I went from "capital 'F' father" to "lowercase 'f' father" to "spiritual father" of those whom I now serve as a lay minister. The unifying theme--and divine call of my life--is to fatherhood. I have chronicled this journey to light in my book, The Wisdom of Les Miserables: Lessons From the Heart of Jean Valjean.

I wish I could have said it the way Kierkegaard did, but that's why he's famous, I guess, and I'm . . . .

Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of the novel 

The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story

saintoflorenville.com 

alfredjgarrotto.com

(c) 2013 by Alfred J. Garrotto

We Both Had Dads Named Joseph

Where I live, boisterous St. Patrick's Day parties have a way of spanning most of a week, drowning out today's whispered feast of St. Joseph. Not to be deterred, I honor this day for personal reasons--the least of which is my Italian heritage, with its historical devotion to Mary's husband.This day has personal meaning because my father was Joseph, my mother Josephine. My middle name is Joseph.

The first Scripture reading in the Roman Catholic Liturgy on this day pays homage to Joseph's livelihood in the construction trade. "Are you able to build a house for me to live in?" Yahweh asks in 2 Samuel 7:5. 

It was my reflection on the gospel text from Matthew 1 that shone a light on what has been a shadowed recess in my spiritual understanding. 

 
Lord, I can imagine your dad, proud and gentle, cradling you in the crook of his well-muscled arm. Did your parents ever share with you how close they came to breaking off their betrothal because of you?

*  *  *

I never thought of it before, Lord, but I wonder if the memory of your father's death contributed to the welling of grief and the tears you shed at your friend Lazarus's tomb . . . "and Jesus wept" (John 11:35). Were you reliving the day when you stood at your newly widowed mother's side, supporting her grief, holding your own in abeyance for her sake? Did  the raising of Lazarus offer you a second chance to get it right, after responding to a different call of divine destiny, when your dad passed?

*  *  *

Lord, you learned from both your mom and dad the importance of "doing God's work God's way," as Sr. Joan Chittister puts it. What a stunning statement! It reminds me that many of us, laity and clergy, old and young, set out to do God's work in the Church, but not all of us do it "God's way," as your dad Joseph did. That is the message for me today. Show me the "Joseph way" of ministry, "God's way."


(c) 2010 by Alfred J. Garrotto
All rights reserved

Author's Website

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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