Deer Crossing

Diane and I came back from our trip to PEI yesterday after traveling almost 3000 km. For us, this excursion was more than the usual yearly getaway to recharge our batteries. In a way, it was an attempt to break free from a year and a half of confinement and of the feeling of constantly being on the defensive from the potential attacks of an invisible but deadly foe.

Two events stand out for me in those 10 days on the road. We visited the Centre Belle-Alliance in Summerside, a center with a school, a daycare, halls for cultural events, a library, and the offices of various francophone organizations. Diane and I met a few dozen of the people who work there and some of the children at the daycare center. None of them wore masks. I was, at first, taken aback by this, but slowly realized that this was not carelessness on their part. There are no active cases of Covid-19 in PEI. It was refreshing to see the noses and smiling mouths of so many people! I left that center with a renewed sense of hope because I encountered there a vital francophone community managing not only to survive in an overwhelmingly anglophone environment but to thrive and live fully as francophones. There was hope also in seeing a community that had been able to shed not only face masks, but also the fear of being and living close to one another. 

The second event occurred on our journey back to Ottawa. On the way to PEI, we saw many road signs alerting us to possible intrusions of deer and moose on highways. I jokingly said to Diane that these were false advertising because we were promised sightings that never materialized.  However, on the stretch of the TransCanada Highway between Quebec City and Trois-rivières, we finally saw a young deer crossing the road a hundred meters ahead of us. I was struck by the grace and beauty of this wild animal and silently reflected that the road signs may not be “false advertising”, but certainly were a very poor rendering of the majesty of these exquisite creatures.

Our trip to PEI was a pilgrimage of healing. It has allowed us to shed some of the fear that has more or less unconsciously draped us for so many months and to see reality again unveiled and from a perspective that cannot be rendered by road signs or through a computer or TV screen. 

Hansel and Gretel

I do believe God talks to me, but no, I do not hear audible voices. Becoming conscious that he is addressing a “word” to me is more akin to feeling that my attention is being drawn to several disparate things that converge to illuminate and reveal something that I could not see until then. God seems to weave together elements from my memory, my experience, my knowledge, my feelings to present a tapestry that I recognize as expressing his thought, as his “voice” in my life.

When Jesus spoke to his disciples, he did the same thing. He used concrete everyday realities, “Look at the birds. The lilies, the mustard tree.” He used stories – parables - about ordinary people: sons and fathers, rich men and poor men, unjust judges, hard-hearted unforgiving men, poor widows. He used scriptures, what we now call the Old Testament. He used people’s experience of life: crumbling towers killing many, threatening storms on lakes, coins stamped with the face of Caesar.

The other day, when I said that God answered my question, “Lord, how were you present and acting in all this aggravation today?” that is exactly what I meant. He “spoke” to me using the very fabric of my life.

One memory that surfaced while I was “waiting” for God to answer my question, was that of a Grimm’s fairytale: Hansel and Gretel. I had to look it up to recall all the details of the story, but what I initially remembered was that Hansel had used white pebbles to retrace his way home after being left to die in the forest with his sister Gretel (that this was ever considered a children’s bedtime story is amazing!) In addition to the white pebbles, God also drew my attention to scripture passages, “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” He also gave me a sense of all the times he had shown me mercy and forgiven me my wrongdoings.

Just as the pebbles were, for Hansel and Gretel, the means of finding their way back home, the aggravations in my life, are the pebbles that remind me to be “merciful as my heavenly Father is merciful” - to ground my responses to the hurtful actions of others in the mercy that God constantly shows me so that I can, in turn, forgive and pray for them and ask God to bless them. I cannot truly forgive others unless I return "home", to the very source of forgiveness: God's merciful love for me.

Sowing Blessings

Yesterday was spent dealing with one aggravation after another. I started the day with a stop at our automotive service provider to have our car mechanically inspected before our projected trip to the Maritimes next weekend. I arrived there at 8:30 AM. After a wait of about half an hour, the service agent came to me with a rather long list of repairs that were needed and a quote on the hefty cost they entailed. He said that the repairs would take two hours.

I went for a long walk and came back forty minutes later and settled down to read an eBook while I waited. At 12:00, the service agent told me that the repairs would take an additional hour. I left on foot to look for a restaurant to buy lunch.

There was a KFC not too far away. I entered and ordered. I was the only customer in the restaurant. I patiently waited for my meal as new customers entered and ordered. When, fifteen minutes later, my meal had still not arrived, I asked why. The young cashier, who was obviously new, could not find my bill and realized that my meal had never been ordered. Another wait until it finally got done.

After eating I went back to the garage to resume my patient vigil. One o’clock came and passed. At 1:30 I asked the service agent to check when the car would finally be ready. An additional twenty minutes was the response. By then my patience was wearing very thin, but still, I waited… until 2:30. When I got the bill, I saw that it was several hundred dollars above the initial quote. I asked to see the manager who apologized for my having to wait so long and he checked into the discrepancy on the bill. The service agent contradicted me and told him that his initial quote was a few dollars above the amount on the final bill. The manager assumed I was simply trying to get a discount and dismissively “managed” me, sending me on my way with his calling card attached to my bill, as if that made up for the poor service, I had received.

When I got home, Diane told me that our credit card statement contained amounts larger than the ones that we expected for a service contracted a few weeks earlier. I called the company to find out that the prices quoted at the time of the transaction were in US funds. The agent I had spoken to then had neglected to tell me that. I was transferred to the accounting department and waited, listening to elevator music for another ten minutes, until someone in talked to me and I could settle the matter.

When I finally managed to calm down, I did what I often try to do when people hurt me or are a source of frustration. I prayed for the service agent, the mechanic and the manager. I prayed for the young lady who did not know what she was doing at the KFC and the rest of the staff there. I prayed for the American gentleman who thought that all currencies were in US Funds.

In the last few days, my thoughts and my prayer have centered on one thing: God is present and acting in all situations, whether these be happy or sad, easy or difficult, gratifying or painful. When I sat down to pray last night, I could not help but ask, “Lord, how were you present and acting in all this aggravation today?” The answer I got was, “You prayed for them, didn’t you? All those aggravations allowed me to sow blessings on a lot of people.”

Grandpapa is Slipping

I think I am slipping in my skills and role as a “grandpapa.” Last Saturday, I went for a ride, a walk, and a “little adventure” with my grandson Victor. We walked along the Outaouais River and got to see dogs having fun in the water, a chipmunk walking without fear right in front of us, wildflowers that Victor said he had never seen before, butterflies flying by. It was a very pleasant time together. On the way back to his house, I suggested we stop to get treats: Drumsticks filled with chocolate ice cream in a wafer cone and topped with peanuts. Victor had no objection whatsoever to this suggestion. However, when I suggested that we should tell the rest of the family that we found the Drumsticks in a dessert garden filled with rows upon rows of Drumsticks, chocolate cakes, puffy pastries, and an assortment of other goodies he objected: “No, grandpapa, we can’t say that. That’s not the truth!” When we got back to his place, he told his parents, “We bought them with grandpapa’s money.” After twenty-eight years as a grandpapa, I fear I am losing my ability to inspire wild imagination in my grandchildren. Woe to me!

Loud and Angry Voices

I know I am treading on dangerous ground by writing about this, but I feel the need to shed light on the subject, if not for others, at least for myself.

I was watching a news report this week about the release of Bill Cosby from prison. I recall my reaction when he was accused and condemned of rape a few years ago. I was convinced then that the charges were founded. As I was listening to this week’s news report, it dawned on me that my initial reaction could have been completely skewed by media coverage at the time that unanimously implied that he was in fact guilty. I could not help but wonder where else my perception of the truth may be skewed because I do not have a broad enough picture of situations or because I simply go along with what “they” are saying – the media, public opinion, the loud and angry voices around me.   

There are many loud and angry voices today taking advantage of the public’s hunger for strong emotions. The media are only too eager to amplify these voices and to mute the more tempered and nuanced ones. I think I need to tune in to the Holy Spirit a bit more frequently to discern the truth underlying all those voices that are competing for my attention.  

Postscript:

Some people were offended by what I wrote above. I apologise for that. My intention was not, as one comment suggested, to defend Bill Cosby nor to excuse a rapist. I reread myself in the eyes of the persons who commented on my post and, I must admit, it could certainly be interpreted that way. I am guilty of hastily posting something that was poorly written, but not of believing that atrocious acts are in any way justifiable.

My focus was never on Mr Cosby. What struck me last week while listening to reports of his release was that I had passed judgement on him along with a plethora of news commentators well before his trial was over. My reaction to the news report last week had nothing to do with Cosby’s sin, it had to do with mine. Who am I to judge anyone, let alone when that judgement is based on second-hand information? I was seized with the thought that I so readily go along with prevailing opinions, outlooks, perceptions and with the realization that these lead me to pass judgement on others. I will let God pass judgement on Mr Cosby and will ask him to have mercy on me. Anything else does not belong to me.

Donner de son indigence

Ronald Rolheiser, dans son livre Domestic Monastery, relate une conversation entre l’auteur Nikos Kazantzakis et un moine âgé, le père Makarios. Kazantzakis demande au moine s’il combat toujours le démon. Celui-ci répond, « Non, parce que lui et le démon sont tous deux devenu trop vieux et que le démon est maintenant trop faible pour se battre. » Le vieillard ajoute, « Mon combat est maintenant avec Dieu. » Kazantzakis, étonné, s’exclame, « Avec Dieu! Et vous espérez gagner? » Et le moine réplique, « J’espère perdre, mon enfant. Mes os m’accompagnent toujours et ils continuent à résister. »

Pendant une homélie, un prêtre de la paroisse à laquelle j’appartenais nous a dit, « Le péché colle à ma peau. » C’était une autre façon de dire la même chose qu’exprimait le vieux moine Makarios. Saint Paul parlait de la même réalité quand il écrivait, « Je ne fais pas le bien que je voudrais, mais je commets le mal que je ne voudrais pas. » (Romains 7, 19) C’est aussi ce que je ressens parfois.

La tentation qui me guette alors est de me dire, « Est-ce que j’aime vraiment Dieu si je suis ainsi? » Ce n’est pourtant pas la bonne question à poser. Il n’y a pas d’issue à cette question. En la posant, je risque de rester enfermer en moi-même – rester dans mon enfer-mement. La bonne question est, « Est-ce que la miséricorde de Dieu est assez grande pour envelopper même mon péché ? »

La « Bonne Nouvelle » c’est que je suis invité à donner non pas uniquement ce que j’ai mais tout ce que je n’ai pas aussi et cela inclus mon péché et toutes mes faiblesses. "Donner de mon indigence » (Marc 12,44) à Dieu c'est lui permette de l’envelopper de sa miséricorde.

Ma pauvreté, mon impuissance et mon indigence radicale ne sont pas un mur qui se dressent entre moi et Dieu. Elles sont la porte d’accès au Royaume du Père. J’arrive devant Dieu les mains vides.  Cette indigence me permet de tout recevoir de Lui. Alors seulement puis-je tout Lui donner en retour.