Category: Conversations

Surprised by Grief

Surprised by Grief

Grief is a tricky thing.

I keep thinking this as the days and weeks have gently rolled by and yet I keep being surprised by it.

Several weeks ago, a man I knew from prison died.

Were we friends? Yes, in a way that I feel inclined to categorize in my head as “prison friends.”

There is almost no chance we would have known each other except for meeting in prison, life and circumstances being so entirely different for each of us. I never quite knew how many of his stories to believe or how to wrap my brain around his understanding of Scripture. I was often unsure what transpired inside his mind, as he would silently survey all and thoughtfully form an opinion which, if asked, would take several minutes to unfurl. How did all of his stories mesh together? What happened in the years he was silent about? How exactly did he end up where he did?

A mystery.

He was very much a mystery to me.

It was in prison that he chose to enter the Catholic Church. At a Saturday evening Mass, he was baptized and confirmed. In a place where touching between inmate and visitor is frowned upon, it was memorable to step up behind him and place my hand on his shoulder as he was confirmed. I prayed for the Holy Spirit to descend powerfully upon him and remain with him even while I also wondered why he picked me as his sponsor.

Over the years, we spent hours talking. He spoke more than I did, but he would remember to follow up about different things in my life about which I had shared. What I was teaching, what I was learning, the paper I was supposed to be writing. He’d share fantastic stories about his youth, about his thoughts on a passage of Scripture, about advice other guys would ask for, about observations about staff and inmates. There was always something formulating, fermenting, bubbling up inside of him.

So it is a bit striking for all of it to stop.

Suddenly.

A surprise death. One which lingered suspensefully for a few days as we sat in the “is he dead or isn’t he?” And even when it was revealed that, yes, he was dead, it was still unbelievable. A memorial Mass was offered and a visit to the gravesite occurred and yet it still seems unresolved. There was a statement from the DOC, a smattering of news reports, and an oversized pile of dirt in a small rural cemetery. But there was no body that I saw, no funeral pictures, no casket, no obituary, no headstone. Just enough to show that he was gone and little enough to force my brain to recognize how absolute it is.

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A Mountain of Meaning

A Mountain of Meaning

Writing a story or a novel is one way of discovering sequence in experience, of stumbling upon cause and effect in the happenings of a writer’s own life. This has been the case with me. Connections slowly emerge. Like distant landmarks you are approaching, cause and effect begin to align themselves, draw closer together. Experiences too indefinite of outline in themselves to be recognized for themselves connect and are identified as a larger shape. And suddenly a light is thrown back, as when you train makes a curve, showing that there has been a mountain of meaning rising behind you on the way you’ve come, is rising there still, proven now through retrospect.
-“One Writer’s Beginnings” by Eudora Welty

I had an experience which relates to this quote from Eudora Welty but which is perhaps true in the reverse. In a conversation with someone I don’t know very well, I was posed the question about why I’ve remained Catholic and faithful to the way I was raised. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this question, but I think I’m never quite equipped to answer the question well. There are so many things to say and yet I am uncertain what to peg as the reason I am still Catholic.

The short answer, I suppose, is the mysterious working of grace. How can I account for that which is unquantifiable, incalculable, and unknown? The prayers which have been prayed for me, the sacrifices offered on my behalf, the ways I’ve unknowingly responded to grace, the particularities of my personality, the effect of others’ words or actions, and far more have all had an impact on my heart and my life of faith. How can I offer a quick response? How can I even fully know why I still adhere to the sacramental life, why I find the lives of saints so fascinating, why I continue to follow Jesus when many people in similar situations or with relative experiences have not?

And yet here was someone asking a question and since he had not exactly remained in the faith of his childhood, it seemed more important to offer some sort of authentic response instead of just shrugging my shoulders and saying, “God is mysterious.”

Continue reading “A Mountain of Meaning” →

Perhaps the World Ends Here

Perhaps the World Ends Here

I found this poem through a podcast that has a “poem of the day” that they read and analyze a bit. While I often forget, reading and learning more poetry follows a desire I have to immerse my life in more beauty.

The poem is called “Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo.

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

Continue reading “Perhaps the World Ends Here” →

Unlikely Friendships

Unlikely Friendships

Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia were good friends.

In a world where rational discussion and respectful dissent is viewed as semi-impossible, these two Supreme Court justices demonstrated how it could work.  They didn’t simply clash over minute details: one could say they had almost fundamentally different views of the law and that translated into different worldviews.

My friendship with Judge, later Justice, Scalia was sometimes regarded as puzzling, because we followed distinctly different approaches to the interpretation of legal texts.  But in our years together on the D.C. Circuit, there was nothing strange about our fondness for each other.

Scalia Speaks Foreword by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Despite differences in opinion, they were able to have a genuine appreciation for each other.  In several sources, Ruth Bader Ginsburg speaks of Antonin Scalia’s wit, grand presence, and shopping skills.  I don’t believe she is merely coming up with things to speak about for the sake of maintaining some public reputation of a friendship.  It has all the hallmarks of genuine sincerity–as evidenced by Ginsburg speaking at a memorial for Scalia following his death.

The friendship they share is significant to me because I, too, share a similarly surprising friendship.  Of my friends from elementary and high school, there are only a few with whom I keep up.  (Keep up is used rather loosely because I’m not really known for excellent communication where distance is concerned.)  Melissa was a close friend in high school and yet, in the years since, I think the friendship has deepened, though we speak infrequently.  Our friendship was born of mutual interests of theater, classes, and a desire to learn.  As the two ladies in calculus, we forged a deeper bond from confusion and frustration with the class.  Many of my memories from high school involve Melissa, whether it be laughter we shared, scenes she caused, or stories we told. Continue reading “Unlikely Friendships” →

The Beauty of Not-New Friends

This week I had the privilege of being able to speak to a couple friends I hadn’t in a while.  As we were talking on the phone I realized how much I love friendships that are already formed.  Teaching has put me into contact with many new and wonderful people but making friends isn’t exactly my strong point.  I would much rather be with close old friends than off forming new relationships.  So as I spoke to my friends I was reminded of the joy of friendships that are already grounded, that I don’t need to put so much effort into because they just come naturally.  One of my conversations in particular was very good and I loved that despite the months of not talking, we were able to talk and talk with ease. 

One of the ways the Lord loves me is through friends like these.  Although I wish the love would be made evident by utterly surrounding me with these friends instead of having them be a phone call away, I am deeply indebted for the ways He touches my heart through others.  It teaches me to cherish these friendships and to not take that gift for granted.