musings

Reflection on Freedom

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment
From my Facebook page on Nov. 3:

Reflecting on, of all things, a line from the old song Remember the Alamo: “Young Davey Crockett was singing and laughing/With gallantry fierce in his eyes/For God and for freedom, a man more than willing to die.” 

Freedom like that — courage and even joy in the face of persecution, destruction, and death — does not come from politicians, legislation, constitutions, or economies. It comes directly from God. It is not freedom from, but freedom for, and it can only be taken away by the Devil. Only he can bind us, and only if we let him. 

Make no mistake, we are free men and women. This next week, and next four years, can only change that if we allow it. 

Thank you, Lord, for this beautiful morning.

It’s another beautiful day today. We are blessed by God with life and liberty — may we be as free as that song lyric: free to laugh in the face of power, danger, and death, knowing these things cannot touch our inner mystery: that we are made in His image, out of love and for love.

I’m not suggesting armed conflict is coming, but reminding us that we are always — always! — free to do what we think is best. We may suffer for it, but suffering in this life is expected and temporary. And as the Catholic evangelist Mark Hart says, even when our legs shake, the rock upon which we stand will not be shaken.

Take courage, whatever happens. You are free, unless you yield it up yourself.

And the Heavens Respond

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We have no love at all except that which comes from God. All love in this world is, as Dante writes, “the Love that moves the sun and other stars.” For as St. John the Evangelist tells us, God is love; and as Moses learned, God Is Who Is—He is Being itself, in whom we live and move and have our (own) being.  From this perspective, Love is the substance of being, its essence, its purpose, its end.

What does this Love look like? It looks like us, roughly—we are made in His image. But we are, most of us, broken and sinful, so the image is distorted. Let us look to Mary, then, as the created image, and to Jesus Christ as the begotten one. Let us look at these two and ask again: What does this Love look like?

It is pure, intense, obedient. It is courageous, honest, and merciful. It is boundless, bloody, and self-sacrificing. It accomplishes the Father’s will at whatever cost to itself. It never fails.

This is the universe in which we live. This is what we are made of, and what we are made for. The very dust of this world cries out in love, for love. And the heavens respond.

Life-Giver

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Blogger’s Note: My bride and I are celebrating 20 years of marriage today.

He worked wonders with wood. Miters and joints so tight you could scarcely see them, sanded to liquid smoothness and pegged to perfection. When the Spirit struck him, he could carve, too—with such precision and attention to detail his eye seemed to see beyond the grain to the beauty within. In his hands, the transformation from seed to sapling, tree to table seemed a natural progression, a God-given purpose only he could unlock.

He was known in Nazareth as a hardworking and honorable man. Rumor had it he was descended from kings. But he was quiet, mostly; humble and discerning. He had an eye for wood, and for one girl, who was promised to God. It seemed a significant obstacle. He lived alone.

Then one day, God moved. Specifically, He beckoned—calling the unmarried men of David’s line to the temple, seeking a husband for this most favored daughter. Joseph came as he was bade, sandals on his feet, a shaft of wood, light and strong, in his hand. There she was. There he stood, one of several silent men waiting, expectantly, for a sign. The priest conferred with her parents.

God help me, he thought, for her I would work such wonders. But I am just a carpenter.

She raised her eyes and met his—met, and held. The staff in his hand shuddered and creaked as green shoots sprang forth from the top, unfurling into leaves and three soft white lilies.

Joseph’s gaze fell to the flowers above his trembling hand. The others gasped and murmured in amazement: The dead wood had bloomed!

Mary smiled. She was a woman, after all.

Detachment

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Lord, you call us to new life, to rebirth in the Spirit. How can I be holy for You unless I am wholly for You?

“If anyone remembers my name

If I’m ever known for anything
Let it be I ran into the night
Running with a firelight, firelight
Cause I don’t wanna stroll the streets of gold
While there’s still a soul to love
Let me run into the night
Running with a firelight, firelight
Burning with a firelight, firelight”

Full of Grace

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Annunciation by Paolo de Matteis (1712)

Yesterday was a rare treat: a three-sacrament day. I went to work, then to Confession at lunch time, received a pre-surgery Anointing of the Sick late in the afternoon, then went to evening Mass to receive the Eucharist. Never have I felt so full of grace — and today is the Feast of the Annunciation. Providential?

Then I came home — late, because I was tying up loose ends to be out of the office for awhile. The family had already eaten supper, but we still managed to spend some quality time together before bed. They’ve got Dad’s back with prayers today, as do countless other friends and family members, and a few acquaintances I just barely know. I’m a little embarrassed by the support, but I will never refuse prayers. We are blessed to have such love in our home, in our parish, and in our extended families.

Hernia surgery is supposed to be a pretty routine thing, for the surgeons, at least. Less so for me. I’ve never had any sort of surgery, except the removal of my wisdom teeth before I left for college. That involved local anesthesia and laughing gas; I remember begin vaguely fascinated by the industrial crunching and grinding noises emanating from my own mouth. This is different, and I don’t think I’ll care to know what’s going on as it’s happening.

I’m not a great patient, either. Oh, I’m generally alright (perhaps a little talkative) with doctors and nurses…but on the homefront, I’m more of a Man-Cold kind of guy. My bride, who works from home, is so looking forward to the next few days.

But you know what? This is actually a penitential season, in which we strive to enter more fully into Jesus’s suffering for us. This is an opportunity for me to grow in this regard — to be still, to pray, to suck it up a bit in solidarity with the One who took nails for us.

Ask Jodi at Easter if I manage to pull it off. Much love and many blessings to you this Holy Week and Easter!