altars

“Nothing teaches us about the preciousness of the Creator
as much as when we learn the emptiness of everything else.”
Charles Haddon Spurgeon

“You never go away from us, yet we have difficulty in returning to You.
Come, Lord, stir us up and call us back. Kindle and seize us.
Be our fire and our sweetness. Let us love. Let us run.”
Augustine of Hippo

(altar tomb in the Rock of Cashel, the Cathedral of St Patrick / Co Tipperary, Ireland/
Julie Cook / 2015)

A thick blanket of smoke hangs heavy in the air.
It’s not the result of burning effigies or burning communities
but rather from the woods of North Carolina and northern Georgia which are on fire…
and the winds have shifted…

The sinking grey smoke is a somber reminder that there is a dangerously severe drought…
and the parched land is now beyond thirsty…

Yet there is more to this current drought than simply a lack of rain…
for there is more that is dry than mere vegetation and brush…
And there is more to this endless thirst than a need for water….

Vehemence and anger are filling the air, accented by vile and profane sentiment.
As the mobs march toward the altars of self indulgence and guile.
Immaturity laced with ignorance stokes the fires of rage as the hate filled
smoke fills the nostrils of a nation.

Self absorption and egocentric worshipers have taken to the streets.
They have taken to their computers and to their phones…their current altars of choice.
All the while they shout vile rhetoric as they stomp their spoiled bored feet.

If you must…
Protest against atrocities,
demonstrate against hunger,
fight against killing…
but not because you’ve simply forgotten, or have never known, how to lose.

Young dismayed parents now publicly lament how are they to console their
confused children who cry in fear from the big bad what ifs of hysteria…
simply because democracy has been at work–once again…

Nay, answer with truth…
the truth that one person lost while another person won…
For that is how this game is played…one person wins while one person loses…

Yet ours is a culture currently obsessed with the win win…
because we’ve grown moralistically soft while deciding everyone should be a winner…
We cannot live with the sad notion of losing…
Never mind old adages of always trying again…

There are those who are falling at the altar of womanly feminism…
which is currently shored up by gender neutrality, resentment and anger.
Marching not for policy or real equality but rather for the notion that
the wrong sex was the victor…as the votes which were cast are ignored….

Tears are being shed not because freedom has been lost
or because lives have been lost,
nor because a nation has lost all hope…
No…
rather tears are flowing because an election was lost…

And now we no longer want to play…
Because reality is simply no longer considered fun.
While we have found ourselves kneeling before all the wrong altars…

Ours are the empty altars of hero worship and of self…
the altars of gadgetry, boredom, appeasement and ignorance.
Altars of fear, anger, hostility, emptiness and divisiveness…

For what or whom has become our idol, our god?
Who or what are those hungry deities which have left us empty, sad,
frustrated, angry and resentful…
as we turn upon one another in the feeding frenzy of resentment?

We have gathered before all the wrong altars for far too long…
These altars have left us shallow and empty while also full of loathing and contempt…
We continue to march without leadership and direction…
lost and wandering…all the while lashing out at those we assume to be our enemy…
never realizing that we are all actually one.
One people…one nation…

And all the while hidden deep within the suffocating smoke of our thirst
lies the only One true proven path in which we need march…

Yet we have decided it’s far easier to wander angrily in the parched darkness
while hiding behind the vitriol sputum which oozes forth from our mouths…
spewing out upon our fellow human beings…

As it seems we’d rather choose…
paranoia to Grace
greed to Offering
ignorane to Enlightenment
darkness to Light
death to Salvation
egregiousness to Gentleness
hate to Love…

May we all fall at the foot of the one true altar,
the cross of Resurrection, Salvation, Hope and Life.

The Father willed that his blessed and glorious Son,
whom he gave to us and who was born for us,
should through his own blood offer himself as a sacrificial victim on the altar of the cross.
This was to be done not for himself through whom all things were made,
but for our sins.
Francis of Assisi

These feet were made for Love

We live in a society that is obsessed with the pursuit of perpetual youth and beauty. We spend thousands of dollars for things to make us have less wrinkles, less brown spots, less pounds, less grey, more hair, bigger eyes, brighter smiles, longer nails, prettier nails, prettier toes, less sags, less bags…. that list goes on and on into the next list of the thousands of dollars spent on cosmetic treatments— the cosmetic augmentation, not because of a medical need such as a breast reconstruction due to a battle with cancer, but rather simply because we want to look prettier, handsomer, lighter, thinner, taller, younger……lift the eyes, the boobs, the butt, the stomach, fill in the lips, the cheeks, the calves, add the hair, smooth out the wrinkles—on and on it goes….It makes me wonder if any one is happy with themselves?

I wish things like all of that didn’t matter. I think it would make all of our lives better; we’d probably be happier and a little wealthier as we wouldn’t be throwing money to the pursuit of glamour and youth. Our society is so obsessed with the physical attributes of a person that we sometimes forget about the internal attributes—the quality of the soul and of a life well lived. Turn on any television and the reality shows, the “entertainment” news (I use the word news very loosely here), and our obsession with the Hollywood who’s who and who wore what and how did they look and oh my how they’ve gained weight…

When I was in the classroom, I kept a copy of this photograph on my classroom door. Adults are bad enough fretting over the glitzy and the glamorous—adolescents have a doubly difficult time dealing with the whole issue of the “image of self.” If you don’t understand that ask any kid who struggles with anorexia, bulimia, cutting, addictions and suicidal goals.

The photo I placed on my door was backed with a simple black sheet of mat board. I had written on the mat “these feet never complained—they just kept moving in the name of Love”
I can’t take credit for the photograph as it comes for a most wonderful book:
Works of Love are Works of Peace
Mother Teresa of Calcutta and the
Missionaries of Charity
A Photographic Record by Michael Collopy

As the kids would walk in and out of class, or the multitude of other kids just walking down the hall, many would stop to look at the picture. They stopped because the image is somewhat troubling. Teenagers aren’t the best equipped when it comes to tact—they tend to be brutally honest in their observations—there were a lot of “ooo, gross”, “man, those are some sorry looking feet”, and then there are a few things I can’t repeat (or I choose not to repeat). Many of the kids did not recognize the iconic striped white tunic. I don’t think if the image was in color, bearing the lovely blue of the stripe, that many would still recognize whom it was. That was where I came in–offering a simple answer.

The kids would ask whose feet. When I told them, that pretty much answered what I knew to be their next question…why would I have a picture of such “ugly” feet up on my door? All I had to say was “oh, those feet you ask…those are Mother Teresa’s feet.” That pretty much answered everything else. Mother Teresa is good that way.

She was 85 when that picture was taken. They are the feet of someone who didn’t care about the shiny nail polish or the latest pedicure. Nor was there any concern for the latest designer pair of shoes. There wasn’t time for such frivolous things when there were people hungry and dying that needed tending to.

I’m certain by the end of each day, Mother Teresa’s feet hurt. I’m certain that as she got up each morning and took that first step, there was pain. But in Mother Teresa’s world there simply wasn’t time to worry or bother with aching feet. She had to be about the important tasks of each new day—and that was tending to the basic needs of other human beings. No worries over fancy new shoes, no worries with whiter teeth, no worries about lifting things that are sagging or coloring things turning grey…nope, just the tending to people who are hungry, lonely, sick, dying, scared…

Maybe we’d be better off if we thought like Mother Teresa. I kind of think we would be, and maybe happier too.