Divine Musings

I was a quarter-mile behind everybody else on the mountain trail, laboring under the burden of over 20 pounds of water.  Then I saw a teenage boy come running back down the hillside towards me.  He took the 3 gallon thermos and carried it up the rest of the way.  I was so grateful to him and his parents for raising a young man who could be so thoughtful. 

That's when I picked up an even heavier burden. 

Where was my son on the trail? I had asked him to carry the water, which he did for a while, but then he set it down because it was too heavy and the mountain was too steep. So I sighed and picked it up.  I wasn't doing such a stellar job as a parent.

All my life I've been thinking we need to prove our worth by being contributing members of society.  Like Martha, I thought I needed to make myself valuable by working hard to serve.  I understood only the surface meaning of Jesus' council that Mary had chosen the better part.  Sure, stop and talk to the Lord when He is present.  But what I didn't get until recently is that we don't need to do one thing to prove our value to the Lord. 

As children of God, we have a divine nature which means our value is infinite.  Any good (or bad) we do is like adding (or subtracting) one and infinity.  Though we can develop greater virtue as we live and learn, our value is forever infinite.

Back on the hillside, we didn't end up needing the water after all.  My son's contribution was to question, "Why bother with this water?" Had I listened to him, it would have saved us, and the young man who ran to the rescue, a lot of trouble. It turns out that our value doesn't always look like what society thinks value should look like. 

Dante's Divine Comedy--An Allegory of Salvation

(This is the closer study I promised on 8/28/11)

As I sit writing this, I am a man in exile wandering through a foreign land.  Though I can see my home just across the way, when I try to travel there I am threatened by sins of the flesh and sins of wrath.  I conquer these by using my intellect to balance desire and discipline.  But then I am defeated by the sins swarming around me and my generation.  My will power alone is not enough; I can't make it back home on my own.

Then the Father of Reason, Virgil, joins me.  He points back to a trail of sorrow that traverses through Hell and tells me the only way I can get back home is to journey thence.  I take up the bitter cup and follow him. We spiral downward into the abyss of the devil's domain.  At each step we see poetic justice.  People who sought to fulfill their own will become what they sought, yet are denied the satisfaction of taking any pleasure in it.  This is not a punishment from God, but rather a consequence of making gods of their desires.

The capitol of Hell is the City of Dis, which is surrounded by the gate of heresy.  All those who dwell within are there because they chose to deny God and the hope of eternal life.  Though it is a despairing place, our path lies through the heart of Hell so we must pass through the gate.  Neither Virgil nor I can open it.  We pray for Divine Aid and wait. 

At first it seems our prayers our answered by an even greater torment as the Furies descend upon us, mocking.   They threaten to call Medusa to come and turn us to stone.  The moment Virgil hears her name, he commands me to look away.  Reason alone cannot answer doubts about God's existence.  Virgil covers my eyes, saying in effect, "Just look away from the question and trust in God."

After my faith denied heresy its victory over me, our prayers for Divine help are answered.  A Heavenly Messenger opens the gate and we are allowed to pass.  If I may offer a bit of counsel, await God's grace to manifest itself in your life.  It will come no matter how threatening the Furies surrounding you.  

An oppressive weight pulls us downward in Dis until we meet the author of evil, the founder of heaviness, the devil himself.  We grapple with him and, at long last, pass from the Inferno into Purgatory.  I will pause here to observe that I've noted a certain glamorization of evil in recent decades.  Make no mistake, there is NO glamour in Hell.  Satan attracts by covering sin with a glossy sheen, like the Siren's song. But rip away the exterior and what lies beneath is hideousness and entrapment of addictions. 

Upon entering Purgatory, Virgil and I are bathed in a baptism of water that washes away the stains of Hell.  Though things are much better here than in the Inferno, I admit to being plagued by lethargy and learned that laziness leads to depression.  I was visited by the Angel of Zeal and was energized by a creative spark which propelled me forward.

At last we come within sight of Paradise, the place I had set my sights upon when Virgil first joined me.  But I am horrified to see I cannot enter Paradise unless I pass through a baptism of fire.  Virgil, my Father Reason, persuades me to trust I will find my heart's desire on the other side of the wall of fire.  I submit to the scorching pain, then emerge outside of Reason's realm.  Virgil cannot follow me here because I am now no longer limited by reason.  I am taken under the wing of Personal Revelation, who is embodied by Beatrice. 

Though I grieve over my separation from Virgil, Beatrice scolds me for looking back.  She points out that since I have been purged from the will to sin, I'm in the presence of Divine Revelation and I no longer need Virgil's Reason.  She is right to scold because looking back prevents me from making use of the great gifts I have been given.   Understanding this, I repent.  This now allows me to drink from the river Lethe, which washes away all memory of sin from my soul.  Losing this last remnant of sin, I am now purified and free to pass into Paradise.

Upon entering Paradise, I am greeted by a tremendous pageant.  The Church, the Prophets, the Bible, the Sacrament, the Gifts of the Spirit are all personified in a joyous parade.  A Griffin (half-lion, half-Eagle) symbolizes the Savior (half-human, half-Divine) and is pulling the very chariot where Beatrice is seated.   Christ is the Author of Personal Revelation.

In Paradise I visit the realms of the planets, each representing a Cardinal Virtue (Wisdom, Love, Prudence, Courage, Justice, Temperance).  I learn that Temperance is nearest God's abode because it is the contemplative life which Jesus recommended to Martha in following Mary's example.

Looking back, I see how my progress through the Inferno taught me pity, or Charity; Purgatory taught me Hope, and Paradise sealed my Faith.  Through these Three Theological Virtues, I gain unspeakable joy.  I saw in my journey that the universe is enwrapped by the Divine Will of God.  The Heavens and all nature are an expression of the Mind of God.  In order to experience pure joy, we must be capable of comprehending its existence all around us.

Since writing my Divine Comedy, some have speculated that I may have had in mind the fulfillment of Joachim Fioretti's prediction that there would be Three Ages.  The Age of the Father was the Law of the Old Testament.  The Age of the Son was established by Christ's organization of His Church in the New Testament.  The Age of the Holy Spirit is to be fulfilled when the Spirit works directly through all people by means of the Everlasting Gospel.  Finding my Beatrice seemed to me a manifestation of the Third Age.  I challenge you to find YOUR Beatrice and promise you she is there.

Sources:

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighiere

Dante and His Divine Comedy by Timothy Shutt

The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces, Volume 1, by Maynard Mack, & etc.

Waiting in the Wings

My high school chemistry teacher stepped out of the lab for only a few minutes.  That was all it took.  He returned to an exuberant bunch of juniors spraying water on each other in grand style.  Mr. Caesar (yes, that was his name) yelled at us and quickly regained control of his lab.

“Who started this water fight?!” Mr. Caesar demanded.

Knowing that he’d never believe it, my friends pointed to me.  I had the reputation of being the model kid in the school.  I was both studious and well-mannered.  Not only that, I was downright shy and seldom called attention to myself.

My classmates were right; Mr. Caesar didn’t believe them.  It was a safe bet.  No one got in trouble for the water fight.

Oh, and there was one other reason why they all pointed to me.  I was, in fact, the one who started the water fight.

While all the fingers pointed at me, I neither denied nor admitted anything.   I didn’t need to.  I just smiled angelically at my teacher and my reputation spoke for itself.

In this incident, my reputation worked in my favor.  But most of the time, I didn’t like being type-cast as the shy, studious type.  I wanted to step outside the role I’d created for myself and be a greater person.

I heard about a school where the culture is to keep an open mind about fellow classmates.  In a school like that, I couldn’t have gotten away with starting a water fight.  But maybe in a school like that, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to live up to my potential of not only studying well, but living well.  Every day great things are expected from each other, despite any evidence of “low achievements” in the past.  Every day is a new opportunity to take that monumental step to being the person we were born to become. 

Ten years ago today, Todd Beamer made that monumental step when he said, “Let’s roll” and prevented hijackers from flying Flight 93 into their intended target, thus saving countless lives. This post is dedicated to him and other heroes, who while “waiting in the wings” walk/ed among us as ordinary people.

Hero Aboard the Oryoku Maru

December 1944

The survivors of the Bataan Death March were desperately hoping they would be liberated from their POW camp in the Philippines.  They could see more and more American planes flying overhead and they believed that meant the Allies were winning World War II.  Their greatest fear was that their captors would carry them off before they could be rescued.  For 1600 men—roughly three-fourths of the group—that fear was realized.  The Japanese squeezed as many men as was physically possible inside the cargo hold of the cruise liner, Oryoku Maru. 

Let me introduce a few of the POW passengers:  Chaplain Robert Taylor, who had the reputation for being the only man in the starving camp who could be trusted to deliver food untouched to a dying soldier; Henry Lee, an amiable poet; “Manny” Lawton, a well-regarded captain; and Frank Bridget, who was described as “nervous, intense, over-eager and often rubbed people the wrong way.”

Inside the cargo hold of the ship, it was dark and hellishly hot. The little air that vented through the open hatch provided next to no circulation.  This caused more than a deficiency in comfort; it was a matter of survival.  The men in the corners of the hold were already beginning to pass-out from suffocation when the ship set sail.  The hope that ventilation would increase when the vessel began to move was dashed when they were overcome by nausea instead of air.

The prisoners cried out for help.  Their guard’s response was to threaten, "Shut up or I'll close the hatch.  You're disturbing the passengers!"  (There were 1,900 Japanese passengers.)  The POWs answered him with more pleading and he made good his threat.  As the hatch door slammed shut, pandemonium erupted.  The panicking men shrieked in terror.

Above the hysteria, a man climbed up the ladder to the hatch and spoke in a commanding voice, “We are all going to calm down, every one of us, and work together!”  The voice belonged to Frank Bridget, the man least expected to remain calm in an emergency.  Immediately, the prisoners silenced themselves as Bridget explained how panic only uses more precious oxygen.  He instructed the men to take off their shirts and fan the air towards the men in the corners.  This improved the stifling heat and air circulation immensely.  Bridget didn’t stop at that.  He braved confronting the guard and persuaded him to allow the men who had passed out to be carried out of the hold and revived.  He also insisted the hatch door stay open and that water be brought to the POWs.

Two days after they set sail, US pilots bombed the Oryoku Maru, not knowing American POWs were onboard.  It says a lot of the prisoners to mention they were cheering for the Allies to hit their mark, even though they knew it could mean their own deaths. 

Only 400 of the 1600 POWs survived long enough to be rescued.  Frank Bridget was not one of them.  (Chaplain Taylor lived, and though poet Henry Lee died, his poetry lives on.)  Manny Lawton credited his survival in large part to Bridget.  Lawton admittedly despised Frank Bridget before this event, but he said, “Sometimes people rise to greatness and you never can predict who will . . . Bridget was waiting in the wings and he took responsibility.  I don’t know where he found the calmness.  He saved us with his voice.”

Sources:

Ghost Soldiers by Hampton Sides.

Oryoku Maru Roster

Joy in the Journey

One afternoon, I got a phone call that launched me on a life-changing quest.  A publisher called to tell me he wanted to publish the book I was writing about my great-great-grandmother’s journey with the Willie Handcart Company.  I had sent his company a query letter not two days before so I calculated he must have called me the minute he got my submission.  He asked how long it would take me to finish writing my novelized biography.  My head was spinning; judging by my progress, I might be able to complete it in six months. Before I gave my answer he asked me, “Can you have it done by the end of the month?”

I heard myself say “Yes.”

That was the moment I joined my great-great-grandmother on her journey to the Promised Land. 

For three weeks, I was on the trail with the family of Margery Bain Smith.  My initial excitement mirrored their joyful beginning.  Midway through, my plodding progress reminded me of their tedious trek across the plains.  When I reached their life-and-death moments, I struggled to create the passion and power those episodes warranted.   

I learned the pioneer journey was both a physical and a spiritual one.  Their physical journey planted their descendants’ roots west of the Rockies.  Their spiritual journey showed us how highly to value our faith.  I saw how faith still works miracles, sensing angelic help: some seen (my husband and sisters) and some unseen.
          I made the deadline and submitted my book in June of 2006.  I reached the border of the Promised Land, but like the Children of Israel, I wouldn’t be entering the “land of milk and honey” to enjoy the fruits of my labors—at least not yet.  The publisher’s financial backer decided not to fund my book, but it didn’t really bother me.  I had made the trek and learned lessons that enriched my life. 

People kept asking me about my book and, after four years of “wandering in the wilderness,” I felt it was time to pursue publishing it again.  I received so much inspiration writing it; I know it wasn't just for my personal benefit.  It is a powerful, true story that needs to be told.  I’m completing a final revision and love the story now more than ever. 
           Through telling their story, I hope to link my generation to theirs.  No story could have more heartache. Yet no journey could be more joyful.
          

Margery Bain Smith

(1804 – 1889)

Margery Smith faced a difficult choice. She was a widowed mother of six; one daughter was recovering from tuberculosis, another from Scarlet Fever, her youngest child was crippled and she, herself, was suffering from dysentery.  The Rocky Mountains loomed before her and her only adult son was on the other side of them.  She had to make a decision that would be a matter of life and death for herself and her children.

Three months earlier, Margery and her family left their Scottish homeland to journey to the seat of their newfound religion.  Now she found herself in the Nebraska Territory with no easy options.  She and her traveling companions, the Willie Handcart Company, were warned that if they pushed west so late in the season, they would surely face winter storms crossing the Rockies.  Yet if they stayed in Nebraska, there was no way the five-hundred people in their group could be provided food and shelter.  The Company as a whole had to head west, but some of the individual families were choosing to stay behind. What would Margery do?

She lived by the motto, “God helps those who help themselves,” and she knew she had done everything in her power to go where God had called her to go.  She decided to trust in the Lord and she left the last refuge of civilization behind her, pulling all her worldly belongings in a hastily-made-handcart.

Their trail was plagued by trials:

·         A buffalo stampede scattered their draft oxen, never to be recovered.

·         The food they expected to find at Fort Laramie was not there.

·         They were on quarter rations when an early winter storm blasted the region.

·         They endured a forced march over Rocky Ridge which many of their company never recovered from.

But Margery lived by another motto, also:

I will not dwell upon the hardships we endured,

Nor the hunger and cold,

But I like to tell of the goodness of God unto us.

The moment Brigham Young received word there were Mormon immigrants on the plains, he organized a relief effort.  Hundreds of teams were mustered to carry food and supplies to the beleaguered pioneers.  But for many of them, the help came too late.

Margery's physical reserve was utterly depleted after carrying her six-year-old son over Rocky Ridge. A few days later, she was trodding in the deep snow and knew she would not make it to camp that night.  She sent her children on ahead of her so they would not have to witness her demise.  But her middle daughter, Mary, would not leave her side. 

Ahead on the trail, her children were fascinated by the approach of a rescue wagon.  It was the first one they’d seen with a single yoke of oxen.  In their pitiful plight they made a game of it, wishing that the man in the wagon would be their older brother, Robert.  As the wagon drew closer, the driver stared at them and then called, “Whoa!” to his team.  The voice brought home the impossibly perfect fact that they were standing in the presence of their brother!  They tearfully greeted each other and soon tied the handcart to the wagon. But where, Robert wanted to know, were Mother and Mary?  They headed east to find them. 

From a distance, they saw Mary kneeling by a body stretched out on the snow.  “Too late?” the family asked themselves, “was help coming too late to save our dear Mother?”

Robert pulled the wagon to a halt beside his weary mother.  He found Mary trying to convince Margery that Robert had come to rescue them.  Margery couldn’t believe it until she was swept up into his arms.  Margery said that she couldn’t have been happier to be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Margery promised God that if she survived the trek she would never complain again.  She lived to keep that promise, even though she later became blind.

Rather than becoming bitter and losing faith in the God they were counting on to make the winter mild, these pioneers focused on the goodness of the Lord.  Instead of teaching their children that God didn’t answer their prayers to protect them from harm, they told the story of how greatly they were blessed to be rescued.  They showed us how to do hard things and be grateful for the blessings received through the challenge.  The way they pulled through their trials on the trail over 150 years ago still affects us today. 

This picture of Margery Bain Smith and her children was taken around twenty years after their trek.  (Her youngest son was deceased.)

Source:  "The Tired Mother," Improvement Era, July 1919 by Betsey Smith Goodwin.