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.

Life is Beautiful

I apologize to everyone who comes to my house after dark, but we are without a porch light. 

Early this spring, I noticed bits of glass accumulating on my porch.  The glass fixture covering our porch light had a panel broken out of it months previously.  I'd cleaned it up when it first broke so found it odd to suddenly see more glass. 

A few days later I understood where the glass was coming from.  Apparently some of the glass had landed inside the light fixture when the panel broke, and a swallow couple had cleared the objectionably sharp debris from the location they had chosen to build their nest.  Sweet as it was to see a nest in my porch light fixture, I didn't think it belonged there so I pulled the nest out. 

My heart melted to see and feel the tender nest.  It was built out of the softest twigs money can't buy and padded with downy dryer lint.  I set the nest in my flower bed and watched.  Within a short time, the nest was rebuilt in my porch light.  I removed the bulb to make more room for its occupants.  Today I noticed four tiny eggs in the center of the nest. 

I love life.

Happy Easter.

The re-birth of spring is a beautiful time to celebrate the rebirth of Christ's resurrection.  Every day is a brand new start; every bad moment can be made right thanks to God's healing power.  Life is beautiful.

 Sputnik

The darling kits came and went while No-name grew to his full size.  People stopped and watched No-name and his buddies pile in a heap to sleep, or bound about the cage in a frolic.  Once in a while, someone would ask to hold the critters who populated his cage.  No-name watched with his probing, red eyes as his companions were lovingly toted away.  He could barely remember his life outside this tiny compartment, but he'd come across the country from the Marshall Ferret Farm.

Months passed and a mother and son came to pick out a ferret.  They held him a moment and then they chose his sable-colored cousin with the irresistible bandit-masked face, even though he heard the clerk offer to sell him at a discount.  He heard himself described as a hard-to-sell albino.  As the mother and son turned their back on him, he flopped himself on the floor of his cage, peering out of dejected eyes, his body and spirit sinking low. 

The next day, the mother and son returned; something about him called to them.  No-name was lifted out of the cage and put into a cardboard box.  He scratched like crazy to get out and after a nauseating ride he was released into a strange new world.  There was his masked cousin, now named Snickers.  He heard himself being called Sputnik, which means "Companion." 

Sputnik was determined to solve the puzzle of how to free himself from his new cage.  He clamped down on the bars and used his strong jaws to rattle them lose.  The cage could no longer retain his free spirit. 

Sputnik's exuberance quickly overpowered Snickers, so he looked to the people who shared his abode.  Whenever someone entered the room, he'd enthusiastically take up a fighting stance, challenging the person towering above him:  his playful gaze effectively saying, "Put up your dukes!"  The mother could never resist this challenge.  She'd drop down on all fours and laugh delightedly, ruffling up his white fur.  Sputnik would back away just out of reach, then lunge forward getting a belly rub, and then dive into a hiding place. 

He had so much life packed in his perky little body.  Playful as an otter, handsome as a miniature polar bear, he charmed the household.  But sometimes the people were too busy to play and he would sink onto the floor, looking up at them with a mysterious combination of bright, disappointed eyes.  

He LOVED the outdoors.  He could slide right out of the harness which seemed to be his essential outdoor gear.  His favorite time was when there was a foot of snow to play in.  He bounded over it, then he burrowed under it.  He explored the white-blanketed yard but didn't lose his harness until he hid under the shed.  At length he came out and was promptly taken back inside.  That was the last time he ever wandered freely out-of-doors.

The people seemed to be bothered by the fact he had stopped eating.  Sputnik was taken in and out of clinics; vets prodded and probed and eventually determined he had cancer.  In only a few days his body became too frail to sustain his spirit. He bounded joyfully into ferret heaven.  He watched the mother and son cry their eyes out for him.  He watched as they picked out another ferret to try to fill the huge hole in their hearts he'd left behind.  He heard the mother saying a prayer of gratitude, thanking God for letting him share his short life with them.  Funny how you can grow to love someone so much in such a short time.

"Don't cry, Mother;  don't feel sad, Son.  I just found another way to free my spirit.  Life is beautiful in every sphere. With all my love, Sputnik."

Valiant Young Heroes

I have a niece who inspires me with her courage to stand up for what is right in difficult circumstances.  I asked her permission to share one of her experiences.  She graciously not only gave me permission, but also wrote up her account.  So here, in her own words, is one of her stories:

I stared at the yellow hardwood floor, my back pressed against the brick.  I forget why I wasn’t exercising, usually I made an effort to at least walk around the gym, I didn’t like playing sports.  Lauren was sitting nearby; her glasses perched upon her nose, her curly hair scrunched up in a ponytail.  I didn’t know how to make friends with her, wasn’t even sure that I wanted to.  I think everyone knew she was different, mentally handicapped.  I sighed, feeling guilty that I felt that way; it wasn’t like I had anything to lose by being her friend. 

            I glanced up as a group of kids I didn’t know very well came over and sat by Lauren.  I went back to gazing around the court.  Then, they started asking Lauren questions, I tried not to listen and my ears burned as she gave an indelicate response to a question that was itself inappropriate.  She probably doesn’t know what she’s saying, I thought, angry that they had even asked such a question.  I hoped she didn’t know what she was saying, I only half understood it myself. 

            It got worse, they started saying things like “Lauren, make a sound like an elephant, make a sound like a dog…”  She happily obliged, thinking it all a fun game.  I started thinking of what I should say to them and my body shook with the injustice of it all.  Tears leaked out of my eyes as I wondered if I would have the courage to speak up, even if one of them didn’t notice me. I wondered if they would notice me, I wondered… One of the girls noticed, “Hey, what’s wrong?”  She asked.  I felt awful, here was this girl, who at the same time was being nice by asking me what was wrong, was about to be reprimanded by me.  I couldn’t stop myself.

            “How dare you?  How dare you use her for your own entertainment?  Just because she’s different from you and maybe doesn’t even realize what you’re doing doesn’t mean you should treat her like she’s some pet you can just play with.  She’s another human being who doesn’t deserve to be used for your entertainment.” 

 My niece, Lauren and the group of kids all learned something very valuable in that moment.

Two Rooms in Berlin

1943

Had the man been out in public, rather than sitting at his heavy oak desk, he would have been surrounded by cheering crowds.  He brought hope to a people burdened under the Treaty of Versailles.  He had a superb gift of oral persuasion.  As he used it, his circle of influence expanded to the tens of millions. 

He had a file in his desk that he pulled out whenever he had a chance to ponder his dream. Germania was the civilization he envisioned.  It would last for a thousand years, populated by the Aryan race.  Such a civilization deserved a glorious infrastructure.  He pulled out the folder and thumbed through his plans to build structures that would rival those of the ancient pharaohs.  It pleased him to think that, being the founder of this great nation, monuments to him would be scattered across his homeland. 

You can imagine that a man of his importance wouldn’t have much time to sit and dream about his utopia.  He was far too busy pushing his plans through to make them reality. And if the challenge of world conquest wasn’t enough, he had to deal with the occasional detractors among his own people that needed to be rooted out.

Speaking of which, a request for clemency had sifted its way to the top of his stack.  Ah, yes.  This was the boy whose anti-Nazi tracts were so professionally done that no one could believe they weren’t written by a team of adults.  The Gestapo had spent hours torturing people acquainted with this youth to find out who was responsible.  Finally they concluded their mastermind was a mere 16-year-old.  And this was the young man who was requesting his mercy.  Hitler would not need much time to deliberate over this request.  If the boy was going to play in the political arena of the adults, he could be punished as an adult.

“DENIED” he scrawled in angry letters across the clemency request and handed it to his clerk, activating the countdown of a young man’s final hours of mortal life. 

In another room, Helmuth Huebener was handed the three sheets of paper he was granted as his final wish.  His swollen fingers awkwardly gripped the pen. It was good, though, to see his thoughts once again flow onto paper.   So greatly did he value the freedom to communicate that he had risked his life to print the words which had landed him in this cell. 

He had seen through Hitler’s propaganda and endeavored tirelessly to let his fellow Germans know the truth.  He had listened nightly to the BBC and then printed and distributed flyers carrying the real news.   His only remorse was imperiling his two loyal friends, Rudi and Karl-Heinz, who had helped him distribute the flyers.

 For months since he’d been sentenced by the Nazi Blood Tribunal, he hadn’t known if his execution would be carried out in a day, a week or another month.  The suspense was almost worse than the sentence itself.  But evidently the request for clemency had been denied (as he had expected) and he was now near the end. 

Helmuth remembered the moment he was sentenced.  He stood before his accusers and boldly stated, “You kill me for no reason at all.  I haven’t committed any crime.  All I’ve done is tell the truth.  Now it’s my turn—but your turn will come!”  The stunned assembly was too shocked to silence him.  His words turned out to be prophetic.

Helmuth wrote three letters, only one of which survives.  (His letter home was destroyed in the bombing raid that killed his family nine months later.)  He wrote to his close friends:

“Dear Sister Sommerfeldt and Family,

When you receive this letter I will be dead.  . . .

I am very thankful to my Heavenly Father . . . I know that God lives and He will be the proper judge of this matter. 

Until our happy reunion in that better world I remain,

Your friend and brother in the Gospel,

Helmuth

There are no monuments to Hitler in Germany.  You will not find one street nor park that carries his name.  But if you travel to Hamburg, you will find a park, a street and a monument to young Helmuth Huebener. 

Helmuth’s two friends, Rudi Wobbe and Karl-Heinz Schnibbe were sentenced to years of hard labor, but they lived and moved to the USA after WW II.  One day not long ago, Karl-Heinz was visiting Helmuth’s memorial in Hamburg where a group of students were learning about “the Heubener Group.”  A traveling companion pointed out Karl-Heinz and told them he was part of the group.  He was quickly surrounded by the youth, eager to hear the story of how, when he was their age, he had the pleasure to work with a valiant young hero.

Helmuth Hubener

Sources:

Truth & Conviction [DVD] by Matt Whitaker

The Price by Karl-Heinz Schnibbe

Three Against Hitler by Rudi Wobbe

Hubener vs. Hitler by Richard Lloyd Dewey

My Pursuit of Happiness

I was feeling pretty good about my triumphs, taking over little parcels of land one square inch at a time.  My opponent in the game of Othello was a master of the art and I a mere novice, so to see the board nearly covered in my color was extremely satisfying.  But in the end, my sister stealthily turned all my tokens against me and captured the board.   Her conquest amounted to only about a square foot of territory, yet I was devastated.  When she noted my dejection she apologized, “I’m sorry—I had no idea you thought you could actually beat me.”

Years later, my husband and I bought our first piece of property—one that couldn’t be reclaimed by a sleight of hand.  Whether on a game board or a city block, we feel a pride in ownership.

John Locke inspired Thomas Jefferson to list our unalienable rights as “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” but Locke’s original thought was “Life, liberty and property.”  It’s a fitting exchange because freedom of opportunity brings happiness, whether that pursuit is external (property) or internal (our well-being).  Even when our efforts are less than successful, we still have the opportunity to try again . . . or move on to other challenges. 

I’ve never met my sister in a rematch of Othello but I did win her at . . . No, . . . What about . . . hmmm?  She’s got me there, too.  Hey, it’s not about winning or losing but how you pursue the game.

Finding My Gem in the Geode

Have you ever read a book that just made you mad?  I was so peeved at the protagonist of The Virginian that I started asking some serious questions.  And it changed my life.

Five years ago I read a western novel for a class I was taking.  The book was about a man who risked everything to shoot his enemy.  When I was challenged to write an essay about it I asked myself why he would risk losing both his life and the woman he loved in order to fight.  I saw that he had to or that enemy would haunt him all his days.  Then I asked myself if I had an enemy that haunted me and the profound realization struck me that I did.

Only my enemy was more insidious—it was my own self-doubts.  

So I envisioned myself in the middle of a dirt road, squaring off to meet my opponent in a western-style showdown. I shot the shadow that filled my head with negative thoughts about myself and I haven’t let it “darken my sites” since.  I conquered the enemy within.

Freed from the burden of self-doubt, I fell in love with life.  I discovered the joy of joining hands with the Creator in seeking His inspiration to craft my own creations.  

That’s one facet of my story.  Owning the pursuit of my happiness helped me square up to my responsibility to value myself and the gifts God has given me.