From
page 60 in
Where Blessings Flow,
Words of Glory and Thanks
Veritas,
Dublin, Ireland
Saturday, August 9, 2014
LIFE # 102
Poem for Today - August 9, 2014
RICHARD CORY
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
On a warm summer's eve
On a train bound for nowhere
I met up with the gambler
We were both too tired to sleep
So we took turns a-starin'
Out the window at the darkness
The boredom overtook us, he began to speak
He said, "Son, I've made a life
Out of readin' people's faces
Knowin' what the cards were
By the way they held their eyes
So if you don't mind me sayin'
I can see you're out of aces
For a taste of your whiskey
I'll give you some advice"
So I handed him my bottle
And he drank down my last swallow
Then he bummed a cigarette
And asked me for a light
And the night got deathly quiet
And his faced lost all expression
He said, "If you're gonna play the game, boy
You gotta learn to play it right
You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run
You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done
Every gambler knows
That the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away
And knowin' what to keep
'Cause every hand's a winner
And every hand's a loser
And the best that you can hope for
Is to die in your sleep"
And when he finished speakin'
He turned back toward the window
Crushed out his cigarette
And faded off to sleep
And somewhere in the darkness
The gambler he broke even
And in his final words
I found an ace that I could keep
You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run
You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done
You've got to know when to hold 'em
(When to hold 'em)
Know when to fold 'em
(When to fold 'em)
Know when to walk away
And know when to run
You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done
You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run
You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done
Well it's a strange old game you learn it slow
One step forward and it's back you go
You're standing on the throttle
You're standing on the brake
In the groove 'til you make a mistake
Sometimes you're the windshield
Sometimes you're the bug
Sometimes it all comes together baby
Sometimes you're just a fool in love
Sometimes you're the Louisville Slugger
Sometimes you're the ball
Sometimes it all comes together
Sometimes you're gonna lose it all
You gotta know happy - you gotta know glad
Because you're gonna know lonely
And you're gonna know sad
When you're rippin' and you're ridin'
And you're coming on strong
You start slippin' and slidin'
And it all goes wrong because
Sometimes you're the windshield
Sometimes you're the bug
Sometimes it all comes together baby
Sometimes you're just a fool in love
Sometimes you're the Louisville Slugger
Sometimes you're the ball
Sometimes it all comes together
Sometimes you're gonna lose it all
One day you got the glory and then you got none
One day you're a diamond and then you're a stone
Everything can change in the blink of an eye
So let the good times roll before we say goodbye because
Sometimes you're the windshield
Sometimes you're the bug
Sometimes it all comes together baby
Sometimes you're just a fool in love
Sometimes you're the Louisville Slugger
Sometimes you're the ball
Sometimes it all comes together
Sometimes you're gonna lose it all
Sometimes you're the windshield
Sometimes you're the bug
Sometimes it all comes together baby
Sometimes you're just a fool in love
Sometimes you're the windshield
Sometimes you're the bug
Sometimes it all comes together baby
Sometimes you're just a fool in love
So from the
ground we felt that virtue branch
Through all our veins till we were whole, our wrists
As fresh and pure as water from a well,
Our hands made new to handle holy things,
The source of all our seeing rinsed and cleansed
Till earth and light and water entering there
Gave back to us the clear unfallen world.
We would have thrown our clothes away for lightness,
But that even they, though sour and travel stained,
Seemed, like our flesh, made of immortal substance,
And the soiled flax and wool lay light upon us
Like friendly wonders, flower and flock entwined
As in a morning field. Was it a vision?
Or did we see that day the unseeable
One glory of the everlasting world
Perpetually at work, though never seen
Since Eden locked the gate that’s everywhere
And nowhere? Was the change in us alone,
And the enormous earth still left forlorn,
An exile or a prisoner? Yet the world
We saw that day made this unreal, for all
Was in its place. The painted animals
Assembled there in gentle congregations,
Or sought apart their leafy oratories,
Or walked in peace, the wild and tame together,
As if, also for them, the day had come.
The shepherds’ hovels shone, for underneath
The soot we saw the stone clean at the heart
As on the starting-day. The refuse heaps
Were grained with that fine dust that made the world;
For he had said, ‘To the pure all things are pure.’
And when we went into the town, he with us,
The lurkers under doorways, murderers,
With rags tied round their feet for silence, came
Out of themselves to us and were with us,
And those who hide within the labyrinth
Of their own loneliness and greatness came,
And those entangled in their own devices,
The silent and the garrulous liars, all
Stepped out of their dungeons and were free.
Reality or vision, this we have seen.
If it had lasted but another moment
It might have held for ever! But the world
Rolled back into its place, and we are here,
And all that radiant kingdom lies forlorn,
As if it had never stirred; no human voice
Is heard among its meadows, but it speaks
To itself alone, alone it flowers and shines
And blossoms for itself while time runs on.
But he will come again, it’s said, though not
Unwanted and unsummoned; for all things,
Beasts of the field, and woods, and rocks, and seas,
And all mankind from end to end of the earth
Will call him with one voice. In our own time,
Some say, or at a time when time is ripe.
Then he will come, Christ the uncrucified,
Christ the discrucified, his death undone,
His agony unmade, his cross dismantled—
Glad to be so—and the tormented wood
Will cure its hurt and grow into a tree
In a green springing corner of young Eden,
And Judas damned take his long journey backward
From darkness into light and be a child
Beside his mother’s knee, and the betrayal
Be quite undone and never more be done.
The title of my homily for this 18 Tuesday in Ordinary Time is,
“Incurable Wound.”
The thought of an incurable wound jumped out at me from today’s first
reading from Jeremiah 30: 1-2, 12-15,
18-22.
Listen to Jeremiah’s words again. They are heavy, heavy duty. They are
found right there in the beginning of today’s first reading from Jeremiah:
For
thus says the LORD:
Incurable is your wound,
grievous your bruise;
There is none to plead your cause,
no remedy for your running sore,
no healing for you.
All your lovers have forgotten you,
they do not seek you.
I struck you as an enemy would strike,
punished you cruelly;
Why cry out over your wound?
your pain is without relief.
Question: is that true? Can there be an incurable wound? Is that like
there being an unforgivable sin? There is nothing we can do. Wouldn’t that be
a horrible thing to hear?
Haven’t we all known someone who has a sore on their leg – from diabetes or
what have you – and the wound just won’t heal? Bummer!
Don’t we all know someone who seems to have a bummer of a hurt –
somewhere inside them – on some page or pages – of their story - and based on
their face – and their presence – and how they walk into rooms – it seems they
are carrying it on their back – some days – more than other days?
The image that hits me about all this is from the movie, The Mission – which takes place in South
America in the 1750’s.
Rodrigo Mendoza – played by Robert de Niro – is a bad guy. He kidnaps Guarani Indians and sells them as slaves for plantations. The scene that grabbed me is when we see him pulling a big
net full of stuff. It’s his armor and his sword. To drag the tools of his trade
as a mercenary was the penance a Jesuit priest gives him - as well as for killing his half-brother in a duel. In the movie we find out that Rodrigo discovered
his half-brother in bed with de Nero’s girlfriend. Looking at his life, Rodrigo goes into a deep depression of mind and heart.
It’s torturous to see him pulling that bundle through the jungles - up
and down hills –– till he changes, repents. Some Guarani Indians see him. The enemy has appeared. One runs at him to perhaps kill him - but then this Guarani with a knife cuts the ropes
– and then like in the story of the Prodigal Son - the celebration begins. In time Rodrigo becomes a Jesuit. It’s a story of hope that help is possible.
Wounds can be healed. Redemption can be discovered. Redemption is possible.
Is that true then: hurts can heal? There is no wound that cannot be
healed. Is that true?
SORES OF THE SOUL
I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder. I listen to people who seem unable to
feel forgiven of the sins of their youth or their marriage or their lifetime.
I hear people talking about sores
of the soul – cuts – deep inner hurts – that chaff and cause grief for a
lifetime.
Someone was sexually abused by another. Someone betrayed someone.
Someone made a mistake that was just too much – too, too painful. A marriage crashed and crushed a couple. A family has fallen apart.
The words that they hear inside their inner conversations with
themselves are coated with barbed wire or sandpaper.
Then to make things worse: Jeremiah is saying God wounded you, Israel, because of your sins – because of your infidelities.
Does God do that? Can we picture
God zapping someone – wounding someone – and then not forgiving them?
That’s one way of understanding God. That theme strings its way all
through the scriptures and all through some people’s thinking on how they see
God and life.
Then there are other threads of thinking – that these wounds – inflicted on us by others – or self-inflicted – can be healed. It’s added that God does not
wound. We do. There are many scripture texts that tell us God forgives – but we
don’t many times.
So in this homily I’m wallowing a bit in the question of incurable
wounds.
As priest in the 1980’s when we started to hear about some priests
abusing children and teenagers – we were shocked. I know I sat there at a workshop that we were
all told to attend. It was 3 days of horror stories - and that sorry saga and anger continues.
The only good news was that there was the possibility of healing when
the men who did this went for help in one of these centers around the country.
Years later we were told that that this was an incurable wound – that could
not be healed. Bummer.
Many of these priests were abused themselves. That's one disaster. Then there is the horror that those
they abused were wounded – many for life.
I stand under the cross and pray for those who have hurt young people
and try to hear Jesus’ words from Luke: “Father, forgive them; for they do not
know what they are doing.” [Cf. Luke
23:34]
And sometimes when waiting to hear that, I hear something different. I hear Jesus’ words, “If any of you put a
stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be
better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were
thrown into the sea.” [Cf. Mark 9:42;
Matthew 18:6-7; Luke 17:2-5.] I also pray that if this scandal that hit the Catholic priesthood warns parents to be more vigilant when it comes to whom their kids are alone with - teachers, step-fathers, instructors, coaches, guides, etc. - then that's one good thing that comes out of our embarrassment and shame.
IN THE MEANWHILE –
TODAY’S GOSPEL
Each of us has to address and admit of our own wounds and hurts – our
sins and our mistakes. We need to at least try to understand our story – what
happened – what we did wrong or how we were wronged by another or others.
As I thought about all this last night it hit me that it’s easier to
state the problem – than to heal the problem – or have the would healed.
Today’s gospel – Matthew 14:22-36
- tells us that Jesus can walk across the waters and we can scream out, “Lord,
save me.” We can say to ourselves, “If
only I touch the tassel of his garment I can be healed.”
Yes.
WOUNDED HEALERS
Back in the 1979 Henri Nouwen came out with his book, The Wounded Healer.
I heard Henri speak a few times and was moved and challenged every time.
He caused me to pause.
I think that was his greatest gift.
Take a moment and think about this comment in his book, The Wounded Healer, “The mystery of one
man is too immense and too profound to be explained by another man.”
That one comment could cause all of us to pause in the middle of a
gossip session or a coffee break when we stand there explaining someone else –
and get us to shut up about each other. We don’t even know ourselves – and our
deepest wounds and beauties.
That’s why we need to have that sign on our walls about the moccasins
and the skin.
American Indian Proverb: "Never criticize another till you have walked a
mile in their moccasins.”
And Atticus Finch’s statement to Scout, “You never really understand
things from his point of view … Until you climb into his skin and walk around
in it.” [From Harper Lee’s book, To Kill a
Mockingbird.]
After hearing confessions of people for 48 years now as a priest – I know
I keep those words of others in mind – and my translation is this: “Just listen
and bring Christ and his forgiveness to this person right now – because I don’t
know them and I have not walked a mile in their sins.”
“Bless me father for I have sinned….
Hopefully all priests are healers – and I think Henri Nouwen’s book
about The Wounded Healer got a lot of us priests to look at our own souls – our
own motives – the gut reason why we became priests – in the first place.
One answer: to be healed and to heal.
Last night was I was working on this homily I typed into Google,
“Incurable Wound” and found some profound stuff.
I noticed that Carl Jung used that phrase, “Incurable Wound” before
Henri Nouwen. I am sure both noticed that Jeremiah used it some 600 years
before Christ. I am sure both of them knew it was a theme in literature and
life down through the ages.
In preparing these words about incurable wounds I read about a study by
Alison Barr who sent an on-line questionnaire to British counselors and psychotherapists
asked them psychological wounds was key to why they became counselors and
therapists.
Sure enough over 70 percent of them said yes – that they had been
wounded – and that was key to why they
got into the field.
I noticed in further reading how therapists are counseled themselves to
be aware that other’s wounds and hurts trigger thoughts and memories about
their own wounds and hurts. It’s helpful to be aware of that background – but
not let it get in the way in being with this particular person.
CONCLUSION: JESUS
– THE WOUNDED HEALER
The title of my homily is, “Incurable Wound.”
How do I end this homily?
Upon reading about wounded healers a question hit me loud and clear: is
this why so many people turn to Jesus?
I thought about Jesus rejected, beaten, crowned with thorns, nailed to a
cross – cursed and spit upon. I thought about all those gory paintings of Jesus
beaten and bloody. I’ve often thought about them being too much - including this painting by St. Alphonsus de Liguori:
I
thought the same way when I saw the various scenes in the movie, The Passion of Jesus Christ. It all seemed too gory
and too much.
But behind it all, is the reason behind all this the need for a wounded
healer? Is that the reason behind which so many see Christ and Christianity a
key to life?
Is that why so many stand under the cross and look up to Christ for
healing?
