The Present Moment

St. Paul in his letter to the Philippians writes, “..work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure" Take what is given you, the time, the place, the present moment, accept it as a fount of Grace, and a let God use it for your own salvation. Salvation is freedom. It isn't freedom in a political sense. It isn't as your elementary school teachers said. It hasn't anything at all to do with the Pledge of Allegiance or the Declaration of Independence. It's really a freedom that lies somewhere deeper. It’s not a freedom from the world, from pain, from fear, and from suffering like the Buddhists teach although that's whole lot closer. All those are part of life and it’s pretty unrealistic to think that faith works like magic to eliminate all bad things from our lives. It isn't a question of attachment or detachment. When the Bible talks about freedom, and indeed salvation, what it’s talking about is the freedom to take everything as it comes. Whether it’s joyous or tragic, only faith can take those things and show them as they really are: points of contact with God. The ability of having that kind of faith is the mark of those who are “saved.” And they are truly saved. I trust, through Faith, that every breath, every action by man or by nature constitutes such a point of contact with the Divine. It doesn't matter if it’s a bad thing (things can be genuinely bad, I know.). All things ultimately can, through faith that they do, be founts of Grace and a great aid in penetrating the veil that separates us from the spiritual world where God remains hidden.


Simone Weil in one her letters to the French Catholic priest Fr. Perrin wrote:

God's mercy is manifest in affliction as in joy, by the same right, more perhaps, because under this form it has no human analogy. Man's mercy is only shown in giving joy, or maybe in inflicting pain with a view to outward results, bodily healing or education. But it is not the outward results of affliction that bear witness to divine mercy. The outward results of true affliction are nearly always bad. We lie when we try to disguise this. It is in affliction itself that the splendor of God's mercy shines, from its very depths, in the heart of its inconsolable bitterness. If in persevering in our love, we fall to the point where the soul cannot keep back the cry," My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" if we remain at this point without ceasing to love, we end by touching something that is not affliction, something not of the senses, common to joy and sorrow: the very love of God.

In my understanding of things, Weil seems to be right. Affliction, in-of -itself a bad thing, becomes through our faith in God’s will, a touch point, while definitely not being a pleasant one. We are not meant to understand all things at all times, we are often meant to stand before the awesome mystery of God, of the universe, and simply behold it. To be able to do that is salvation.


The field wherein this occurs is the present moment. Salvation isn’t something in the past and it isn’t something in the future. Working out one’s salvation is something done now. The Greek philosopher Zeno discovered an interesting paradox about time. When we look at an arrow shot across a field, we see only a moving arrow moving toward a target. But if we were to freeze time and examine it at any given moment of its flight, we would see the arrow suspended in mid-air. The present moment is like that for us. It’s easy to let our lives seem like a trajectory from point A to B but in reality, those points do not exist. The past is but memory and the future mere conjecture. This sort of thinking is probably cliché but like many clichés, it contains truth. It is in the present moment and the present moment only, that we truly live and can truly be open to God. It’s easy to get lost and fail to see that. We pour over our lives, our past, and our goals looking for meaning.
It has been nearly two months since my wife, Robin has died. I have been lost in the memory of the joy and Grace that characterized our life together and in the dark mire of my future without her. I stand between the two. I am where am now because of her, and will be where I shall be because of her also.

The future is no business of my own. Robin’s future, with all its expectations and possibilities, was in an instant no more. Her earthly life is over. As for me, it is for God alone to know where I am going. But where I have been is mine. Memory can be a burden, yes, but it is also can be a brilliant gift of God in the present moment. Memory is the outline of things that have framed our present moment, the field where we experience God and truly live.

My Monastery Stay

Last week, I spent three days at the Benedictine monastery of St. Mary's in Petersham, MA. I arrived just before Sext and settled in a little. Immediately after Sext, male retreatants eat with the monks. The monks eat in silence and stick to pretty strict vegetarian diet. That day's main course was a vegetable quiche. I spent much time in prayer. The monks pray the seven canonical hours. I prayed most of that with them. I also prayed the Rosary four times a day during those days, even experimenting with John Paul II's Luminous Mysteries. Mental or contemplative prayer is pretty difficult for me now with all the distractions of life. With the structure of prayer life already set into place, I was able have some meaningful prayer time, especially in front of the Blessed Sacrament in the monastery church. I was able to find some peace in the stillness of monastic life. The verse from Psalms, "Be still and know that I am God" was on my mind and my lips throughout the three days. I am beginning to accept that my loss of Robin is the will of God and nothing can alter it. Her death is part of a larger reality--one which we cannot begin to fathom.

One of the monks, Br. Jerome was asked to offer me some pointed spiritual direction. He mostly listened and offered counsel from solid rock of Scripture and the Church Fathers. It was much appreciated. No platitudes were offered. It was much different than that chaplain, who on the night of Robin's death, consoled me explaining reincarnation. Brother Jerome spoke with grace and simplicity, not pretending to know any answers. He recommended some reading. I began to read Jean-Pierre Caussade's Abandonment to Divine Providence. The basic thrust of which is that the present moment has a sort of sacramental nature and that we should abandon ourselves to the Grace which is contained in it. Even a horrible time like this contains Grace. The created order, through Christ, is made to help in the salvation of mankind. Robin's passing, as devastating as it is for me, contains Grace if only I have faith and trust in God's mercy. And I do have faith and I trust in the mercy and goodness of God. I loved Robin more than I have ever loved anyone in the world and her death has seemingly left my life empty but God will redeem this suffering and it will, in the end, be ordered to my salvation. I

My experience at St. Mary's is pretty similar Robin and my experience at S. Gregory's Abbey in Michigan. It was actually a nice corollary doing something that Robin and I did together. She would have really enjoyed the solid music program there. She was a such a musical person. The Gregorian Chant there was well sung and with the addition of the nuns from neighboring community, the effect was angelic. The acoustics in the church were really good. This is in sharp contrast to the music at Saint Gregory's, at which Robin let out a few chuckles. She was a funny person. She theorized that those monks turned into cats after Compline. The solemnity of Catholic worship was something goofy. She really kept me in check and didn't let me become too goofy of an Anglo-Catholic. To her the liturgy should be a presentation of the Gospel, in which people are transformed in Christ. But isn't that true. Sometime people get carried away with incense and vestments and choral Masses. She thought the church should be inclusive and welcoming and at the same time, holy. I think they pulled that off at St. Mary's and Robin would have been pleased.