While in college, I bought a nice guitar but nothing came out of it. I sold it after getting married. Following my divorce at 38, I was driving through a small Louisiana town and saw a “Going Out of Business” sign at a music store.
Out of curiosity, I decided to stop.
And walked out with a guitar thinking, “if not now, then never.”
About a year later, I had learned basic chords and skills. I decided to extend my learning in front of people. Gratefully, I was accepted into a very forgiving church choir.
It took a risk to expose and practice my spirituality and prayer life from under the proverbial “bushel basket.” This is no small feat for an introverted personality in a dominant social culture where it “ain’t manly” to show such things.
What transpired since that simple beginning in 1998 contains more words than I am sure you are willing to read but I will say “it brought personal and spiritual transformation – in ways I could not have imagined.
Song became my prayer and soul exposed.
I no longer sing or play in front of groups. Yet there remains a spirit of melody and lyric deeply embedded in the expression of my soul to my Beloved. I sing sometimes silently and sometimes out loud – as my thoughts, heart, and spirit prompt. It is a gift given and received.
How are we to express our soul’s longing and consummation for what cannot be satisfied with finite things of this earth?
The merging of Little Red Riding Hood, St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio, the Cajun Rougarou, and one’s inner journey toward wholeness.
“Grandma is sick, take her this basket of cakes.
Be very careful! and don’t listen to the wolf.”
“Don’t worry”, he said.
And started his long trip through the woods.
... Soon a very big voice said: “Hello, little boy.
Why are you walking in the dark all alone?”
“Brother wolf, thou hast done much evil.
If thou no more hide: thou shalt no longer suffer.”
In agreement, the wolf placed one of his forepaws on the boy’s hand, and a friendship was formed.
“It’s safe to go home now. Rougarou is now friend.”
Take a moment, and use the comment function and write how you would caption this final image.
ps. The primary character is a little boy with his red hat and the rougarou (french for a werewolf). The red hat the boy wears is a metaphor for one’s false sense of security or comfort. The werewolf is a metaphor for things we fear in our psychological-spiritual lives. The “Gubbio” influence shifts the “little red riding hood” narrative of killing the wolf to making friends with it (ie. our fears). The “two-headed” image is the acceptance of our true selves (both good and evil). The sixth and final image reflects personal transformation to wholeness and love of self and others.
In the final image, the boy’s hat is gone and the color red has shifted to the heart representing the acceptance and love of one’s total self; both light and dark.
A few weeks ago, our family lost a close relative and dear friend to covid.
After hearing the news, I went to Christine’s Facebook page. A few months earlier she posted, “I can’t believe I made it to Medicare.” Sadly, only a few months later, she is gone.
I try to imagine her last days of life. Were her husband and children able to be with her, …hold her hand, and accompany her? What thoughts, emotions, and pain were passing through her as life was slipping away? And now, for those left behind, what are they experiencing in their shock, loss, and grief? Certainly, not the future they envisioned.
What I do know, is that my imaginings cannot come close to answering these questions.
It has been a few weeks since her passing, yet I remain saddened on too many accounts. I still feel off-balance and tear up when I reflect upon the times that Christine made me feel appreciated and important. It was her nature and personality. And this memory is what remains of her – in me.
If, or when, I am ever called on to hold someone’s hand as they pass from bodily existence;What would the sacredness of the moment expect of me?
In these ponderings, I’ve come to realize that we are already accompanying each other on our journey toward death. We claim this from our very moment of conception, as we began accompanying our mother on her journey toward death, and she accompanies us. As well as our fathers, albeit in a different way. Then at birth, we join the rest of humanity on theirs, and they with us.
It is not when given a terminal diagnosis or when reaching a certain age that this walk begins. It has begun at conception.
Mahalo: used to express gratitude(mainly in Hawaii)
Last month out of the blue, I was contacted by a Navy buddy (Lyle) who I had not heard from since our discharge in 1979. We talked on the phone for about an hour and caught up on our lives. It was great.
I asked if he heard anything about some of the other guys we worked with including Henry and Sully who were close friends to both of us. Both Henry and Sully were native Hawaiian, from the Big Island. I had been trying for years to locate them.
Henry was an easy-going soul. We spent many occasions on the shoreline; He playing ukulele and singing Hawaiian folk songs and I enjoying the moment.
Lyle heard Henry had passed but was not 100% sure. I was deeply saddened and realized that for the past forty years, I held to a memory of what used to be. And now seemed that for all those years, I had been hoping and trying to contact a “dead” man. I was unsettled with the uncertainty and not knowing. I renewed my Internet search to include Hawaii obits. Still, no luck with either Henry or Sully.
I was about to give up until I found a pictorial of our squadron that showed Sully’s first name: James. By a stroke of luck, perseverance, or holy happenstance, I came across a lead that connected me to James. Bingo!
If it wasn’t for one picture on his FB page from his younger days, I doubt I would have recognized him. We both lost our youthful head of hair, in our mid 60’s, and aged. A far cry from the young kids who were experiencing the good and not too good this world offers. Regardless, my decades-long search had ended.
James and I spoke on the phone and caught up on the past forty years. It was a surreal experience for me and great joy. After reconnecting with a long-lost friend, I could now let go of unanswered thoughts of what had become of long-lost friends who shared experiences in both work and play.
And yes, Henry had passed; some thirty years ago. So, in memory of an old friend and the good but outdated memories, I say to you, Henry: Mahalo.
And to James, the old friend of many years ago I am grateful that we’ve had a chance to talk again and to hear of your life these past forty years and the worthwhile things you are doing these days. I sensed once again, the same friendship from our past and a degree of surprise of our shared spirit of the present.
On the day I was discharged, James, along with Henry, and Nelson (another sailor and native Hawaiian) drove me to the Honolulu airport in a red VW bus for my flight home.
I asked James about Nelson. Nelson also passed away about fifteen years ago with Leukemia, leaving a wife and young children.
Of the four of us in James’ VW bus that day, two have passed. Two remain alive.
My day of passing will certainly come, yet it makes me think and contemplate, why Henry and Nelson and not yet me?
This recent episode surfaced a great Maholo (Gratitude) within my person. It refreshed lasting memories of long ago- to the present. And that (my) our passages through the light and shadow of this life – have perpetual worth and sacredness in the present. Not only to me but also to others – long after we are gone.
Equally, in body and soul, in the unity of its nature,
the Spirit dwells among us and grants us a clearer vision.
All in all.
Last week, a friend of mine wrote,
“Guy, I wish I had your eye and art for beauty.”
Deep down, I welcome her compliment, but my impulse is to say “but you do have these same eyes!” We all have these innate capacities by virtue of being created. And if there are any differences between us (and I am not sure there are), it may be how I nurture this faculty…nothing more.
It is an intriguing thought how our mind’s eye works. We see something and fool ourselves into thinking we are seeing its objective reality. Yet all we can see is “reflected” light directed onto the photoreceptors of our retinas that turn into electrical signals. These electrical signals travel from the retina through the optic nerve to the brain. The brain turns the signals into images. Eyeball vision is totally subjective yet we most often frame it as absolute truth or reality.
When I remove my eyeglasses, vision and understanding of what I see change, objective reality does not. When I close my eyes – the same thing occurs. What we think we “see” is nothing but electrical impulses triggering mental illusions of image and thought. It is why ten people can look at the same thing, and each will see differently. Not necessarily a bad thing, but just as it is.
The more I recognize how limiting my eyesight is, the more I question what is real and what is not. At first glance, it seems a very insecure place to be but a “cloud of unknowing” is the foundation for spiritual poverty and essential for the practice of voluntary humility and contemplation.
…if your eye is sound your whole body will be full of light.” Matt 6:22
Once I can recognize the divine image where I don’t want to see the divine image, then I have learned how to see. (Richard Rohr)
It prompts me to nurture and trust deeper faculties of vision such as intuition, imagination, conscience, unknowing, spirit, soul, memory, consciousness, knowledge, and love (to name a few). This nurturing of our spirit is worthy at any age.
“During this night, rest in heart, seat of the soul and breathe anew”
“Stepping Stones,” writes Dr. Progoff, are the significant points of movement along the road of our lives, how we got from there to here, and what steps we selected along our path.
“Stepping Stones, or stumbling stones, …I am not sure.”
Childhood/ Family Foundations
Working Class
Five Siblings
Familial/ Cajun Legacy
As a boy, I cried easily. I recall an episode with my father when I was around 14 or 15 years of age. It was a simple misunderstanding, and I broke into tears in which he could not understand. I still remember his agitated and manly voice, “What are you crying for!” It triggered a felt sense of shame in front of my father. At that moment, I made a conscious decision it was time for me to grow up, stop crying, and be a “man.”
At 64, I’ve hardened a bit. I still cry when my heart is stomped but no longer ashamed of showing my tears.
Military/ Following Footsteps
Worldly College
Naval Aircrewman
Honorable Discharge
At 18, I had no plan for what I wanted to do or become so I enlisted. By the age of 22, I had circled the globe experiencing good and “not so” good in myself and the larger world. And my curiosity for electronics emerged.
University/ Satisfying Curiosities
BS Electrical Engineering
IEEE Centennial Medal
Average Grades
Teaching Certificate
Diaconal Certificate
After college graduation, I sat in my parent’s living room gazing at my diploma; Six years and thousands of math problems – now behind me. My dad said, “I sure did not think you would finish.” I was surprised by what he said.
Someone who knew me best – didn’t know or believe – some “thing” in me. I had proceeded at my own pace, and my grades were often borderline, but I never considered not completing. I held singular determination on what I had envisioned for myself.
1st Marriage/ Shattered Illusions
Fatherhood
Divorce
Split Parents
Grand kids
We choose our spouse but our parents are chosen by the hand of God; a child gets no choice in the matter. The great gift our parents offer is their example of how to live, and equally valuable how “not” to live. Once we leave our parents, it is our free will to keep what is good and let go of what is not. There is no life in victimhood.
Career/ Economy of Obligations
Veteran
Engineer
Chairman’s Award
Teacher
Twenty years ago, I asked one of my coworkers for feedback on how he thought I performed in my work. After a moment’s pause, he said, “You stick your neck out very far.” He was right, but it was from a conscious choice to be open, honest, and secure in who I am. Consequences come as they may – but what I valued more was that at the end of the day, to lay my head on its pillow and my conscience be clear.
Ministry/ Icon of Christ the Servant
Altar Boy
Peer Ministry/ BE
Liturgical Music/Art
Teacher/ Catechist
Holy Orders
When I was a child, I was taught as a child and did as a child.
My formal entry into adult ministry was borne from my first experience of major loss and grief. The seed was planted when told by others I was a good person and worthy of love. I hung onto Jesus and through the process of recovery decided to publically share my prayer and spirit with others.
In many ways, I am still that little boy. But each stage and circumstance of my life cooperated in some form of Grace inviting and other times pushing me to grow beyond childhood. My spiritual path at this juncture in life is to grow in consent to Divine Presence and action in my life.
2nd Marriage/ Friendship First
Cajun Boy/ Cajun Girl
“Marriage is for Life”
Divorce
Years ago, my father shared with me that his intent with other people was to extend trust upfront. They did not have to first earn his trust. He said if and when his trust was betrayed, he felt strong enough to take the “first” blow and recover. He would then adjust the level of trust in the relationship. I’ve done the same and learned; It is a hard choice to be vulnerable and trusting in this world but its fruits are authenticity, intimacy, and communion. I’ve also learned it to be a road less traveled.
Elderhood/ Unexplored Territory
Confront Mortality
Still the Mind
Open the Heart
Fruitfulness
Elderhood is both “Sunset” and “Sunrise.” To accept it as an invitation to cooperate in a sacrament of surrender; a graceful transition in letting go of what is no longer life-giving, or necessary. This gift comes to all of us by choice, age, infirmity, and ultimately death.
The grace of elderhood is that it offers liberty and deeper meanings for life. There is now time, space, and necessity to explore new landscapes, pathways, and other seekers along the way; without rush and with much less baggage to carry.
Fr. Ron Rolheiser offers another “stone” of elder wisdom. “The aged person as “a stone in the river,” giving the river its character:
An old woman may be helpful simply as a figure valued for her character. Like a stone at the bottom of a riverbed, she may do nothing but stay still and hold her ground, but the river has to take her into account and alter its flow because of her.
An older man, by sheer presence, plays his part as a character in the drama of the family and neighborhood. His character brings particular qualities to every scene, adds to their intricacy and depth by representing the past and the dead.
When all the elderly are removed to retirement communities, the river flows more smoothly back home. No disruptive rocks. Less character too.”
I first encountered the sixteenth-century mystic John of the Cross in Thomas Merton’s book titled, The Ascent to Truth. Not only in Merton’s book did I encounter the Carmelite theologian but also a deeper understanding of the spiritual path of purgation, illumination, and unitive.
Its timing was a gift through Grace as I was journeying through my own Dark Night. John’s poetic writings especially his Spiritual Canticle pierced my soul and wakened me to his soul and place of writing.
John of the Cross played a significant role in the reform movement of the Carmelite Order known as the Discalced Carmelites. The following narrative from Mirabai Starr’s translation of Dark Night of the Soul offer a short bio.
“John (of the Cross) paid for his participation in this (Carmelite reform) effort. In 1577, at the age of 35, he was captured by a group of friars committed to upholding the traditions of the established Church. He was taken to Toledo where he was interrogated and tortured. They tried to force him into denouncing the reform but he refused. And so he was imprisoned in a tiny dark closet that had previously served as a toilet. He was brought out only to be flogged in the center of the dining commons while the monks ate their dinner.
John himself suffered virtual starvation. That first winter, he endured brutal cold and was offered neither cloak nor blanket. In the summer, the heat was stifling and his clothes began to rot on his body. At first, he took comfort in his quiet interior connection to God, but over time the divine presence began to fade and John could not help but wonder if his Beloved had abandoned him. He was Jonah languishing inside the belly of the whale.
In the depths of his despair, John composed passionate love poems to God. Although his creative flow saved his sanity, it could not save his life. Convinced after nine months that if he endured another moment of incarceration he would die, John tied knots in scraps of cloth and slipped through a tiny window at the upper edge of his cell. He lowered himself down the long wall of the monastery and into the safety of the night.
He had traveled through perfect darkness and emerged to find the living God waiting for him in the depths of his own heart.For the next two decades he John dedicated himself to the reform, and the sweet simplicity of guiding the spiritual lives of his Barefoot Sons and Daughters.”
Toward the end of the saint’s life, envies and disquietudes led to a secret effort to remove him from the sphere of influence. He died in 1592 at the age of 49. He was canonized in 1726. Today he is one of thirty-six Doctors of the Church. He is also considered the patron saint of poets.
Sacrament of Surrender
Legacy of violence shows no heart: Only power and its pride Adding harm to wounded souls: not work of God The good shepherd recovers the lost: Not abandon
From the throne: “You did nothing wrong” Rendered judgment: Empty words Under what circumstances: Truth, justice, and charity ignored?
Back laid bare, branded: Worth-less No satisfaction, no absolution: Paper speaks a self-indictment Stay in the dark, hide: Shame does as shame is
In Light, you would see: Scandal of your making In Light, you would see: Spirit and soul transcend fortress walls In Light, you would see: A thread left for redemption
Idols fallen, veil torn: Tears melt the scales Advocate, Counselor, and Healer: Walking and talking Burning heart, breaking bread: Consent in Silence
Outside the Word: There are no vows Called by name, Grace bestowed: Not by man, nor to be hidden Communion of Saints, Church: Welcomes, heals, …does no harm
It is finished: Only in God, …not in man.
“When members of the Sanhedrin heard this, they were furious and gnashed their teeth at him.” Acts 7:54
“We all have the innate capacity to manifest God because we already are that image by virtue of being created.” (Thomas Keating)
So, what gives rise to the mistaken belief that we are ever separate from Grace?
The below image is my rendering of a famous 12th-century icon, by Andrei Rublev, based on Genesis 18 and titled, Hospitality of Abraham; The biblical story where three strangers are welcomed into the abode of Abraham and Sarah.
I’ve titled it “Never Alone.” It expresses conviction and consent of God’s Presence and Action in my life, a Holy Presence which never abandons nor exiles. It suggests a relationship and a safe meeting place for communion and refuge from the worst of this world.
See the eucharistic chalice at its lower center. When I was a child, I would imagine when receiving communion during mass; the host would float down over my speckled soul; Wrap it and return it to full white divinity.
Today I hold a broader experience, imagination, and practice of prayer, Church, and our eucharistic sacrifice. I include lived experience and imagination as necessary for a deeper understanding of faith’s mysteries. For words can only point.
It is through the practice of Contemplative/Centering Prayer that I am reminded my thoughts are not God’s thoughts.
Contemplative prayer is silence, the “symbol of the world to come” or “silent love.” In this silence, unbearable to the “outer” man, the Father speaks to us his incarnate Word, who suffered, died, and rose; In this silence, the Spirit of adoption enables us to share in the prayer of Jesus. “…like entering into the Eucharistic liturgy.” (CCC2711, 2717)
When I recognize that I am ” a little more than nothing,” but much, much more than my thoughts, my feelings, my body, my spirit, or their summation, I begin to know myself deeply and this “silent love,” within my soul.
And not me just alone, but as my spiritual sister (Cynthia) in the forest calls the below image, “the great cloud of witnesses;”
A Communion of Saints
In being open, vulnerable, and heartfelt in the sharing of both light and shadow, we enter a deep intimacy, …as a communion of holy persons.
This agape, …our communion of souls is the very best of meeting places. And for me, the incarnate and deepest meaning of Church, “on earth as it is in heaven.”
Until we enter full consummation with “thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven,” our outer man and outer world will bear its suffering and death. It is a lonely place, but through our call and participation as a People of God in the Work of God (Opus Dei), we live a deep eucharistic (sacrificial) liturgy (CCC 957,1069).
I met Mr. Bob a few years before his death while making monthly visits to Evangeline Oaks nursing home to offer Holy Eucharist. Bob was in his mid 80’s and was born with Cerebral Palsy. He never married, held a job, or drove a car. He lived and was supported by his family for his entire life. His body was wracked, and speech garbled.
In his little corner of the room he shared was a small collection of worn photos of young boys in their little league baseball uniforms. After introducing myself, I asked him about the photos. In his strained effort to speak, he shared his love of baseball and passion for coaching the underprivileged boys in the community.
When we first met, Mr. Bob could walk on his own. He made his way to the activity room for Communion Service. Not long after, he required a walker and soon thereafter could not leave his room without assistance. I began going to his room to offer Eucharist.
Some of the times when I would visit Mr. Bob’s room, his younger brother, Gerald, was visiting. Their devotion toward each other was obvious. There were these random moments where they spoke to each other in a “call and response.” One would say, “Not my will but thine be done!” and the other would respond, “Not my will be thine be done!.” I am not sure which of the brothers would start it or trigger it; maybe pain, doubt, maybe a need for comfort and assurance. I heard this on practically every visit in which his brother Gerald was there. And to this day, I can still replay the call and response in my mind’s eye, “Not my will, but thine be done!”
Here is someone who did not experience the many advantages I had and continue to have in life. I did not pity Mr. Bob but was amazed, “Not my will but thine be done!”
Mr. Bob would light up when I entered the room, especially when seeing the vessels of the Eucharist. We would make our pleasantries and come together for a shared prayer before Eucharist. After a brief moment of silence, we could chit-chat a bit. Despite his extreme disabilities, he was an image of exuberance that always uplifted me and left me eager to see him again.
On one occasion, I entered his room, his bed was empty, and his belongings were gone. I was told he had a stroke and was at the hospital.
Later that day, I went to the hospital. His brother Gerald was with him. Mr. Bob was awake but unable to verbalize. The most he could do was moan and grunt a bit. I told him that he was a holy man and an inspiration to me. And that God’s Holy Spirit would take care of him.
After some time, Mr. Bob returned to the nursing home. He could no longer speak legibly, was bedridden, and kept nourished with a feeding tube. He could no longer receive Eucharist. Instead, I would pray with him aloud or gently sing a church hymn. I would hold the Eucharist above him and affirm his receiving of Christ. I can still see his body animate with a groaning of excitement and spirit.
Before ending the visit, I would gesture a blessing, telling him, “Mr. Bob, you are a blessed and holy man. You still have something to give to the rest of us; thank you!” I may have been the one gesturing a blessing, but I knew it was he who was blessing me. There was a sense in me that I was witnessing a living saint. And I still believe so.
After his stroke, Mr. Bob lived for another eighteen months bedridden, flat on his back and on a feeding tube. Unable to talk and yet deeply communicated.
I attended Mr. Bob’s funeral mass and was able to tell his brother Gerald how inspired I was by his brother. I was the only white man at his funeral.
Aristile “Bob” Lilly (1932 – 2019)
++++++++++
“The real question before our death, then, is not, how much can I still accomplish, or how much influence can I still exert? but, how can I live so that I can continue to be fruitful when I am no longer here among my family and friends? That question shifts our attention from doing to being. Our doing brings success, but our being bears fruit.
The great paradox of our lives is that we are often concerned about what we do or still can do, but we are most likely to be remembered for who we were. If the Spirit guides our lives—the Spirit of love, joy, peace, gentleness, forgiveness, courage, perseverance, hope, and faith—then that Spirit will not die but will continue to grow from generation to generation“ (Ron Rolheiser).
John of the Cross, 16th century Spanish Carmelite was perceived as a threat by his religious brothers. They kidnapped, imprisoned, and isolated him in a dark closet for nearly a year. The idols in which he had cast his happiness and spiritual consolations from a lifetime of religious devotion abandoned him. Through this crucible of poverty, he had nothing to offer but his consent and trust – in God Alone.
He composes (The Dark Night)in which one is lost, (The Spiritual Canticle)abandoned by a beloved, and (The Living Flame of Love)a Love which burns. John of the Cross writes:
“The Father spoke one word from all eternity and he spoke it in silence, and it is in this silence that we hear it.”
What is this silence?
Author Robert Sardello in “Silence, The Mystery of Wholeness,” writes,
“Silence was here before anything else, and it envelops everything else. Silence is prior to sound, not the cessation of sound, it is already present.
Genesis 1:1 “Now the earth was formless and empty,…”
There is Sacred Silence before human consciousness. Before birth and after death. And sacrament in the Silence of this present moment.
I know this “formless” Silence in my innermost being, shared only with the Divine Other, my Beloved. It is where I am known and not alone.
Contemplative prayer is silence, …unbearable to the “outer man,” and like entering into the Eucharistic liturgy: …accepted only in humility and poverty. (CCC2709-2724)
++++
I set aside time in my own spiritual cellar. I stand in orans, gently crossing my forehead,“Lord, cleanse my thoughts.” Cross my eyes, “Lord, clarify my sight.”Cross my ears, “Lord, teach me to hear.” I cross my lips, “Lord, cleanse my words.” Finally, cross my heart with both hands, “Lord, heal my heart.”
I sit and recite a personalized version of 1 Corinthians 2:12. “I have not received the spirit of the world but the spirit that is from God, so that I may understand the things freely given me by God.” I am now ready.
I tap my singing bowl marking the beginning of twenty minutes of contemplative silence. I intend to sit in silence, consenting to Divine Presence and action in my life. No expectations, …only trust.
I soon begin daydreaming. And by a sacred word, I interrupt mindless chatter and return, …again, …and again. A hundred times, …returning to consent in Silence.
After twenty minutes, my timer sounds. I end with Isaiah, “By waiting and by calm I shall be saved, in quiet and in trust my strength lies.” I gently open my eyes.
I ask God to keep me aware of Divine Presence. I get up and go about my day.
Christian contemplative prayer is desert spirituality traced to the Desert Fathers and Mothers of the 4th century.
It is a spiritual practice of relinquishing (for a time) our usual capacities of sensing, knowing, and acting. It is an intentional act of humility, poverty, and Eucharistic sacrifice – of laying down the “self” we think we are.
In Sacred Silence, …an interior clearing takes place – making room for new life, not only for oneself but for others as well. I am grateful for the discovery.
As we enter this Lenten journey with Jesus in the desert, may you hear the Word in Silence.
ps. To learn more, google or youtube: Fr. Keating/ Centering Prayer.
