40 Days: Appearances

Last night at the vigil, I had an interesting encounter. It was a rainy, cool Sunday night, the liquor store closed, so we had relatively little foot traffic past us. But one guy came walking past while my friend and I were talking. I said “hello,” and he didn’t even acknowledge us. That happens sometimes, and I made the usual assumption, that he disagreed with our purpose and wanted to express that opinion without risking a discussion.

So you say a prayer and let it go.

However, just a minute or so later, he was back, and he wanted a favor. “Either of you guys got jumper cables?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. It’s always awkward when you get those kinds of requests down there. There are good safety reasons to be reluctant to go off in the dark night with a stranger. After a moment of internal debate, I said that I did, and asked my friend if he was OK alone for a few minutes while I went to help this man get his car started. Then I was asking the guy into my vehicle to give him a ride to his car a couple of blocks away.

It was a short distance. We pulled up, jumped out, and set to work on our respective hoods. Mine opened, and his didn’t. Turned out it was a friend’s car, and there was a trick to the hood. The man began to explain he’d been having a terrible week, and a terrible day. Everything had gone wrong. He was cold. He was only in town for a funeral. Now this.

After a quick call to the car’s owner, we figured out the hood and got the car going easily. The young man was profusely grateful, to me, but I think more for just having something finally go right.

I thought later about my first impression, that the guy was hostile, and how I was probably completely wrong. Whether or not he agrees with the vigil, I suspect he was simply pre-occupied with his woes. Suffering can narrow our existential horizons until we can barely lift our eyes to see anything beyond our misery.

Reflecting on it still more, I begin to think that this is profoundly connected to the vigil itself, and why the merchants for the Culture of Death are so deadly effective in their work. Many of the people seeking abortions are in just such a place of suffering, of fear, even of despair. Everything has gone wrong, and now this. When someone offers them what appears as an easy, mechanical solution, it is easy to see why it’s attractive.

In the face of this, the strongest, truest arguments don’t get very far. Although the arguments are necessary, what is really needed is love.

Pope John Paul II, in his apostolic letter “Salvifici Doloris” (“On the Christian Meaning of Human Suffering” is the English title) says this:

Assuming then that throughout his earthly life man walks in one manner or another on the long path of suffering, it is precisely on this path that the Church at all times … should meet man. Born of the mystery of Redemption in the Cross of Christ, the Church has to try to meet man in a special way on the path of his suffering. In this meeting man “becomes the way for the Church,” and this way is one of the most important ones.

It is necessary but not sufficient to demand changes to make the laws more just. It is necessary but not sufficient to meet the Culture of Death’s lies on the battlefield of reason and public discourse. Only in walking with the suffering in true love and solidarity can we lift the eyes of those seduced by the Culture of Death beyond their present fears toward true hope, which is not found in works of death but in the gift of life.

That walk sometimes means overcoming our own fears, too.

Mute Math

One of the band members from Mute Math writes a blog. Here’s his take on the First Avenue show I was able to attend last weekend — which was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

Here’s one of their great songs:

Anna’s birthday Thursday

Anna's gravestone

They that hope in the LORD will renew their strength, they will soar as with eagles’ wings; They will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint. – Isaiah 40:31

Sometimes God takes His time renewing our strength. Approaching Anna’s third birthday Thursday, I have been reminded of just how much healing is yet to take place in my heart. It’s funny how things can crop up.

I miss her. Little Maria looks like her, feels like her with that newborn low muscle tone, although I suspect now she has better head control than Anna did for most of her life. Often I’m asked about Maria. “How’s she doing?” I wonder what is meant. Is it simply the normal, “How’s the baby?” Or is it a subtle way of asking, “Does she have what Anna had?”

Either way, it’s OK. I have always said I don’t want Anna to be some forgotten part of our life. Whenever I’m asked about children, I say that I have three.

The truth is that Maria seems great. So did Anna, at first. I really have no idea whether Maria has a mitochondrial disorder or not, and so we operate on the assumption she doesn’t. Every little baby occasionally does weird stuff as they learn how to use their hands and legs and eyes, and I try (and often fail) not to read trouble into them. That’s not fair to her. On the other hand, she’s meeting her milestones and growing like mad and smiling and trying to talk to us, which are all good signs, but I can’t take them as assurance that everything’s super.

I’ve written before that we would welcome Anna again and again, wouldn’t trade her life for anything. Still true. I’ve written that I’m grateful for her life, that even the pain of her death is blessing all the way down, because it is the cost of love, a cost I am glad to pay for Anna. Still true.

But it’s the cross, and the cross is real and it hurts.

I hate the thought of forgetting, of moving on, and yet in so many ways that’s easy to do. In that light, too, the hurting heart is a blessing. It brings a memory of the past into my present.

Over the past few weeks, I have spent more than 30 hours praying in front of the abortion mill in Duluth, and speaking to the “locals” who may be addicted, mentally ill and homeless. The babies inside, the outcast outside – how easy and how terrible it is for people to be forgotten. But Jesus never forgets them.

God has revealed to us that all things work for good for those who love Him, and as we know, “all things” includes sometimes having your child die at 14 months and having a heart in need of healing over a year later.

Sometimes my heart is in utter confusion about why God made things this way. What I know is that He did make them that way. Maybe part of the good working through this is that He’s calling me to trust Him even when His ways are beyond my ken.

Meanwhile, we love in Christ where there finally is no loss.

Sweet St. Anna, pray for us.

Cross posted.

Very funny

I always find it amusing when a blogger initiates a friendly debate, loses the debate and then proceeds to edit the comments on the blog in such a way as to leave the impression of victory, when in fact the person has shown shocking ignorance of basic points and not engaged opposing arguments, with only sneers and gratuitous assertions in his or her favor.

So be forewarned that a blogger has done that to me here and here, deleting rebuttals such as the one in which I pointed out that St. Thomas Aquinas, writing from the mainstream of Christian thought before and after him, had clearly taught that the literal sense of Scripture was the foundation of all other senses of Scripture, contrary to the blogger’s opinion that no major theologian thought this before Moody in 1906. Apparently she was also unconcerned that St. Ignatius of Antioch, whose letters have been authenticated by historians, and who was probably ordained by Peter and taught the faith by John, clearly taught a bodily resurrection and gladly died for the spectacle of the Roman masses confessing that belief. (Well, duh. So did the rest of the Church Fathers.)

No, those salient facts were deleted from the site, while the blogger has now posted a sneer about how irrational and impervious to evidence us “religionists” are. So beware that whatever appears on that particular site does not reflect the actual discussion but includes some less than scrupulous editing.

Hey, that’s me!

I wrote a column for Living Stones News, a local Christian publication that did a profile on me some time back, about 40 Days for Life. You can read the column here. (The profile is here.)

An excerpt of the column:

This is a leap of faith. Bearing witness where people may yell obscenities at you is hard. Jesus said we are blessed when we are cursed for the sake of His name. Standing out in the elements and in the dark of night is hard. But remember Jesus once asked His disciples on a dark night, “Could you not watch with Me for one hour?” He was frequently known to spend all night in prayer in a desert place, and First Street is that at times.

We pray in pairs. One great way to get involved is to get a prayer partner who will join you at the vigil. Each of you could sign up for the same hour each week. In a similar way, a men’s group, youth group or Bible study could find eight people and fill four hours a week. Men are particularly needed for the overnight hours.

From apostolic times until the middle of the 20th century, Christians unanimously bore witness to the evil of abortion and similar practices. Early Christians were distinguished in part by their refusal to “expose” unwanted babies. We now often feel powerless, waiting on God to act. It reminds me of the disciples who met Jesus after His Transfiguration and told Him they could not cast out a demon. He answered, “This kind is not cast out but by prayer and fasting.”

I’m up to 20 hours after two last night with a couple of good friends. It’s often amazing to me how respecting the dignity of the homeless and addicted at this site is part of what the apostolate of 40 Days for Life is in Duluth.

What if 600 babies here died from hunger …

Up to 18 hours now.

Early Saturday morning, for my 16th and 17th hours, I was blessed to spend another couple of hours at the vigil with a deacon friend. He had also invited a guy in deacon formation. Another 40 Days regular, Protestant pastor “D,” also came for one of the hours. The four of us prayed morning prayer together, as best we could, in the cold wind and partial light, those thin little breviary pages constantly threatening to flip away.

Before “D” arrived, we talked about events earlier in the week, when several women came for abortions, and there were sidewalk counselors rushing up to try to stop them. I have not been there during abortion days, but my deacon friend was there last week, and it shook him, first of all the terrible reality of what was happening in that building but also the chaos of the sidewalk. The 40 Days for Life vigil is not generally involved in that kind of work; on Tuesday, the 40 Days people remained standing and praying in the midst of it all.

We talked a little about the other approach. All of us in the conversation were a little uncomfortable with it. There are different calls in pro-life work, of course, as in so many parts of life. But I got to thinking later that a lot of people proclaim themselves pro-life and are uncomfortable with the quiet, peaceful, prayerful, non-graphic witness we’re giving too, and not because they lack the ability to stand out in the cold for an hour and pray. Even that, some would say, is too “confrontational.”

In the conversation, I spoke a conviction that grew on me during the last 40 Days. Last year, 600 babies died in that building. And I try to imagine what the response would be if 600 children died any other way in our small city. What if 600 kids died because of water pollution, or secondhand smoke, or gang violence, or hunger, or war? What would our community be doing about that? Would we struggle to find people to fill vigil hours to pray to end it? Would we be so afraid of appearing confrontational in trying to stop it? Would the daily newspaper find occasion to mention the fact that it was happening?

40 Days: Check out Roger’s blog

Roger has written about Tuesday night. Well worth a read. I largely agree with him about being there in the light versus the dark. Sometime the light is scarier.

You can tell from Roger’s deep faith why he is such a blessing to 40 Days for Life and to his family and friends.

40 Days: a tiny angel at the liquor store

It’s like an addiction: I’m up to 15 hours now.

Last night was pretty uneventful. For the last two hours, I joined some clergy from my parish; we prayed evening prayer, a rosary, a chaplet. One of them was down there for the first time, which is great. I hope he’ll be back.

One thing that happened before the clergy arrived is a little girl, a three-year-old, who walked down the street with her Dad and went into the liquor store across the street with him. I don’t know why it struck me so forcefully. It’s not that there was anything particularly wrong with the scene. When you have small children and want to make a quick stop at the liquor store, that’s what you do. I’m not a teetotaler.

Part of it was that, from what I could tell from across the street, she was adorable, in her little pink pants, dancing while her Dad talked to a friend. She was about the age my Anna would be. There was something very sweet in the way she held her Dad’s hand — a Dad I wouldn’t want to pick a fight with, let’s say — and the way he tenderly leaned down to help her up when she tripped and fell on the walk back.

But possibly what was so telling was how normal it all looked, unlike so many other scenes there, including other scenes last night. Children are a sign of hope, of life, of family. Even with that, sometimes when you see small children in that neighborhood, they are being pulled along by a mother yelling at them or worriedly hurrying them out of the cold and off the hard street. This scene was perfectly serene, the little girl had what seemed to be a decent coat on, and the father was there.

Yes, from all brief appearances a perfectly competent father taking care of a small child.

In a neighborhood torn by broken families and abortion and violence, that little girl and her Dad were like a rose in a briar patch, beautiful and striking and brightening the whole place.

And how much did having that father in her life have to do with that little girl not having her life ended on the other side of the street, where I was standing? I’ll never know, but you can look at the statistics and make a guess, let’s say.

40 Days: An interesting change of scenery

Here’s what the building looked like a couple of days ago. I would draw your attention to the middle banner, which has what looks like an outline of a baby on it.

Three banners

After the big winds that blew Monday, here’s how the wall looked.

Two banners

The bottom latch for the tether is still in place, but the top is missing. Must have come down in the wind. Fascinating.

40 Days: Four hours in the dark

Hours 8, 9, 10 and 11

I have written elsewhere that 40 Days for Life can be a leap of faith, where you stretch yourself and rely on God’s protection and providence. Last night was one of those nights. I decided to take a cold, late four-hour shift, the first two with my friend Roger and the last two, from midnight to 2 a.m., alone. (Watch Roger’s blog for more on last night.)

I want to make really clear, by the way, that no one is in any way expected to stand down there alone. That’s something I deliberately volunteered to do.

Not quite alone …

As it happened, another friend signed up for one of my “alone” hours, so let’s talk about the last hour first, when it was just me and God and my guardian angel. Knowing that there were some unfilled hours after my shift, the program organizer had stopped by and picked up the little 40 Days bag that contains sign-in sheets and resources and other miscellany. Along with it had gone our signs, an icon, a candle. I was surprised by what a security blanket those things are. They tell passersby: “This person is part of an organized event; people know he’s here.” Without them, you feel like just a guy on the street.