They say it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all — one of those cheery statements that sounds great, except when you are in the valley of the shadows, scrolling through platitudes on facebook, untouched.
Mary herself, was told that a sword would pierce through her soul, one of the side effects of having your heart running around outside your body, as every parent knows. Sometimes pin pricks, sometimes death blows, the risks and costs of love are legion.
So, here we are. Gone now is the shock of the blow, the fire and tears, the bravery and hope. Now we emerge into a steady fog, one grey day following the other with only glimpses of sunshine at 4:07 on occasional Thursdays. Forever threatens, shows its teeth: it will never be the same as it was before; it will always be the same as it is now. Dull and drab and dreary.
This is, of course, a lie.
Or perhaps, a half truth. The part that is true is the part that says, it will never be the same as it was before. Forever flows forward, leaving behind (and often transforming) unique pasts. However, many component parts of days gone by are regularly remixed into the future. We don’t know what’s around the corner. Mercy is new every morning.
Getting (it) together
I’ve been thinking about religion in times of persecution — which always seems to be happening in one place or another. Specifically, I’ve been dredging up old images of shifts in the times of China’s and Russia’s fall to communism, and during the build of Hitler’s Europe. What currently stands out for me is the divide that emerged between the state-churches, which toed the party line, but were at least were allowed to more or less function (for a while), and the underground churches, which faced arrest, torture and death.
In light of these historical models, what has been happening here over these past six months is intriguing at best and terrifying at worst. The church’s right to assemble disappeared without a peep. Even individual or small group meetings on church property were outlawed. Interestingly, the rights of “peaceful” protesters to assemble, (loot, pillage and murder) did not disappear.
The supreme court upheld Nevada’s casinos ability to gather at 50% of capacity. However, churches were not given equitable allowances. Obviously Nevada’s religious institutions should start casino’s: “Come gamble on the Lord.” What we should do here, is start coffee houses.
The means of grace
Parking lots are becoming popular. “Bring your own chair,” one church announced. Last Wednesday, I went to The Shrine of Saint Joseph at 544 West Cliff Drive and parked in a lot where every other space was closed off. I arrived too late for mass, but the new Shrine CoffeeHouse was open. I bought a slice of quiche and a croissant, nicely crisped in the convention oven. Outside in the ample courtyard, a few large tables for three or four were scattered, well distanced from each other. I ate watching the ocean breeze ruffle through abundant flowers. Peace reigned.
Afterwards, I strolled around the grounds, studied the St. Joseph stations, sat on one of their numerous benches and told Jesus I was feeling sad. It’s OK to feel sad sometimes — better with treats in your tummy and beauty all around. The Shrine Coffee House hours are 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. The staff is friendly, and delighted to serve. I felt welcomed, warmed, loved.
Or schools
Maybe we should start little schools, tutoring pods — a time honored way of fostering community.
EndQuote: The principal contributor to loneliness in this country is television. What happens is that the family ‘gets together’ alone. -Ashley Montagu (1905-1999)
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August 16, 2020 at 06:02AM
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Alliee DeArmond, In the Spirit | The wounds of love - Santa Cruz Sentinel
"love" - Google News
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