RonRolheiser,OMI

Work – Hindrance or Grace in our Spiritual Lives?

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When I was in high school we read a short German story entitled Immensee. It’s the story of a love that never happened, but that should have, except that the tragic hero of our story was never able to express his love to the woman he loved. So, he ended up alone with an aching heart, full of regrets.

The book ends with him reminiscing about the woman’s last words to him. When they had parted, years back, she’d said to him: “I know you’ll never come back!” He hadn’t realized then how prophetic those words would be. Now, recalling them, he is overcome with regret and his life feels empty. He’s deeply sad. However, after sitting with that melancholy for a while, we are told he went to his desk and, despite nursing that heartache, began again “to work with all the vigor of his youth.”

Thank God for work. Sometimes that’s the only thing between us and unbearable melancholy. Work is a wonderful, God-given thing.

We lack a good spirituality of work. Too often work is seen as something that takes us away from God and prayer, a distraction from the spiritual life, not a good, honest, holy thing, not a gift from God.

In fact, in some spiritualities, work is seen as a punishment for sin, something introduced on the planet after Adam’s sin, not willed or intended by God ideally. In this view, except for sin, there would be no work. It’s hard to formulate a healthy theology of work when work is seen as a consequence of sin, as never intended by God.

There is some truth though in the belief that work can be a distraction and an escape (both from God and family) and that it can be a way to avoid facing the deeper things in our lives.

Further still, there’s the danger that we take our self-worth from our work, so that we feel good about ourselves only when we are achieving something and are anxious that deep down, outside of our work and our achievements, we have little worth. It’s easy to be unconscious of that. And so, we tend to put pressure on ourselves to keep working because our sense of self-worth is tied up with our work. That’s a perennial danger.

But there are dangers in everything. Work can be an excuse to avoid the deeper issues in our lives, but it is also the deep, natural form of contemplation that God gives to us as humans.

We must spend most of our waking lives working. That should tell us something, namely, that work must be the major avenue through which God wants us to journey toward deeper meaning. Given the way we are built and the way life is shaped, God surely does not expect us to consciously think about Him most of our waking moments.

God is not an egotistical tyrant, demanding our conscious attention, even while we must work long hours amidst all the heartaches, headaches, restlessness, anxieties, fears, and preoccupations that impale themselves upon us every waking minute. If God wants our conscious attention every waking minute, then there is some fatal flaw in the way we are built and the way life is set up.

But there is no fatal flaw. God is the ground of our being, the ground too of our work and our relationships. In God “we live and move and have our being.” We know God not just in our conscious awareness and in prayer, but also in a deep inchoate way by participating with Him in building this world – by growing something, building something, carving something, creating something, cleaning something, painting something, writing something, raising children, nursing bodies, teaching others, consoling others, humoring others, struggling with others, and loving others.

Work, like prayer, is a privileged way to get to know God because, when we work, we are toiling in partnership with Him. Jesus knew well both the feel of work and tiredness.

In the spiritual wisdom of monasticism, we find this counsel: Stay in your cell and it will teach you all you need to know. That isn’t to be taken literally. It’s a pregnant metaphor. Your “cell” is your vocation and occupation in life (husband, wife, father, mother, priest, sister, carpenter, teacher, banker, construction worker, nurse, doctor, janitor, artist, bus driver, computer technician, salesperson, athlete, etc.) If you are faithfully doing the work that this vocation and occupation asks of you, that work will be your path to sanctity, leading you into a community of life with God, others, the world.

There is of course the danger that we can use our busyness to rationalize and excuse ourselves from dealing with family, prayer, and community. Hard work can start as a virtue and turn into a vice, but the greater danger lies in not giving ourselves over to hard work.

Work is not a consequence of sin; it’s our path to holiness.

You Must Have a Wonderful Mom

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There is an instance in the Gospels where, while Jesus is speaking, a woman from the crowd calls out to him: “Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that nursed you!” (Luke 11, 27).

In effect, she is saying: “You must have a wonderful mother! Look how you turned out!” Jesus responds by saying: “Rather, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it.”

It’s easy to misunderstand his answer because on the surface it sounds like he is downplaying the compliment to his mother. But his response is really: “Yes, I have wonderful mother, but it’s not because she gave me biological birth that makes her special; it’s her faith that makes her special and particularly wonderful as a mother.” In essence, he’s saying: “Yes, my mother, like all mothers, is wonderful in her biology, but my mother is particularly wonderful in her faith.”  When Jesus says, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it, he has his mother specially in mind.

The renowned scripture scholar Raymond E. Brown points out that the apostolic community gave Mary such a special place, not particularly because she was Jesus’ biological mother, but because of her special faith.

Among the various lessons contained in that is this: For Jesus, faith trumps biology. For him, real family is defined by faith, not biology or anything else. Who are my actual brothers and sisters? For Jesus, it’s those who hear the word of God and keep it.

I write this next part only with this caveat: Biological family is a foundational anthropological structure, coming from God and nature, and it needs to be nurtured and defended, especially today when it is under siege from many sides. A healthy society needs healthy families; a healthy Church needs healthy families; a healthy country needs healthy families: a healthy world needs healthy families; healthy liberals need healthy families; healthy conservatives need healthy families; and healthy individuals tend to come from healthy families. Moreover, many of our deepest joys are experienced within a biological family. The biological family needs to be defended. The same holds true for all our other families.

But, that being respected, we must also have the courage to say that, for Jesus, faith trumps biology, denomination, religion, ethnicity, nationality, ideology, and gender. Our deepest, real, forever family has faith as its root.

  • Who are our brothers and sisters? Our biological family makes for real family, but our deepest, forever family is made up of all others who have faith in God, which does include our biological family if they share faith with us.
  • Who are our fellow church members? Our fellow church members are all fellow Christians, irrespective of denomination, who have a sincere faith in Jesus Christ. In faith we are all one family.
  • Who are our fellow pilgrims as we journey through this world? Our deepest, forever fellow pilgrims are all women and men, irrespective of their religion or honest agnosticism, who are sincerely searching for truth, goodness, beauty, and justice.
  • Who is our real ethnic family? It’s everyone on this planet, irrespective of skin color, mother tongue, or racial history, who is sincerely searching for a community within which differences will make for harmony and unity.
  • Who are our fellow citizens? Our fellow citizens, fellow patriots, are not necessarily those with whom we share a country and a common history; more deeply, it’s people from every country in the world who, with us, share one land given equally to us all by God. For Jesus, there can be no Christian nationalism.
  • Who constitutes my ideological, political family? It’s not those who share a liberal or conservative temperament and ideology with me. My deepest, forever ideological family is made up of those for whom truth and justice lay waste to all ideologies, both liberal and conservative.
  • Who is my family in terms of gender? Male? Female? LGBQ? My real family is inside the Body of Christ, within which “there is no male or female.” (Galatians 3, 28)

When Jesus asks who are my brothers and sisters and then identifies them with those who are listening to him, (Matthew 12, 48-50) he is teaching that our true, forever family is not rooted in biology, denomination, religion, ethnicity, nationality, ideological temperament, or gender, but in a shared faith which transcends all of these.

So, like the woman who wanted to compliment Jesus’ mother, go out to that good friend of yours who is a pious Muslim, and to that honest colleague of yours who voted the opposite of how you did, and to that struggling immigrant you’ve ignored whom you see living in a fear you have never shared, and go out to that gracious, bubbly New Age neighbor of yours, who has just brought a casserole to your door and who once gave you a rainbow keychain, and say: You must have a wonderful mom! Look how you turned out!

Relating To Our Loved Ones After They Die

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In nineteen seventy-nine, Sheldon Vanauken published a book entitled A Severe Mercy; in it he tells the story of the death of his wife, Davey. The book is an account of an extraordinary romance, cut short while still in full bloom by Davey’s premature death.

This story has intrigued many people, both because of the extraordinary relationship between Sheldon and Davey before her death and because of the relationship between them after her death.

Vanauken describes how after her death he still felt her presence strongly and vividly. She was gone, in that brutal and irrevocable way death takes loved ones away, but he still felt her presence—as real as he had before she died.

In the early months after her death, her presence to him was constant, guiding, sure, consoling, the same as it had been while she was alive. She had died, but inside himself he felt her present – as wife, lover, best friend, soulmate. And during those months he always carried her wedding ring in his pocket, which he fingered tenderly many times each day. Touching it helped keep him aware of her presence.

One day, while on a ship crossing the Atlantic, he felt her presence change. In the silence of his heart and soul, he felt her speaking to him, telling him that, up to now, they had needed that kind of presence with each other, but that this now needed to change. They needed to move to a different plane in their relationship. She was telling him that she needed to “let him go” in the way she had been present to him until now and she needed to ask him to “let her go” in the way they were now present to each other. It was a difficult moment, but Sheldon understood its meaning. He took the ring from his pocket and quietly dropped it into the ocean.

From then onward, Davey was still present to him, but now in a new way. Her presence now was less explicit, though not more distant. Now her presence was less that of the earthly wife, soulmate, and best friend, and more the presence of a person who loves you and holds you in a way that’s harder to describe.

Thousands of persons who have lost loved ones to death, including myself, can identify with that story, both in terms of feeling the presence of a deceased loved one inside ourselves, and in terms of feeling this relationship, at a point, develop and move to a new plane.

In my own case, I lost both parents when I was twenty-three years old. For nearly two years, like Sheldon Vanauken, I felt their presence as sure, guiding, and parental (they were still very much my mom and dad, still very much with me); though, in my case, it was not always a consoling and warm presence. The pain of their loss would occasionally bring me feelings and tears that were not warm. My mom and dad were still with me, but at this early stage their deaths still left a cold scar.

However, sometime between the first and second year after their deaths this changed. For me, unlike for Vanauken, there wasn’t a clear moment when this happened. It happened gradually and imperceptibly, their presence to me and within me changed.

But, parallel to Vanauken’s experience, what I experienced was a shift in presence from one plane to another. I still felt their presence, just as before, but now something had let go, even as something else took its place.

I felt their presence now as a deep consolation and their loss no longer hurt as before. I no longer felt a need to pray for them. Instead, now I felt a need (which I still feel today) to pray to them.

They were still my parents, but something had changed. I hesitate to use words to describe this because they might sound vague and wishful, but what I felt can only be characterized this way: They were still my parents—alive, deeply concerned for me, and more present in my life than they ever could be while still in this life. But now I felt that presence as something higher, more universally shared with others, and more tied to God’s love and presence to me. It became harder to differentiate their presence from the general feeling of divine providence that I sense in my life,

I come from a large family. Basically, all my siblings had a similar experience. Moreover, many people have shared similar stories concerning how they continue to feel their relationships with their deceased loved ones change and grow even after their deaths.

Vanauken’s story of an ongoing, developing relationship with a loved one who has died is paralleled everywhere. Relationships continue to grow and develop even after death. Exotic stuff? No! Tis the stuff of dogma. One of the essential articles of our faith teaches that death doesn’t end a relationship.