Convergence

There are no coincidences. God allows - as well as ordains - events to occur in an order and fashion that manifests His presence, and while making sense of it all may forever remain beyond our competence, it is our faith and hope in Him that sustains us. Within the micro and macro circumstances that transpire, God's hand can be seen moving amongst them in ways our comprehension barely perceives. It is when the greater context is contemplated, some semblance of purpose can be observed.

Tuesday, on the day of the Haiti earthquake, I got a call from my mother.

"Your father's kidney's are failing," she said. "They're at 80% efficiency now, and he's decided to forgo dialysis. The doctor says he has 9-18 months."

Whoa.

So we talked. Prepping for dialysis, she said, would be a long complicated process, with the end result being a 24-month prognosis. Three times a week of going to the hospital. So my dad had said 'forget it' - he's not a quitter, but I think once you reach 83-1/2 years, and you've been living with diabetes for umpteen years, had a quadruple bypass five or six years ago, and numerous trips to the emergency room the past eighteen months - I think he's plum wore out. The way he figures, if dialysis is only going to give an extra year at best, and it won't make him feel better, then how is that an improvement?

And I don't blame him. Mom and I talked some more, about this, that and the other. I wasn't planning on going back to Rochester this year, but now we will, once school is out.

Years ago, when my dad was in the hospital recovering from his bypass, I went to Rochester on my own to spend time with him and my mom. Dad was never much of a small-talker, but we chatted on and off, about Mrs LarryD and the Sons, about work, about golf, about stuff. And sitting there, watching him nap, it struck me with utmost clarity, that someday Dad was not going to be around. It's a given that no one lives forever, but at the same time, it isn't something pleasant to think about. Death always seems to be an abstract thing, a subject politely not discussed in company. As Catholics, though, we believe that it is not the end, but the transition to a greater reality. It's the stamp on our passport to our true home. It's our "Get Out Of Jail" card - and by God's grace, we then enjoy perfect freedom eternally. So talking about death ought to be as natural as talking about the weather, or school, or what's on sale at Kohl's. In fact, it ought to be more natural - because it's the natural thing that will eventually happen to all of us.

Looking back, the time spent with him in the hospital prepared me for yesterday's phone call. The news was sobering, but not shattering. I think, in a way, he's been preparing himself for the inevitability of these final months.

But at the time, there in the ICU, my dad and I didn't talk about death. I mean, there is a time and a place for all things, after all. But I did take the time to say one thing to him. He had just eaten his dinner, and it was still just the two of us.

"Dad," I said, "if I was twice the husband and father that I am now, I'd still be half the husband and father that you were. And still are."

He looked at me, processed what I said, gave a little smile, the kind that says 'I have to say something funny or else I'll tear up' and said weakly, "That's a compliment, right?"

And I squeezed his hand. "Damn straight."

And that's all that needed to be said. I'm glad I said that then, because I didn't know if the opportunity would present itself again. It's given me peace down through the years - that I won't have lifelong regrets of not telling my dad what he means to me, and how I still look up to him.

That's the micro circumstance. Compared to the complete and utter devastation experienced in Haiti as a result of the 7.0 magnitude earthquake, my family's situation is minor. My dad, after all, is still alive. The same can not be said for countless fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. So many are dead, it's nearly inconceivable. And I'm sure my dad is praying harder for the perished and the wounded and the homeless than he is for himself. As any committed Catholic ought to be.

The abject suffering and misery is incalculable. Those who have so little, have now lost the little that they had. The losses are staggering, and puts into perspective how deeply blessed we are as a nation. Now is the time for those of us who profess a love of Christ to exhibit it, however we are able. In a way, Christ is asking us to put up or shut up. "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren, so you do unto me."

But my point is not to make fatuous comparisons. In fact, it's more of an observation than a point. It hearkens to the concept of convergence. It's as if God is saying to me - "I am your sustenance. I am your Rock. I am." In due time, my father will be gone, but I will still have a Father. And in the throes and rattling of the very earth, it is God who remains steadfast and unshakable. Regardless of the circumstances - whether they are micro or macro - God remains. God is and ever shall be. God revealed to me something of His being, quite definitively.

And I would have missed it had it not been for another experience over the weekend.

This past Saturday I attended a men's conference at our parish. A local priest - one whom I've written on in this blog before, Fr John Riccardo - spoke to us about courage and fear. Much of the talk was an exegesis on Matthew 8:23-27:

23And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him.
24And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the
boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep.
25And they went and woke him, saying, "Save, Lord, we are perishing."
26And he said to them, "Why are you afraid, O men of little faith?"
Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm.
27And the men marveled, saying, "What sort of man is this, that even winds
and sea obey him?"

One of the points that Fr John made was this: Being a disciple of Christ does not mean that we will be exempt from experiencing storms and tempests and trials and tribulations. In fact, it will most certainly mean that we will experience more than if we had never followed Him in the first place - and he went on to describe several martyrs, St Maximillian Kolbe in particular.

Christ got in the boat first, and the disciples followed him. If they had stayed on the shore, they wouldn't have gone through the storm. And if they had gotten in a different boat, then they wouldn't have had Christ there to save them.

There are a lot of boats in the marina. You got the Dawkins Dinghy, the Pagan Paddleboat, the Hedonist Hydrofoil, the Lukewarm Liner, the Foolhardy Ferry and countless others. We have to choose wisely - such as the Barque of St Peter! - and follow Christ into the boat. To be Catholic in this day and age -authentically Catholic - will mean without a doubt storms and trials.

And when those storms come - micro or macro - I know I want to be in Jesus' boat. Even if he's sleeping (and there are times when it seems that He's abandoned ship during some of life's storms, right?), because when He's there, the power of God is at hand. He may not calm the seas every time - in fact, he may never calm them - but we can possess the peace only He can offer so that we can weather the storms of life.

These events over the past several days have converged for me in a way that only God could have planned. I am not saying that God permitted the earthquake to happen to send me a personal message! I don't want to give that impression whatsoever! What I am saying, is that for me, within the context of the micro circumstances applicable to my life, I gleaned something of God's providence and power. He is in control, even when it seems that events are out of control. I am filled with a peace and consolation that, despite everything, remains bright and resolute.