May 21: Sacred Heart of Jesus, a Life of Faith, Baby Shower

Santiago's home . . . 

They walked up the road together to the old man's shack and went in through its open door. The old man leaned the mast with its wrapped sail against the wall and the boy put the box and the other gear beside it. The mast was nearly as long as the one room of the shack. The shack was made of the tough bud-shields of the royal palm which are called guano and in it there was a bed, a table, one chair, and a place on the dirt floor to cook with charcoal. On the brown walls of the flattened, overlapping leaves of the sturdy fibered guano there was a picture in color of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and another of the Virgin of Cobre. These were relics of his wife. Once there had been a tinted photograph of his wife on the wall but he had taken it down because it made him too lonely to see it and it was on the shelf in the corner under his clean shirt.

I was raised in a devoutly Catholic home.  A picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was always on the wall, right beside a picture of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.  I have clear memories of those two images always being present in my life.  They were like guardians of our home, watching over us.

Of course, just because you are devoutly religious doesn't mean that your life is going to be smooth sailing.  In fact, in my experience, life is more like The Poseidon Adventure, with everyone trying to make it to the hull of the ship to escape to sunlight and fresh air.  Faith doesn't guarantee a life without catastrophe or sorrow.

In the past five or six years in my family, I've lost a brother, two sisters, and both my parents.  There have been other challenges in my life, as well, including mental illness and addiction in close family members.  When I go to church every weekend (and I often attend several services--Catholic, Methodist, and/or Lutheran), I listen to the gospels.  A good portion of them are not really happy stories.  There's leprosy, illness, death, betrayal, and torture.  The Jesus narratives are not easy, in any way.  A life of faith doesn't mean a life without battles and trials.

Today, I went to a baby shower for my nephew and his wife.  It was a wonderful celebration in anticipation of new life.  A baby boy.  There were tacos and burritos and nachos and cookies.  Lots of gifts.  And there was happiness.  Anticipation.  That's all part of faith, too.

You can go through life thinking that the human race is on a collision course with disaster and potential extinction.  Or you can go through life thinking the human race will do the right thing--work to end climate change, gun violence, institutional racism, homophobia, and bullying.  That list could go on and on.  And we are on a pretty terrible trajectory at the moment, with the war in Ukraine, hunger, melting polar ice cap, and school shootings.  (Don't even get me started on the Supreme Court of the United States.)  To lose all hope, however, isn't a viable option.

At their present ages, my kids are smarter than I ever was.  That is where my faith in humanity lies--with the children.  They don't want to end up living in a Wall-E world of pollution and devastation and loss.  And really, that's what a baby shower is--a gathering of hope for a brighter tomorrow.  Not a tomorrow without struggle.  That's unrealistic.  

But a tomorrow that's brighter than the one Saint Marty inherited from his parents.