Hyderabad Crosswinds

As our adventure draws to a close,  a great sadness wells up.  We will miss the wonderful warmth and affection of the Indian people that is truly a reflection of how we swim in God’s love at all times. 

We have often experienced this warmth in our hotel stays. The hotels in India are unsurpassed.   One of the most memorable events occurred at the Taj Lake Palace in Udaipur.  The hotel was formerly the summer palace for a maharajah.  It is situated in the middle of a lake in a serene setting.   A power boat  provides a ride for the patrons to a dock in front of the hotel.   A 6’5” doorman decked out in traditional garb and carrying a colorful and ornate umbrella that must span 4 feet greeted Kathleen as he would an arriving princess.  Kathleen walked with him up the dock and  across the front of the hotel to the main door.  Just before arriving at the threshold, Kathleen smiled in surprise as rose petals fell from above which was the traditional greeting for the maharajah’s wives. 

Work requires that I go to Delhi once a month for a week at a time and we always stay at the Trident hotel in Gurgaon.  When a guest arrives, you are stunned by the hotel’s beauty with its Moorish architecture, reflecting pools, and aesthetically beautiful lighting;  but it is only a prelude to the care and attention provided by its staff.  The stories are many. 

Another expatriate had told us about the wonderful experience she had going to a Sufi tomb on a Thursday evening to hear the lively singing.  I went to the front desk one Thursday to see about hiring a guide to take us there.  The expat had warned us that there is no way that we would find our way through the warren of narrow alleys to a tomb that is hundreds of years old.  One of the attendants at the front desk  told me that there was no such guide.  As I thanked him with some disappointment and realized that I would find a guide some other way, one of the other attendants, Prateek, happened to walk in and heard the tail end of the conversation.  He immediately said that he could arrange a guide.  Even though he is a Hindu, his family and the family of the Sufi caretaker of the tomb go back 3 or 4 generations.  He called the caretaker who agreed to meet us near the entrance to the old city.  Not only did the caretaker shepherd us to the tomb, but he also explained the history  of the area that stretched back to 1200 CE.  He gave us a front row seat for the singing; later, he brought us inside the tomb and then took us to his office for more conversation where people were lined up to seek his counsel and blessing. 

That was our introduction to Prateek.  After that, he frequently met us upon arrival to take us to our room.  If I ever needed something, he would make it happen or offer an alternative.  When Kathleen’s sisters visited, I waited too long to make reservations during the high season.  Even so, he managed to get us into the Trident in Cochin, Kerala, after I was told it was full.  He could not work the same magic at Trident Gurgaon, but offered to have us stay at his house.  I told him we had already booked rooms at the Oberoi New Delhi. 

I usually arrive on Monday and Kathleen generally comes on Wednesday evening.  We then will take a weekend trip to somewhere in India.  On this particular Monday, Akanksha was taking me to my room and asked when Kathleen was coming since she had a surprise for her.  I smiled and asked if it was chocolate since Kathleen is a chocaholic.  She said it was not, but she made a mental note of my comment.  On Wednesday, she presented Kathleen with a bouquet of roses much to Kathleen’s surprise and delight.    After dinner, Kathleen had a hankering for some chocolate and the folks at the Trident suggested we visit the Oberoi Gurgaon hotel which is attached to the Trident where we could buy some chocolate.  It was the most expensive chocolate we have ever bought.  The following evening, we were sitting in our room when there was a knock on the door.  It was Akanksha bearing 3 chocolate candies for Kathleen.   

Then there is the restaurant staff.  They treat us like we are members of their family.  One of the hostesses, Poonam,  introduced us to her secret boyfriend who worked elsewhere on the property. During our last visit to the hotel,  I teased her that she is Martin’s age and that we could take her back to the US and arrange a marriage.  She thought that was so funny and was delighted.   She went out and bought a Kurtha for me as a going away present so that I would always remember her whenever I see it.  

Another waitress who would always come over to say hello whether she was waiting on our table or not, rushed out of a different restaurant in the hotel one night to make sure she knew when our last day at the hotel was.  She said that she had a present for us and wanted to make sure that she had a chance to give it to us.   Her energy, enthusiasm, affection and happiness was better than any kind of gift she could give.  Later she gave us a gift of something that could only found in India.  It was a little matchbook size model of a tuck-tuck  or auto-rickshaw with a precious note of affection. 

I always carry a venti Starbucks mug with me along with my favorite green tea.   A year and one-half ago, one of the waiters bought a Starbucks thermos mug for me.  I brought it a few times to honor his gift and then reverted back to my glass mug.  On our final night, I saw one of the managers in the restaurant rush in the door and dart behind hostess desk while many of the staff gathered around him.  I had seen a Starbuck’s mug in his hand.  I suspected something was up.  The next day at our last meal,  he presented the cup to us which had been signed with notes by many of the kitchen staff as well as service staff. 

Prateek had asked the restaurant staff to call him when we arrived for our last dinner.  He then brought Kathleen a gift.  It was a CD of Sufi singing that is mother had given him that he wanted Kathleen to have.  He then asked to have his picture taken with us.   

To say the least, Kathleen and I were quite overcome by all the displays of affection and I felt a great sadness that I would never see many of these smiling warm faces again.  However, the most difficult goodbye was for the doorman, Mohit. 

Mohit is a very simple man with warm heart.  He is always so incredibly happy to see us.  He tells us how he has been waiting for us, been looking forward to our arrival  and we always  spend a few minutes catching up with him.  On our last day, he looked as if he had had a death in the family.  As I tried to say “goodbye” to him, words could not be found.   I could only touch my hand to my heart and place it on his heart.    As my eyes welled up, I quickly turned away.

As I consider writing about one aspect of the poverty in India, I am reminded of Mother Teresa’s challenge:  “ Do I know the poor?”   She spoke about how people love to talk about the poor when they really have no idea or experience of the poverty about which they speak so knowledgeably.  With that caveat, I proceed shamelessly.   

There is an unquestioning acceptance or inurement to the poverty in India.  It has always been this way.  People in some respects are accustomed or conditioned to living the way that they live.  In fact, after living in India for almost two years, Kathleen and I also share this insensitivity.   When folks first drop into India from the West, they are initially shocked.  After a time, we all adjust. For example, Kathleen and I noted how we had changed internally when we returned to a Sufi site recently which we had visited shortly after arriving. 

Kathleen and I went to a Sufi tomb early in our stay.  Our driver dropped us off on a busy street  in the dark of the early evening where we were to meet the caretaker of the tomb.  However, he was not in plain sight and we headed down a very busy and brightly lit  alley surrounded by hawkers, people in Muslim garb,  and beggars.  We were sure that we were in the right area as we talked to the caretaker on our cell,  but were very happy eventually  to see him in the distance waving to us, the only Caucasians in the neighborhood.  He showed us where to buy scarves to cover our heads and we left our shoes with the same merchant for 20 rupees (33 cents) as we headed into a part of the city that is 800 years old through narrow passageways.   As we followed the walls snaking through the city,  we were stepping over and around crippled and deformed beggars for a quarter of a mile or more.   We were very uncomfortable.  We finally reached an open square wherein the Sufi saint is buried.  The square is an acre at most with the tomb of the saint in the middle.  It is sheltered by three walls and a ceiling.  There were hundreds of people present.  Many sitting.  Some touching the tomb.  Most listening to a quartet singing  ecstatic Sufi qawwalies which are very upbeat rhythmic songs.  We listened to the Sufi singing, spent some time with the caretaker who is Sufi scholar in his office lined with supplicants seeking prayers or advice, and then left.  As we waited for our driver on the busy thoroughfare, 2 or 3 insistent beggars kept hanging on us asking for spare change.   

On our most recent and last visit to Delhi, we decided to return to the tomb.  We did leave our wallets at the hotel since pickpockets are commonplace in India, but this time we felt no need to have a guide even though the caretaker would have been happy to show us the way again.  We recognized where the entryway was.  Put on the scarves we had retained; left our shoes with the same merchant as two years ago and headed into the narrow passageways.  The ubiquitous beggars did not bother us.  We enjoyed the singing for 30-45 minutes and left.   We are more seasoned travelers in India and more at home moving among its rich and varied texture that includes insistent hawkers and sometimes mutilated beggars who may be teaching their children the same trade. 

It is a bit discomforting to realize that we are becoming inured to the poverty much like a native of India. In fact, having personally experienced how one becomes accustomed to poverty,  I am increasingly impressed by our Catholic Indian brothers and sisters who fight the good fight and recognize the opportunity to see the Face of Jesus.  The gospel comes alive.  The relationship of Jesus with the poor comes alive.  He slept in a shanty or barn.  His father was a common laborer like so many India.  The message of Jesus speaks directly in India in a way that is generally missed in the US.   

We may hear his message, but are not touched by it.   In the West, we do not often encounter the poor who are ever-present in India.  We live in our suburbs.  Enjoy our country clubs and golf clubs.  We move in a bubble. We are fortunate and blessed to live in a country that  is rich in natural resources and has done a great job of providing a safety net not present in a place such as India.  Yet, In the midst of our materialism, the connection of Jesus with the poor and his advocacy for them do not resonate.   

Whatever poverty exists in the US tends to be out of sight and out of mind.  In India it is “in your face.”  The message of Jesus that “whatsoever you do for the least of our brothers and sisters, you do unto Me,”    cannot allow us view the plight of others from a detached and passive perspective.  Hinduism on the other hand encourages passivity.  I am struck that the various expressions of spirituality in the East frequently describe how active Christians are.  Some have even characterized Christians as social workers.  I have been puzzled by this comment and found it a bit condescending.  I thought these observations were a bit dismissive of our contemplative and mystical traditions.  Today I realize they contain a great compliment.  Perhaps without recognizing, the eastern teachers are acknowledging  that active Christians are living the message of Jesus.  Eastern passivity, on the other hand, is truly an issue from a Christian standpoint. 

For example, Kathleen and I recently went to retreat center an hour outside of Bangalore called Shreya’s.    Perhaps it is better described as a resort since it had a pool, unbelievably delicious vegetarian meals, air-conditioned bungalows, a beautiful yoga pavilion and an organic farm.  We went for a 7 day program that included 5 days of silence, 2.5 hours of yoga a day and a similar amount of guided meditation.  The yoga and meditation helps focus our minds and enables us to concentrate in the moment.   It manages the rambling thoughts that often accompany prayer while opening one to a greater awareness of God’s Abundance and Life that surrounds us.  After one of these meditations, the meditation guide made a comment that “people get what they deserve”. 

I immediately recognized what many in the East believe is an inviolable law of the universe that they call Karma.  Kathleen quickly interrupted and said “You are opening a can of worms.”  My voice changed and quavered; I could feel the words coming from deep within me: “There is no way that I have earned or deserve the incredible and unbelievable blessings that I have received.”  Kathleen added:  “That  kind of thought would say that the poor people living in shanties in the insufferable heat or pouring rain and in midst of rats or  stray dogs that bark all night are just fine.”  The guide was undaunted as he said that the poor have a lower consciousness and are happier there than they would be elsewhere.  He mentioned how some housing had been built for the poor who then rented it out and returned to the shanties.  This strikes me more as entrepreneurial and a reflection of their conditioning rather than indicative of a state of consciousness. 

The Catholic Christian perspective embodied in our gospel of social justice offers a wholly different view.  In the poor we see the Face of Jesus.  In our love and kindness to the poor, we are the Face of Jesus.  The voice of Jesus like that of the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures is all the more critical these days as thousands died in the heat of India this past week.   Let us pray for our suffering brothers and sisters in India with The Indian Jesuit Rex Pai: 

God of life and love, we look at the wonderful world you made and find it ravaged and devastated;We look at our fellow human beings, the crown of your creation and see them distorted and mutilated beyond recognition.

With broken and indignant hearts we cry out:

‘This should not be!’

And we hear you telling us:

‘That is why I created you to change the ugliness into something beautiful.’

May the groans deep within us lead us to constructive action and to lives wholly spent that others may come to fullness of life.

By your grace and in your strength may our cries of pain and those of all people be transformed into cries of joy and victory.

Which is worse a Doubting Thomas or a Dozing Bob? As I found myself nodding off during a good, but didactic homily, I wondered if I should just leave Mass. My upper torso was literally leaning into the aisle, I am sure, to the amusement of some. I decided to stay and I was glad I did.  I was pleased to be reminded of our weekend in Chennai where we visited both the tomb of the Apostle Thomas as well as the Mount where he was slain.   But it was during communion when my spirit was captured as the congregation of 250 filled our little church with inspiration by singing wholeheartedly:

As the deer pants for water,

So my soul longs after you

You alone are my heart’s desire

And I long to worship you

You alone are my strength and shield

To you alone may my Spirit yield

You alone are my heart’s desire

And I long to worship you

I want you more than gold or silver

Only you can satisfy

You alone are the real joy giver

And the apple of my eye

I will truly miss this little congregation that is so great in its devotion.

Our departure from India looms on the horizon.  When I first arrived, I shared some of the wild, weird, bizarre, cultural and political snippets from the local papers.  As we come full circle, here is what is going on this past week as recorded in the Times of India.  Much of what is below are excerpts while I include my observations parenthetically.

Air India grounds two pilots for cockpit fight

Goa gov’t minister defends wife’s western culture-rape link……(he) endorses his wife’s public statement that western culture’s influence has increased rapes in India…and her call to Hindus not to send their children to convent schools.  “What’s wrong with my wife’s statement?  If Hindu dharma has to survive then someone has to take responsibility and create awareness….”   ( Seriously?)

Rave party at resort raided…..Most of the arrested are business men.  Police conducting raid found several scantily clad girls dancing in the party.  82 people including 16 women were arrested.  ( nothing in today’s papers about protests being held where couples kiss in public…and get arrested).

Will Maharashtra go meat-free?  Govt Tells High Court that Beef Ban Just the Beginning, May Stop Slaughter of Other Animals Too.   ( Mumbai/Bombay is in state of Maharastra.  Modi came out of a conservative group that is trying to impose Hindu practices on general public).

Bodies in trunks raise honour killing spectre.   (Likely a  young couple that married out of love across castes that may have been murdered by order of village elders).

Church attack figures under Sonya Gandhi match those under Modi….Even as Narendra Modi government faces criticism for the attacks on churches and Christian institutions……

Enraged ex-royal runs SUV over man….he has been infamous for his behavior.  He was accused of keeping two minors – a girl and boy—as slaves

Will address your woes  Modi assures Muslims…..Modi has promised to address grievances of all sections of the Muslim society with special focus on ameliorating their social conditions and meeting educational requirements

Lots of articles on the environment:

• Choking India gets air quality index   ( result of Obama visit…India’s pollution much worse than China).
• Turn off street lights on full moon nights….Calling for lifestyle changes to counter climate change,  Modi referred to tradition in villages where grandmothers would teach grandchildren how to thread a needle on full moon nights.   He admits westerners will ridicule.
• Cooking fires poison air we breathe says gov’t study….780,000,000 Indians cook on open fires using traditional chulhas  from which fumes trigger up to 30% of fine-particulate ambient pollution and are a major source of black carbon.  One million people die prematurely in India each year because of the simple act of cooking.
• Picture with caption that describes photo of burning dry leaves, plastic and other forms of waste.
• Ahead of Paris talks, Modi demands access to N-fuels….”the world gives lecture on climate but if we tell them that we want to go on the nuclear energy path …and ask them to provide necessary  fuel but they refuse…”
• Modi also “ laments India’s culture of respecting nature has not been sufficiently projected on the global arena.”   ( Hard for me to swallow…given garbage everywhere, burning garbage, visible black or white exhaust fumes from trucks and autorickshaws, not to mention that cow dung is used for fuel and cooking by hundreds of millions.  Since cows are gods, people do not believe that burning dung could possibly be harmful.   Also, one of the states is harvesting the lumber of endangered trees that are supposedly protected.   I see no respect for nature.  He went on talk about how Indians worship nature as a God).

30 farmers dead in 4 days as rain, hail hit north India….Farm distress has peaked as crops are hit by unseasonal showers.    (  Farmers borrow to plant.  This is harvest time and when a crop is wiped out, they cannot pay back loans.  The loans are not from banks but from wealthy individuals and families who charge interest rates of 25 percent.   Already at subsistence level,  they feel no recourse but to commit suicide.  Very commonplace).

And lastly…

Protesters halt traffic after road rage murder….a car brushed a motorcycle and the five occupants of the car bludgeoned to death the 38 year old driver of the motorcycle in front of his 11 and 13 year old sons.

Violence uncalled for…Delhi has poor record when it comes to spur of the moment violence and road rage.   (8 examples given that have occurred over the past 8 months along these lines) :  A biker was brutally beaten up by a man and woman outside a temple after his bike touched their car.  (  Driving is unbelievably chaotic and it is not unusual to have little bumps occur…I frequently see folks outside of their vehicles screaming at each other.  Fortunately, there are no guns here….).

I do not read the papers as much as I did in the past.

Happy Resurrection Day.  I recently read in an Indian newspaper that the word Easter was the name of a pagan festival  that was baptized by the early Christians and turned into a Christian celebration.   The author may be waging a one-person campaign to change this day’s name to Resurrection Day.

Kathleen and I went to Mass this morning and discovered that the congregation was only a quarter to  a third of its normal size.  Most Indians go to the Easter vigil Mass on Saturday evening.  In line with India’s culture of functioning chaos,  there were no scheduled lectors, Eucharistic ministers, or ushers.  Soon after I was seated, a gentleman asked me if I would be willing to the read the first reading and responsorial psalm.  It was a blessing to read and to look out at my Indian brothers and sisters as they listened carefully to Peter’s proclamation in the Acts of the Apostles that  “God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power.”

Fr Packiaraj began his homily with this phrase and described Jesus as the finger of God.  He then also emphasized how we too are anointed.  Christ is alive in us and in our world.  He quoted a verse from  a fellow Jesuit who wrote poetry in the late 19^th century, Gerard Manley Hopkins :  “Let him easter in us , be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east…”   As yeast leavens dough,  may Jesus eastering within us cause us to be transformed so that we may be the loving and forgiving presence of God for others.

Easter Blessings

A friend recently wondered if I was still in the land of the living.    My last post was about the epidemic of Swine Flu in India.  Tens of Thousands have been diagnosed and almost 2000 have died.  We have been healthy other than monthly bouts with the common cold.  I have not written much lately.    The longer one stays in one place, the unusual becomes usual.  One is not as attuned to the culturally different as in the past.  Although I must say that we recently watched the new owners of a condo across the road from us bless their home.  Hindu’s invite a cow into their house to bless it.  They know that the cow god has blessed them when he urinates or defecates.  If the cow does not bless the house, then there are 3 days of religious ceremonies as an alternative blessing.   The ceremonies start early around 600 am and go past midnight.  Drums are beat.  Clarinets are played and a large fire pit is built outside the home.  A variety of items are thrown into the fire as the musicians play.   I was recently back in Columbus and shared this story with some friends who were at our house in Columbus while Kathleen was visiting family in North Dakota.  One of them said to tell Kathleen that he “ had blessed our house.”

Apart from stories about India, I have not taken the time to share my spiritual introspections.  Perhaps the lack of writing in this respect  is a sign of being in a place of some equanimity.  It is also a bit challenging to unselfconsciously share.  Being verbal about one’s inner life risks cultivating a persona that is exaggerated, delusional  or prone to spiritual gobbledygook and pontification.

All that said, I have decided to share my last 3 letters to my family with my broader family.  Take what you like and leave the rest…

It is early morning in Hyderabad.  I am still stunned how I landed here and hope that it is replicated  in my life somehow upon returning to the US.  I sit on a fourth floor balcony.  Our neighbor’s yard is a good size lot filled with trees that make a home for a multitude of birds.  There must be some small fruit.  8-12 birds the size of cardinals are in constant motion with the sun rising behind them.  They have a black crown and are much less colorful than a North American cardinal in that their wings and tail are brown and  their breasts are  gray.  There is a spot of white at the base of the tail feathers and a splash of red appears  as they energetically flit among the branches.  There are tiny birds about half  the size of a wren with thin beaks as long as their body.  Their song is unexpectedly loud.  Its volume is like a cardinal’s.     In the midst of this, suddenly a bright green parrot swiftly flies past the edge of my balcony.  A rooster crows down the street.  The eagles seemed to have left the mango tree while we were gone the past couple of weeks. There are a few butterflies present with their jerky but graceful passage through the air as they seek to escape the beaks of birds who are waiting for breakfast and to quickly dart out from the limbs of the trees.   Later even at the moment that I say  “Thank You,”  a bright yellow bird with black wings flies past to land on a limb in full view.

It is our Garden of Eden.  A sacrament or an encounter with God’s presence in our lives.   The God of surprises blessed our life in India with this sanctuary in the midst of a crazy and chaotic city.  It feels like the medicine of the Lord seeking to restore me to sanity and health after the intense but good years of life in public accounting.  No matter what one does, there are wounds to be bathed and healed.   Here is a spot where I feel and recognize  my hardness of heart that comes from cultivating and nursing bitterness, resentments, and  jealousies.  Hopefully I can  begin to move past them to a better place of knowing both that I am forgiven and how to forgive.  Much of the pain is a result of my own arrogance and pride.  As someone once said:  “Pain is in proportion to the need for purification.”  Feeling the pain also puts me  in touch with my kinship with all the children of God.  Our fragile packages have all been broken, diminished, misunderstood.

I read a quote this morning in Courage to Change from Albert Schweitzer:  “ The only ones among you who will be really happy are those who will have sought and found how to serve.”    As I have probably previously written, Schweitzer has been a favorite of mine since my dad gave me a Landmark biography to read as a kid.  He lived as a doctor in the African jungle working with the sick and needy.  I was surprised to find when I reached college that he was one of the leading New Testament scholars and pioneers of the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries who sought  the Historical Jesus.    Apparently, his understanding of the Jesus of history led him to service in Africa. While admittedly and obviously not as heroic,  I thought that public accounting also provided an avenue to service.

Martin recently shared with Kathleen and I that service is a major ingredient in the transforming sauce that Bill W prescribes.  As Holy Thursday approaches, it is one of the few direct commands that Jesus gave us as he washed the feet of his disciples.   I have always admired how our friends Kathy and Mary have poured out their lives in service as nurses.  Not to mention our own Timothy who has managed to thrive in a high school classroom for almost 4 decades.  They are the hidden ordinary saints found in every age quietly doing the Lord’s work.

It is good to pause for a moment and appreciate our roots and the sacrifices made by those who went before us.

On the Gorman side,  our ancestors were peasant farmers who left Ireland at the time of the Great Famine in the 1840s and 1850s, settled North of Chicago in Waukegan and farmed the land.  At the time of the famine,  Ireland was part of the UK, the richest country in the world, but suffered from neglect.  The Irish people were considered racially inferior.  The English did not allow them to vote, go to Church or school.  The tenant farmers were pushed off land to allow cattle to graze to feed the English appetite for beef.  Absentee English landlords controlled the land.  Ireland is a rich farming area and sufficient food was grown in Ireland during the potato blight to feed the 8 million Irish, but the peasants could not afford to pay for what they grew and the grain was exported to England.  All they could afford to eat were the potatoes that they grew and on which they subsisted.  Originally, a third or more of the potatoes were grown to feed the cattle.  It was a blight that caused this crop to fail and resulted in an estimate of 1.5 million people starving.   Some might say it was genocide, but it was more likely simply neglect, apathy, or the bigotry of the English  and a strong belief in market forces vs government intervention.  During the famine over 25% of the population died or immigrated.   Many boarded the “coffin ships” to the US.  20 percent of the passengers did not survive.  Apparently the Gorman/Egan/Brady families thrived in the US.

Your great grandpa was a very successful coal salesperson in the early 20^th Century.  Commonwealth Edison was one of his main accounts.  He married Mame at Old St Patrick’s.   He was a Republican in the days of Teddy Roosevelt.  Not sure if he was actually a progressive or not.  The Depression hurt the family’s net worth, but he was still able to send Grandpa to College and Law School.  They lived on the near Westside of Chicago  around Garfield Park.

The Scanlon’s came to the US in the early 20^th Century and reflect an economic reality in the  Ireland  of that time wherein the younger generation was forced to immigrate to find economic opportunity.  While the economy of Ireland has improved in the late 20^th Century, many young are still forced to leave Ireland.  Grandpa Scanlon like many Irish worked on the railroads.  He did not actually build them as the Irish did in the 19^th Century.  Martin O’Meara was part of the Chicago police force after fleeing the Black and Tams in Ireland.    They immigrated prior to Irish independence.  They lived on the Westside as well in Austin which borders Oak Park.

The Irish were the earliest immigrant group from Europe.  As such, we had the opportunity to figure out how to succeed in the new world and gain positions of influence and power prior to the wave of European immigration.  This is evidenced by the Irish presence in the big city political machines such as the Daley machine in Chicago and the hierarchy of the 20^th Century American Church.    As time passes and the Irish find other opportunities and success and the demographics of the city and Church have changed, this  Irish presence has receded as it should.

Whether they immigrated in the 19^th or 20^th Century,  the Irish and other Catholic immigrant groups left an unbelievable legacy as reflected in the Catholic infrastructure of parishes and schools.  The immigrants believed in educational excellence and  the importance of family as well as  their religious traditions.  The parish community became the vehicle for embodying and propagating these values.   As I lived and breathed these values growing up,  I knew no other reality.  As it has shaped me, I am sure it has influenced you as well.  If you look around, you will see products of the Catholic educational system everywhere.   For instance,  the Supreme Court is largely Catholic as is the partner group at Deloitte.  Catholic Universities continue to provide graduates who not only have the skillset to succeed, but also make a difference in the lives of others for the common good.

We celebrate the memory of St Patrick today.    He was an English lad kidnapped and taken to Ireland.  He later escaped and returned to England  where his relationship with God continued to mature.  He was inspired and discerned a call to return to Ireland as a missionary.  Along with St Brigid, he is a patron saint of Ireland.  His feast day in Ireland is a holy day of obligation.  May Sts Patrick and Brigid pray for us this day that we may grow in wisdom and grace.

Happy St Paddy’s Day!  And Happy St Joseph’s Day to my Italian friends.

“Progress can be hard to recognize…the only thing that matters is the direction that I am moving.”

“Keep adding little by little and soon you will have a big hoard.”  – Latin proverb

Courage to Change March 16.

I sometimes wonder if I have grown spiritually at all over the decades.  There is some risk that I may have regressed.  Similarly, I am not sure that I have developed additional flexibility doing yoga. Neither can I jog as far or as fast as I used to do.  Admittedly I have not been consistent with respect to either activity over the past year or so.  Work and discipline are required.   Even when one practices regularly, one soon reaches a plateau and then progress is hard to perceive.  We can hope that our progress looks like a jagged arrow  with peaks and  valleys yet pointed up towards the northeast or towards the 2 on a clock.

“You can cultivate love, compassion, joy, and equanimity by learning to relax where you are.   There is no problem with being where you are right now.  Even if you are feeling love for only one sentient being that is a good place to start.”   –Pema Chodrun

So we should keep the faith.  When I went to Mass a week ago, there was a college student in front of me wearing a tee shirt that expressed a similar thought:

You are where the Lord wants you right now.

Right now.  In this place.  A good spot to begin.  Even in this moment, as we live and move and are grounded in God,  God is communicating to us.

Reveal Yourself to us O Lord.

May we not be preoccupied with ourselves or with work.

May we not be threatened or afraid.

May we accept and follow your way

and put love in our day.

Rex Pai compares  this journey to the Wise Men who followed a star until it brought them to Christ:

“To follow the star is quite challenging.  We have to leave home ( the place where we are secure and comfortable)…”  Perhaps home is simply our everyday mind sets and world view that does not allow God space?

“…and strike out into the unknown (‘Leave the seed that you have sown.  Leave the crops that you have grown. Leave the people that you have known.  Come follow me’)…”

Is it time to shift directions?  It may or may not be.    It is easier to follow the physical principle of momentum and keep going the same direction that we have always gone.  Hang with the same people.   We may have created a safe and secure environment that comforts us in the face of the GREAT UNKNOWNS AND UNCERTAINTIES  that all humans face but try to control.    It is a question of discerning.

“We have to be prepared to face inhospitable deserts and stormy winds that accompany any human quest….Prayer gives us desire to constantly look for the star (Christ) in our lives; it clarifies the Star and helps us recognize the true Star from the many twinkling and alluring lights around us; it gives us the strength to follow…through ups and downs, difficulties and obstacles; it brings real joy, gratitude, love and peace….”

A great vision.   The Fourth Sunday of Lent’s readings proclaim that  a Light  has come into the world, but many of us prefer the darkness to the Light.  The Jesuit presider at the liturgy stated that Jesus is the Light because his thoughts, desires, drives all aligned with God’s will for him.  Are ours?  For example, the many alluring lights of materialism or hedonism have quite an attraction in our Western world and easily distract us or send us down a lesser path.

As Paul states in Ephesians, we are called to be the work of God’s hands.  We are God’s handicraft.  A bold statement to make.   Paul encourages us to put aside our sense of weakness or unworthiness and step into the truth . The creation story of Genesis 1 also affirms this truth by stating that we are made in the image and likeness of God.  What does that mean?  That we are creative like God?  That we are the pinnacle of creation because of a self-awareness, ability to reflect, or possess a higher consciousness than the animal and plant world?   Or  that we are the stewards and caretakers of the created world?   Perhaps that we can love as God loves?

We are called to be the Light.  God is within as well as without.  Let us  “ Let Go and Let God” and then as the Gospel of John states  we will live the Truth and not cling to darkness but  to the Light and our works will clearly be done in God.

May our work be God’s work beginning with where we are today.

The story is told about a man on a journey who suddenly finds himself running away from some tigers.  The tigers are gaining on him as he reaches a cliff.  Fortunately, there is a vine hanging down the side of the cliff.  He grabs it and begins to rappel down the cliff away from his pursuers only to realize that there are tigers also at the bottom of the wall waiting for him.  As he clings thinking about what to do next, he realizes that there is a mouse that is gnawing away at his vine.   He is soon  hanging only by a thread.

This story is about the reality of our existence.  It can reflect many different aspects of our life.  How we live in illusions and build castles in the air.  We seek security and comfort.  We curate our image so that we find approval and esteem in the eyes of others.  All the while,  we think that we control life and its outcomes until events occur that wake us up to reality or scare the hell out of us.  One could also interpret this story to reflect that we are all aging and ultimately will die.  That notion is incomprehensible to us during our invulnerable years of youth; however, it becomes more real as our hair grays and our face wrinkles and sags.

I could not stop thinking the past few days about this story recorded by Pema Chodrun since  Hyderabad is in the midst of a swine flu epidemic.  300 people have tested positive.  25 people have died very recently.  I am not sure this government knows the real numbers.  There is no panic.  The authorities say  not to worry.   There is no public health alert or encouragement to get vaccinated.   People are basically unconcerned at work.  The newspapers generally report the epidemic on page 3.  Quite a contrast to the Ebola event in the US a few months ago.  However, it scares me.  I had not heard much about it.  I had not been reading the papers in the past couple of weeks.  Then I picked one up on Wednesday and saw that 200+ were tested positive for H1N1 and 20 people had died.  Moments before, I had  read the tiger story.

Kathleen wondered why I was so somber. I mumbled something about being tired from running 4 miles that morning rather than saying that I felt surrounded by tigers.  I was morose.   I was not sure if there was even a vaccine for this flu.  I googled H1N1 and found that there is. I wondered then if it was possible to get vaccinated in Hyderabad.  Is the vaccine available and if it is, are there sufficient supplies?   I then thought about the recent outbreak of HIV in one of the states of India because a doctor was reusing the same needle.  I then remembered that in another state poor women were paid some rupees by the government to get sterilized to control the population.  They died after the surgery when the antibiotic that they were provided had poison in it.   India is not the place to be when you need a sound public health system.    “The line,” my dad once said in his later years, “between the here and hereafter is very thin.”

I did not have a panic attack.  However, I did remember how Jesus sweated blood during his agony in the garden as he realized that his tigers were about to get him.   In the end, he embraced our  human condition.  He willingly and nonviolently walked the path to death.  One of the central pieces of Christian iconography is Jesus on the Cross capturing the pain, suffering, and death inherent in our natures.   I get it.   I grasp the concept easily enough ; you can know something with your mind, but not your heart.  It is another matter when you have actually have a sense of our fragility.

The  story of the person on the vine does not end with him hanging by a thread.  In the midst of his predicament, he notices some ripe strawberries within his reach.   He reaches over.  He plucks them.  He enjoys tasting them.

I am tempted to end this meditation here.  Let you explore its meaning.

The conclusion  reminds me of the French existentialists.  They viewed life as absurd and meaningless, but were excited about how they could shape their lives creatively.  What kind of masterpiece could they create?

I am also reminded how our world was created out of love and is rooted and ultimately grounded in love despite its many perceived shortcomings.

Kathleen dropped me at work that day.  We made plans to get our vaccination the following day by a doctor who we met serendipitously.  She  practiced medicine at Mt. Carmel and Riverside in Columbus for 15 years.   As we rode, I told Kathleen and Mr Shah, our driver, that I had had a dream and related the Tiger story.  But I added something.  In the past, Mr Shah shared with me Islam’s view of heaven and hell.  So right after the part about enjoying the strawberries and the thread snapping, I added  how  I was borne up to Paradise by the prayers  of others to the arms of God.