It may not be a universal thing, but to paraphrase GK Chesterton, atheists find themselves in a dilemma when they find themselves overflowing with gratitude for existence but having no one to thank for it. if somebody is grateful for something, they are grateful to somebody. Nobody can be grateful to themselves for a gift. Neither can anyone be grateful to the “universe,” because that too is a gift which presupposes a gift giver. Moreover, if somebody thinks that nature is itself is the gift giver, that person is referring to nature as a person, using nature as a euphemism for God. I heard the story of an atheist who cried, “thank you,” out of  a surge of wonder and awe over a beautiful sunset – – in that moment she ceased to be an atheist.

Ultimately, everything, all the blessings that we have received come from Almighty God. The next breath we take is a gift. Even the power by which we do good works is a gift – – all is grace. All begins and ends with the grace of God. Grace comes first, God always takes the initiative in reaching out towards us and we respond. He thirsts for our love and so generously makes known the his love towards us; we respond to that love with our love. This is the model for prayer outlined in the Catechism.

This Thanksgiving (and Indeed, every day) I have a lot to be grateful for. Just to be alive, number one. The mercy of God always taking me back even after a relapse  (which should be avoided)—And for keeping me from even worse sin, by his grace. His willingness to transforming into an image of his Son. To have a loving family and friends who support me and make life more pleasant. The list goes on, this is just the beginning. I think of the New York Times best-selling book, “One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are” by Ann Voscamp, in which the author makes such a a list.

In short, gratitude makes us happier. We have an innate desire to give thanks. It is right and just that we do so. Where is this gratitude to be directed if, ultimately, not to God?

This

Ever since I came back home from the hospital, I’ve been noticing of the top of the persimmon tree peering through the living room window. About 5-6 weeks ago, it was practically dead. The branches looked like sharp and pointy sticks—like thorns. It was a powerful reminder of the crown of thorns that was forced onto the head of Jesus… that’s what they looked like. The image helped me to enter into a prayerful state during the last days of Lent and Holy Week. Eventually, I could see signs of life appear on those branches,  small green buds. Now, the tree is all green and vibrant (spring is finally here).

The same dead tree is now alive, a sign of Easter—the Resurrection of Christ: the reason for my hope, for my supernatural outlook.

On Easter Sunday, I woke up feeling a sense of peace and joy. I had especially been looking forward to Easter after such a physically and psychologically difficult draining time. The Easter season is my favorite time of year—I think that the song, most famously sung by Andy Williams, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year,” should have been about Easter. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead gives me the concrete hope that I too can live forever and ultimately rise bodily after the Good Friday of life. One day—the eternal day—I will not merely walk, I will fly.

Easter ( Pentecost) is the culmination of everything Jesus was born to do—to bring sinners like me into union with God. He destroyed sin and death, robbing them of power. Jesus Christ is the Sign of Jonah: he entered the belly of the beast and killed it from the inside out, death swallowed up Life and spit it out. I think it’s really fitting that Easter fell on April Fools’ Day this year because the Crucifixion of Jesus and his Resurrection, the Paschal Mystery, fooled the devil and brought about his complete defeat. Easter marks the greatest joke God pulled on his enemies and ours.

There are so many proofs for the Resurrection of Christ, the one that my mind immediately goes to is that the Apostles and early Christians of Rome, “the belly of the beast,” readily went to their deaths for this.  They knew Jesus lives, that he was Divine, that he had the power to raise them up because he overcame death. And within around 200 years, the once-pagan Rome came to embrace Christianity.

While I  felt so joyful during the first two weeks Easter, knowing that one day all the pain and difficulties will fade away and give way to everlasting happiness, it was harder to experience it as all this stuff was thrown at me, especially a threat of losing home nursing care… fighting to keep it, etc. Life is full of so many problems, setbacks, separations, pain—just suffering. Doesn’t make sense!  At the beginning of my recovery from pneumonia, I used to wonder why God just didn’t end it for me in the hospital, it would’ve been so much easier (it doesn’t work like that, the struggle makes stronger like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis! And then it hits me, “I could have died—”

“But I’m alive!”

So many people have been telling me how good it is to see me, that I look and sound much better than I was. All I can do is be grateful and trust (how can i not!?) that God is working through it all…  All I can do is do everything I can, with his help, to do good, to love as he did… AIl I can do is hold on the hope of The Resurrection, to be the sheep of the Good Shepherd who himself became a sheep and walked through the valley of the shadow of death before us, trampling it down, making a way for us to pass through. With him at our side, the whole time, Christ leads me) into the green pastures beside the restful waters—and my cup will (does, even now) overflow.

United to the branch, from the seed that fell to the ground and died, Jesus who lives forever, we will share in his Resurrection in full. May we bear an abundant harvest in the meantime, believing that all things work for good for those who love him.

These past few days and weeks have been quite an experience. It all started sometime in late January…  I was hospitalized with aspiration pneumonia, for 40 days. 40. The season of Lent had begun when I came home. A Dominican friar who came to visit me in the ICU Jokingly remarked that had already fulfilled my share of Lenten penance! But as Easter hadn’t arrived yet— it’s almost here— there was a bit more in store!

Those days in the hospital were a difficult time. They drained liters of fluid from my lungs. I would have been released sooner as the great doctors and nurses, as well as CNAs took great care of me. And how can I forget the fact that my parents drove 30 to 40 minutes to Georgetown University Hospital, back and forth, every single day. Also, my sister came from Philly to be with me. And then, of course, I had so many extended family members and friends come to visit. Surely, that would help the healing process… But it wasn’t that easy! While I was there in the hospital, I went into what they called ICU Delirium.

I basically went a little crazy from being laid up in bed and from the strong medication. Sometimes I would imagine crazy things, hallucinate, and say all kinds of things I wouldn’t normally say or even dream of saying to people. Even when I came home, I had all these strange memories, feelings, and all sorts of frightening, nightmarish dreams. I thought that people were out to get me and that they were all the devil in disguise. To my embarrassment, I even acted like they were. Anyway, because of the delirium, I couldn’t do the swallow test to see if I could safely eat without aspirating my food. That set things back. I was given a feeding tube, which had some complications.

So now, I’m getting better, I’m cleared to have liquids and puréed foods. The next step would be the swallow test at the hospital. Making progress. Something else happened though, sometime when I was delirious, probably at home, I broke my arm somehow… I guess a nurse pulled my arm the wrong way? Don’t know exactly when it happened but I had been complaining of serious pain. So… Lent really continued for me beyond the hospital, haha.

In spite of it all, I feel that God is sustaining me. It’s just a piece of his Cross that he is sharing with me. Jesus is here with me even though it’s hard to see sometimes. I have learned again how much God loves me personally, as he does each person reading this. I have experienced it through the great outpouring of love that I’ve received. Friends have been visiting, telling me that they are with me; family members have been coming to help, bringing food so that my mom does not have to cook; my sister and the Sisters of Life keep sending me letters and notes and cards reminding me that God loves me very much and that my suffering endears me to him, providing a means of union with him. It is all the voice of God speaking to me. He speaks, we just need to listen.

It is still difficult. Sometimes I wonder. I wonder, “why suffering.”  Jesus has transformed it… But, “Really, Jesus, you would be willing to suffer to show us that you are with us in our suffering, Father, you would allow the heinous crucifixion to take place to bring about a greater good… For my sake?” Jesus died such a humiliating death, for me, for my sins and yours. The only words that I can say are, “thank you.” But why suffering at all? It is an occasion of love, the means of expressing love, showing it concretely… And, interestingly, it is the occasion of receiving love.

While I struggle, and life is difficult— and yes it’s difficult, today I got the message that the division of nursing services of the state of Maryland will not grant me the 4 hours from the 16 that I was originally receiving and need  (my medical needs necessitate even more)— the Cross of Jesus Christ, my Savior and Life-Giver, is my hope. Through  Good Friday comes Easter Sunday… Easter is coming…  Lent is giving way to Easter… Finally and definitively…

(vector image I made last year)

I love all of the approved Marian apparitions, especially the main three, but I think that Our Lady of Guadalupe makes me the happiest. It is probably the great tenderness of her face and her words to St. Juan Diego that I especially love:

[D]o not be troubled or weighed down with grief. Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not here who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not your fountain of life? Are you not in the folds of my mantle? In the crossing of my arms? Is there anything else you need?”

Who can resist the love of a mother? It was ultimately Our Lady who won over the Aztec Empire to the  Sacred Heart of her Son.  An estimated 9 million people embraced Christianity within 10 years.  This was a feat that the Spanish conquistadors could never have hoped to accomplish. The Blessed Virgin doesn’t make use of our pathetic arms and instruments of war, rather she wields the weapons of peace and love. She appeared as an Aztec, spoke in Nahuatl, and utilized familiar symbols and customs.

There’s so much dehumanization in our world today,  whether it be through abortion,  human trafficking, racism, or injustice towards undocumented immigrants. Laws, politics, and cultural “warmongering” can only do so much, but love––this is secret. We should all try it sometime.

I have given some thought to the fact that it is difficult, if not practically impossible, to argue with love, with goodness and beauty. This is the way that Our Lady teaches. it’s no wonder that she is called the Star of the Evangelization. May she guide us all to the One True Light.

There are so many different Saints from so many different backgrounds and walks of life. This is captured in the first reading from today’s Solemnity of All Saints. It’s from the book of Revelation. St. John describes what he saw in a vision of the heavenly reality:

“I had a vision of a great multitude,
which no one could count,
From every nation, race, people, and tongue.
They stood before the throne and before the Lamb,
wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands.”

A great multitude, from every nation, race, people, and tongue. Every one on this earth is called to be a Saint. In fact, it is required, canonized or not, in order to enter heaven.

The diversity of Saints spans a spectrum of different vocations, charisms, and states of life. The Holy Spirit, the Saint-maker, bestows differing gifts to members of the one Church. Just as a physical body has unique members that have different functions so too does the Mystical Body of Christ, the Catholic Church, have distinct members that carry out all sorts of different functions. This is the creative genius of God.

I once heard a priest give this analogy: imagine an immense Gothic cathedral with a bright stained glass window. The rays of the sun pour through the panes of glass, illuminating it. And the window casts down colors of all sorts. This is what God does. One baptism, several manifestations, the graces are unique to each and every individual person. God loves variety. St. Benedict is not St. Francis, St. Monica is not like St. Bernadette, neither is St. Paul Miki like St. Charles Lwanga.

There is much more that could be said about today but this will have to suffice!

 Today is the Feast day of St. John Paul the Great. It’s the day that he was elected in 1978. In his honor, I offer the following blog post that I wrote last year.

Back when I was in high school, the student radio station entertained us every day during lunch. The music spanned several genres and provided a whole lot more variety than the food could ever hope to. It was in those days that I began to enjoy listening to hip-hop. Eventually, A Tribe Called Quest, Gang Starr, and the Wu-Tang Clan filled a void that a lack of friends left in me. My appreciation for hip-hop grew and evolved in the years that followed the more I was exposed to it. I have to say that I learned a lot about the culture and art form thanks to the Internet. Speaking of which, I recently saw a video of a 16-year-old emcee with a very impressive vocabulary and amazing rhyming talent. He certainly stands out in stark contrast with the unintelligible garbage out there today that passes for music.

I am aware of just how much of an impact that hip-hop had on me. It’s really given me an understanding of the power of words and of language. To me, as a visual artist, writing––if it’s good––can be described as painting with words. Writers like CS Lewis, GK Chesterton, and JRR Tolkien come to mind. In large part, my growing aptitude for writing, something that I have to keep working on, has been greatly influenced by hip-hop. Like all forms of communication, hip-hop has the ability to convey truth or error. Admittedly, many errors have been transmitted through hip-hop, sadly by some of the most gifted of lyricists. All of this has been on my mind lately as I’ve been reading the book Witness to Hope by George Weigel, the biography of Pope St. John Paul II.

In the 1st few chapters that I’ve read of Witness to Hope, I’ve learned some things about the late great Pope that I hadn’t really known before. I knew that when he was growing up in Poland, literature, and drama were taught and relished as cultural treasures. Karol Wojtyła saw the theater as a means of cultural resistance as the Nazis sought to destroy Polish culture and assimilate the country. What I didn’t know was that he actually studied language and linguistics and aspired to be a philologist. I guess that makes a lot of sense because the man seemed to be fluent in several languages and wrote a lot of books and encyclicals. One of his mentors was a man who saw the spoken word as a transmitter of truth, who is ultimately the Word of God. The actor’s role was to almost make himself invisible and allow the power of the truth that he was at the service of, take the front and center stage.

 The Pope’s words were powerful. I was always edified by the things he said and wrote, and because of him, I have been following the words of Pope Benedict –– who wrote prodigiously, and the words of Pope Francis. I think it must have been very difficult for Pope John Paul II, towards the end of his life when he was unable to speak. But just seeing him spoke volumes to me. I understood redemptive suffering because of his witness, a witness that made his apostolic letter on redemptive suffering all the more credible.

 I hope that people continue to read the thought of this great man. To bring this post to a close, my mind goes to his letter to artists. St. John Paul II encouraged artists to make beautiful art through which to win souls. Art reaches souls in a way that words cannot…so anyway, this is where I should bust out some dope rhymes in honor of today’s Saint, but seeing as I can’t, I’ll post something by someone more qualified…