A FEATHERED THING: THE RESILIENCY OF HOPE A lovely essay by Robert P. Maloney, CM, on hope in America Magazine: Suddenly, I saw a door open, and my guide slipped inside quickly. When I arrived at the same spot, the door opened, again and I entered. We climbed four flights of stairs silently and then knocked gently on a door. After a pause, someone opened the door and we went into a tiny attic. There, hidden away in mainland China, I celebrated Mass with 14 elderly members of the Daughters of Charity. When someone tapped on the door just after Mass began, everyone froze with tension for fear that the police were arriving, but it was another sister. These Chinese nuns have been cut off from their community for 45 years. Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune—without the words— And never stops at all. Emily Dickinson ‘I guess we never see the plan,” Kay said to me with resignation. I sensed no resentment in her voice; on the contrary, I heard undertones of confidence. She was sitting across from me at the breakfast table after Mass. I had just preached on our being God’s “handiwork” (Eph 2:10) and had suggested the image of God as a sculptor working in our lives like Donatello, Michelangelo or Bernini, chipping away at a block of marble with a plan in mind that only he can see, wielding hammer and chisel, and then sanding, polishing and refining until the final product was a thing of beauty. Kay was alone in life. Her two sons died when they were in their 20s. Her daughter passed on soon afterward, succumbing to cancer prematurely. A few years later, her husband went into the hospital for a routine operation on his knee and died when a blood clot hit his heart. Although she rarely spoke about what she believed, I sensed that she had a quiet, enduring hope in the hidden plan of God. As I listened to her across the table, I thought of Emily Dickinson’s words: Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune—without the words— And never stops at all. So many of life’s events conspire to beat hope down. But perched in the soul of the stalwart, it chants its tune persistently. Sometimes it expresses itself in the simplest ways. Over the years several incidents have made me ponder the resiliency of hope. The first occurred almost two decades ago in China. One evening I received precise instructions: At 4 a.m. I was to leave the hotel where I was staying. Once outside I was to turn right and follow, at a distance of 50 feet, a woman who would guide me through dark streets to the Mass I was to celebrate. I followed her for about 15 minutes. Then, suddenly, I saw a door open, and my guide slipped inside quickly. When I arrived at the same spot, the door opened, again and I entered. We climbed four flights of stairs silently and then knocked gently on a door. After a pause, someone opened the door and we went into a tiny attic. There, hidden away in mainland China, I celebrated Mass with 14 elderly members of the Daughters of Charity. When someone tapped on the door just after Mass began, everyone froze with tension for fear that the police were arriving, but it was another sister. READ THE FULL ARTICLE HERE: americamagazine.org/issue/feathered-thing
Posted on: Sun, 26 Jan 2014 22:36:08 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015