Life in the Ruins
Written by: John O'Keefe
Outside the window of my hotel room window in Montreal the old and the new contrast with a stately elegance. The morning sunlight reflects off the glass of a nearby skyscraper and, in turn, passes through the window of a copper roofed artifact from another age of the world. The horizontal nave of the old French-Canadian church across the streets interrupts the verticality of the sky-scrappers behind it, and, in interrupting, it softens with stone and aging metal the relentless ambition of towering glass and steel.
In Montreal, though, as elsewhere in the Western world, Christian culture is a crumbling remnant. The architectural remains of that culture, like the church across the street, prompt me to reflect this morning on the difficult task that confronts those of us whose vocation it is to live among the ruins.
Like many of my friends and students, I am drawn to the vigorous spiritual energy that characterizes the Church’s experience in other parts of the world, especially among the poor. Two weeks ago, I was in the Dominican Republic and experienced again the rich vibrancy of Latin American Christian piety and devotion. In March I stood transfixed as angelic voices in war-ravaged northern Uganda praised God in song despite the terrible material depravation that characterized their lives. I understand the desire to live among those who know their need for God.
I do not want to suggest that spiritual poverty is somehow as bad as material poverty nor that the materially wealthy do not have the duty to care for the materially poor. But, despite that, it is also true that those of us trying to live out Ignatian Spirituality in the shadow of skyscrapers cannot neglect the well-fed poor among us.
As I write this, I am aware of so much suffering: a couple struggling with their marriage, young people profoundly confused about their sexuality and pathologically afraid of commitment, a friend approaching 50 who thought an affair with a younger woman would turn back the clock on his aging, my brother-in-law’s uncle who shot himself in the head rather than face the continued humiliation of unemployment. Those known to me are but a tiny fragment of a huge mass of human beings struggling for meaning and purpose in a world that can seem hideously indifferent.
Reflecting on this, I realize that the gospel has made a real difference in my ability to negotiate the deep deceptions of my culture. It is, I think, part of our vocation to share this path with others.
I am today especially grateful for the Christian life. Although an artifact from another age, it still retains a liberating power.
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This post brought to mind a poem by Marilyn Nelson:
Abba Jacob’s Aside on Hell
Abba Jacob said:
I wonder if souls are unhappy
in hell.
I rather doubt it.
And if they are
they won’t admit it,
like people in an expensive nightclub,
glad-handed by the rich and beautiful,
while the rich
and the beautiful
hold cold hands
to a fire in a dustbin.
I can empathize with what you feel. Within my first few months of working with the poor in Milwaukee, my world was rocked with feelings I was trying to make sense of: “How can I vow poverty among others poorer than me?” “What about helping the people in my own family who are poor?” “How can I continue to enter into the experience of people’s plight without becoming spiritually drained?”
When I feel useless or insignificant about the strife that exists in the world, the words of Oscar Romero are most helpful to me:
“This is what we are about: We plant the seeds that will one day grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.”
Peace.
P.S. I’ve added you to my blogroll. I like your blog.
Thanks for the comments. It’s always nice to hear from others trying to walk the walk, as they say.
Although your whole post is good but in first paragraph your way of making contrast of old and new age really inspired me.
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