Kidney transplant background

I was 26 when I was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease. I knew my mom had it. She called to tell me she'd just had a transplant, it was successful, and that her nephrologist advised that her kids get tested for it because it was caused by a dominant gene. The Air Force tested me using an Intravenous Pyelogram (IVP), and it was clear that I had cysts on my kidneys. So we've basically been monitoring a slow, steady decline in my kidney function ever since. I have now reached the point at which my nephrologist recommends that I try to get a transplant before I reach the point of needing dialysis. 

Knowing our story

The gospel is the story of the world and of everyone in the world, whether they know it or not. Again, in the words of (St.) John Paul II, "Christ is the answer to which every human life is the question." The mission of the Church is bring the world to itself, as we are told that the prodigal son in that distant country "came to himself." . . . Again, the Church does not have a mission, as though missionary work were one of its programs or projects. The Church is the mission of Christ, who continues to seek and save the lost who do not know their story." - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

I don't know how closely related this prior post is, but it seems relevant. 

There is this train of thought in the world today that no one knows us as well as we know ourselves, and that this self-knowledge should be sufficient to justify every decision we make. We see this approach at work in many different contexts. I'm sure my mom had similar thoughts when she engaged in the illicit relationship that produced me. Often we arrive at a later point in our resulting story realizing that we didn't know our real story at all. Many times we find that we have written subsequent chapters in our own lives and in others' that have resulted in very painful repercussions. 

The truth is that none of us know our story until will know our Savior. There is no part of our story that does not need to be redeemed and brought to completion in him, to be united to his story (history). When he has brought us to ourselves, we find that we enter into the mission of helping others discover their story in him, too. 

It may seem arrogant from the outside, but I suspect it's more arrogant by far to think that my story matters in any other context.

Witness

An apostle is ever so much more trustworthy than a religious genius. A genius may have flashes of insight and come up with a brilliant spiritual scheme, but what he has to say is finally and uniquely his. I cannot enter into it or trust it completely. An apostle's role is much more modest and, therefore, more credible: "I have been told something that I must tell you. Make of it what you will." - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

I think the desire to come up with our own insight and brilliance is a sin of pride. What more could I aspire to than to witness to the love of Christ Jesus? Yet many of us want to find some new way of putting out the message, some new angle that helps people accept what they have rejected or what they struggle with. I think this is a matter of getting our role wrong, of wanting to be responsible for the saving of souls, when that is not our job. 

Our job is to witness. Jesus has done an amazing thing in my life, and I want to share how He has loved me so that some who hear me understand how very much He loves them, too. The point of my discipleship is to become more like Christ so my life bears the same testimony as my words.

The glory of humble obedience

At the juvenile level of popular culture, Jesus might be more admired had he defied the will of the Father. One can readily  imagine the herd of independent minds cheering his defiant," I want to be free to be ME!" To the more mature, he might seem to be a greater hero had his final surrender to his destiny been preceded by a titanic struggle against that destiny. Why do so many think the glory of the cross is diminished because Jesus' will and the will of the Father were perfectly one? I expect it is for the same reason that, as we discussed earlier, many people say that the original fall was a fall upward rather than a downward. Modern consciousness has no higher interest than itself.  - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

Yes, we seem to put out struggle against ourselves on a pedestal, as if the nobility in our obedience is found in the fact that we want to be disobedient and struggle not to be. There is, indeed, glory in a struggle, but it is not a greater glory than that of humbly accepting that God's will is greater than our own.

I have a good friend, probably my best friend, who desperately desires a different path for her life than the one she is on. I admire that she is determined to trust in God's will and follow his guidance rather than selfishly make decisions that could bring her wishes to fruition in a way other than God's revealed plan. I have never mentioned to her that, by her obedience, she is probably sparing someone else great pain. Instead, she chooses to bear her own, and trusts that God is going to work out her life according to His plan for her. 

I see God's glory revealed in her life as she obeys His will. I know it is a struggle for her, just as Jesus' agony in the garden reveals that his obedience to the Father was a struggle for him, too. 

Hope in the Forsaken One

If, as St. Paul says, Christ who knew no sin was made sin for us, can there be any sin he did not bear there on the cross? If the answer is no, as I believe it must be, then even the utterly forsaken are not bereft of the company of the utterly forsaken one, the Son of God, and therefore not bereft of hope." - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

This is a comforting thought as I instinctively contrast my Aunt Helen's life and recent death with my dad's so long ago. He was proud and adamant in his atheism. He would not accept God's grace while he lived, and in his hopelessness took his own life. 

Yet I hope that he is not now bereft of hope.

Perhaps there is hope for me, too, as I continue to refuse to yield my will fully to God's, one way or another, decade after decade. 

Tragedy - updated

"I always thought you had a tragic life." - Fran

My cousins were very close to her family, and I always felt like an outsider. Oh, I was close with my cousins, but I wanted to be close to the people they were close to, too. Seems that she knew all about me, though. At the cemetery, waiting for my aunt's funeral procession to arrive, was the first chance I'd ever had to talk with her much, or any member of her family. I was glad for the opportunity to finally have a bit of connection with these ones who were so dear to my aunt and cousins. But she knew I was Shirley's son, knew about when and how my dad had died, about his alcoholism, and did not seem surprised when I mentioned that he wasn't my biodad. 

And she's right, I did have, in multiple ways, a tragic childhood. It didn't seem that way to me at the time, especially, except maybe for when my dad died. That's how childhood is: whatever you experience is what you think of as normal. In retrospect, mine definitely wasn't, and I'm glad to know that now and to have dealt with it. I'm a better person for it. 

Funny thing is, Fran doesn't know nearly the worst of it.

Great thing is, God has already made something far better than tragedy out of it, and there's an eternity more to come.

The Derelict

Not starting this one with a quotation, but it's still inspired by Death on a Friday Afternoon, by Fr. Richard John Neuhaus.

I haven't been reading or reflecting as much on this book of late while I participated in the Holy Father's requested Annunciation novena for the Consecration of Russia and Ukraine to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. For me, this was a matter of obedient availability, of subjecting my agenda to what it seemed God was asking of me. I would far prefer to reflect on this inspiring book, yet I have found this rosary each morning to still be a blessed time in God's presence. It has given me the opportunity, too, to pray for my dear Aunt Helen, for whose funeral we will be departing tomorrow, along other prayer intentions. 

Now I return to this book in the fourth chapter, on the word "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me." I am torn between this verb and "abandoned," which is used in some translations of this psalm. Fr. Neuhaus presents the image of Jesus as a derelict, which on its face can seem offensive. This is God Incarnate we're describing here, my Savior. How dare you refer to Him using the same term we'd apply to an addicted bum in an alleyway!

And that is the point. Jesus gave us multiple instances of exactly why we need to embrace this concept rather than reject it outright, and they are all about God's love for every one of us rather than an insult to the Son of God. 

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, I'm sure the former disdained the latter (oops: five minute thought break while my cat climbs into my arms for a snuggle. Now, where was I? Oh yes:) in very similar thoughts to those we have in mind as we think of dirty, urine-smelling, disgusting bums on the street. Perhaps we think the only thing offensive about Lazarus is that he was very poor, but I imagine the rich man found him abhorrent. Yet God saw them both very differently, perhaps even than Lazarus himself did. And likewise, outside of God's merciful grace, we are all as abhorrent as the most despicable human being we can imagine. When we have recognized this about ourselves and truly received the grace God desires for us, we become less judgmental of those whose struggles in this world are different from our own.

"For as often as you did it to the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me." Thus Jesus says in the parable of the sheep and the goats. Who do we think "the least" is, anyway? Do we somehow think it's only the "circumstantially deserving least"? Yet so we often behave. 

We often convince ourselves that we somehow deserve God's love because of the wonderful people we are, not realizing that it is God's love that makes us wonderful people rather than our own innate worthiness. 

What derelict am I called to embrace today?