The Three Questions – Being Present for Lent

I have been pondering how to approach Lent in this Jubilee Year of Mercy given that Jesus calls us to be merciful like the Father (Lk 6:36) and that Pope Francis asked that we live this Lenten season “more intensely as a privileged moment to celebrate and experience God’s mercy” (Misericordiae Vultus). I recently read a profoundly poignant metaphor equating God’s mercy to the two reflection pools of the New York 9/11 Memorial where within each reflection pool a huge waterfall drops into the darkness of a lower pool whose bottom you cannot see:

Fawn 1

 

“It struck me deeply as a metaphor for God: mercy eternally pouring into darkness, always filling an empty space…water always falls and pools up in the very lowest and darkest places, just like mercy does” (Richard Rohr, OFM).

 

God’s mercy, thankfully, infiltrates into the darkest corners of our lives, and since mercy was first shown to us, each of us is called to spread, to the deepest levels, “the balm of mercy” to all others (MV 5).  As we begin our Lenten promises, many of us will treat “the Christ in others” through renewed efforts in living out the corporal and spiritual works of mercy. My contemplative practices have taught me, though, that to be successful at such efforts, to make this Lenten season assuredly transformational for ourselves and others, we need to become deeply present to all those we encounter – family, friends, and strangers.

Being genuinely present in body, mind, and heart, however, is not always so easy. Oftentimes, we hardly give our full attention to those with whom we are speaking, inescapably, it seems, distracted by the myriad of daily activities running through our minds. How often do we spend time with someone, but we are not really “there”? How regularly do we stop to reflect that the person we most dislike, or gets under our skin, is as equally loved by God as we are? How frequently do we ponder that God is amongst us and within us? Though we may not shun the sacramental presence of Christ, how often do we shun Christ’s presence through the people he places in our lives? Pope Francis engages all of us in stating, “It is time to return to the basics and to bear the weaknesses and struggles of our brothers and sisters” (MV 10). We all must attempt to go deeper than just the surface, to be undeniably present, to make possible the extension of mercy to others.

I was recently reintroduced to Jon Muth’s children’s book The Three Questions based on the short story of the same name by Leo Tolstoy. Rehearing that story after several years, reminded me of its profoundly simple message and its relevance to remaining present during this Lenten season. Striving to be the best person each can be, the king (in Tolstoy’s story) and Nikolai (the young boy in Muth’s rendition) ask three questions:

 

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When is the best time to do things?
Who is the most important one?
What is the right thing to do?

 

 

As we embrace and firmly put into action the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, the answers to these three questions supplies our needed framework to remain deeply present to those we encounter – reaching their dark corners and enabling them to experience God’s mercy. When is the best time to do things? There is only one important time – Now. Who is the most important one? The most important one is always the one next to us at that moment. What is the right thing to do? The right thing to do is to do good for the one you are with at that instant. As we embark on carrying out the works of mercy this Lent, if we truly concentrate on doing them now, truly focus on who we come upon, and truly center on her or his particular need at that moment, our practical compassion will dive below the surface to those darkened corners and will shine as the mercy of God operating through us.

My God, open my eyes to your presence around me this Lent, and allow me to be deeply present in each moment, present to my brothers and sisters, present to their needs, and through my presence allow them to experience your mercy.

Fawn Waranauskas teaches spirituality for Saint Joseph’s College Online.

Joy and Suffering: Living with ALS

Worth Revisiting Wednesday! This post originally appeared on July 27, 2014.

In January 2011 I was giving a presentation on bioethics at my parish, and just after the presentation started a man hobbled in on a cane. A few months later I was giving another presentation on the same topic, and a man entered the room in a motorized wheelchair. I puzzled for a few moments because it looked like the same man. As I continued with the presentation I realized that it was indeed the same man. It was rather unnerving to be able-bodied, in good health, and speaking about ethical issues so closely related to the suffering of the sick, while this man, who was clearly suffering from a debilitating disease, was there listening intensely. I couldn’t help wondering what it was like to be grappling with these issues “from the inside”—so to speak.

Marty and I met soon afterwards. We discussed our common interests and goals: we were both striving to be good husbands and fathers. Marty recounted stories of work and play around the horse farm where he and his family live. He spoke about arranging horse jumps for his daughter Cecilia, clearing brush from the woods behind the house, laying up firewood for the winter, cleaning out the horses’ stalls, and myriad other chores. In our discussions about bioethics he drew upon his medical expertise, built up over eleven years as a successful, interventional radiologist.

Marty was also interested in my literary and theological background. He asked me to read the rudiments of his spiritual autobiography. I asked questions that prompted him to think more deeply about the meaning of the joys and sufferings he was experiencing. At times I felt as though I was giving him “work” to replace the professional life lost to ALS. And what a “worker” he has been! His spiritual autobiography, Joy and Suffering: My Life with ALS,was dictated through an iPhone into emails, initially, and then into a document that was edited by Christian Tappe of St. Benedict Press.

D'Amore

Photo of D’Amore Family at Lou Gehrig’s Disease – ALS website

In many ways, Marty is a typical American guy, but there is definitely something special about him. He is inspired by the meaningful lives other people lead, for example, by the doctors who first showed him the beauty of a medical career and motivated him to pursue it. He has been given given plenty of natural intelligence and talent, and as a young man he struggled to discover and develop himself. He worked hard at his profession, marveled at the good he could do with it, and reaped its rewards. He has been wildly successful—by American standards—in his profession, family, and lifestyle.

More importantly, Marty demonstrates a kind of spiritual excellence. Not the spiritual excellence of the great ascetics of history, who master temptation with an iron will honed through self-denial. Rather the spiritual excellence of one who has prayed with a child’s trust for a good life, lost himself in the confusion of growing up, found the way his talents could lead to success, and finally, as he achieved success, recognized something missing even before detecting the first symptoms of ALS. ALS focused his heart and mind on another kind of success: developing spiritual maturity. By slowly eliminating his physical mobility, ALS forced Marty to find new ways to love his wife, children, and friends. His book offers Marty’s explanation of what he has learned in the hope that his family can discover, with him, some joy within the tragedy that has befallen them all.

Spiritual conversion is the stuff of great literature and epic poetry, but we are not usually given the privilege of a guided tour of this process unfolding in the lives of our neighbors and friends. We all change profoundly as we move through life, and know that our neighbors change in similar ways, but rarely do we get the opportunity to understand that change from the inside. In Joy and Suffering: My Life With ALS, Marty describes the experience of suffering with ALS, depicting not only the intricacies of the disease but also the hard-won meaning of the suffering it has brought him and his family.

This blog post was adapted from the Foreword to the book Joy and Suffering: My Life with ALS by Martin J. D’Amore.

Grattan Brown teaches Ministry with the Aging, Sick, and Dying for Saint Joseph’s College Online.

Update: Marty D’Amore died on January 28, 2015 surrounded by friends and family.  He was laid to rest in Belmont Abbey monastery cemetery, a few 100 yards from the chapel where he often prayed.