Love: The Response to Death

Runner, writer, and educator Joe Muldowney over at "Running Shorts: The Blog" shared last week about a close friend's recent suicide. He expressed his bewilderment over why his friend, or anyone else, would decide to take his own life. Joe's appropriate response was not an "answer" to the question; instead it was a forward movement:

I kissed my wife and told her I loved her. I spoke to my three children. They are doing well with their lives and careers. I threw snowballs in the air for Dixie, my Labrador Retriever, to catch.

Love is the best response to death. Love is the best response to the threat of death, to the contemplation of death.

There are many dimensions to the mystery of suicide. Sometimes Love doesn't get to the person in time. Sometimes the person isn't able, or willing, to receive Love. Sometimes bystanders are afraid to express Love.

And sometimes I don't have a clue what I'm talking about, and am afraid to suggest that anything I could offer (in this or other subjects) holds any weight whatever, except if I happen to be citing the Bible or the Catechism.

A friend who struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts directed me to the popular blog Hyperbole and a Half, which deftly chronicles, among other topics, the young author's struggles with being depressed (here and here) and with being subjected to sincere supporters.

I confess to being one of those well intentioned persons. Call me anything, but don't call me "at a loss for something to say." If a person gives me an inch of willingness to be heard and harangued, I'm taking a yard. Whatever it takes to distract them (and me!) from self.

In the heart of the dejected, Self--the false one, not the true one--becomes the enemy. More properly, the false self becomes the tool of the Primordial Enemy of Salvation and Transcendence (PEST). I distinguish the false from the true self in terms of who a person is from the perspective of a wise and loving Creator and those persons who, knowingly or not, assist Him in building up the human family. There may be technical dimensions to the distinction, such as one might encounter in the likes of Merton or Jung, but these exceed the scope of the current post and the current poster.

Thank God and thank my friends, my worst moments...so far...haven't been nearly as bad as I ever thought they were. But I certainly acknowledge how easy it is for the mind to become an echo chamber that augments only the worst thoughts and feelings, and this with gusto. How subtly and stupidly "You didn't lock the door" can morph into "You suck both professionally and personally!" But that's just how people can roll; it is both a science and an art.

In their malaise do the discouraged mean to manipulate? Sometimes I think they do, absent their better judgment, only because I've been aware of that proclivity in myself. Unable and/or unwilling to receive the Full Insight About Themselves (FIAT), they may unwittingly resort to repeating those time-honored deprecations (imprecations?) at the first, second, or nineteenth sign of imperfection. At the least, they may repeat it interiorly, or aloud when they sense that the receiver might retract or mollify his or her statement, even if it was reasonable and practical ("Locking the door secures the house, which ought to be important to you").

In short (because, at just under 5'4", that's what I am), the "You" in question is not the real person. He or she is the delicate yet sturdy construct of years' worth of lies, approximations, intimations, and mishearings, honed by the finest sandpaper and sealed with the oiliest varnish. Don't dare destroy it, because, as the lie goes, there might be nothing left to salvage; and then what?

My friend Joe's sadness is no doubt shared by many who survive a loved one's suicide. "What could I have done--especially if I'd known about it"; or, if I knew about it, "why didn't he reach out, or why didn't I reach out...more than (say) three times?" Mourners go through the gamut from denial to acceptance with the uniqueness of snowflakes, though with enough predictability to have made a science of it.

In the economies of many households, the deficit of Love goes back generations. And (to shift metaphorical tracks) in some situations, a single traumatic event or protracted experience (e.g., war) can derail a train that previously had run smoothly. The passengers are either genuinely interested in everyone's safety or simply want to reach their destinations without further disturbance. The team of mechanics (ideally, it is a team) have run out of tools, and even the best of them are tempted to run out of patience. And, above all, the conductor himself often doesn't know how it happened or how to return to optimal conditions.

If mass transit reports such problems, how much more so the human spirit, which surpasses mere functionality and is "worth more than many sparrows" (Mt 10:31)?

The caregivers in a concerned community (family, workplace, presbyterate, etc.) must try their darnedest to uplift the downtrodden among them. At the same time they cannot ultimately take responsibility for the final outcome, and would do well, therefore, to enlist auxiliaries, even if for their own sanity. Consider the game plan of Moses, for whom seventy elders did the trick (Num 10:11-15). Seventy may be too high or too dear, but how about three?

Plus we cannot underestimate the care we demonstrate on our knees, praying that our friends want to be well, or even want to want to be well. "Paul plants, Apollos waters," but who knows how the grain may eventually make its grand appearance?

A Run To Remember

"I have given you an example" (Jn 13:15a). Exemplum enim dedi vobis: my new episcopal motto. As someone once said, "Everyone is my teacher. Some teach me what to do; others, what not to do."

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Mondays are my day off. If I don't have the hospital beeper, I usually--eventually--go home to Saint Clair to visit my mother.

For the past ten weeks or so, I have been following Hal Higdon's "Intermediate 1" marathon training plan, the same one I used to train for the Via Marathon last September. There is another 26.2 in my sights: the Two Rivers Marathon in the Pike County town of Lackawaxen.

Unless you live in Florida or points south, you have been experiencing a very rough winter. I don't think a week to ten days has gone by without a few new inches of snow and/or ice. Our schools have all but run out of scheduled snow days; at this rate they may end up going to school in July!

The Weather Channel app said that the 19605 would get 2 to 4 inches of snow on Monday. I don't think we had any less than 8 inches.

So this was a perfect day for a run; and not just a "base mileage" run of, at this point in the schedule, five miles: rather, a "long run" of thirteen miles, sandwiched between an 18 last week and a 20 next week.

My friend and occasional coach Joe Muldowney, of "Running Shorts" fame, suggests that runners in training for a race consult the long-range weather forecast for the best possible day for a long run.

Not I!

Almost invariably I save my long runs for Mondays, as they can take as long as three hours to complete, not including prep and cleanup. I think it's better not to take all that time away from the parish. Then again, there's no virtue in taking it away from visits home. Most of the time, I do get some quality time with Mom, which, people tell me, I'd better enjoy while I have her. No argument there!

With the snow that was steadily falling since the early hours of the morning and giving no sign of surcease until after lunch, most sane people would have stuck to the treadmill today.

Not I!

Long pants, hooded sweatshirt, and trail shoes hastily stuffed into my bag, I headed up Route 61 amid a veritable slushfest. The traffic light in Shoemakersville turned yellow when I was still a ways off. I applied the brake, but kept sliding with no prospect of stopping at the intersection. Thank God nobody was near me. A Channel 69 News car was parked in the lot of the former Chinese Buffet, with a camera set up. I hope they got some good footage.

Where would I go for this run? As I approached Hamburg I decided to park at a familiar spot: the Kernsville Dam, the starting point of the Bartram Trail--six flat, scenic miles that terminate near Auburn at an abandoned railroad bridge.

Pulling into the parking area already was a challenge, so I deemed I was none too smart to be following through with this venture. When I opened the car door, the snow was almost up to the base of the door. From the first steps I felt like I was running with the steel-toed boots my father used to wear to work. I had to accept that my turnover was going to be slow. If I tried to compensate by kicking up my legs, it would only sabotage my already lackluster form and deplete my energy. Oh, I forgot my fuel belt and energy gel...

In the first mile I took notice of the snow-covered trees. How they glistened: a truly picturesque moment! The scene got a bit scary, however, when branches and whole trees graced the path like gauntlets. I couldn't exactly leap over them like a gazelle, but I'm happy to say I didn't trip over any of them. The worst ones were at the beginning. On an out-and-back course, however, it means that they were also at the end, by which point I'd have a harder time hurdling over them.

Several times I had myself convinced that I was going to cut this run short. "I'll turn around now, and make it a 10K. That's not too bad." But I kept on, and figured, "I've been at it this long--I might as well keep going." But every mile out would mean another mile back: would I feel so eager to do 13 when I reached 5?

By mile 5, I was further saddled with snow. It was now clear that I wore the wrong pants for this occasion. Loose-fitting, with drawstrings at the ankles, they scooped up the snow as I trudged along. It was starting to stick, and every step accrued more to my account. Every quarter-mile or so, I had to grab the legs and shake off the snow, which clung to me like leeches. I thought, I can't put up with this nonsense for another six or seven miles--but what else can I do?

The turn-around point on the Bartram Trail is a fence, without which one would descend to certain death. I usually tag that fence, smacking it like the hand of a teammate after scoring a point. I did so today, but this time asking for its intercession. On my way back, I noticed that the footprints I'd left earlier were at least halfway refilled with fresh snow.

In the middle of mile 7 I looked down at my legs and noticed that they swelled into snowy ham hocks. Instead of shaking my pant legs, this time I stopped and rolled them up to my knees; but as soon as I resumed running, down they went, ready to inflate once again. Fresh out of ideas and patience, I did what anyone who was crazy enough to run 13 miles in this confounded weather would do: I removed my pants and draped them around my neck like a stole. Might as well let the snow brush against my bare legs. It figured, too, that the wind would start kicking up. At one point every branch in the next tenth of a mile decided to divest its flakes, as if the trees were starring in a Head-and-Shoulders commercial. For all of this, however, my scrawny legs didn't feel nearly as cold as I thought they would. Fortunately for me, and prudently for them, nobody else graced the trail to see (or hear!) my startling display.

Since this was a 6-mile stretch, I could have called it a run, if indeed it was worthy of the name, at mile 12; but the schedule said 13--and what the hell, I've gone this far--so I turned around for a victory lap. If you know the course, you know that there's a bridge about .7 mile into it. At the threshold of the bridge I turned around, and finished with all that was within me...running on fumes.

Screen shot from my Nike+ account. You'd swear I did this just for the story.

I took a few minutes to stretch, and to brush off the snow that had accumulated on my car in those two hours. I attribute my exodus from that parking space, and, for that matter, the entire morning, to my guardian angel.

In the past few months I had whittled down my average pace by two seconds because of speed work and the overall faster times that usually result from it. Thanks to Old Man Winter, however, those gains have been reversed.

Did I mention that I've been feeling something amiss in my left instep since last Wednesday? Since May 2012 pain has been migrating from spot to spot around the lower half of my body. It has found a couple of reliable places to lodge, despite receiving plenty of eviction notices from stretches, foam rollers, ibuprofen tablets, etc. By Sunday the discomfort significantly decreased, convincing me that it was all right to run 8 yesterday and 13 today. As of this typing I feel considerably better than I expected. A doctor's visit may yet be in the works, but perhaps it will be a psychiatrist.

Today a priest-friend and fellow runner tagged me and a handful of others with this photo:

Who's joining my militia to kill this rat-bastard?

That's just about how much time remains, if I don't first email the race coordinator to rescind my registration, or really injure myself. I'd get to decide on the former, but the latter would come against my will. I certainly don't wish injury upon myself (contrary to what you may be thinking), but at this stage, a doctor's strident recommendation would come as a relief. With my luck, on the Ides of March NEPA would get 15" of snow and ice, causing the cancellation of the race. I'd be tempted to tromp 26.2 around the church that morning, just to get it out of my system. Duly forewarned, one of you can tip off 69 News so they can get some good footage.

Where Your Feet Can Take You

In a previous post I offered a review for "Running Shorts: A Collection of Stories and Advice for Anyone Who Has Ever Laced Up a Pair of Running Shoes" by Joe Muldowney. From page one I devoured Joe's exercise exploits like believers devour Scripture! Already a believer in running, my faith was deepened by the good book. Soon thereafter I discovered Running Shorts: The Blog, which one might consider a "part two" of the book, like the Acts of the Apostles to Luke's Gospel.

Since that post in August I have gleaned some personal advice from Joe, and even got to run with him and one of his "cast of characters" on Black Friday! Most of my visits home are not very long and do not include running, so that day was and will remain a memorable occasion, laced with good humor and conversation. I hope we will be able to reprise it before long.

Joe's fondness for writing and running promise to converge later this year in a second tome called "Personal Best." In one chapter he will chronicle three individuals whose dedication to the sport favorably ties into other aspects of their lives. One of them is Elizabeth Withey, who overcame the opprobrium of an abusive marriage through running. In the interest of inspiring like successes in others, Withey has founded Marathons Against Domestic Violence. I understand that she intends to run marathons in every state in the nation and continent in the world. More power to her--and to anyone who dares to make life changes, despite the dissuading attempts of others (or the false self)!

I was humbled to learn that Joe also wanted to include my story as well. While I didn't get into running in order to motivate anyone else, I know that everything we do in life can influence others, for good or ill. In that regard, Ms. Withey shared with me a Scripture quote that is relevant to her efforts and mine:

For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love you have demonstrated for his name by having served and continuing to serve the holy ones. We earnestly desire each of you to demonstrate the same eagerness for the fulfillment of hope until the end, so that you may not become sluggish, but imitators of those who, through faith and patience, are inheriting the promises. (Heb 6:10-12)

Joe's forthcoming book reminded me of another inspiring individual whom I've come to know in the past year. Angeline Piskorski recently started her own blog, The Encouraged Runner. Running has become an integral part of her recovery from brain injury. In three years Angie has come to know the transformative joys of putting one foot in front of the other.

It is easy for an individual in a parish of 2,000 families to be "just another parishioner." But then God provides, and I take, the opportunity to converse and learn. Over the past six years I have accepted those calls and have become a better, more human priest for doing so. A few minutes into my first conversation with Angie, I learned of her interest in running--I learned we'd be running the Via Marathon in a couple of weeks! Soon enough, the news of a shared sport would be the springboard to her faith journey. It pays to listen!

This online world has helped to connect me with people, ideas, and resources. To think it can even be used to spread the Gospel! Let's say it spreads the Gospel of Life. Everyone's story can become a source of enrichment and empowerment. And why not: If God made you, you're worth knowing about!

Marathon Man [Of The Cloth]

In the profile section of this blog, I mention that I am a "dedicated runner." I graduated from power-walking in 1999, as part of an effort to change numerous undesired lifestyle habits. Over the years I have stepped away and returned, sometimes in favor of weightlifting (though you could never tell), sometimes in favor of laziness (then, you could tell).

In the past three years things have been getting pretty serious. Runs entered double-digit territory. I started reading books on running, including a terrific one called Running Shorts, written by Schuylkill County educator Joe Muldowney. I found A Running Start, a great place to buy gear and to get good advice. Last May I began to experience mild to moderate discomfort, but I am happy to say that, through the efforts of an orthopedist and a chiropractor, my condition has been improving.

You know how an idea can get stuck in your head? It seemed that everyone had run a marathon. "26.2" magnets passed me on the highway and in town. Even though I did one 5-miler while in the seminary and for the past three years have participated in a 5K that benefits a local religious community, I do not consider myself a competitive runner, neither against myself nor anyone else.

That said, having had enough of that pesky marathon bug, I decided to register for one. After a bit of research I found one that suited me because of its timing and proximity: the Lehigh Valley Health Network Via Marathon. It's coming up on 8 September, which happens to be Our Lady's Birthday and the ninth anniversary of my father's death. Those two persons are dear to me, so I will remember them happily as I put one foot in front of the other at (I hope) no less than a nine-minute-mile pace.

Speaking of pace, I would like to finish in under four hours. That would require a 9:09 pace. I suspect I'll be faster than that--perhaps 8:30 to 8:40, which would put me at around 3h45m. In order to do this, I can't "gambol like a calf out of the stall" (Malachi 4:2). No matter how fast I start, by mile 20 my legs will likely have the consistency of Cheez Whiz. Having completed one 20-mile run (my longest to date, ever) almost two weeks ago at about 8:15/m, and facing a 22-miler on Monday, this whole long-haul pacing thing is still rather new. Better to have run my first marathon slower than I could have, than to have started too quickly and "hit the wall" before hitting the finish line.

(Did I say "my first marathon"? Yes, I did.)

My commitment to running thus far has had terrific effects on my "numbers": body weight/body fat; cholesterol; blood pressure and pulse. It has also bolstered my psyche. Friends, family, and parishioners know that I can lapse into negativity and sadness very easily, despite many blessings, talents, and advances to which I can attest and for which I thank the Lord. I cannot imagine how it would be if I didn't run!

I must admit, then, that I'm not doing this simply to pacify a gnawing interest. Whether it's their first or hundredth (Joe Muldowney has over 50 behind him!), marathon runners can cite a great accomplishment in their lives. Whatever their pace, dedicated runners and walkers are doing something good for themselves. Best of all, because we are God's children and temples of His Spirit, we are attesting to a Creator whose creations can perform feats of tremendous strength and endurance.

I am blessed to be the Assistant Pastor of a parish who also has a retired priest helping out most weekends, which means that any of us can take a rare Saturday or Sunday off without having to scramble for coverage. (It will not always be so!) That's another reason why I don't do many races--they tend to be held on Sunday mornings, and I work on Sunday mornings! I may be the only Catholic priest competing in this marathon, but one never knows.

Since Via is a good cause, I agreed to raise funds. There's still time to donate, so click here if you're interested. Of course, prayers (for the cause and for my successful completion) are always gratefully received!

Where is God In The Boston Marathon Massacre?

After finishing a 13.1 mile run, I checked my phone to find multiple requests for "Prayers for Boston."  Scrolling further, I discovered the reason for the prayers: two explosions near the marathon finish line that have killed at least two and wounded at least twenty-three.  The explosions took place at about 2:50pm, during my run.  News is constantly being updated.

I thought immediately of Joe Muldowney, Schuylkill County native/resident and author of Running Shorts, the book and the blog.  In his blog, Joe has been sharing his excitement about today's event, as well as fond and foul memories of Bostons past (see the book for a more comprehensive treatment).  Joe has reported that he and his wife Crissy are indeed safe.  The blasts happened around the four-hour mark, but he probably finished at least a half-hour before that.  Of course, that doesn't obscure the gruesomeness of the bombing and the depravity of those responsible.

Based on my news feed alone, I attest that this disaster has galvanized the movement of prayers and kind thoughts.  Generous initiatives for blood donation, temporary shelter, and the like are now in force.    The goodness of humanity (whether the good people operate from a secular or sacred perspective) is refreshingly evident in the wake of tragedies.

Events like these also, and quite understandably, become the occasion for questioning the goodness and mercy of God.  I mean, one of the victims was an eight-year old boy!

I offer only one response to the questioners.  It is not quick and easy.  I offer the entire segment for your contemplation.  Perhaps in the future I can develop some ideas, but others can do it more skillfully.

The context is the Catechism of the Catholic Church's segment on creation--its origin and destiny, and the Providence that guides all things along the way.  Divine Guidance does not impede human freedom, which can be used for evil as readily as for good.  In the face of the Boston Marathon bombing and the myriad moral evils committed by nameless people and people we see in the mirror, the Catechism says:

309 If God the Father almighty, the Creator of the ordered and good world, cares for all his creatures, why does evil exist? To this question, as pressing as it is unavoidable and as painful as it is mysterious, no quick answer will suffice. Only Christian faith as a whole constitutes the answer to this question: the goodness of creation, the drama of sin and the patient love of God who comes to meet man by his covenants, the redemptive Incarnation of his Son, his gift of the Spirit, his gathering of the Church, the power of the sacraments and his call to a blessed life to which free creatures are invited to consent in advance, but from which, by a terrible mystery, they can also turn away in advance. There is not a single aspect of the Christian message that is not in part an answer to the question of evil.

310 But why did God not create a world so perfect that no evil could exist in it? With infinite power God could always create something better.¹⁷⁴ But with infinite wisdom and goodness God freely willed to create a world "in a state of journeying" towards its ultimate perfection. In God's plan this process of becoming involves the appearance of certain beings and the disappearance of others, the existence of the more perfect alongside the less perfect, both constructive and destructive forces of nature. With physical good there exists also physical evil as long as creation has not reached perfection.¹⁷⁵

311 Angels and men, as intelligent and free creatures, have to journey toward their ultimate destinies by their free choice and preferential love. They can therefore go astray. Indeed, they have sinned. Thus hasmoral evil, incommensurably more harmful than physical evil, entered the world. God is in no way, directly or indirectly, the cause of moral evil.¹⁷⁶ He permits it, however, because he respects the freedom of his creatures and, mysteriously, knows how to derive good from it: For almighty God. . ., because he is supremely good, would never allow any evil whatsoever to exist in his works if he were not so all-powerful and good as to cause good to emerge from evil itself.¹⁷⁷

312 In time we can discover that God in his almighty providence can bring a good from the consequences of an evil, even a moral evil, caused by his creatures: "It was not you", said Joseph to his brothers, "who sent me here, but God. . . You meant evil against me; but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive."¹⁷⁸ From the greatest moral evil ever committed - the rejection and murder of God's only Son, caused by the sins of all men - God, by his grace that "abounded all the more",¹⁷⁹ brought the greatest of goods: the glorification of Christ and our redemption. But for all that, evil never becomes a good.

313 "We know that in everything God works for good for those who love him."¹⁸⁰ The constant witness of the saints confirms this truth: St. Catherine of Siena said to "those who are scandalized and rebel against what happens to them": "Everything comes from love, all is ordained for the salvation of man, God does nothing without this goal in mind."¹⁸¹

St. Thomas More, shortly before his martyrdom, consoled his daughter: "Nothing can come but that that God wills. And I make me very sure that whatsoever that be, seem it never so bad in sight, it shall indeed be the best."¹⁸²  Dame Julian of Norwich: "Here I was taught by the grace of God that I should steadfastly keep me in the faith. . . and that at the same time I should take my stand on and earnestly believe in what Our Lord shewed in this time - that 'all manner [of] thing shall be well.'"¹⁸³

314 We firmly believe that God is master of the world and of its history. But the ways of his providence are often unknown to us. Only at the end, when our partial knowledge ceases, when we see God "face to face",¹⁸⁴ will we fully know the ways by which - even through the dramas of evil and sin - God has guided his creation to that definitive sabbath rest¹⁸⁵ for which he created heaven and earth. 

Affirm with me the goodness of God, who, in ways we see and ways we may never fully comprehend this side of heaven, is present among and for His creation, loving it through its present trials. May the many good people out there respond with the Love that conquers sin, suffering, and death even as these realities persist in this world.

"Running Shorts" Worth the Wear

As a purely amateur runner barely able to keep a 7:30 pace most days, I discovered Joe Muldowney's "Running Shorts" on the shelf of A Running Start, where I buy my shoes.  The stories in this book are very much along the lines of his columns in the Pottsville Republican-Herald: informative, inspiring, and amusing.

To call it a "Runner's Bible" would be trite, although accurate enough.  As a Catholic priest, I regard it rather as a "Runner's 'Lives of the Saints'."  Muldowney and his several sidekicks have amassed countless exploits throughout his years of racing, which are coextensive with my life.  He skillfully situates his stories within the larger context of the sport's world, national, and local history.  He retraces the thousands of roads and trails that his feet have graced, giving the impression that he is happy to run them again.  Muldowney has encountered his fair share of gainsayers along his route.  His (usually) benevolent responses brim with the confidence of one who starts his seventh decade in a condition that people a third of his age would envy.  Joe's characteristically coach-like advice--born of trials as much as triumphs--encourages the running reader to improve his own habits and outcomes.

In the Irish wake of his book, Muldowney now blogs his ongoing efforts in the book's light and readable style.  At the writing of this review, he shares the preparations for his 16th Boston Marathon. I'll gratefully root him on during whatever workout I will wager that day, and I'll eagerly await his results.

Both the book and the blog known as "Running Shorts" are treasured additions to my regular devotional reading. Whatever your level of, or interest in, physical fitness, you too can derive the encouragement everyone needs to put one foot in front of the other.