Still Missing Chris

My best friend, soulmate, and late night bon-vivant, Christine, died in October of 2022.  At that time, I couldn't really understand the scriptural reading, at her funeral Mass. 

"Death where is your sting?" This is from Paul's letter to the Corinthians 15:55.  "Death where is your sting?"  "Are you serious?" I thought.  The sting is in my heart, in the tears in my eyes, and in the lump in my throat blocking my speech. "Death where is your sting?"  "Didn't you feel it, Paul?"

(sigh)

Of course, I'm not that obtuse to know that Paul was referring to the resurrection and not thinking of the physical death of a dear one. Now that I think of it, Paul wasn't there, when Jesus died.  No wonder he could so blithely ask, "Death where is your sting?" 

(sigh)

Again. I'm thinking of a dear one whom I once physically touched, hugged, kissed, and laughed with, and Paul is preaching the Resurrection. The physical world versus the abstract theological world.  It's good thing we humans have both, or we'd be wallowing only in the physical with no hope for anything better.

S-o--r-r-y.  I'm doodling.

I was talking about my friend, Chris, who although she has been gone, for going on three years, I still am reminded of her when I have a spinach artichoke appetizer, a strawberry marguerita--salted, or I see a mutual friend.  I still miss her because I still love her.  Love still lives. 

When she first became sick almost 20 years ago, and she had been gone for a while.  I wrote this poem:

Missing Chris

Happy is he who find a friend and he who speaks to attentive ears. Sirach 25:9

My soul mate, Chris would help with my mess,

over spinach artichoke dip, nachos,

ice tea, girl-talk, dope slaps, and laughter;

deftly would your perspective fix my problem;

snap smooth wrinkled excuses and cobwebbed thoughts,

as we share late night secrets and pray for grace.

 But she became well, not completely healed, but well enough for us to hang out together, again.  She was a football fan.  Living a town away from Gilette Stadium, she cheered for the New England Patriots.  Tom Brady, the quarter back was an obsession.  If she couldn't get to a game, she went to a sports bar right in Gillette Stadium and in that charged atmosphere she watched her team play on the big TVs.  She would have loved the movie '80 for Brady.  This movie is about four octogenarians who love the Pats and Tom Brady just like Chris did.

Myself, not being a fan of elderly ladies talking dirty and acting sexy, I would never have even entertained the thought of seeing the move, '80 for Brady.

Now, if you don't believe in heavenly intervention, then listen up.  The Senior Center had a raffle to go see the movie.  I thought to myself, "OK Chris, if I win, I'll go for you."  

I won a ticket to go. 

I had the best time.  It was "wicked awesome!" Thus, I was inspired to write another poem for Chris: 

Cheering for Chris

My friend, Chris, who loved the Patriots,

       would have wanted to see “80 for Brady.”

And so I went for Chris, to see, to laugh, and maybe

       to lessen the feel of my grief laden cross.

Chris would have howled with laughter,

      and so I watched for the two of us.

Cheering, clapping, enjoying, plus

      thinking of your happiness ever after.

So now is the sting gone?  Depends. When I need a confidant, I feel

 the sting. But when I have a 

spinach artichoke dip, or a margarita, I smile and send love up to 

Chris because love still lives.  Now, another poem is composed: 

Still Missing Chris

Twice this morning I went to text you

about a thought or two, I knew

you would enjoy.  But then.....

Then my mind halted

and I erased my words.

Of course, I know it's necessary to have an ending before you can have a beginning.

But love doesn't end.

That's proof of God, you'd say.

Life goes on for both of us.  Mine is here and yours is there.

But Chris, I can't text you there.

Sure, you can.  No words are necessary

when you speak from your heart.

I finally get it, Paul.  Love doesn't end with death.   Death doesn't win.  Love conquers all.  "Oh Death, where is your sting."

Thought Experiment

 What if Jesus loved you just as much as you love Him?

A Challenge for All Peoples

The following post is from Jordi Perez, my favorite Lay Dominican postulant.

It isn't merely our literacy that separates us from animals, for plenty of unforgivable crimes by bankers, business people, presidents and self-proclaimed religious have been committed by superior minds. It is our morality that gives value to our intelligence, and our trust and love. God is not so fragile as to fear other faiths. Some religions oblige one to live according to Godly mandates, and some add the obligation to preach and convert. Can we can love enough to accept the rejection of our Truth and our Way? If we can realize that conversion may only happen after 30 years of marriage, or 10 years of friendship, or in the split second that one extends a loving hand, then we can also realize that at no point is intolerance ever acceptable, for we would fail in our call to preach.

Why can't we share our faith along with the faith of others and enjoy a banquet of beliefs and ideas that can enrich us... even if we choose to oblige by our Ten Commandments, 613 Mitzvot, Five Pillars, Five Buddhist Precepts or just Dharma?

We have reached an Age where our Faith should have matured enough to take the next step up the Stairway to Heaven. We cannot expect God to use Elementary School lesson plans on College-Level Students. God knows that better than we do. Read, and pray, for they are the only things that make us human, then read and pray together, for our infinite and communal faiths are greater than our finite and solitary needs.

We need not erase religion, because we are religious animals, and we are human, capable of far more than gibbons. As fun as it is to measure ourselves by how hard we hit or how fast we run, those awards will always go to gorillas and gazelles, not humans.

Our measure is one that no animal can surpass. Our measure is in the Image of God.

The God that allowed us to take and eat, even after He warned us not to. That is the experience of every loving parent with their child, and our response must be equally sacrificial and loving.

We live in a violent and difficult age, but it is us who make it violent and difficult. Only us. And it is us who can make it less violent and less difficult. God is waiting.

Christians, you have studied for 2,000 years. Graduate already. Muslims, you are not far behind. Submit to Peace. Jews, find where we can fit in your Sabbath, since we love and respect the same Prophets. Buddhists, Hindus, we too can find common ground under the orange sun. And none of us need change a single color of our convictions.

Surprise God with love. See what it brings.

You shall not kill.

"...from every animal I will demand it, and from a human being, each one for the blood of another, I will demand an accounting for human life." --Bereshit (Genesis) 9:5

If anyone has killed one person it is as if he had killed all mankind --Quran 5:32

Ahimsa.

--My thoughts after Pittsburgh

*Ptttsburgh is reference for the senseless attack on worshippers in a synagogue by a bigotted madman on October 27, 2018. It was a mass shooting that occurred at Tree of Life -- or L'Simcha Congregation, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania while Shabbat morning services were being held. 

Loving Creation

Why does Bree Jo'ann's poem make me think of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How do I Love Thee (Sonnet 43)"?

#Mood   Bree Jo'ann

I like literature that makes me think:          Banana Republic, Victoria’s Secret, Forever 21, A constant reference to the things that I’m supposed to want, but ironically, but effectively, like a commercial that employs racial stereotypes but still makes me want to go to that restaurant to scoop the vestiges of salad on my plate with a piece of bread.  Before I moved, I was obsessed with the mall. I wanted to spray myself with scents and wear overpriced loungewear as a nihilistic act. I like Instagram posts that make me think:          Crystals, juice, my psychic, These collective practices of the personal. I can feel my heart is a gravitational force, and my head bonded only by mystical means. One end attracts, the other repulses.  Some of my friends live in the neighborhood, some live in the woods. We talk about how to combat gentrification and what to do if you see a ghost. I like Twitter posts that make me think:          Meaningless, prescription drugs, inadequacy.  I felt resistant to aimless positivity for a long time. I wanted to be a soulless yoga bitch with blacked out eyes doing drugs on a pontoon, a perfect body filled with destruction. I wanted to create a cult to my body, but most jobs think its cute to show gratitude with carbs and Seroquel gives me the munchies. I like life experiences that make me think:          Fish tank, trees, justice, we made it, aliens, secret society, perfect feed, torrent download, hair and makeup, freak paradise, small objects on a window sill, sweet flea market find, alternative section, slow motion suburban intro with darkwave soundtrack, oasis in the ghetto with organic snacks, etc.

Love is both tolerant and intolerant

Love is both tolerant and intolerant: Every community, inevitably, has a value or set of values that it considers fundamental, some basic good which positions every other claim to goodness. For most of the modern liberal democracies, for example, freedom and liberty play a determining role in the moral discourse...



This is a good article which explains how love may have to correct and redirect.  It's not love to allow the beloved to be harmed.  This is why the church says "All are welcome," but you have to understand that you are welcome according to Christ's teachings, not your own.