By Fr. Glenn Jones:

As of this writing the California fires are still raging through the Los Angeles and surrounding areas—such a tragedy, as is the flooding a few months ago in North Carolina and other natural and man-made disasters throughout our nation and the world.

Certainly Los Alamosians—especially longer-term residents—can empathize with those suffering now in California, as well as can many here in New Mexico. Dante-esque scenes of the fires of not long ago around Los Alamos are common in photos of the time, as are those from other fires in the Jemez Mountains, around Ruidoso, Cimmaron and other forested locales in northern portions of the state.  We might remember also the earthquakes such as in San Francisco in 1989, tsunamis in Indonesia, and many other which have taken the lives of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, around the world. Such events confront us with the realization of our relative helplessness in the face of natural forces, and the futility of depending upon material things for unfailing security.

The fires in L.A. have a twist, though, for we see opulent mansions of many of the rich and famous go up in flames along with homes and businesses of “the little people”. It’s not that the tragedy is worse because of losing mansions than it is for losses of houses of the poor (in fact, perhaps less so since the poor may have fewer financial reserves), but it does demonstrate starkly how tragedy is an equalizer, respecting no one. How precarious is our comfort and security.

For instance, one video that rather stuck with me is that of a movie star weeping because she and family had evacuated, and their house had been consumed: “I just want to go home!” Home is (or should be) our place of rest, where we can (hopefully) be ourselves, kick our feet up and relax with family, free of social obligation for a bit or enjoy some relative peace and quiet. It is our own space. Even prisoners may refer to their cells as their “house”. And in their writings, cloistered monks and nuns not infrequently relate that they find their greatest comfort in their assigned meagerly-furnished rooms (also called “cells”), alone and quiet with God in their prayers and contemplation.

Now, some might gloat or ridicule the “notables” who suffer misfortune, but we should never do that regardless of who it might be. Reveling in others’ pain is one of the lowest of low actions; scriptures relate: “… he who is glad at calamity will not go unpunished.” (Proverbs 17:5) and “Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles, lest the Lord see it and be displeased.” (Proverbs 24:17).  Rather, like the Good Samaritan, we should assist those who suffer misfortune, knowing that they are our brothers and sisters in our common humanity and in the eyes of God.

“I just want to go home!” That’s really the plaint of every faithful Christian, as St. Augustine so eloquently stated in his “Confessions” when he came to this epiphany during his conversion: “Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee [God].” Augustine—whether he realized it or not at the time (he wrote in the 300s A.D.) was echoing St. Paul: “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If it is to be life in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me … I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I shall remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith …”  (Philippians 1:21-25)

Christian or not, we all have an inner desire for “more” … a mysterious longing which cannot ever seem to be satisfied, no matter how hard we try … no matter how materially successful we are in life. And we certainly DO try to fill that emptiness with material things—wealth, power, prestige, etc. Ironically, though, it is often those with less who seem to be the most at peace. Those same cloistered monks and nuns mentioned above are often the most content of people, not so much from the divestment of material things in itself, but focusing upon the inevitable eternal, seeking to be ever closer to God in their pursuit of the holiness to which God calls us: “As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; since it is written, ‘You shall be holy, for I am holy.’” (1 Peter 1: 15-17)

So, as you view the terrible scenes around Los Angeles, think about what you would do in such a situation … the futility of dependence upon material security only. Indeed, some readers in Los Alamos may have suffered the same fate already—the loss of hearth and home in the recent fires. In such times we are exhorted to think about what is truly important and what we hold most dear—those who are nearest to us. But, know it or not, God is nearest of all, and He loves us infinitely more than all. When we depart this world, our desire will be to be with Him. In that moment, we will cry out with Moses: “Let me see your glory!” (Exodus 33:18) Well, let us live lives of goodness and holiness, so that we might hear Him reply: “Come, and see.”  (John 1:39).

Editor’s note: Rev. Glenn Jones is the Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe and former pastor of Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church in Los Alamos.