By Fr. Glenn Jones:
Most of us know persons who tend to be Lone Rangers—eschewing gatherings, avoiding much society with others, etc. (yeah, yeah, my peeps … guilty as charged). Some call it being an introvert, or omega male, or less charitably, anti-social. More often it’s just asocial rather than anti-social.
Flying solo relieves from constant expectations and judgment, lets you do your own thing, read more often, allow for the coveted sole control of the remote and thermostat, etc. Decades ago (has it been that long?!) it also meant uninterrupted use of the family computer, but with everyone having those little pocket computers/phones and wifi (remember the beeping and burping of “dial-up” connecting?), that concern has pretty much gone by the wayside.
Nonetheless, humans are social creatures, and we more often than not find support and comfort among the like-minded, family, culturally similar, etc. Engaging with others can also sharpen the mind, hone opinions, allow cooperation on larger projects, and allow for mutual support when life just ain’t going so well.
For example, I was at a funeral in a remote little community near a cluster of our local pueblos the other day … a little century-old adobe capilla well off the beaten path near the Rio Grande. Poor family, I thought; as isolated as this is, I hope at least some folks come to support them in their grief. But, as almost unfailingly happens in small and close-knit communities, the little church was packed, even with many people standing patiently beyond the open doors during the Mass to pay last respects to the deceased and to support his family. Such scenes are bittersweet—collective grief assuaged by doubled support of family and friends in a place where, as in the TV series declared, everyone knows you by name.
The priest giving the homily (“sermon” to you non-Catholics) during this funeral Mass focused on that passage of Luke’s Gospel in which we read of the “Walk to Emmaus” (Luke 24:13-35), in which the resurrected Jesus appeared to and walked with—although unrecognized by them—some of His disciples. The disciples were mourning the loss of Jesus a few days before when He was executed by crucifixion. Yet, even in their grief and without realizing, He was with them … walking beside them. This reminds of the account of the resurrected Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene outside His tomb; overcome with grief and blinded by tears, she did not recognize Jesus at first … until He called her by name.
We Christians see in such Gospel episodes that, whether we be on a mountaintop, in the depths of the ocean, in the lowest dungeon, or in the absolute depths of despondency, we are never truly alone; God is with us. In that beautiful passage of Psalm 139:
Whither shall I go from thy Spirit?
Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend to heaven, thou art there!
If I make my bed in Sheol [the underworld/in death], thou art there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there thy hand shall lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Let only darkness cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to thee,
the night is bright as the day;
for darkness is as light with thee.
Obviously this does not mean God removes all of our difficulties, pains and sorrows … but for the Christian and Jew, these words are comforting beyond the mere imagery; they are the Word that touch the depths of the soul. Christians believe, of course, not only in the omnipotence and omniscience of God, but also of His omnipresence—always there beside us.
Jesus says in another place: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30) Well, a yoke is made for two, and when we are burdened, Jesus is yoked beside us and, if we let Him, takes on the greater part of the load.
St. Paul tells us: “If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, will he not also give us all things with him? … Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? … No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” (Romans 8:31-37) Trials and tribulations, sorrows and disappointments are part of every life … and yet God is with us through it all. Jesus Himself suffered unimaginable anguish, but always knew the Father was with Him. For Jesus it was knowledge; for us it is faith. Yet we walk by faith, not by sight, trusting that “… if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, [the faithful] have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” (2 Corinthians 5:1).
“Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet …” (Hebrews 12:12), knowing that God is with you.
For the unbeliever, realize nonetheless that concerning those whom we lose, they too are always with us—their memory, their influence upon us, their goodness. Though lost in body, the best part of them remains embedded in our hearts. They were not perfect; we know that. Let go of their faults, and retain the best of them, emulating that which was admirable and good, and finding strength in their memory. By doing so—Christian or no—we never truly walk alone. Yet know that, like with the disciples at Emmaus, even though not yet recognized, Christ is alongside as well.
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.