Monday, February 2, 2015
On Eagle's Wings: The universal call to holiness, Part II
“They that hope in
the LORD will renew their strength, they will soar on eagles’ wings; They will
run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint.” – Isaiah 40:31
Ten years ago, I chose
St. John the Evangelist to be my patron saint. St. John was Jesus’ youngest apostle, as well as the only
apostle who was not martyred. This
is because Christ gives the keeping of His Holy Mother, Mary, to John at the
foot of the cross in the following exchange: “When
Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he
loved, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold, your son.’
Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold, your mother.’ And from that hour the
disciple took her into his home” (John 19:26-27).
St. John is referred to
multiple times throughout Scripture as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” He was entrusted with the protection of
Mary and was persecuted under the Roman emperor Domitian, who exiled him to the
island of Patmos, where it is believed he wrote the final book of the Bible,
Revelation. In approximately 99
AD, St. John died a natural death of old age as the author of the fourth
Gospel, Revelation, and three epistles.
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| Koshy Koshy's "Palla's Fish Eagle" is licensed under CC by 2.0. |
I suppose eagles have
been on my mind because this past October, my grandfather passed away. This was a sudden and devastating event
for my entire family, but especially for my sisters and I because my
grandfather had been more of a second father to us than a grandfather. The family gathered for a
beautiful funeral and burial remembering and celebrating his life, but each day
is still a challenge to discover how to live in a world that he no longer
occupies. I find it is these
moments in life—births, deaths, marriages, funerals—which bring home to us the
necessity and reality of our faith with blazing clarity. Our faith carries us
through these monumental human events, giving meaning and purpose to events
otherwise too mysterious, tragic, or awesome to comprehend.
My grandfather was a
man of profound, steady, and enduring faith who prayed every day of his
life. His last words, in fact,
were praying the chaplet of Divine Mercy with us. He understood himself to be a simple man; he was a carpenter
who fought in the Korean War,
married his childhood sweetheart, and fathered three children. He was the patriarch of our family,
which grew to include his seven granddaughters and great grandson. He was a family man, a stable, abiding,
and quiet presence in all of our lives that guided and encouraged when we were
being less than what we should. He
lived the practical reality of his faith as a steward of the land, working with
his hands on his farm until the day his body no longer allowed him to work. His every action and word demonstrated
his quiet integrity, his infinite patience, his fidelity to his faith, his
wife, his children, and his home.
In short, when I think of
what it means to be a “good man,” I think of my grandfather.
There
exists somewhat of a mental hiccup when we, as lay people, use the word “holy”
to describe another lay person.
There’s always a touch of reservation when applying, or hearing that
word applied,
to a person who is not a member of a religious order. It seems difficult for us to remember that all people, of
all vocations, are called to be holy.
In the Vatican II
Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen
Gentium (Light of
Nations), this universal call to holiness is proclaimed: “Thus it is evident to
everyone, that all the faithful of Christ of whatever rank or status, are
called to the fullness of the Christian life and to the perfection of charity;
by this holiness as such a more human manner of living is promoted in this
earthly society” (Lumen
Gentium, Chapter
5). In short, every human person
who chooses to follow Christ has a mission and a calling to holiness. Whether through the sacrament of
marriage, as a member of a religious order, or simply as a celibate single, we
are all called to the type of holiness that strengthens and renews the Church
with its purity of purpose.
My grandfather was a
holy man. He was not a priest,
brother, monk, or deacon, but simply a man who lived out his vocation as husband
and father to the fullest. He
guided his family in faith through his words and actions. He believed, he educated, he lived, and
he died practicing the truth of his faith. And I think this is
a type of holiness to which those of us who are married are
called—a life of beautiful, profound simplicity, in which faith and family are
both the anchor and the horizon.
Whatever our gifts, whatever our burdens, we are called to live out
Christ’s love for the Church, through vocation, regardless of financial
situation or status. And as we
grow in holiness, we watch this holiness take root and blossom in our families
and friends.
My grandfather inspired
my entire family to the type of holiness that he lived out every day of his
life. Still, if you used that word
to describe him, he would have been embarrassed and denied it
unequivocally. I think that type
of humility belongs to holiness like warmth belongs to fire. And though
most days holiness may seem like an unachievable goal or unrealistic expectation
for most of us, we need to center
ourselves on the reality that we are called, regardless of our weaknesses, to
give that holiness to our families and the world at large.
I pray that my
grandfather is in heaven, or very soon will be. I find myself praying to St. John in special intercession
for my grandfather, who, out of everyone I’ve ever known, most earned the word
“holy” in his lifetime. I like to
visualize the eagle of St. John during these prayers and hope that my
grandfather was carried, on eagle’s wings, straight into the arms of the
Father.
May you rest there,
Grandy, until we meet again.
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