I spent the next three days in the kind care of SLU Hospital. I was admonished at each set or "rounds" to stop smoking. Most of the advice was hard core: "you'll kill yourself if you don't" type of thing. But one doc said he understood how hard it is to quit and that I should really try. He smelled of tobacco. :)
I wandered the hallways of the hospital for 72 hours. I was bored even with my IPhone to comfort me. I had a few visitors. One of them brought me suckers and magazines. The cover story of one of the magazines had to do with people who do not believe there is a life after this. That got me thinking again about the nagging question: why no spiritual consolation in my hour of greatest need? That question pestered me constantly when I wasn't thinking about how much this was all going to cost and how I was going to pay for it.
Setting aside the questions of cost and how to pay for my medical care, I left the hospital still nagged by the former question: Why did I not experience and spiritual consolation, or pray, or repentance or...? I started asking other people about it. I read articles, blogs and books about people who had had profound spiritual experiences in similar life and death situations. This only bothered me more. I searched my heart and thoughts for answers to no avail. Priests told me not to worry about it. My spouse told me it was because I didn't actually die. Friends gave me their advice, but none of it registered with me. What I was reading and what I was hearing from others was making the lack of consolation in my case even more disconcerting.
I consider myself a person of faith. I have been a Catholic all my life. I have relied on the sacraments and the mercy of God to get me through many circumstances like the deaths of parents and siblings, divorce, and other such difficulties. This one event was throwing me for a loop. Mostly because I wasn't able to trust my friends' attempts at comfort and explanation, because none of them had been through anything quite like the near-death experience I had. The old questions about the existence of God, the love of God, the personal nature of God, the intervention of God, the omnipresence of God, began tumbling around with the rest of my questions. My mind was reeling for over a month. Questions became torments. Rock became sand. I was being challenged to the core of my beliefs--with no relief. I turned on the television one evening and things started to firm up again. Thank God for television!
On the local access channel was a series of locally produced films. One of the documentaries chronicled the effect of death, near-death and violence on a religious community with which I was acquainted. A few years ago, a horrific thing happened at The Benedictine Community in northwest Missouri, at Conception Abbey. A crazed gunman entered the monastery and shot and killed and wounded several of the monks and then took his own life. Having spent many retreat weekends at Conception Abbey over the years, I became familiar with several of the Brothers. Because of my friendship with the monks I became particularly interested in this documentary. As the film unfolded, it was mostly interviews with the surviving monks and local folks from near the monastery. Several of the monks detailed the horror of witnessing this tragedy. Some who witnessed and survived, were also victims of gunshot wounds. These men talked about how it felt to be invaded and attacked. How vulnerable they felt. Hiding out as their brother monks were wounded and dying. More than one mentioned he didn't understand why God didn't protect them. Others confessed they felt numb or nothing and didn't even think to pray.
Wait, did he just say he didn't feel God at all and didn't even think to pray? That's impossible. Monks spend several hours a day praying. Whenever I shared the Liturgy of the Hours with these monks I always felt God's presence. What could this mean? Then it dawned on me that if these men of God, whom I greatly admire, had the same struggles as I, under even more dire circumstances, then perhaps I was going to be O.K. with my doubts and my questions. If you receive consolation in your hour of testing, be grateful. If you don't experience the presence of God in your darkest moments, think of the monks at Conception Abbey or of Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, who confessed to experiencing many dark nights, and of all those who suffer and as a good Catholic, offer it up.
I wandered the hallways of the hospital for 72 hours. I was bored even with my IPhone to comfort me. I had a few visitors. One of them brought me suckers and magazines. The cover story of one of the magazines had to do with people who do not believe there is a life after this. That got me thinking again about the nagging question: why no spiritual consolation in my hour of greatest need? That question pestered me constantly when I wasn't thinking about how much this was all going to cost and how I was going to pay for it.
Setting aside the questions of cost and how to pay for my medical care, I left the hospital still nagged by the former question: Why did I not experience and spiritual consolation, or pray, or repentance or...? I started asking other people about it. I read articles, blogs and books about people who had had profound spiritual experiences in similar life and death situations. This only bothered me more. I searched my heart and thoughts for answers to no avail. Priests told me not to worry about it. My spouse told me it was because I didn't actually die. Friends gave me their advice, but none of it registered with me. What I was reading and what I was hearing from others was making the lack of consolation in my case even more disconcerting.
I consider myself a person of faith. I have been a Catholic all my life. I have relied on the sacraments and the mercy of God to get me through many circumstances like the deaths of parents and siblings, divorce, and other such difficulties. This one event was throwing me for a loop. Mostly because I wasn't able to trust my friends' attempts at comfort and explanation, because none of them had been through anything quite like the near-death experience I had. The old questions about the existence of God, the love of God, the personal nature of God, the intervention of God, the omnipresence of God, began tumbling around with the rest of my questions. My mind was reeling for over a month. Questions became torments. Rock became sand. I was being challenged to the core of my beliefs--with no relief. I turned on the television one evening and things started to firm up again. Thank God for television!
On the local access channel was a series of locally produced films. One of the documentaries chronicled the effect of death, near-death and violence on a religious community with which I was acquainted. A few years ago, a horrific thing happened at The Benedictine Community in northwest Missouri, at Conception Abbey. A crazed gunman entered the monastery and shot and killed and wounded several of the monks and then took his own life. Having spent many retreat weekends at Conception Abbey over the years, I became familiar with several of the Brothers. Because of my friendship with the monks I became particularly interested in this documentary. As the film unfolded, it was mostly interviews with the surviving monks and local folks from near the monastery. Several of the monks detailed the horror of witnessing this tragedy. Some who witnessed and survived, were also victims of gunshot wounds. These men talked about how it felt to be invaded and attacked. How vulnerable they felt. Hiding out as their brother monks were wounded and dying. More than one mentioned he didn't understand why God didn't protect them. Others confessed they felt numb or nothing and didn't even think to pray.
Wait, did he just say he didn't feel God at all and didn't even think to pray? That's impossible. Monks spend several hours a day praying. Whenever I shared the Liturgy of the Hours with these monks I always felt God's presence. What could this mean? Then it dawned on me that if these men of God, whom I greatly admire, had the same struggles as I, under even more dire circumstances, then perhaps I was going to be O.K. with my doubts and my questions. If you receive consolation in your hour of testing, be grateful. If you don't experience the presence of God in your darkest moments, think of the monks at Conception Abbey or of Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, who confessed to experiencing many dark nights, and of all those who suffer and as a good Catholic, offer it up.
Photo from my hospital window
