Falling in Love

Walking through the hallowed portals of the Catholic University of Leuven in Belgium, once gets a feeling that a sound mind is of paramount importance to continue the tradition of intellectually understanding the workings of the Spirit in the Scriptures, the Church and in the world. Talking to some of the students of this prestigious institution, which can boast a quality that can only be compared to that of Biblicum or Gregorian in Rome, one gets a feeling that Christian (or Catholic to be precise) theology has unfortunately moved from the heart to the head. In fact that is precisely what one of the students had told me, that theological studies today in this University, is a mental work, and not so much that of the heart. That may be an understatement for a person who believes in sound intellectual study in theology, but one may ask the moot question, can theology be only intellectual, not touching the heart?

Every learning experience is an entry into the ever vibrant sea of wisdom; every time we make an effort to intellectually perceive or understand something, we are taking a dip at this bottomless sea; our intellectual quest may never be quenched, and our thirst for greater clarity may never dawn. Unfortunately wisdom is far removed from the processes of the mind or the intellect; wisdom is to do with the heart, and it strikes a chord with the heart, while intellect puts a person directly in touch with the mind, and disconnects from the workings of the senses, feelings of the heart. Learning cannot take place in a vacuum, true; but a mere intellectual exercise may leave a person high and dry at the end. True learning, or a dip into the ocean of wisdom, is a joyful experience, which one may wish to go back time and again; it may be something that may give that person enough stamina and strength to meet the humdrum reality of ever day life.

One thing is for sure, there is very little scope in the modern day teaching-learning situations, for one to really fall in love with what one is busy with almost night and day. If I am doing my masters degree in Systematic Theology, I cannot learn truly unless I fall in love with the subject I am learning. The curriculum, staff, books are to help me in this process of falling in love. They may only help me, but it is for me to really fall in love. Besides, the situation may be such that one is prevented from falling in love in reality; the circumstances may encourage one to enter into a Platonic love relationship, where the partners may appreciate one another at the head-level, not venturing to enter into the heart-level. Can we call it love? Sure, but of a different kind. This is surely not the kind of love that we long for.

In fact once I fall in love with what I am trying to grasp, I go beyond the prescribed books, assignments, tests, examinations, seminars… and in certain cases I may even become mad! No wonder many people who had tried to enter into their subject in a serious way, had found themselves in such situation; they had to be taken to psychiatrists. There is a danger in associating with the subject one loves and studies in an absolute way. But once I begin to love what I do, what I study, I enjoy every moment I spend with the subject, and cherish even when I am away from it. I am not shattered by the bad results in the examination or inability to get through tests and assignments, because I can very well cherish what I am in love with, without worrying too much about what I make out of this relationship. Sadly much of our learning stops at the level of the head, what someone called a mental jugglery.

Today I would like to pause for a while and recollect what I had been doing from the time I got out of my bed early in the morning. I am going to ask myself this simple question, to which I will try to answer as honestly as possible: have I been in love with what I had been doing throughout this day? It is possible that I did certain works or duties or assignments with greater love and care than some others. Let me enlist those that I enjoyed doing, I loved doing, and had taken great care in doing, and had driven great satisfaction. Let me also enlist those things I did out of compulsion, out of necessity, out of duty consciousness. It is not possible that we stop doing these latter things, because sometimes we may find ourselves with too few options. But it is within our power and choice to make the latter as interesting as the former. I may need to take each item for a few days, and transform it slowly into something that I love and enjoy doing it. That may be the secret of making my day as enjoyable as I can ever make it! (Brussels)

Ruins of Rome

Rome is full of ruins of all sorts. Pillars standing erect, looking up to the sky, walls standing by themselves, columns embracing the earth and refusing to move, faceless statues, handless fairies, noseless divine figurines, it is sometimes the sight one might witness after a ferocious war. But even in the ruins, one could see through the Roman elegance. There is life even in the ruins, which defy decay. There is something in the ruins which had seen the human species going through a similar process of decay, but unlike the Roman ruins, humanity is fast catching up with symptoms of irrevocable decay, that can cause serious damage to the species as such. Luckily the wise Romans have not decided to put together the broken pieces of buildings, squares, Forum, figurines… they have let them as they were centuries ago. A sense of embracing the past with all its failures and decay has kept the city a living witness to what it means to embracing one’s past.

Past is something that is irrevocable, and often one tends to fight with the past, and in the process failing to accept what is presented in the living present, or preparing to welcome the future with all its possibilities. Past is kept alive wrapped in our memories, and the present looks up to the past to find way for the future. But the Romans had a significant insight into the past – leave the past behind and bother about the present! Sometimes, or often, it is useless to try to piece the broken fragments of the past, and make meaning for our present. We may end up more frustrated and disappointed, when we realize that we have long forgotten the formula for such a putting together, or that a piece or two are missing that we are unable to get the complete picture of the road map we are to travel. This thought can only cloud our thinking, and the path may become all the more blurred.

It is hard to bid adieu to the past, especially the broken relationships, bitter memories which still haunt us, even after several attempts of reconciling to the facts, instances of betrayal and insincerity, moments of humiliation and insults; it is also hard to let them lie at the bottom of our hearts, and walk past them to live in the present. But have not the Romans done that? Maybe it demands a lot of guts to do that, to leave the cozy cocoons and to see the heat and chill of the world outside; to fight with the elements which may not be altogether friendly. But is it impossible? Down the centuries, generations of men and women have taught us the secret to cross the thresholds of impossibility – leave the past, and walk into the present. Are we going to lose something as a result of extending a parting embrace to the past, and leave them behind forever? We may, but what we may gain in the present may be far more gratifying to our souls than the past.

I am reminded of two disciples promising to Jesus to follow him, but one makes an excuse to say good bye to his parents, and Jesus says to him to leave the dead to bury their own dead; to another he says, anyone who had put his hand on the plough and looks back is not worthy of the Kingdom. I would like to think of Jesus telling these two disciples to leave the past behind and enter into the present with him; after all, another name for YHWH is I AM, the ever present; to live in the present is to live in the presence of the divine. In another sense, we all become part of divinity the moment we move from the past to the present. For reality in the present is far removed from that of the past, and of the future. The power of the present is something that we need to cherish, and it is possible only by becoming aware of where our minds are at regular intervals.

Today I would like to pause for a while just now, and bring my mind to the present. Let me take a sheet of paper and put on it the memories of the past that keep popping up in my mind at each passing moment. Let me give them a decent farewell, not try to chase them, but give them a warm embrace, feel them, even shed a tear or two, give them an affectionate kiss, and let them part. They may remain like the ruins of the Romans in Rome, but may not come to haunt our present. Let me close my eyes and enter into the sweetness of the present moment; see beauty all around , all that I ever wanted to envision. Let me open my eyes and see everything with fresh eyes, as if I am seeing them for the first time. Let me listen to the different sounds with new ears, as if I am hearing them for the first time. Let me fill my heart with awe and wonder at the miracle of the present moment, and see how my body is slowly transformed into a divine place, a Patheon, where all gods find a niche for themselves! (Brussels)

The Pieta

As one walks through the magnificent St Peter’s Basilica in Vatican, one is awe-stuck at the innumerable works of art displayed at the holy place. The bigger than life size sculptures of popes of the bygone days, the paintings of some of the most notable artistes of different ages; beauty and sanctity have joined hands, and sometimes it is art which takes the upper hand, and religiosity moves behind. There is pomp and magnificence as one walks through the sacred portals, sanctified by innumerable men and women over the two millennia. But what remains today in this headquarters of the Roman Catholicism is of great and immense value to the universe and to humanity. In a sense, Vatican and the city of Rome bear witness to the great sense of art that Romans entertained in their design of the city, buildings, walls, temples. Imagine the Pantheon in the heart of Rome, which has altars for all possible religious groups, thus paving way for inter-faith communion, rather than dialogue.

But let me focus my attention to one of the most note-worthy treasures of St Peter’s Basilica in Vatican, the Pieta by Leonardo da Vinci. The marble sculpture bears witness to the close bond that a mother and her son can cherish. The gentleness of the mother almost flowing out of her grace-filled face, and the humble submission of the Son, who allows himself to be cuddled by the all loving hands of the Mother – you would probably need a magnifying glass to really study the feelings and emotions that the artist has poured into his work of art. This is one place in the basilica, where there is always a big crowd, as they enter in, and find it soon at the right. The life size sculpture captures the basic human bond, in the most eloquent way, and it is a treat to the body and the soul of every mother and son, who are tied by a bond beyond all telling.

Perhaps the most enduring bond between two human beings is between a mother and her child. Even in 60, a man is a child to his mother, a woman is a child to her mother. That filial bond can never be severed, even if one party deliberately wishes so. This is one of the miracles of nature; even in 60, a son would love to rest his head on the lap of his mother, who might be in her eighties. The comfort and security of this bond is so very different from the kind of bond that the world knows. Is it not strange then that when a person who is old enough to be a grandparent is sick, the person’s mother would love to take care of him/her as if the person were a child; she would not even hesitate to bathe, feed and dress him/her. One can be as vulnerable and helpless as one is in front of one’s mother, because she only can understand the child she had given not only birth, but also shaped inch by inch. It is this eternal bond that flows out of the Pieta.

One of the greatest gifts that we human beings can cherish is our mothers; this is in no way to belittle the significant role that our fathers play in our lives. Since we had been dependent on her from the moment of conception, through the long months of carrying in the womb, and seeing the light of day through her body, we carry in ourselves our mothers. We had been drinking her blood every time we suckled her breasts, and were nourished by it. But coming in contact with the worldly pressures, we lose touch with the tenderness of our mothers, and become hard at heart. The suppleness of heart, tenderness of feelings are lost too soon. I wish we take the photos of our mothers at some of the most significant moments of our life on earth: childbirth, sickness, success, pain. It is only a mother who can give back the life her son or daughter had lost.

Today I would like to place myself in front of the Pieta, and bring to my eyes my mother; I would like to replace the eternal mother with my own mother, and would like to replace the eternal Word with my own self. I would like to see myself cuddled by my mother; caressed by her loving tender hands. I would like to become a child again to her, so that I may experience the bond that keeps me close to her. I also would like to thank all the mothers who have crossed my way; I have another mother who has nurtured my intellectual thirst, another mother who nurtures me when I am very far from my biological mother. After all, all mothers have this quality of tenderness in their genes, and today I bow my head to these mothers, and pray for God’s abundant blessings on them. I only wish I have the tenderness and loving compassion that my mothers have for me! (Brussels)

So What?

The man who made history during the last Olympics in Beijing for the maximum number of gold medals for swimming is in trouble. Michael Phelps from the United States of America has been banned in his home nation for three months for photos which showed him smoking a marijuana pipe. Glory and honor are the greatest enemies of humanity; the more one climbs up the ladder, the lower they go in appreciation of the gifts of life and a sense of gratitude to the human family for paving way for them to reach their heights. Phelps was no humble man as he gathered the gold medals and walked out of the podium; at least he didn’t seem to be so. There was a ray of pride and arrogance, that he is on the top of the world was so very evident in each of his facial expressions. The fact that he had beaten his own record during the previous Olympics put him on a higher pedestal. But that is Phelps.

But the fact is the world has its own share of Phelps, and if we look carefully we may find a dozen of them around us, with different names, shapes, goals in life, and identities. There are people who struggle hard to reach certain heights in life, but once they reach the heights, they look down upon the path they had trodden, and the many people who had pushed him up inch by inch. Every one may become irrelevant and immaterial for them, because they have achieved what they wanted, and they think they are the masters of their situations; but unfortunately nature has its own dynamics to bring down the mighty and haughty, at the same pace they had climbed up. If only the high and mighty realize that life is a not a static moment, but a continuum, where we are pushed and pulled according to different currents, and sometimes we might find ourselves helpless victims of circumstances.

Achievement is a curse on humanity; we tend to attribute every good thing that is happening in our lives to personal achievement, to our sweat and blood. Think of the boy who after doing a short errand, gave a slip to his mother, which said she owed one dollar for the errands; and at the end of the day, the mother made a slip for her son, which enlisted the moments she had carried him in her womb, nursed him in his childhood, keeping awake when he was sick, and after adding up the enormous sum, wrote underneath, Paid in full! We tend to look at ourselves, and not beyond our nose, as it were. Behind every personal achievement, we would notice the sweat and toil of many men and women, the sacrifice of several nameless, faceless persons. In fact, it may be right to say that we do not achieve anything to merit. We are given so graciously that we often fail to take them into account.

Giving due credit to the persons who have groomed and shaped us, and even pruned us in time, is no more in practice in this world of competition. If I were to take a sheet of paper and start putting down the names of all the persons who have made my day today, then probably, I need to go in for several sheets of paper. There is an army of persons involved in my wellbeing. It is because the farmers toil in rain and shine, that I am able to enjoy the fruits of their labor in the bread that eat, not to mention the men and women of the bakery who toil to serve afresh at the table. The sales persons who dare the rain and cold winter to reach it in front of my doorstep. It is an endless list that I will end with. Just think of the shirt I wear, how many people are involved in clothing me properly; but have I ever thought of these people, or have I said to myself I bought it for a price, and I don’t need to think of anyone else!

Today I take a few minutes for myself. From the moment when my parents came together and decided to give life to me up to this moment when I am a grown adult, I would like to think of the different persons who have shaped my life, and groomed me. Many of them are no more, and several others have faded away in my memory. But I do remember many of them, who are still afresh. Let me call each one by name, recollect their face, give an offering of smile, and whisper in their ears, Thank you, you have made me. It is true, a good many of the people who are at the disposal of the world, doing all sorts of odd jobs, so that we may enjoy our days, do not even expect us to be grateful; they do not even look for a nod of approval. But should it make me feel indifferent towards their valuable contribution in my life? At our every stepping stone, we can see the toil and sweat of many, and they are the bread and butter of our every success, achievement. I would like to close my eyes and stand in deep respect and gratitude to the world and her glorious children who have made me what I am. (Brussels)

Chasing Shades of Shadow

I really can’t understand why we are so frightened of shadows; we can scarcely understand that shadows are part and parcel of light. Can we ever think of shadows if there is no light? The presence of shadows only confirms that there is light; and strangely but interestingly, the brighter the light, stronger may be the shadow, and we have no control over these shadows. These shadows follow the light wherever they go, and it is impossible to separate light from shadows. But we spend a lot of our energy and resources to separate them, and feel disappointed when we are not able to succeed in this mission. The secret is to let the shadows remain with the light; to accept and embrace the shadows as an integral part of light, may give us an opening into wonders in our lives.

Perhaps the best example to illustrate this point is a candle which is burning. Even the best of candles will cast a shadow when brought in contact with an object. Granted that we have no control over the shadows, there is a time when the shadows will slowly disappear. When does that happen? When the candle burns itself, or dies to itself to use a biblical expression, then we know that the shadow too will disappear. The taller the candle, broader is the radius of its shadow. This only reminds us that we have nothing to do with our own shadows too. Any frantic attempt to fight with our shades will only end up in failures, because nature has its own way of remedying the shadows, without our intervention. We need to just let things happen at their natural course, without wishing to hasten the movement.

We all of us are composed of light and shadows; while we are overjoyed with our light areas, we are impatient with our shadows, and think that it is within our capacity to overcome them. We might seek psychological help and spiritual assistance to overcome these shadows, but may realize that we move no further than the starting point. What can we do when we find ourselves drowned by our shadows more than the light? Is there anything that we can do? There is. To embrace the shadows, the accept and acknowledge them can bring greater amount of tranquility and peace in our hearts. Most often we do not want to accept them, but resist them, as if they are unwanted elements. It is true that we don’t desire them, but they are ingrained in ourselves. It takes a lot of courage and strength to actually embrace our shadows, and own them up. The shadows have a lot to contribute to our mental and spiritual health more than the psychological health.

Embracing the shadows also imply yet another important movement in the dynamics of the shadows management: to recognize them for what they are, as if looking through a magnifying glass, to identify them, and even naming them, without tending to judge and evaluate them. It is difficult to be indifferent to them, and our human mind would tend to brand them on the basis of bad or evil, and that can cause us dearly. It needs to be said that shadows themselves are neutral and indifferent, it is what we make of them out to be will determine if the shadows are led to straight path or a crooked one. It is like thoughts which are benign and neutral, but some thoughts can lead one to kill an innocent, while some others may lead one to protect the innocent. But if we try to put aside all the shadows, we might throw the baby with the bath tub, and that may cause us dearly in the long run.

Today I would like to take a dip inside my heart to find the different shadows living with me quietly; I would like to recognize them, identify the, and befriend them. They are my lasting friends, and even if I wish to bid adieu to them, they may not go, because they are part of my second nature. I would like to embrace them, and acknowledge their specific role in my life; I would like to remind myself that much of what I am today is thanks to them. If I am able to keep my shadows to remain under my control, then there are chances that I will be able to grow with them, and then they can very well become my strengths. And what greater joy can there be than the greatest enemies are made into the greatest friends, who would be prepared to give even their lives for me!

What’s in a name?

It does not require great intelligence to observe that our names mean so much to us that we are most often associated with our names. Sometimes our names may not much correspond to our personality or our characteristic behavior, but it will invariably have something to say about us. The name is also very closely linked to our identity; we carry this identity until we die. But this is an identity that has been superimposed on us by the society we live; unfortunately very seldom are given an opportunity to choose our names. We are given names by our parents or relatives at the time of our birth, and as is the case generally, when we grow older, we may not like the name, and even wish to change, but might feel helplessly that we cannot do that. So we carry our names till we reach our graves. I wish we choose our names, but that would mean that we have to wait for several years, and what is the guarantee that we might not like to change the name yet again in the later years!

It gives me a lot of joy to observe tiny tots in the first year of school, quite oblivious of their names being called. They cannot even associate themselves with a set of sounds, which we call them their name. If we are to enter into their selves, we will realize that they are blissfully unaware of the fact that they have a specific identity in the society, and they have to carry it wherever they go. It is for this sake that in many countries schools have begun to tie a name tag around the kids, lest they forget who they are, or rather who the society calls them as. Many of us do not know what our names stand for, and what their origins are. Some names have a specific background, which may be quite revealing. When one of my brothers begot a son after about 15 years of his marriage, and after going through a series of complications, he named his son Gift of God! One day, Alen will come to know that he was truly a gift of God to his parents and to the world.

Though I don’t really like the idea, there is something very special in the religious nuns take a new name when they finally profess in a religious congregation. They gain a new identity, but again this new identity may not match their true nature or character. It used to be said of a particular women’s congregation when the head of the Order would take a list of names, line up the sisters, and give them one after another, and each one got a name according to their luck. Some had the fortune of getting even what is often considered men’s names. Is it possible for them to identify closely with the new name they have gained? Of course in the religious profession, the change of name is a symbol of changing a way of life; they have gained a new identity, quite different from the one the world has given them. They have gained a new identity which will hopefully point them towards a new goal and a new orientation.

Sometimes we do not like our names, and start fiddling with it, as I too have done. It is possible that within a cultural context a name had a lot of significance, but when we move on to a different cultural milieu the name becomes quite complicated, and even becomes cause of confusion. A Chinese name may become unutterable for an Indian, and similarly an Indian name may be too complicated for a Chinese. Luckily we find ways of shortening or abbreviating our names to make them more presentable, and even palatable to others, but we remain what we are. One thing for sure, we all love to be called by our first names. In religious circles we are called by the honorary titles, and that is often done out of respect, but when someone senior were to call us by our first names, our hearts throb, and leaps for joy, because we find that that name evokes sensations that rise from the bottom of our hearts. Is it not for this reason that lovers love to call each other by their names!

Today I would like to pause for a moment and savor the sweetness of my name, and all that it implies; let me call me by name several times, until I can hear my heart vibrate with feelings so tender and gentle that I feel enlivened. We live in a society, where people who wish to be polite and formal, like to call me by my second name, which is far removed from what I would very much like to hear, but I know the people I love and care, do call me by name. Today I would like to reflect how God calls me; perhaps he has the best name, hearing which my heart would throb, and the sound of the name would always ring in my ears. What is that name, the special name, which has been reserved for me, and only for me in the whole of the universe. I sit in the secret corner of my world, waiting to hear God call me by that name, as I look longingly to his countenance in everyone I see and encounter. If only I can hear his voice, my heart would be full, and I may find no words to utter. Name is the other name for my deepest desires. (Rome)

Touch of the Sacred

One of the most absorbing moments while sitting at the room of St Ignatius of Loyola in the heart of Rome, beside the towering Il Iesu church, was that sanctity was all around me. Beside me, over me, before me and after me, and I was shrouded by an aura of holiness that I felt utterly unworthy to stand in that place. Sactity and holiness never die, but they envelope everyone who comes in contact with them, knowingly or unknowingly. I remember the accounts of the earliest encounters of Swami Vivekananda with Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa. There was something so very special in Ramakrishna that Narendra, as Vivekananda was called before he became the disciple of Ramakrishna, could not resist himself. I would not dare say that mine was such an experience, but I was quite moved at the simplicity, and even the wretchedness of the saint, who but had things which were all too simple and beggarly.

The pair of sandals and the cope that St Ignatius used were on display, and looking at them I felt terribly ashamed of having the best of things, while the saint had things worse than that of beggars. One thing was evident that saints transcend the material world, and live in an altogether different world; the worldly matters do not much matter to them, and that is the true mark of sanctity. What to eat, what to dress, and how to present themselves to the world around – these are not their concerns. A distancing from the world makes them closer to the other world; even as they lived in this world, their hearts were in a different world; they were truly like the lotus leaves, which are not affected by the rain drops; the water splashes and flow across. But we live in a world where each one is called to be alike a sponge, which would attract the water drops that may fall on them, and our world slowly becomes heavier and heavier, until we feel it is too heavy for us to carry on.

Visit to the room of St Ignatius has another surprise for me. We sat around the room the celebrate the Eucharist, we about 23 of us were huddled in the small room, and had a simple Eucharistic celebration. Before the mass, our guide had informed us that it was in that very room that St Ignatius has breathed his last, though his room was next to the one where we had the mass. Before his death he seemed to have moved to this room, and in a corner of the room, he died. After the mass, one of the Sisters of our group who had earlier visited the place, came to me, and moved the chair I was sitting on, and lo and behold, there was a small marble slab which said that St Ignatius had died at that very place. The sister said, See, the faithful son sitting on his father! And I retorted, it is truly a privilege for the son to sit on the lap of his father!

During the mass I prayed that while getting in touch with an aura of sanctity and holiness all around us, sanctified by several holy men and women of down the centuries, we may be able to carry a little bit of that sanctity to our worlds. There is also evil equally all around, and we can never be spared from their influence, but if we are surrounded by the aura of sanctity through coming in touch with the presence of several holy men and women, we can be safe, even when living in a world that is corrupt and evil. A lotus can retain her beauty and splendor even in the midst of the dirty and ugly looking slush, and will not allow the slush tarnish her beauty. That is the role of every holy men and women of our age, they help us strike a balance, so that the evil in the world may not over take our lives, and bring an end to all that is good and sacred.

Today I would like to pause for a while as I bow my head with respect and reverence to all the holy men and women who had touched my heart during the day, as I walked along the streets they had walked centuries ago, the very places they had sanctified by their presence, while alive and in death. I would like to be touched by the high voltage of their sanctity so that my body and spirit may get attuned to their sanctity and holiness that I may keep myself at a safe distance from the world that can only think of the passing glory and honor and riches. All saintly men and women had fixed their eyes on higher values and nobler riches, and I too wish to aspire for such high and noble values and riches. Sainthood is a free gift from God, and not many of us are really worthy of beholding the glory, but I would only wish to be touched by the sanctity of these holy men and women, so that I may radiate a spark of that holiness. (Rome)