Potholes on the High Road: Forgiving Those Who Trespass Against Us
. . . So, have I forgiven this man? It seems a moot point now. The baggage of resentment evaporated with my prayer. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot pray and hate in the same sentence.So if there is someone out there you just can't forgive, someone who hurt you so much that you are burdened with the sheer weight of it, and cannot put it down, then prepare for the moment when you will offer prayer for that person, and maybe even the sacrifice of some of the very suffering that person imposed. Offer it as a share in the suffering of Christ and the garment you wear - like Saint Maximilian Kolbe's - will no longer be divided. You cannot both pray for a person and hate him at the same time. I've tried it, and it cannot be done. "And Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. And they cast lots for his garments." (Luke 23:34). . . .
In Memoriam: Cardinal Avery Dulles and Fr. Richard John Neuhaus
. . . In a letter dated 7 September 2007, the eve of the anniversary of his own communion with the Catholic faith, Father Richard John Neuhaus - advisor to popes and presidents - took the time to write to a prisoner. His encouraging letter to Pornchai Moontri in prison after reading "Pornchai's Story" published by The Catholic League, prompted Pornchai to realize the impact of what he called "true believers." Father Neuhaus wrote: "Your story is very moving indeed. While ... there is little concrete that any of us can do about this situation, we can pray, and you may be sure that you are in my prayers. In truth, prayer is the most concrete and effective instrument God has given us in order to participate in His purposes, which are often beyond our understanding." . . .
A Prisoner, A Professor, A Prelate, Two Priests, and a Poet!
. . . In the corner of my cell where I type sitting on an empty bucket, my head is just six inches from the barred cell window. The window doesn't open - a fact that I deeply resent - but there is a little security grate with a knob that opens a small section of the grate for a little - very little - air. As I sat here early yesterday morning thinking of a title, I heard something unusual through the open grate. It was a song, and it came from a red-breasted robin perched atop the spirals of razor wire on the twenty-foot wall that has been my view of the outside world for sixteen years. I watched the robin for a long time, and listened as he sang. It instantly made me think of . . .