“Don’t ever settle for anything less than the spiritual and moral greatness the grace of God makes possible in your life. You’ll fail; we all do. But that’s no reason to lower the bar of expectation. Get up, dust yourself off, seek forgiveness and reconciliation, and then keep trying. But don’t ever settle for being less than noble human being – the leader and exemplar ‐‐ you can be.” —Blessed John Paul II

(source)

With (if the code fails to embed the video it is VERY worth the watch here.):

Text:

Greatness.
It’s just something we made up.
Somehow we’ve come to believe that greatness is a gift, reserved for a chosen few.
For prodigies.
For superstars.
And the rest of us can only stand by watching.
You can forget that.
Greatness is not some rare DNS strand.
It’s not some precious thing.
Greatness is no more unique to us than breathing.
We’re all capable of it.
All of us.

Taken by itself, the text could possibly read like the flattening “you are so special, just like everyone else!” and “everyone gets a trophy” ethos infecting education and youth sports these days:

Really? twitter.com/meredithshiner…

— Meredith Shiner (@meredithshiner) August 5, 2012

And taken by itself the video could be “laugh at the fat kid who can’t run.”

But together they are neither. They are:

The look on that boy’s face as he trudged along was not “how much longer do I have to go?” It was not “I’m just doing this for the camera.”

It was, “I can be better than this. And I will be.”

That’s the spiritual life in an athletic apparel commercial there, folks. Spiritually we’re all the fat boy people laugh at and pick on who desperately wants to be—and is made to be—slender, healthy, agile, light, in the prime of life. No saint was born a saint. No sanctity is easy. No path to holiness is navigated in a chauffeured golf cart.

We have to suck it up and “compete well,” “finish the race,” as St. Paul proclaimed. We have to “run so as to win.” We have to “make up in [our own bodies] for what was lacking in the sufferings of Christ.”

We follow a crucified Savior who told us explicitly that if we are to be His followers we would have to take up our cross—daily—and follow him.

For Him that meant Golgotha. It does not mean blood martyrdom for all, or even most. But whatever it does mean for you, or me, we can rest in the knowledge that while it will not be easy by worldly standards, His “yoke is easy, and his burden light.” In the world we “will have troubles. But take courage, for [He] has overcome the world!”

Spiritual sloth—acedia—a great trick of the devil keeps us spiritually fat and down on our own possibility to be slender and sleek and beautiful. We are convinced by the greatness of the greats that greatness is beyond our reach.

Not so!

The greats became great not through some trick of nature or infused greatness by God, but by making the next moral decision the right one. And the one after that. And the one after that. Etc. Eventually doing the right became the norm, while doing the wrong, while still eminently possible and still somewhat attractive (read: tempting), became easier to refuse. You, and I, can do that, too!

Athletes deny themselves many pleasures while training. They also refuse to quit training though their minds and/or bodies scream for rest. They refuse to accept that they cannot run further, faster, than they did last time. They refuse to accept that they cannot get better. They refuse to give in to their lesser, lazier selves.

Again: how is this different from attacking the spiritual life?! Lord “I do believe, help my unbelief!”

So expect, and run after, spiritual greatness for yourself! Greatness is available, offered, yours for the taking! I am that boy running down that farm road, and so are you—let us not accept or give in to the easy, comfortable, route. Let us keep putting one foot in front of the other, as trudgingly as we must, as we wend our way to the crown of righteousness that the Lord holds for us and for all who have longed and striven for his appearance!

O Mother, strengthen the faith of our brothers and sisters in the laity, so that in every field of social, professional, cultural and political life they may act in accordance with the truth and the law brought by your Son to mankind, in order to lead everyone to eternal salvation and, at the same time, to make life on earth more human, more worthy of man.

Thank you, Blessed John Paul II, praying at the Basilica of Guadalupe.

Blessed Feast!

May we have Marian hearts — receptive to God’s grace and Life.

On immigration, Sen. Marco Rubio, R-FL, urges conservatives to tone down harsh rhetoric. http://cvote.to/8b

As Obamacare heads to the Supreme Court, more Americans favor full repeal than those who favor keeping it in place. http://cvote.to/8c

Not quite at 99%. Only 33% of Americans say they are supportive of the goals of Occupy Wall Street. http://cvote.to/8d

LIFE’s 1965 cover featuring photo of a child in the womb makes list of 75 Best LIFE covers. http://cvote.to/8W

The Postal Service announces $5 billion annual loss. http://cvote.to/8f

Geron, the California company that got FDA approval for human trials with cells derived from embryonic stem cells has decided to shut down the trial and leave embryonic stem cells behind. http://cvote.to/8g

The USCCB website moved Bishop Lori’s religious liberty speech after I linked to it. Here’s an updated link. http://cvote.to/8a

U.S. Bishops approve feast for Blessed John Paul II for October 22. http://cvote.to/8e

I mean, come now: reality is something to be shaped through innuendo and suggestion rather than observed and recounted dispassionately, no? Isn’t that the modus operandi of “unnamed sources,” and “insiders,” and other real or imagined authorities cited in bombshell articles?

So we have a report in an Italian newspaper that Benedict XVI is thinking of retiring next April. Yawn.

Maybe it’s true, but most likely it’s a wished-for reality being peddled to sell copies and drive traffic to the Web site.

Besides, though Cardinal Ratzinger asked Pope John Paul II to let him leave Rome multiple times, Ratzinger is no longer just a cardinal theologian who could choose to go back to the university—he is now Peter. And he observed first hand the way in which his predecessor went to his cross, with full faith in God’s providence.

The article responding to the suggestion of retirement talk talks a lot about Benedict’s health and energy, etc. But that’s entirely unnecessary. The pope isn’t there to be a globe-trotting media personality who can only serve effectively as long as he is suitable for the camera. The pope is there simply to be there. The pope is the point and measure of Christian unity regardless of his health or vigor.

Then-Cardinal Ratzinger did write about the possibility of a papal resignation, but again, that was as Cardinal Ratzinger, speculating about the possibilities. No one presently living but he himself has any notion what impact becoming Peter has had upon his thoughts of the efficacy or practicality of papal resignation, but if the manner in which he accepted the office is any indication, coupled with his experience of the great blessing the suffering of Blessed John Paul II’s final months were for the Church, I cannot believe he is presently considering casting aside the work God has given him as pope.

I could be wrong and he may be considering it (my God, I pray I’m right and he is sticking around!). But at least I’m not being sensationalistic.

I really can’t find anything to like in the statue of Blessed John Paul II just unveiled in front of the Termini train station in Rome.

I suppose I can appreciate what the author wants to do with the cape sweeping out to embrace the world, as the man himself did so frequently. But that’s about it, and even that barely works.

The unkindly face bears no similarity to John Paul, and the head is a swollen blob jutting out of the top—almost as though a sculptor were caricaturing the round Slavic noggin.

The body really isn’t. The blob of a head seems just stuck on top of a silo. The cape could be mistaken for a door, since it sweeps out from an opening inside of which a person could seek shelter from the rain. Methinks more than one person will.

The void where the body should be might be meant to suggest that he welcomed everyone, but doesn’t that usually mean he welcomed them to *something* rather than nothing?

And it is apparently positioned so that when tourists come out of Termini, Rome’s primary train station, they are looking at the back of the roughly 16-foot tall bronze monstrosity.

There is a place for art that evokes thoughts and impressions rather than accurately and perfectly depicting a likeness, but this one fails to do either. And it certainly does not evoke the true sense of the man whose name it bears.

Cardinal Rouco Varela greeted the young pilgrims by acknowledging that many of them would more aptly be described as the Benedict XVI generation than the John Paul II generation:

“You are the Benedict XVI generation, which is not the same as John Paul II generation” Cardinal Rouco Varela said. Quoting from the Pope’s message for the Madrid gathering he reflected: “The youth of today, with existential roots weakened by a rampant spiritual and moral relativism “hemmed in” by the dominant power”. “Without solid foundations in life, culture and society, and not rarely, in the family … it becomes powerfully tempting to go beyond the limits, to the point of losing your direction on the path of life”.

Meanwhile, Anna Williams, a product of the JPII generation and a recent graduate of Hillsdale College writes in USA Today that for these millennials, faith trumps relativism:

What attracts today’s youth to such “old-fashioned” orthodoxy [embodied in Pope Benedict]?

More intellectually coherent than relativism, orthodoxy is also more demanding. It makes us place others above ourselves, the truth above what we’d like to be true, the fight for virtue above the pursuit of pleasure. In a word, it preaches sacrifice.

These themes will be prominent in Madrid this week, as Catholics of all nationalities gather for prayer and festivity. So why are they happy to be Catholic? Because they have concluded that the church’s teachings are, in fact, true, and because they’ve recognized that true freedom lies in self-sacrifice. Far from repressive, such realizations are — as millennials of other faiths can attest — thrilling.

Pope Benedict knows that young people ponder these matters and desire more than what today’s culture offers. When he speaks to them, he doesn’t water it down. His voice is quiet, even gentle, but he’s not afraid to challenge his congregation. And he is right to do so: Young people don’t need another meaningless affirmation of their worth. They want an explanation of how the world is and a mission that involves changing it. Their question is no longer, “What will make me feel good?” but “What will make me a good person, and how can I do good for the world?”

Whatever you believe, you have to admit: They’re asking the right questions.

Amen (and Bravo)!

Death came for Dr. Death without asking permission.

Kevorkian probably didn’t mind. After all, just last year he told CNN’s Sanjay Gupta that “the single worst moment of my life…was the moment I was born.”

How terribly sad.

Acceptance of assisted suicide or euthanasia starts with the terminally ill and those in chronic pain. It tugs at our heart strings as we wish to alleviate suffering—who doesn’t wish people in excrutiating chronic pain could be relieved of it?

But it doesn’t end there, of course.

Kevorkian performed his nihilistic service for many, many people with disabilities but no terminal illness, and 5 of the more than 130 people he preyed upon were determined in autopsy to have no illness at all.

I remember when Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide. He put a .45 slug through his head while talking with his wife on the phone, as his son and grandson were elsewhere in the house. In a note written four days earlier intended for his wife he offered this rationale:

Football Season is Over

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt.”

The title is likely not metaphorical: Thompson, apparently a huge NFL fan, viewed the Superbowl as the high-water mark for the year, and February was the doldrums. He killed himself on February 20, 2005.

So it was all about Hunter: not his wife, not his son, not his grandson, or even his fans, it was all about Hunter. He saw his own problems that came with advancing age and decided that the only thing to do was kill himself. Not change his expectations or find other ways to enjoy life. Not spend more time being present to his grandson, not make a conscious decision to stop being “bitchy,” not finding new ways to be joyous (if he ever was truly joyous). He expected, as some sort of inalienable right, the quality and style of life that he viewed as necessary, but clearly had never afforded him genuine joy or a genuine glimpse into the real value of life.

It’s a fatal conceit of those who think themselves masters of their own destiny, makers of their own being. They equate life with a certain status and level of comfort, and reject life when they are asked to change the way they are to live. Hitler thought this way, too.

As a counter weight to the Kevorkians, Thompsons, and Hitlers of the world, consider Brad Fallon and his family.

I maintained a blog a number of years ago which is long since off-line, but I retain the archives. A portion of a post from that site which I wrote on February 5, 2005…

A picture of serenity in the face of much suffering; a model of how to die with dignity and love; Brad Fallon succumbed last week after a 20 year battle with a terminal kidney disease that shut down three different sets of kidneys. He was 36.

But how he died is not what makes him remarkable; he lies peaceably in his grave because of how he lived and the legacy he leaves.

Brad was married with six children – five boys and their older sister. Ignatius, the youngest, has Down’s Syndrome. Mother and widow, Victoria, is pregnant with the seventh.

Last fall, a friend of mine, Emily, who knows and loves this family, emailed a large circle of friends soliciting donations of money and time for an upcoming remodeling of the Fallon home. She told us about Brad’s second transplant and that he was doing well so the family moved to a new home which was little more than a run-down cabin on a very large piece of property so the boys would grow up in a safe, outdoorsy atmosphere rather than the dangerous street with no yard they had been living on. The plan had been for Brad to fix the place up a bit once they moved in. His recovery didn’t happen; he couldn’t do the needed repairs. So Emily organized a massive effort to paint walls, carpet floors, acquire furniture, fix holes in ceilings, and generally make the place more livable. She told us about this family and how, in spite of Brad’s terminal condition, the family was happy and full of love.

Emily interviewed Brad and Victoria last summer about how they cope with the hardships God has blessed them with. I’ve excerpted portions here that tell us, in their own words, how they’ve managed to maintain patience and love.

About their handicapped son…

Victoria: Now, if we had known I was going to have a baby with Down Syndrome, of course I wouldn’t have aborted the baby, but I would have been really scared. When they told me he had Down Syndrome though, and he was there, suckling at my breast, I just thought, “This is my baby.” Down Syndrome just went out the door. I didn’t think, “Down Syndrome.” I thought, “Ignatius.”

About Brad’s sickness…

Victoria: Just having gone through all these things [Ignatius’ DS, Brad’s terminal disease and all the hospitalizations, etc.] – Brad’s suffering aside – it’s been the best thing that could happen to me for my own sanctity. Not that I’m doing it great, but I’m a much better person that I was 12 years ago as far as having compassion and not realizing that if you can’t do something, that’s okay. Brad doesn’t have to do anything. He can be much more “productive” for our family now than he would if he worked, because he prays for everybody so much. He’s so there, and the kids get to see that. There’s just more to it than money and things. And I didn’t always realize that. Those things are not important. The most important things are heavenly things.

But, for me personally, it took a lot of stripping to come to terms with those things. Brad knows, because he’s had to go through it all. But I do think I am a much better person. And I was much better at handling a baby with DS, at realizing that just because your baby doesn’t walk when other babies walk, just because your baby doesn’t talk when other babies talk, and just because your maybe isn’t going to be “just like everybody else” that there still can be something extremely beautiful about him. Those things don’t crush you.

Brad: Our sight is weak. And something has to happen in our life to get us to see past the visible, past the material, past the superficial veil that covers things over after sin. Something has got to happen to strengthen our eyes to see past that or else we live superficially.

I’ve really discovered the usefulness of sickness. First of all, it’s fitting. Our soul is sick; there is a defect in our soul. But we don’t come into contact with our soul. All our knowledge comes through our senses. What we know, the most real things, come through our senses. But we can’t sense our souls, just our bodies. Thankfully, there is a parallel between our souls and our bodies. As the Holy Father says, our bodies are meant to express our souls, so if our souls are sick it’s very fitting for the body to reflect that sickness and it’s very helpful for us because we can come into direct contact with that sickness and experience the imperfection in our bodies and through that experience, come to know the weakness and imperfection of our souls. That opens us up to receiving grace and salvation. To the degree we experience that is the degree to which we can receive the grace of salvation. So sickness is a blessing.

Read that again. We all need to have such a perspective. Here a man is looking death in the eye and smiling. Rather than fear, he has joy.

Then the clincher, and the one that brought the tear to my eye…

Victoria: We don’t suffer as much as many, many other people. And we only suffer a little bit more than some. You’re just scraping the very tip of a family suffering when you talk to us, because there are so many other people out there suffering more.

Brad: We are happy. And we get to teach our children something that other families don’t have the opportunity to. When you home school, part of the value is that when you open the grammar book you walk through it yourself and learn side by side with your child. And that imprints on your child not only the knowledge itself, but also the idea that the knowledge is something worth striving for. It’s fun, interesting, and important. And we get to do this everyday with this cross, this suffering. We get to walk through a difficult life with our children and show them how to do it while learning right alongside them how to do it.

Again, on Ignatius, but a commentary that helps give an idea of how to view the question of dealing with adversity in general…

Brad: The root of sin is in the intellect, with pride, and when that’s suppressed there’s a purity that comes out that doesn’t come out with the rest of us. So I tend not to think of Down Syndrome as a handicap, but rather as a benefit, because it depends on where your priorities are. If you think of production as the be all and end all, than Down Syndrome s a handicap. But if you think purity of heart is the be all and end all than Down Syndrome is a leg up.

Victoria: That’s right. It’s not something to be looked down on. That’s where [Peter] Singer is coming from. It’s productivity. People try to make you feel better by saying, “These people can get jobs you know.” But for us, Ignatius doesn’t have to work; he doesn’t have to read; he doesn’t have to do anything. He just has to be Ignatius.

… The Fallons are living what I’ve only conceptualized. They see the big picture. They embrace suffering, seeing in it an opportunity to grow closer to Our Lord as He willingly hangs on His Cross.

In the email Emily sent out to alert people of Brad’s death, she said of the Fallons…

Over the past few days, as I’ve talked with Brad’s family and friends, all of them, again and again, told me how much the work we did on his house meant to him, how much joy it gave him these last few months, and what a difference it has made for the family. They asked me to pass this on to all of you who have worked so hard or given so much to make that transformation possible. I want to thank you guys as well. Brad, Victoria, and their children mean a great, great deal to me. Being able to serve them during these last few months of Brad’s life was one of the greatest blessings I have ever received, and I will treasure the days I spent out at their place, planning, painting and measuring. They always welcomed me as part of their family and taught me so much by their quiet and joy-filled faith. Others might have seen the shadow of death hanging over their house, but inside their home, inside their world, life filled every corner, leaving no room for even death’s shadow. They’re one of the happiest families I have ever known and even with Brad’s passing, I doubt that will change. Anyhow, so much of my time there was made possible by your generosity, and for that I will always be grateful.

Emphasis mine.

Brad leaves behind a strong, happy, holy family. What better legacy could anyone ask for? Brad did not accomplish anything great by modern society’s measure. He did not sacrifice his life to save others, as my other example did, he did not write any books, invent any earth-changing devices or medicines, he did nothing that most would consider “great.” Yet, I doubt anyone would say Brad Fallon wasted his life or failed as a person. He gave everything he could; everything he was allowed to give. He did it all with Faith, Hope, and Love.

His chair will be empty now, the children no longer have their father nearby to talk to, Victoria no longer has her partner around for support… but yes they do. I have little doubt that Brad Fallon is in a much better position to do what he has been doing right along anyhow: praying for his family, begging God to look with favor upon his loved ones. (I’m typing this with my eyes closed, I can’t see through the tears, so please excuse any misspellings.)

I never met Brad Fallon, but he was certainly busy living when death came for him. He is an inspiration to anyone who thinks they have it bad.

In that same post I also wrote about the simple life and heroics of US Marine sergeant Rafael Peralta, who was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross but who, in my opinion, ought to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor…

Rafael Peralta was a Mexican who came – legally – to the United States, got a Green Card, and joined the Marine Corps the very next day. He became an American citizen while in the Marines and brought great honor to himself, his family, his Corps, and all proud Americans during the assault on Fallujah when, after being shot in the face and lying mortally wounded, he grabbed a grenade that had been tossed into the room where he lay, where other Marines were engaging those who had just shot him from, he grabbed that grenade tossed by the enemy and pulled it under his own belly so that his body would take the worst of the blast and his brother Marines would be spared.

The Danz Family tells us…

Peralta was proud to serve his adopted country. In his parent’s home, on his bedroom walls hung only three items – a copy of the United States Constitution, the Bill of Rights and his boot camp graduation certificate. Before he set out for Fallujah, he wrote to his 14-year old brother, “be proud of me, bro…and be proud of being an American.”

Peralta did not have a family that he leaves behind. Like Brad Fallon, he did not leave behind a volume of work or a significant contribution in any material sense. But what he left is more valuable: his example. He was an ordinary man who wanted to contribute, he wanted to help, he wanted a better life. He died in a fiery blast so that others might have that opportunity instead.

Rafael Peralta lived a brief 25 years, but they were years of meaning and purpose. Peralta was busy living. He now lies in his grave with distinction and honor, the gratitude of particular Marines, the Corps, and his countrymen. “Be proud of me. And be proud of being an American,” he exhorted his brother. I believe he says that to all of us who are blessed to live in this country. We should all be proud that we live in a country that produces such young men.

Of course, the most striking recent example of a suffering man embracing his cross and living the life he had rather than the life he may have preferred is the late John Paul II. Hunter Thompson bitched about a bum hip and bad knee, the football season being over, and who knows what else (loss of prestige?). John Paul II, a former athlete and actor, could no longer stand upright. Eventually he couldn’t even stand all that well, then couldn’t speak well, then couldn’t speak at all. And his deterioration happened, humiliatingly, in the glare of the global spotlight. There was no escape for him, hoping that people would only remember him in the full vigor of youth rather than as a bent-over, drooling old man with an uncontrollably shaky hand due to Parkinsons.

The contrast could not be more stark. In Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton says,

A soldier surrounded by enemies, if he is to cut his way out, needs to combine a strong desire for living with a strange carelessness about dying. He must not merely cling to life, for then he will be a coward, and will not escape. He must not merely wait for death, for then he will be a suicide, and will not escape. He must seek his life in a spirit of furious indifference to it; he must desire life like water and yet drink death like wine. No philosopher, I fancy, has ever expressed this romantic riddle with adequate lucidity, and I certainly have not done so. But Christianity has done more: it has marked the limits of it in the awful graves of the suicide and the hero, showing the distance between him who dies for the sake of living and him who dies for the sake of dying. And it has held up ever since above the European lances the banner of the mystery of chivalry: the Christian courage, which is a disdain of death; not the Chinese courage, which is a disdain of life.

Just so. The Fallons, Peraltas, and Wojtylas of the world embraced life and all that it brings, including the reality that death would eventually come. Death interrupted their vigorous living of life, lived with an indifference toward death. For the small ones turned in on themselves and their own misery like the Kevorkians, the Thompsons, and Hitlers of the world, death was pursued—others’ deaths before their own, in the cases of Kevorkian and Hitler–and life was something to be rejected; life was an unfortunate condition of their self-assertion that had to be abandoned once their self-assertion was no longer possible to their own satisfaction.

We are within the octave of the Ascension of the Lord into heaven, an event in world history which speaks so powerfully and eloquently to the true dignity of humanity–our physical nature and the God-given life which animates it. God gave to us our humanity, an endless array of gifts and surprises, and ceaselessly gives us the ability through grace to live life with joy, in spite of the worst suffering life can bring. It is our privilege to seek that joy and embrace the crosses along the way.

Let’s get busy living.

What the newly-elected Pope asked of everyone, he was himself the first to do: society, culture, political and economic systems he opened up to Christ, turning back with the strength of a titan – a strength which came to him from God – a tide which appeared irreversible. By his witness of faith, love and apostolic courage, accompanied by great human charisma, this exemplary son of Poland helped believers throughout the world not to be afraid to be called Christian, to belong to the Church, to speak of the Gospel. In a word: he helped us not to fear the truth, because truth is the guarantee of liberty. To put it even more succinctly: he gave us the strength to believe in Christ, because Christ is Redemptor hominis, the Redeemer of man. 

He continued:

When Karol Wojtyła ascended to the throne of Peter, he brought with him a deep understanding of the difference between Marxism and Christianity, based on their respective visions of man. This was his message: man is the way of the Church, and Christ is the way of man. With this message, which is the great legacy of the Second Vatican Council and of its “helmsman”, the Servant of God Pope Paul VI, John Paul II led the People of God across the threshold of the Third Millennium, which thanks to Christ he was able to call “the threshold of hope”. Throughout the long journey of preparation for the great Jubilee he directed Christianity once again to the future, the future of God, which transcends history while nonetheless directly affecting it. He rightly reclaimed for Christianity that impulse of hope which had in some sense faltered before Marxism and the ideology of progress. He restored to Christianity its true face as a religion of hope, to be lived in history in an “Advent” spirit, in a personal and communitarian existence directed to Christ, the fullness of humanity and the fulfillment of all our longings for justice and peace.

And added:

My own service was sustained by his spiritual depth and by the richness of his insights. His example of prayer continually impressed and edified me: he remained deeply united to God even amid the many demands of his ministry.

Also from Rome, one of our American cardinals, Donald Wuerl, of Washington, D.C., reflected on the life of Blessed John Paul II:

“As Pope Benedict XVI declared John Paul II blessed, all of us, all of us can rejoice and probably remember ways in which Pope John Paul touched us, since he traveled all over the world, visiting people in every continent and bringing a message of joy, a message of hope, a message of confidence. I think of how many times he repeated, ‘Be not afraid. Step out into the deep. Open wide your hearts to Christ.’ And I think he reminds us as well today in this ceremony recognizing that he is Blessed and that we are blessed by his legacy, he reminds us of the New Evangelization. That it is our turn to reach out to people who may have drifted away from the faith, who may have drifted away from the practice of the faith, who may have even given up hope that there can be a better world. There can be a living relationship with God. This is a reminder that John Paul II was not just a holy man, he invited all of us to turn to everyone around us and share the good news that God loves us.”

That’s the message of the beatification today. Not simply that a good man lived and we’re celebrating that great gift. We certainly do that — and give thanks to God. We celebrate Karol Wojtyla, we hold him up, because he lived a holy life but also because we live and we, too, can be holy in our lives, whatever our vocations. We, in fact, must be holy if we are to fully live our lives as Christians. It is our calling! To be saints. And then we, too, can go home — with Blessed JPII — where we belong.

God gave us His Son to live among us, who provides the example of how to do it. But then He never stopped with the models of Christian living! He does not stop!

This is the New Evangelization. This is Springtime.

Be a part of it.

Or, as JPII put it in that first homily as pontiff: “Do not be afraid! Open, open wide the doors to Christ!”

Unable to speak, John Paul II blesses us all one final time.

I can’t shake the memories of seeing him at his apartment window, unable to speak. He had addressed his beloved flock so many thousands of times from that very window. One of the largest crowds ever had gathered outside, praying for him. But he was unable to utter even a few words of welcome.

All he could do was raise an unsteady hand and impart his papal blessing.

He had been deteriorating physically for some time. Diagnosed with Parkinsons in 2001, he eventually couldn’t speak more than a few words at a time or stand for long. His speech became slurred, eventually he could not lift his head very high, and he began to drool. His remarks had to be read for him as he sat in a chair nearby at liturgies and stations of the cross during that final Lenten season.

Talk of retirement had begun, and had gotten louder. But he did not quit, walk away, give up, or give in.

Throughout his pontificate he had been the vibrant, rejuvenating force opposing the promoters of inhuman, atheistic ideologies. He came to the papacy when communism appeared to be on the march and the freedom-loving West would be overrun. He was the one who went to Soviet-controlled Poland, stood tall and serene in the confidence of God’s Truth and had the military dictator shaking in his boots. He had been the one to stand firm and exhort us all, “Do not be afraid,” over and over and over again. And we took him at his word, because he showed no fear.

He embraced the world, becoming the most viewed person in history, attracting millions upon millions of pilgrims—-people who loved him not because he played sports well (though he was an athlete); not because he was a famous movie star (though he had been an actor); but because of his fearless message of love and hope and the inevitable, though counterintuitive, triumph of the cross of Christ.

And now, at this late hour, he was embracing that cross more profoundly than he had perhaps ever done. He had taught us about the love of Christ and the contradiction of the cross with his words, but now he was teaching it with his actions.

“Do not be afraid” no longer just referred to living the Gospel without fear of political oppression, loss of fortune, status, or friends. It meant, “do not be afraid” of your own physical faltering, sickness, suffering, and death. After all, we follow a crucified savior: “he was despised and rejected, a man of sorrow and acquainted with grief.” And “is the servant greater than the master?” No. Suffering is as human as free will, and it is the means by which we grow closer to our crucified Lord. If we do not suffer with him, and so “make up in our bodies what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ,” we shall have no part with him. If we are to be his followers we must follow where he goes, take up our cross, and go after him to whatever Calvary is ours, so that we might realize the glory of what followed the suffering of the cross: the resurrection.

Christ did not come into the world to remove suffering, but to show us how to live with it. As Archabbot Lambert Reilly puts it, “Christ didn’t come to make life easy; Christ came to make us great!” He came to share our human weakness, which mean suffering, and to triumph through the sorrows. His good and faithful servants cannot but do likewise.

It is an important message especially today. Technology allows us to anesthetize our pain, and have surgery to reverse aging. Nursing homes enable us to warehouse our elders so we can move on with life without their annoyances. And our ethics have been sliding toward euthanasia.

Then there was the man in white, formerly full of life and vigor, slower at first, then stooped, his speech going, eventually confined to a wheelchair, then his bed, then unable to talk at all, but still blessing us with his ministry of love untiring. In the footsteps of his suffering Lord, he showed us how to love through suffering and how to suffer with dignity. He showed us that a person’s worth derives from who he is in the eyes of God and not from what he is able to do or what he owns. He showed us that no matter our place in life, suffering will find us: the question is how we will choose to suffer, not whether we will. He taught that the worst thing we can do is reject the life we have left because it’s hard, turn into a tiny ball of self-pity, and allow the suffering to take over and lead to despair.

Rejection of suffering can lead to a rejection of life, therefore a rejection of every other living person. That’s nihilism, the ultimate philosophy of the dark one.

I recall the day he died. I was taking part in a eucharistic procession through the streets of Manhattan. The procession, intended to be about praying for vocations, had been planned for months. Naturally, the mood and significance altered immediately.

I could not believe how many people would stop and ask us how the pope was doing. People whom, to look at them, you would not expect to know anything about the pope at all, or to have a heavy disdain. Cars with thumping music would slow down, the driver would turn down the music and offer words of condolence. Women in outfits that suggested the oldest of professions would ask, with the most sincere and sincerely affected look on their faces, if he was still alive. They perhaps hadn’t darkened the door of a church in years (or maybe they did, in secret) but behind the masks they painted on, these human souls were affected by this man. He was teaching, with every labored breath, “You can expect moral and spiritual greatness of yourself!” That greatness only accrues to they who embrace their cross and do not seek the easy way out. His tenacious adherence to life and his life’s mission, for love of life and for his fellow man, touched something preternatural in these people in a way that they would not have been touched had he opted for retirement or the easy escape of euthanasia.

When the news came that John Paul II had finally passed, we had just finished benediction at, fittingly, Holy Cross Church on W 42nd Street. Father Benedict Groeschel had led the meditation. The pastor came out and announced the pope’s passing, then immediately set up for a requiem Mass.

It was a rather striking Mass. The long-suffering pope who had long embraced his cross was being remembered at the altar at a church dedicated in honor of the holy cross of Christ.

I cried, practically bawled, for a while. They were tears of sorrow for the loss of such a great man who had been pope since I was four months old. But at the same time, they were tears of great joy and gratitude for this holy servant of God, and for all of us for the great gift he had been. The skies must have shared my sentiment because they opened up and released a downpour of epic proportions. All of nature was weeping his passing.

His life and the way he died is the sign of contradiction to a world that seeks to eliminate pain, forget aging, put away the infirm: to them he says, “Do not be afraid!” Embrace your cross, share the suffering of the Lord and the world for which the Lord died. Unite your suffering to that of the crucified savior, after the example of the great John Paul II.

Blessed John Paul II, pray for us as we struggle to embrace our several crosses.

JOHN PAUL II’S BEATIFICATION POSTPONED INDEFINITELY