Mourning

 The second of the Beatitudes promises happiness to those who mourn. In typical fashion, the Galilean doesn’t specify the cause of the mourning. Is it for loved ones lost to death or separation? Is it for a family beset by the bad fortunes of the times? Is it for a nation beset by seemingly insolvable calamities? Is it for a dying world?

 These days it might be for the loss of a fortune, an election, a bet, a race, or a game of sport. He just doesn’t say. What he does say is that we should be happy because we shall be comforted. Perhaps the reason he wasn’t more specific is because mourning is universal. Each of us, or at least the overwhelming majority of us, mourn, and we can discuss it.

 Yes, there are some who apparently do not mourn, primarily because they lack the ability to face reality or perhaps they were born lacking the ability of introspection, and suffer blindness of the conscience.

 And there might be some who have reached the highest level of Abraham Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs,” a state of being he called “self-actualization.” This refers to having reached the highest level of human potential. Do they mourn? Maybe they mourn the most of all, for they, like the Galilean, know the struggle toward perfection. After all, his devout followers believe in his perfection. Even so, the scriptures sometimes reveal a tortured, mourning soul.

 This is a tough passage, for Americans have so many reasons to mourn at present. In ancient terminology, we observe that the righteous perish while the wicked goeth free. It appears to us that tribulations will never cease. Should we feel blessed?

 The devout followers of the Galilean should rest happy in the knowledge that they will be comforted. The blind composer of Christian hymns Fanny Crosby reportedly said, “Blind Christians are the most blessed, because the first face they will ever see is our Lord Jesus.”

 Others may take a non-spiritual comfort from Algernon Charles Swinburne, sometimes called “the poet-laureate of the atheists,” who told wrote that “… even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea.”

 Then, some among us may choose to follow the Bard of Avon’s words and, “ … take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.”

 The Galilean seems to have left it up to us. Perhaps we’ll handle it better than Hamlet did.

Morning Thoughts: November 4, 2017

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of caregiving. My friends know why. It is a duty and gift that can drain and inspire, both at once. This is so true when one is discussing the care of the elderly.

It is not an easy thing to do. It is one of those challenges that, as described by my Sainted Mother, “you just have to back your ears and do it.”

The medical profession defines “caregiving” as: "… the act of providing unpaid assistance and support to family members or acquaintances who have physical, psychological, or developmental needs. Caring for others generally takes on three forms: instrumental, emotional, and informational caring. Instrumental help includes activities such as shopping for someone who is disabled or cleaning for an elderly parent. Caregiving also involves a great deal of emotional support, which may include listening, counseling, and companionship. Finally, part of caring for others may be informational in nature, such as learning how to alter the living environment of someone in the first stages of dementia.”

We modern Americans differ on the concept. Some, in agreement with the current Catholic Pope, stick to the ancient admonition that we should minister to those who mourn or are poor in spirit, and that we should be merciful to others and makers of peace. Others of us don’t.

Historians of Christianity, from what I’ve read, attribute a strong allegiance to caregiving among the early Christians. It seems that they were known for their strong sense of concern for the welfare of one another. Further, mercy and compassion, it seems, formed strong components of that caregiving.

I’m talking here of the very earliest of Christians, when the movement was still a cult. It existed before (1) the writings of Saul of Tarsus, later “the Apostle Paul,” (2) the writings of the gospels, (3) the selection and arrangement of the gospels by a bunch of elderly men self-appointed to the task, (4) the design of a male-dominated and hegemonic administrative structure to carry out the intents of the latter so-called “Christians,” and (5) the ultimate epochal movements that allowed individual reading and interpretation of Christianity’s most sacred texts.

Each of us is free to form our own analysis and opinion concerning the evolution of Christianity and its acceptance of the ancient warning to care for “the least of those among us.”

Let us return to the medical definition of caregiving. I’m struck by the passage that “caregiving also involves a great deal of emotional support, which may include listening, counseling, and companionship.” Until one has found themselves, their friends, or their families in the position of caregiving, one can’t appreciate the toll that it takes on the giver. Ofttimes, that person needs caregiving as much as the actual patient. Perhaps that is why such a large portion of America’s population chooses not to be bothered.

There is a temptation to compare providing care to the elderly to providing care for children. “They took care of you when you were young. You take care of them when they get old.” While it is true that some demands, such as tending the very helpless, maintaining constant vigilance, and the testing of patience are similar, one difference hovers over the process like a cloud over a lonely mountain. The care of a child can lead to a brighter future, a family, and a treasure trove of waiting memories: achievements, graduations, weddings, and careers.

The care of the elderly leads “only to the grave.”

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