When I was a child there were several activities that drew my attention before organized sports completely occupied me. Farming, fishing, swimming, archery, playing army, chopping wood, climbing trees, riding bikes, and any random physical assertion that challenged my strength: lifting, pushing, pulling, running, jumping…
All this took place in a cookie-cutter suburban neighborhood. Almost none of it was supervised. And up until just recently my adult life included almost none of these activites. I have begun to reinsert them. Not intentionally. They just started happening. Midlife crisis? Second childhood? Midlife blessing. Perhaps I’m preparing to die by finally becoming myself. I will be grateful if I have many more years upon this earth, especially now that I’ve rediscovered how to play, how to discover, how to save the environment and the world by celebrating eternal life planted deep within me.

Leon Bonnat, “Christ on the Cross”, (1874)

i can’t get to the altar fast enough

i thirst

i am laden

my yoke is hard

my burden is heavy

Jesus!

body

blood

soul

divinity

Jesus!

save me, Lord, i’m sinking

i throw my hands upon the raft

i reach for the tassels of Your robe

i cling to Your right hand

hold me fast!

union, Lord Jesus

union

in union may i suffer

take not it away

union, Lord Jesus

union

i cling

You hold fast

we rise together

first You

then me

Thru You, With You, In You

in me, with me, thru me

rise, rise, rise

rise up

oh ancient doors

ENTER THE KING OF GLORY!

—Howard Hain

(March 18, 2016)

Jean-Francois Raffaelli, “The Sweeper” (circa 1879)

there are not many choices

really there are only two to be exact

to suffer in union with Christ, or not

for to suffer not is not a choice

at least not while we are passing through

so, we lift up our tired eyes

we strain our necks elevating our chins

we become like David

we strum our harps

for kings are not the only ones who sing sad psalms

David is not the only musician of pain

for just this morning I saw several on their way to work

one drove a van, another a box truck, a third carried a broom

each had a song, each strummed along

each is of the house of David, each a spouse of Mary

which ones however, if any, offered up the pain

that I do not know

only our Father above knows who it is that unites his suffering to Christ’s

only the silent Christ in each one of us could make such a noble choice

—yet another man named Joseph, a son of David

(Howard Hain)

(March 11, 2016)

As we walk along and lean more and more on God and less and less on human consolation we discover that we are never alone.

When we truly give thanks to God for the human consolation that comes our way we discover just how many angels and saints God has placed along the path.

Everyone and everything is originally from God.

He is the only true creator, at the beginning, and at the end of the day.

If we love only Him we love everyone and everything.

Evil is the denial of such undeniable truth.

Evil is the denial of God’s supreme creativity.

Evil is the absence of good.

And shadows and darkness need spaces and voids in order to exist.

Jesus came to cast providential light.

For as the sun rises toward “straight above” the length of negativity surely disappears.

And at perfect high noon darkness does not stand a chance.

For Jesus was raised up upon the crisscrossed tree of life.

Good squelching evil for all the world to see.

———

The foot of that Cross still remains.

The closer we get the brighter the day.

Spaces and voids fill with pure light.

Absence disappears.

Evil is cast into hell.

For what God creates He intends for good.

———

Will we then live good lives?

Will we allow our absences to be filled with genuine goodness?

Will we speak life?

Will we help build the kingdom?

Let us do so.

One stone at a time.

One flickering light at a time.

One Eucharistic encounter at a time.

———

Let us live “on every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.”

For when we do,

Stones become bread,

Water becomes wine,

And bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ.

———

Lord Jesus, cover us with Your Blood.

Let us hug the foot of Your Cross.

Let us adore Your feet nailed to the trunk of the tree.

Let us get so close that not even a speck of darkness can get in between.

Let us truly ask this in Your Holy and Perfect Name.

Amen.

—Howard Hain

(March 7, 2017)

Contemplation, prayer, meditation, whatever you call it—it has changed. I used to think it involved sitting still—quiet, eyes shut—and it does—could—maybe even should—but there’s something else —my time in that “position” has been nearly not as much—and yet I don’t feel—don’t think—don’t believe—there isn’t a change—except no change—it will never be expressed—never will be words—figures—dots—slashes—strokes—expressions—never—and then I continue to write—think—express with words—figures—dots—slashes—strokes—expressions—always— “I AM” —a low, and a high awareness that I exist—or might—or could not or might not —but do and will always exist, and yet never exist again as I am now.

I don’t look back

But I find the past washing up upon my heels

Sometimes running right past me

Then even my forward moving footprints take on a wet, deep, more pronounced shape

The treads of my shoes become noticeable

Even if I throw them away my toes are unmistakable

But if I lean foward

If I pick up the pace

My impressions take on a much lighter appearance

Dry, white, untreaded sand

And even though it’s somewhat harder to run

My traction certainly less

What’s thrown up behind me

Breaks up into tiny little specs

That the wind returns to earth

04/21/20

by Howard Hain

Yesterday my address may as well have been Sesame Street.

Returning to our one-bedroom apartment in Union City, New Jersey, after three nights at my mother’s house for the Thanksgiving weekend, my daughter had one thing in mind: “Park.”

A two-year old can get quite repetitive. Off we went.

We chose the playground on the other end of town in order to lengthen the walk. Francesca rode in the carriage, looking back over her shoulder at us and saying “park” at the sight of every tree, child, or basketball.

She sat in every swing, slid down every slide, and climbed every rung. She played so hard she hardly even fought us when we said it was time to go.

The pizza guy cut her slice into tiny pieces. Francesca ate all but the crust, bobbing her head up and down with every bite.

Next stop, the bakery.

She pointed at every cookie in the glass case, focusing most on anything containing a chip or a sprinkle. I ordered three or four different types.

We sat at a plastic table, Laurie and I drinking the best Cuban coffee you can get for a buck, while Francesca filled her cheeks.

Before I became a father I never thought watching a child eat could be so satisfying.

I don’t think I could have been more content.

I love my wife. I love her more each day. To see her mother deepens my love.

I love my child. I love her more each day. To see her grow deepens my love.

I would have emptied our bank account to purchase a few hours at the playground, a slice of pizza, and a plate of cookies.

But of course I didn’t need to, the few dollars I laid out was well within our budget.

The real expense was paid long ago.

Thank you God for making me conscious.

Thank you for allowing your Son to purchase our “walk in the park.”

(Nov/29/2011)

by Howard Hain

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, “Virgin Adoring the Host”, ca. 1850s

Lord God, how is it You fit in such small spaces?

The Creator of all, the Maker of all things, He who knows every hair on every head—how is it Lord You fit in such small spaces?

The Light of Light, the King of Kings—the Heaven, the Earth, and all their Glory—how is it Lord You fit in such small spaces?

How is it Father that You fit in a cradle?

How is it Lamb of God that You fit in a host?

How is it Author of Life that You fit in a word?

How is it my Lord and my God You fit in such small spaces?

(Feb/12/2012)