Fall has arrived. A heavy fog hangs over the city like a damp
blanket that someone took out of the dryer too soon.
People love spring for good reasons: There's rebirth, renewal,
the return of light and warmth.
But fall has its gifts. We look forward to hunkering with a good
book. Mornings on the patio yield to hot coffee inside after the early morning
walk.
We lean toward contemplation, and that's a good thing. Flowers
fade, leaves fall, we think about the end of things, and remind ourselves that,
for the believer, endings are temporary.
Father Karl Rahner, the Jesuit theologian, said that we
eventually learn "that here, in this life, all symphonies remain
unfinished."
I find those words immensely consoling. The older I get, the more
I realize that life doesn't work out in the perfect and idealistic way I once
envisioned. It doesn't work out that way in my life, nor for this weary world
in which we struggle.
As we age, the path ahead narrows. There are fewer roads from
which to choose, and the "roads not taken" sometimes haunt us. In our
youth, perhaps we'd hoped we'd have everything wrapped up by now. Not so.
Thinking of symphonies reminds me of my mom, who loved music and
was always singing around the house or in the car. She grew up in the
Depression, and came of age in World War II. She loved to dance and knew all
the old songs.
When she died, we chose the hymn, "How Can I Keep From
Singing?" for her funeral. Mom's life went on in "endless song,"
and I think she heard the "far-off hymn that hails a new
creation."
That hymn was unfinished, however, and I think its melody rises
above what St. Paul, in Romans 8, describes as creation groaning as if in
childbirth. My mom's melody lingers in our hearts, and creation continues to
groan, awaiting birth.
Another Jesuit, Father Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, expressed
sentiments similar to Father Rahner's when he said, "Give Our Lord the
benefit of believing that his hand is leading you, and accept the anxiety of
feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete."
There it is again, incompleteness, unfinished business that will
remain that way even as we take our final breath. These men are telling us: Do
not fear lack of a resolution. Don't think it's all up to you. Trust God.
Years ago, I attended a discussion on depression and anxiety, led
by a priest who himself had experienced deep depression. While sharing, one of
the men attending said something that stayed with me.
In speaking of anxiety — perhaps the anxiety of which Father de
Chardin speaks — this young man said he grappled in life with "the Woulda,
Coulda, Shoulda Brothers." These "brothers" taunted his psyche
with their relentless suggestions that his choices were wrong, that he should
have done something else, could have made a better decision, would have been
more successful on another road.
Father de Chardin suggests we need to give the Lord the benefit
of believing He's leading us. If we make a mistake, God has a new plan for us.
Inevitably we ask, “Am I making a difference? Am I on the right
path?” We place trust in God's hand leading us, and move into the contemplation
to which fall beckons.
History is full of unfinished symphonies, of people whose lives,
however well-intentioned, didn't accomplish what they'd hoped. In the end, it's
about finding a place with God and accepting our incompleteness in a world
still groaning for the birth of justice.
Caldarola is a freelance writer from Anchorage, Alaska.