A saviour is born

The angels said to the shepherds, "A saviour has been born unto you!"  A popular and continuous Christmas antiphon. 

I found myself meditating this morning as a shepherd, receiving this news, this piece of information.  Initially it did not make any sense.  Saviour?  But saviour of what?  From what is he going to save me?  I really don't have any adversaries or great risks that need rescuing.  Who rules or governs, and how one does so, does not really bother me.  I'm no politician who has great plans and ambitions.  Neither am I a scholar who is deeply passionate about ideas and theories.  I no religious buff either for whom matters of faith are life and death issues.  I don't interfere in anyone's affairs and everyone else leaves me alone, barely even acknowledging my presence.  It is only if my sheep stray into someone's property and cause damage, do I get noticed.  Apart from that it is just the grass, plants, shrubs, the sheep and me!  All that I have and care about is my sheep.  They have predators, and as long as I defend them, they're fine.  But me?  Saviour, for me?

But then, why would the angels tell me this if they knew that it would mean nothing to me?  Why would the angel tell ME?  Is my world too as small and limited as that of a shepherd with a few sheep?  Am I to widen my interests and horizon to be now 'concerned' about greater and more complex issues? 

Looking back and looking ahead

Looking back at the year that is passing on into history (2019), the most immediate and looming event is certainly the passing away of Papa. 

Other than that it has been one of the most uneventful and boring years in my memory.  The only exciting and 'working' days have been far and in between:  the exam invigilation in the month of May, the Student Cross pilgrimage to Walsingham during the Holy Week, the 10 days of teaching at the University, the PhD Annual review and the Upgrade (and the spurt of preparation of texts for the same) and time spent in the garden. 

The only continued hard work that I put in was the past one month at home: working with cement, and plants and garden and house and what not!  Apart from the past one month, the rest of the year was one lazy spend.  Most of it was also a painful discernment whether to carry on with my PhD or not.  And the only thing that carried all the buden, all through the year, was my chair! 

Nonetheless, I cannot but be grateful to the Lord and all others, for this luxurious relaxing year.  Wouldn't want to make any resolutions for the year ahead.  Am well aware 2020 would be hectic: Teaching RE at the Salesian, teaching at the University and the third year of my PhD - though in order of importance, it should be the other way round!

Nevertheless, if there is one thing that I would sincerely like to work on, that would be myself.  To be more precise, I need to listen and hear more, that too patiently and respond even more patiently!  

Anna, the prophetess?

In the gospel reading of the day, we read of Anna, the prophetess.  She is there in the temple when the child Jesus is brought in for the first time and together with Simeon, she cherishes this rare meeting in the temple. 

She is described as a prophetess.  But there is nothing said of what exactly did she prophesy.  But the passage speaks of her spending years in the temple.  Visiting the temple everyday, and spending time in prayer and fasting.  Am sure her gift of prophecy was actually a well nurtured skill of observation and reflection.  She must have spent years watching people come into the temple, all sorts of them.  And over the years, developed a keen sense of 'seeing through' people as they came in.  You patiently spend time and energy observing people and reflecting on your experience, you naturally gain an insight into humanity.  And I guess, it is this same nurtured skill that helped her perceive the divinity of Jesus when he was brought into the temple, even though he was just an infant!  I guess it would have been the spiritual aura of Mary and Joseph, that first caught the eye of Anna, which subsequently led her to sense the divinity bundled in Mary's arms.  

Continued presence of the Divine

Speaking of God's continued presence, in the light of Christmas, and more specifically remembering Papa's presence (and all those at home) in my life, am reminded of Rabindranath Tagore's poem from Gitanjalli.  Only yesterday it occurred to me that I had in fact used this poem as my Christmas greeting one year.

SILENT STEPS 

Have you not heard his silent steps?
He comes, comes, ever comes. 

Every moment and every age,
every day and every night
he comes, comes, ever comes. 

Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind,
but all their notes have always proclaimed,
he comes, comes, ever comes. 

In the fragrant days of sunny April
Through the forest path
he comes, comes, ever comes. 

In the rainy gloom of July nights
on the thundering chariot of clouds
he comes, comes, ever comes. 

In sorrow after sorrow,
it is his steps that press upon my heart,
and it is the golden touch of his feet
that makes my joy to shine.

Tagore's experience and expression of God in the everydayness of human life, that too in the most mundane of things, is truly very touching. 

Intervention vs Presence

Back at home, soon after Papa's funeral, while journeying in the car someone asked me if I believed in Divine intervention.  I promptly replied, "No!" And then continued, "I believe in Divine presence." 

It is not as if God 'peeks in' from time to time into this world and in our lives.  And then returns to 'His' Kingdom.  He is ever present and it is this presence that I firmly believe in - even though, most often I am not aware of it or blissfully ignore it. 

Replaying that conversation, I realize I did not think too deep then.  I was more thinking of Papa rather than God.  And for me, the same presence of Papa applied to my life.  For that matter, everyone in the family.  Having physically lived away from them for more than two decades, I've 'cultivated' a form of them in and around me.  That way, I don't feel absence or rue being separated from them. 

This morning as I sat for meditation, I realized, even though we never really celebrated Christmas or gave it much of a thought this year - I did not even know which day of the week it was! - I was living the spirit of Christmas.  

Remembering Papa

It is exactly a month ago that this night, I got the distressing phone call from Roshni saying that Papa is no more!  I don't think I've still comprehended his loss - I don't think anyone of us at home have!  But one thing we are all happy about is that he did not struggle or suffer.  It was all sudden and instant. 

As we were clearing up his room - which did not take more than a few minutes, given the things he had in his collection - I came to know he did have a passport.  Of course, it expired even before I was born.  But Papa still had it with him. 

The few things very dear to him that I still remember: his German tape recorder, the green table fan, his cassette repair kit, his Swiss knife, that 'Ganesh' beedi, and his beloved hindi songs...
Sharabhi ankhein...
Hue preet purayi...
Man dole...

Then there was the famous 'Rakkon bodve mozha...' and 'Sing alleluia'! 

But all who knew him, were well aware of his most beloved thing: the bottle!  And no remembrance of him or event in his life, could be complete without it ending up in a mention of booze.  But as grandma still believes, except when he was drunk, he was a gem! 

I really don't miss him.  Perhaps that's because I have been away from home all these years and rarely been in his physical company for more than a week or so, during my annual holidays.  Neither of us at home are 'sad' that he left anything unfinished.  I remember him as a man who slogged his way through youth. He did everything possible while my brother and I were kids.  There is never a day that I remember him absenting himself from work - his driving job.  Even when he was not well, he went.  After Mummy, if there is anyone I've known, who exemplified hard manual labour, it was Papa.  But once he retired, he just gave up all work.  He realised he had done all that was to be done, and he literally relaxed.  Not that he was lazy, he just didn't exert himself.  He was confident that Willy was now capable of running the house without him having to break his back.  His dedicated work, had borne fruit. 

The last two decades of his life, the time after retirement, he never had any ambitions or grand plans.  No regrets, whatsoever. Mummy and Willy, never left anything unfulfilled - apart from reigning in his drinking!  He lived happy!  I find that very, very consoling.  And as we were joking among ourselves one day, after his funeral: he must now be merrily chatting away with St Lawrence - his favourite saint - and sipping away!  

Being active

Returned from home yesterday night. Glad to meet all in the community.  It just seems like I never left the place.  It is not even 24 hours since I returned, and the only thing I felt so far, was a bit bored!  

Looking back at the month I spent at home, I think this is the first time ever that I was not lazy.  That I reached home not for holidays was a fact.  But somehow I found myself busy all day and night.  I did not have to things on my own. I just followed Mum!  She always is upto something.  Never does she sit idle saying 'there's nothing to do'!  (Though this time she did watch two movies, one with the kids and one all by herself - a record in all these years!)  

So Mum and I, we did much work in the house. Mostly though it was garden work or completing the construction work of the ramp and the surrounding.  Some of the tasks were what she wanted to do but for lack of time or support, kept postponing.  Am truly very happy that I did something productive and helpful rather than 'relax'!  Perhaps it was also my way of thinking of Papa.  Or maybe to enjoy Mummy's company, giving her the opportunity to talk.  

Now back in Chertsey, the first feeling I have after a day, is to complete the tasks I see rather than postpone them 'for the right moment'.  Being active for a whole month, I could not say, there's nothing to do.  I realise, earlier I didn't want to do.  Not that there is nothing to be done.  

BreXmas

Good one merging Christmas and Brexit...

(The Telegraph 27 October 2019)