Scripture:
Leviticus 25:1, 8-17
Matthew 14:1-12
Reflection:
When it’s gone, it’s gone.
Some of you may be surprised to find out that I’ve long been an avid long-distance bicyclist. A short ride for me is about 35 to 40 miles, and I do really like to ride through the centers of the cities and towns when I go on my rides. Near my home, there are people I know who are walking their dogs or just out on a morning stroll. And it’s so great that I get to see them (!), yell hi to them, and ring my bell as I pedal past on my trusty bike (oh, and my bike – her name is ‘Tilly,’ by the way).
Now, in the town nearest where I live, there’s an assisted living facility smack on the main drag. Right up close to the front window, every morning, sits a gentleman in a mask just watching people go by. I don’t know his name, his family, or anything at all about him, outside of I see him there, in the window, every single morning.
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but while riding by many months ago, I waved at him. Just put my hand up as I floated by and waved. And something tremendously beautiful happened. In that exact moment, he straightened right up, his eyes brightened, brows launched toward his hairline, and he sprouted an enormous smile, and excitedly waved right back. So now, every morning when I leave for my ride, even if my plan is to go in the opposite direction, I’ll be sure to roll by that facility and wave to him. And even though it’s been tough to tell from behind his mask, he always seems to be joyed to see me.
One morning, though, as I rode by, he wasn’t there. And then the next, and the next… It’s been quite some time now since I’ve seen him, and I’ve come to realize that the little joy I received out of waving to this mystery-man has likely come to an end forever. Perhaps he’s just moved, or perhaps he’s passed away – but it’s been long enough now that I feel fairly certain I won’t see him again… and it makes me sad a little.
In today’s Gospel (Mark 6:17-29), we hear how the daughter of Herodias danced for Herod & his guests. After she was done, prompted by her mother, she said, “I want you to give me at once on a platter the head of John the Baptist.” Herod did as she requested, and silenced John’s incredible evangelization on this earth forever.
When it’s gone, it’s gone.
In a month or so will be the anniversary of my father’s passing into Eternal Life. I know exactly how many years, as it coincides nearly exactly with the date of my daughter’s birth (yes, that was a particularly messed up weekend). The passing of a loved one, or my waving to the Gentleman in the Window, or the cutting the head off of John the Baptist, is something that you can’t reverse.
When it’s gone, it’s gone.
We cut the heads off of beautiful things constantly. Sometimes it’s in the simple dismissal of the words someone is trying to share with us. It could be walking away from the call of God to serve. Or it could be the lack of willingness to connect with a new person. It could be getting angry at someone and cutting them out of your life. Or it could even be an action that we or someone else takes that makes it impossible to reconcile. All these things, and more, are like chopping the head off of gifts that would likely contain a wealth untold.
So how do we fix it? Well, I think it’s probably a very unique journey for each person, and for each event or circumstance. But I will tell you this one thing that I’ve learned from all the mistakes I’ve ever made:
If you want to know the will of God, always lean on the side of love.
And Friends, if we can do that, we’ve got a pretty good shot at getting it just as close to right as we can.
Here’s waving to you, Mystery Man. Oh – and Pa – I love you and miss you.
Peace and love to you all — today, and forever.
Paul Puccinelli is Director of Liturgy & Music at St. Rita Parish in Sierra Madre, California, and a member of the retreat team at Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center.