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the orland park prairie | October 20, 2016 | 33
Pastor Column
Today is the day to be found by God
The Rev. Evan Goranson
Hope Covenant Church
I
like to sit on my front
porch with our dog. It is
a good vantage point to
watch the squirrels collect
acorns, wave to neighbors
and their passing collection
of childrens and pets, and, if
any of that becomes dull, I
can still pick up the wireless
signal from inside the house
and do a little work.
On a recent evening, I
became vaguely aware that
Thunderstar — yes, that’s
his name — had been staring
at the same spot off the
end of the porch for a long
time. Curious, I got up to
take a look. There, wedged
between an overgrown bush
and the foundation, was a
pile of grey fur.
It, whatever it was, appeared
dead.
It wasn’t.
Closer observation revealed
that the creature was
breathing, so I put Thunder
in the house and went off
the porch to get a better
look.
From this vantage point,
I recognized a cat that wanders
about the neighborhood
but keeps her distance from
all humans, so far as I know.
I approached. She hissed.
Message received.
Hours later, still there.
I surmised that there was
probably a good reason
she had hunkered down in
this secluded spot — probably
an injury — and so as
darkness fell I left a bowl
of cat food and some water
nearby. Not too close, mind
you.
The next morning, the
food was gone, but the cat
was still there. More food,
more water, another day
behind the bush.
Early the next morning,
she was observed limping,
favoring a rear leg, making
her way to a neighboring
yard — bruised and wounded,
but back on the trail.
Yes, I know I could have
called animal control, and I
tried, but they were closed
on the weekend. I consulted
my sister, an animal expert,
for advice, and discovered
that our approach was just
fine.
Food, water, protection.
It is tough out there,
whether you are a stray cat
or a wounded person. Our
instinct in the latter case is
to hide, as well.
At those times in life
when we need people the
most, we are inclined,
maybe even trained, to retreat.
We fail to answer the
phone call from concerned
friends, disappear from our
faith communities,and in
the most severe cases fail
to post anything to social
media (gasp).
Jesus said he had come
“to seek and to save the
lost.” (Luke 19:10) This
mission put him in direct
contact with many who others
had discounted, forgotten
or judged. He saw in
their brokenness an opportunity
to demonstrate the love
and the grace of God.
If you are hiding today,
understand that everything
about you, and every need,
is known to Him. Today is
the day to be found.
The opinions of this column are
that of the writer. They do not
necessarily reflect those of The
Orland Park Prairie.
Pastor Column
Two million of my closet friends
The Rev. Michael Foley
Our Lady of the Woods
In August of this year, I
traveled with 38 young
people and adult chaperones
to Kraków, Poland, for
World Youth Day.
This is a triannual Catholic
celebration of youth
(teens and young adults)
from around the world.
It really should be called
World Youth Days, because
the events last about one
week. Two million visitors
descended upon Kraków
for the various events,
which include Masses,
special prayers, workshops,
catechetical sessions, and
more.
The highlight was the
closing Mass, during which
2.4 million participated.
Hence, the title of my article.
One of the great experiences
was meeting people
from around the world.
Almost every country was
represented.
Yet, I would like to speak
of one of the saddest and yet
most sacred of experiences.
Our group of 38 traveled
to Auschwitz and Birkenau,
the Nazi work and extermination
camps. Birkenau
was a satellite camp of
Auschwitz, and as such
was the main extermination
center for the Nazis. Over
one million persons, mostly
Jewish, were put to death in
that place.
Unlike Auschwitz, where
most of the buildings
remain, Birkenau is largely
stripped of structures. Yet,
the horror remains.
As we walked into the
entrance of the camp and
around the inside perimeter,
one barely heard a sound.
There were many people
visiting, but the near silence
was both sad and appropriate.
We were at a place
where human evil was so
alive. How can one speak?
Along the train tracks
— where men, women
and children disembarked,
having been transported in
boxcars — were large photos
of mostly of frightened
women and small children
holding on to each other and
the small bundle of clothes
they brought.
The photos were of
women, small children and
old me,n because, in the
eyes of the Nazis, they were
worthless to the war effort.
To feed or house them
would waste resources,
so they often were killed
within hours of their arrival.
It is haunting to realize that
for most, these photos were
taken perhaps only minutes
or hours before their lives
ended.
It is a place whose meaning
cannot be easily verbalized.
The quiet of the people
would suggest a holy place,
but there is little that is holy
there. “Sacred” might be
a better word — it means
set apart — but that also is
inadequate.
And perhaps that is the
point. Before such evil,
what can one say?
Yet, we must visit. We
must challenge. We must
see evil. Sadly, hatred can
erupt in the most civilized
of places. Hatred and violence
can occur, even the
name of God. We must be in
solidarity with others.
There is a story from
World War II that speaks
of this solidarity. Joseph
Schultz was a twenty three
year old German soldier
in WWII. He was sent to
Yugoslavia, and one day
his sergeant called out eight
names.
His was one.
He and his companions
thought they were going
on a patrol, but they were
taken to a spot where eight
civilians, five men and three
women were line up to be
executed. Joseph Schultz
then understood exactly
what his mission was.
The eight soldiers were
lined up in front of those to
be shot. The sergeant barked
the orders, “ready.” They
lifted their rifles, “aim”.
Suddenly, in the silence a
rifle butt hitting the ground
was heard. Schultz had
put down his rifle and was
walking toward the eight
victims. The sergeant yelled
at him, but the private
would not turn back. He
stood with them. There was
a moment of silence. The
word “fire” was shouted,
and Schultz fell dead with
the eight others. The whole
thing took less than a minute.
I don’t know what he was
thinking, but perhaps it was
meant to say, “Enough! I
will not participate in evil.”
If so, we need more
people like Schultz in the
world.
The opinions of this column are
that of the writer. They do not
necessarily reflect those of The
Orland Park Prairie.