Yesterday evening, I went over to my friends Vincent’s place to watch a movie on Padre Pio. He was a Capuchin monk (an offshoot of the Franciscans), who was a mystic and one who had the stigmata of Christ. One of the enigmatic aspects of Padre Pio was the gift bestowed by God to “read’ the sins of those who he came into contact with. He would hear confessions for hours on end, oftentimes ten hours at a time. There are many miracles of healing and other such wondrous occurrences that are arbitrated to him as well. He truly lived a life devoted to Christ, which was filled with suffering in the midsts of his service to others. What I find so intriguing is that he is very much a contemporary of our times, since he lived between 1887 to 1968. I need to read more of his life.
It was refreshing to watch a movie that was “faith” based, for as much as I enjoy my action films, sitting down with a buddy and partaking a film that deals with the lifelong struggles of a man who is trying to follow as faithfully as he can the life of Christ. The life of a Christian is one lived within the shadow of the Cross, where there is the reality of suffering, ones own, as well as those around us. Yet, it is also coalesced with inner joy of doing our own little part within the much grander and mystery of this wondrous quilt that God is crafting throughout our life. Hope admixed with long-suffering, along with forgiveness and love in light of hurts and sorrows are the cornerstones of the Christian life.
While the film was four hours long, it totally held my interest as to what going to happen to Padre Pio as he tells these stories of his life to a visiting Vatican priest who is there to get to the truth of just who is sitting before him. I called how the film would end once the main antagonist confronted Padre Pio. Vincent remarked, “Oh, your good!”
Afterwards, I came home and went to bed, only to be awoken from a dream where I heard my mom call out my name. Towards the later part of her life, she would call out to me at night if she needed something, knowing that I would always awake at the sound of her voice. Oftentimes, it was just to sit there with her to help keep the loneliness and fear away for a bit.
After some time laying awake, just listening to the silence of the night, all was interrupted by the unmistakable drunk laughter of my new neighbor. It was at 2:30 am, when she, her husband and a friend of theirs must of come home from a night out on the town, for they cranked up some horrid music and let the alcohol flow.
I couldn’t help think of how I missed the beautiful and venerable old Eucalyptus trees that once stood proudly where now sits their “lovely, contemporary” home. I just laid in bed longing for the nights where I would hear the leaves rustling as the wind moved through the trees. I missed too hearing the family of owls that made their home within the strong, study branches, where they would call out at night for any who might hear their sonorous hoot…hoot…hoot.
Eventually, the little soiree ended. All was quiet and still once again. I wondered what Padre Pio would have thought. I wondered where my beloved owls have moved to and if they managed to find a good home for themselves. I wondered how mom was in the afterlife. I got up and sat with Jake our Golden Retriever. Dogs always are reassuring, just ask Charlie Brown.
I miss my beloved tress and the owls.
