The Philosopher:

He is  kind of a troubadour, he wanders place to place never quite knowing where the next day will led him. He is a people watcher, a life observer you might say.

 Today we were talking about why people do the things they do. 

He insisted that there was ultimately a self serving reason why all people did everything.

 I countered by asking him if it were possible to do something simply for the sake of love.

He chose to tell me this cute little story that appears to win his argument.

" There once was a judge who had a pig, the judge loved his pig and took it everywhere with him. Each morning all the people of the town would go over to the judge and greet him good morning because he was a very important man. One day the judge's pig died and there was a funeral for the pig. That day everyone in town attended. Not more than a week later the judge himself died but there were none to bid him farewell.

I said none? There was not one person at his funneral?

 He said maybe his father or mother, or a few from his immediate family.

I asked why so few came? 

He said because all they wanted was what they could get from him.

Was he a good man? " 

No, not really was the answer"

" Then why did anyone show up at all " I asked   

He responded " I guess they were obligated"

Perhaps, ....

... or perhaps they simply came because despite all his faults they chose to love him anyway.

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Today a Spanish man had a seizure
I called the medics.
A hundred pair of eyes watched as the man convulsed.
There was nothing to do but watch.

Some of his companions tried to open his closed spastic fingers
while another held him down.
9 medics showed up
and carried him away.

I talked to his friends with my very poor broken Spanish
and with a little help from my friends.
I asked them if they understood what happened to him.
It's the alcohol, they said, he gets this when he drinks too much.

So I asked them this question,
If he stopped drinking would the seizures stop?
"Si" was the answer I received.

...It seems we all have sins in our closets,
some can hide them better than others.
The alcoholic and gluttons sins are obvious to all,
but then there are those sins that hide
deep within the recesses of our soul,
pride, injustice, deceit, dishonesty, lust

So I ask another question,
perhaps rhetorical
Do even the best hidden sins surface sooner or later?
and doesn't sin not only effect others but more importantly the one who sins even more?
" Si " 

Today Lauren told me how she could not go on since she lost her husband 1 year ago. Life has been hard but now it seemed unbearable. 

A hot meal, a pat on the back, and the usual " I'll pray for you" just would,nt be the right formula for this woman. In fact, there is no formula. Grief is a living death! It scorches the heart, bleeds the body, and isolates the mind...

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...Once, there was a very old man who lost his wife, he refused to talk to anyone. Friends, neighbors, and family were shut out from the shriveling soul. One day a neighbor saw a little boy coming out of the old mans house and asked, " How did you get the old man to let you in?" The little boy answered " I cried with Him!"

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Across the room I recognize a young man standing alone up against the wall. He stands, and he watches, but he does not move. There is neither smile nor frown upon his face, he is simply there.

 " You are Fr. Dan" I said. ""We have met before". 

"Yes, I remember" he said.

"How are you?",

 there was a moments hesitation. 

"I am taking some time off."

 He looked at me  without saying a word but you could read all the words spoken from the reflection seen within his eyes.

There are men who give their lives so others may not die, but sometimes  the reaper is too much for them. We belong to a family but if we their children do not let them rest, if we do not nourish and give back to replenish their strength their vows cannot sustain them. 

When I look into His eyes I see a reflection of myself,

 giving yet broken, 

healing yet wounded. 

Again, what can I say?. 

So I embrace Him hoping that the pain 

I carry for him can be enough, 

but it is never enough!

 Only when my pain, my blood mingles with the Savior 

can my wounds speak to his broken heart. 

He walks away, but I never 

 know if he is healed.

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A man is reading a magazine, it requires a post graduate degree. He speaks of things beyond the minds of the upper middle class and yet he finds himself homeless, looking for answers no book can ever give. 

Why do these things continue to happen is the question he asks? 

It's been 40 years!

The dark and empty night cannot answer. 

He calls out for the maker to touch him, 

to put him to sleep in a warm and secure bed,

 but the journey never seems to end, 

there are only small glimmers of light along the way, 

but mostly darkness.

"I am a human being!" cry's his spirit,

but what does one have to do to make them see?

The yellows of yesterday only seem gray today and the poor as the carpenter has told us will always be with us.

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So what is the point you might ask?,

 week after week , year after year, 

They continue to want, 

They are given clothes yet remain naked!

" We want more fish, we want more loaves" is their cry but they do not learn how to use the net

Perhaps all I really have, is my own brokenness to offer.

 Perhaps I suffer so that I can show them the 

nail prints in my own hands. 

Perhaps I am no more than one of them in disguise 

just trying to find my way home.