“During morning meditation God spoke to me, I think, by giving me the realization that peace is fully to be found in Him. I discovered this while waiting upon Him in reflection. Previously, I was forced by fatigue to pace the floor, a practice which has helped me of late to overcome weariness. So I experienced that, when God speaks, it is like the voice of no other.”

These words come from an entry in the journal I kept in the fall of 1953. Written so long ago, they open a window enabling me to look into my soul at that early stage of spiritual development. They unveil my personal history as nothing else could, even the photos that come from that era.

This journal passage now speaks to me of a time in my life when I was caught up each day in the search for a deeper knowledge of God. Through my morning and evening meditations and other spiritual exercises, I tried to sustain a dialogue with the source of my being. On this particular day, November 11th, I judged myself to have received personal attention from Him.

However, the words “I think” suggest that I was not entirely sure.  I was clearly hesitant to say that the voice of God and a feeling of inner peace were one and the same. I did not want to say that that I was definitely hearing a divine message. Reading these words now, I am glad to find in my younger self this lack of certitude.

And yet, the last sentence would seem to claim that I had heard the distinctive voice of God, since it is “like no other.” There is no point in trying to resolve this ambiguity now. I feel glad that I was not so sure about having located the divine who, in the great spiritual tradition, is above all human grasp.

My uncertainty may have shown some considerable degree of maturity in me even then. And yet, it was a difficult time in my life, as the reference to fatigue suggests. I was experiencing tension that would eventually lead to a long-lasting crisis. Many a time would I walk the floor during my meditations as I sought to grow toward God.

I also take consolation by seeing that I did not, fifty years ago, think I heard God speaking to me the way another human being would speak.  Even in my youthful fervor I recognized that the divine voice would not arrive in human words but rather in the interior movements of the heart and soul. To have located that speech in the presence of inner peace seems to me altogether appropriate.

Much of what I wrote in the 1950s makes me blush with embarrassment. My journal entries of those days are full of naïve sentiments and bad prose. It is penitential for me to reread them now.

The spiritual content of the passage under discussion here, however, pleases me. It expresses a mentality that I can identify with even now. Were I to enter a similar experience in a current journal, the words might be much the same.

This kind of continuity seems to me valuable. I take satisfaction in finding in the “spiritual me” of fifty years ago much of the same self that I know myself to be now. In a life otherwise marked by much discontinuity, this connectedness of younger and older selves comes as a consolation.

In particular I identify with inner peace being a sign of God’s presence. This peace I regard as one of God’s gifts so that I still give thanks for its presence. A deep assurance of all being well is a precious quality of soul and it does not seem to me exaggerated to call it the voice of God.

I also like the passage’s assumption that, in meditative prayer, we do not do all the talking. Rather, at best such prayer leads to a dialogue between God and ourselves with the initiative in the conversation being taken by God. My words of fifty years ago strongly imply that my prayer then was such a dialogue.

Similarly, the words “while waiting on Him” reinforce the idea that the initiative is God’s. Apparently, I was willing to be patient until He first spoke, as I try to be now.

Richard Griffin

When he was an infant, a young child named Dennis lost both his parents to AIDS. At age 15 months he himself tested positive for the disease but he is now free of it. Rescued from the streets of Kingston, Jamaica, he currently receives loving care in a group home.

Another Jamaican child, Gregory, was found trying to give water to his mother who had been dead for four days. Ultimately this child did not survive but died after being tenderly cared for by his rescuers.

A third boy, Ramon, was found in a pigsty when he was five years old. He is now a bright child and progressing nicely.

These children and hundreds of others have been saved from the streets by Mustard Seed Communities, a charitable organization now celebrating its 25th anniversary. Working in Jamaica and four other impoverished countries, –  – Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, and Zimbabwe –  – Mustard Seed is dedicated to care of the world’s most helpless children.

Besides caring for these children, the organization in Jamaica sponsors schools and small business enterprises designed to relieve the poverty of the communities where it works. Caring, sharing, and training serve as three watchwords that indicate the top priorities of Mustard Seed.

AIDS poses a special challenge in Jamaica, a society that attaches a stigma to people who have it. In some regions of the island, neighbors will burn down your house if they discover you are infected with this disease .The Kingston facility is the only one in Jamaica that handles pediatric AIDS.

Mustard Seed follows the philosophy of its founder, Father Gregory Ramkissoon, a native of Trinidad. Seeing children with disabilities abandoned on the sidewalks, empty lots, and even trash cans, he was moved to reach out to them. “You have to care for somebody else,” he explains, “that is the way we are wired.”

“We make each child the cornerstone, instead of the rejected stone,” he says, using the biblical language that forms so much of his inner world. The name Mustard Seed itself comes from a parable spoken by Jesus who compared the Kingdom of God to the smallest plant that ultimately grows into one of the biggest.

At this time of crisis in their church, Father Gregory is convinced, American Catholics are looking for opportunities to serve others in need. Such people help to make it possible for Mustard Seed to rescue abandoned children. By giving money, providing needed goods, offering prayers, or perhaps coming to volunteer on site, not only Catholics but all others who wish to respond will be welcome.

Mustard Seed makes available a retreat house next to the main facility in Kingston for those who wish to see up close how the communities work. The organization runs weekend sessions for business leaders and others who wish to experience at first hand the work on behalf of destitute children.

Father Gregory sees the goal of these visits as twofold: to show Americans and others that the work of Christ is service to our brothers and sisters; and to enable the visitors to go back home and spread the word about Mustard Seed.

This priest is himself the best advertisement for Mustard Seed and its dedication to children in desperate need of help.  Short in stature physically, Father Gregory stands tall interiorly, with a spirituality entirely devoted to service of Christ and the children. He reminds me of Mother Theresa who committed herself to dying people who had no one else to serve them in their hour of greatest need. Like her, Father Gregory attends to the souls of those he serves as well as their bodily needs.

Father Gregory knows how important are the lay people associated with him in Mustard Seed. The 300 people employed by the organization to care for children add great strength to his community.

In this country Mustard Seed has associates who help support the work. Among them is Mary Alice Fontaine, Director of Development, at 10 Bridge Street, Suite 203 in Lowell who can provide further information at (978) 446-0505.  

I also recommend the web site at http://www.mustardseed.com, especially the brief video that shows the children with those who take care of them. To me, it is moving to see the loving way in which adults and children enter into contact with one another.

Richard Griffin

Another custom that speaks spiritually calls on Jews, when they have completed afternoon services on Rosh Hashanah, to visit a body of water where fish swim. They throw food into the water as a symbol of casting away their sins.

Traditions of this sort, repeated in the autumn of every year, can stir faith and  strengthen community. Though Rosh Hashanah itself is not connected to a particular historical event, it still recalls God’s dealings with the chosen people through the centuries. The New Year is a time to start over, to turn from the idols of false gods, and to repair the bonds with neighbors broken by sin.

I asked a friend, filmmaker Marlene Booth, what Rosh Hashanah and the other holy days mean to her. “It means a combination of gathering together with family and eating wonderful familiar food,” she answered “As soon as we get home from services on Rosh Hashanah,” she says, “we cut up an apple and dip the apple in honey.”

She also told me that Jewish study, especially of Hebrew and the Bible, is  infused with sweetness. Studying in a Yeshiva, students mark the Hebrew letters with honey..

Marlene Booth also described this as a time for renewal and reflection, with leisure “to sit around talking about what the last year was like, and thinking back on your relations with other people and your sense of integrity about yourself where you have come up short. You might also send letters to friends saying that I’m sorry that I messed up.”

“It feels in many ways like a new beginning” she adds. “In the synagogue, we will begin the new cycle of readings. Starting in a few weeks we will be reading the book of Genesis, beginning the Torah. Looking at yourself, you get a chance to see yourself afresh. During the high holidays everything is really writ large.”

“We will go for a walk, play scrabble. People try to spend time with extended family members. A lot of Jewish worship features familiar tunes that you have not heard for a year. My son who is away at college would not think of being absent from his family.”

My friend also described the atmosphere in the synagogue on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. “The synagogues are filled. You hear the same melody in every synagogue all over the world. You feel a sense of wholeness with other Jews.”

Even unbelieving Jews get swept into the action. In keeping with long tradition, they sit on the bench outside and do not enter the synagogue, Marlene Booth reports. “They won’t go in, but they don’t want to be absent. People who are inside take breathers anyway because the service lasts all day.”

I also consulted Rabbi Norman Janis, counselor to the Jewish community at Harvard University and asked him to share his feelings about the Days of Awe, as the High Holidays are often called.

They deserve this name, the rabbi says, because nothing can be more awesome than the coronation of God as King.

Rabbi Janis points to the blowing of the shofar as the most moving single part of the worship service. He calls this event “the mother of all wake-up calls.” “It says something like ‘wake up and live right,’” he explains.

He agrees with Marlene Booth in finding spiritual joy in this season because it is the time when all Jewish people come together. This makes for an excitement that fills the heart.

Kol Nidre, on evening before Yom Kippur, it says all the vows that have been made, you are given a clean bill. The atmosphere remains very sober.  At the evening service, the synagogues are filled. The same melodies are heard in every synagogue all over the world. You feel a sense of wholeness with other Jews doing the same thing.

One year we visited Hawaii and threw our bread crumbs in the Pacific. Symbolically, it was sins being cast on the waters. At Yom Kippur you are supposed to think of your relationship to your fellow human beings, to God and to yourself. This view combines introspection plus awareness of the social world.

Excitement – you feel great especially about the holidays. We will go for a walk, play Scrabble. People try to be with extended family. Students celebrate with others on campus. A lot of Jewish worship is top 40, the tunes you have not heard for a year. Marlene’s son could not imagine not being with our family.

Even agnostic Jews, in accordance with an old tradition, sit on the bench outside and do not go into synagogue. They won’t go in but they don’t want to be absent. People take breathers anyway. On Rosh Hashanah, 9  to 1.Yom Kippur a couple of hours in evening. On Yom Kippur, a day of fasting – service not over till 3 stars.

The most striking fact about the high holidays is it’s the time in the Jewish calendar when everyone comes together. Ten times the rest of the year.  Passover most observed at home. Why? Day of Judgment, book of life, God is king; “what really unites it all  .  .   . you are coming together to hear the Shofar.” Think of all the ways the horn is used in regular life. Going into battle, victory, crowning of kings unimaginable without brass. The coronation of God, it was heard at Sinai when Moses given the Torah. “Tremendous signnificance , to the public blowing of this horn.”  To remind God of the covenant and Abe’s virtues.  Most people don’t realize why they are coming together.

What could be more awesome that the crowning of the king of the universe. Exodus 19. Just seeing so many people packed together for this occasion. “A wake up call. Wake up and live right.- that’s what it is about.”  

A time when people of the same family not living near one another come together – somewhat like Thanksgiving. This latter the great civic religious holiday. Putting on different clothes “to honor the Sabbath.” After Yom Kippur, a relaxing.

You come through the holidays and you have done what you can. You now hope that God will take care of you. You ask: Please spread over us the shelter of peace. A build up of tension till Yom Kippur, then a relaxing. It’s all one. The calendar for Christians follows the life of Christ; the Jewish the life of the people.

Richard Griffin

“It was a blow to me, personally,” says Cathleen McBride about being diagnosed two years ago as having Alzheimer’s disease. “I cried,” she adds, “but I could certainly talk about it.”

“I got up the next day and put one foot in front of the other,” explains this former member of a Catholic order of sisters. It is her way of describing how she determined to go on with her life.

Asked about her inner motivation, Cathleen responds: “My spirituality is so much a part of me that I don’t see it as a separate factor.” Having spent 18 years in the convent and serving as a missionary in the Philippines gave her the inner power to accept what has happened to her.

“The new reality becomes the norm,” adds her husband, Owen McBride.  He has entered fully into the role of care partner in response to his wife’s illness. Since they share responsibility, each has come to prefer the term “care partner” rather than applying the phrase “care giver” to the healthy spouse.

It was my privilege recently to take part in a discussion with the McBrides, one other couple, and a staff member of the Alzheimer’s Association who counsels people in the early stages of the disease and their partners.

The other couple who took part in the discussion were Bernice Jones and Victor Jones. Bernice found out this past year that she has Alzheimer’s. For her, it did not come as a great surprise but she finds it a challenge “to readjust to what I can accomplish.”

She does not talk about her response to illness in explicitly spiritual terms but she clearly brings inner strength to the struggle. Bernice comes across as remarkably present to other people as she tries to cope with the problems posed by the disease.

Like Cathleen, Bernice has the support of a husband who considers himself a care partner. Victor sees the crisis as “a very refining thing” for their relationship but he also admits that it’s difficult at times.

What he finds hardest is seeing that “the skills that Bernice was so good at are eroding and so is her self esteem.” She was active in her town and it is difficult to replace the roles she had there. But Victor reminds her that she retains the role of wife and always will.

Not being able to remember things bothers Bernice. Recently, she was trying to find in memory the name of a tree outside the house.  She just could not come up with it then; in the discussion she recalled that it was dogwood.

Losing the ability to write bothers her worse. Discovering herself unable to dial the correct numbers on a telephone is what first made her suspect the presence of the disease.

The opportunity to enter into this discussion served as a spiritual tonic for me. Hearing these four people talk about a deadly illness and the way they are coping with it filled me with admiration for them.  Throughout, their main emphasis was that life goes on.

As Victor Jones says, “Alzheimer’s is not a sudden trap door through which people drop away.” Too many people believe that those with this disease can make no sense. He regrets that many people think this way because this stereotype keeps them from recognizing the positive elements in what is admittedly a highly undesirable experience.

Both couples modeled for me an experience of open, loving relationships that are prepared for even more difficult days ahead.  They recognize that, when the disease progresses further, coping will be much harder than it is now in the early stage. To their credit, they can talk about this future.

Victor calls it “the ultimate question: will his wife go off to be cared for by someone else?” Both of them recognize that this might turn out to be better than the alternative of staying home when the disease becomes unmanageable there.

In all of this the support of professionals at the Alzheimer’s Association makes a crucial difference. For answers to questions and appropriate referrals for help, I strongly recommend calling the agency at (800) 548-2111. The couples mentioned in this column went through a series of meetings organized by the association and have found them extremely helpful.

Richard Griffin