I got home late last night so that I might attend a funeral today for the mother of a long time friend of mine. As his wife said to his teenage daughter who has the same name as me, "Suzanne has known your dad for 30 some years." It was another moment this summer of reconnecting. I had not seen this couple for two years but knew I had to be there.
During the homily the priest spoke of being overseas and seeing a monument to those who survived the concentration camps, part of which included the barbed wire that kept them from escaping. So profoundly moved by the image, he asked the other older priest who was showing him if he might be able to have a piece of the wire to remember it by. The old man agreed to do what he could. The younger priest was heading to India and he boarded the plane a few days later, disappointed as he never saw the other again. When he landed, he opened his suitcase to unpack and there among his possessions was a humble barb wired cross. He never knew how the priest slipped it into his bag but he showed us today that he had it still.
He talked about how we all have crosses to bear. We do not choose them and it is Christ himself who transforms the pain and suffering in unexpected ways. We must be open to this mysterious gift.
Peace,
Suzanne
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