Thursday, December 17, 2015


Years ago, an old friend was dying of cirrhosis back in New England.  In "real life," he'd been restless, flighty, evasive, tormented (as is so often true of alcoholics, he was also handsome, charismatic, talented, funny, and smart).

He was lying in a hospital bed and I could hardly believe he was alone and the snow was falling gently and that I could sit quietly by his side. People who are dying lie still and are approachable in a way that live, healthy people almost never are.

Christ allowed himself to be that poor--Flannery O'Connor entitled one of her stories "You Can't Be Any Poorer than Dead."

And in the dying he allows us to sit with him, to talk to him, to pray with him, to touch him, to eat him.

astro burger/Christmas star


  1. And in dying our death, He took the sting out of it.

  2. Aren't we all a little like Francis Tarwater...........either running from what we are supposed to be or just running because we can't figure out what we are supposed to be?

  3. That's why I pray for the dead. They're as helpless as can be imagined.

  4. It's an oddly providential coincidence that I should be reading this post today. This morning I decided to dedicate all my recitations of the Sorrowful Mysteries henceforth toward the physical and spiritual health of all those who are suffering or have suffered from alcoholism and other addictions.

    I'll pray for your old friend, Heather. Please pray for me, of your charity.

    And let us not forget to be grateful--for friendship, for silence, for gently falling snow.

  5. I'm dying for an Astroburger.


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