Lansana

By John O’Brien, S.J.

One night, which happened to be Good Friday, I sat in a friend’s living room and listened to a man describe his trip to hell and back. Human suffering was never so visible as it was in the face of that smiling man.

Lansana is from Sierra Leone, a west African country founded by former American slaves. In 1991, armed rebels, frustrated by decades of tribal discrimination and the huge gap between the poor and diamond-swollen rich, launched a civil war. In ten years it displaced or killed nearly one third of the population. For Lansana, the son of a moderately successful plantation owner, the war meant a descent into Dante’s inferno.

Facing our Sinfulness: Thoughts on Lenten renewal

By Brother Daniel Leckman, S.J.

ncallan.edublogs.org

During the Lenten season, we receive all sort of invitations to renew ourselves – to return to God with great purity. This wonderful invitation is marked by be difficult themes in our Lenten readings. Reflecting on some of these themes has increased my admiration for our Old Testament professor at Regis College, Fr. Michael Kolarcik, S.J. He is someone who year after year has to deal with some very troubling themes in the Bible or, more specifically, with his students’ responses to those themes. One of those themes is: “Does God intend evil to happen to us?”

The key word in that question is “intend”. The question is not, “Does God want us to suffer?”, or even worse, “Does he get a kick out of seeing us suffer?” The question is has he intentionally and willingly included suffering as part of his greater plan for us. I think it’s safe to say that God doesn’t enjoy making us suffer, in the same way he didn’t enjoy making his own son suffer on the cross. But he let it happen, because he knew of the good that would come of it. On the one hand, suffering is allowed in the Old Testament, because the people have transgressed. On the other, it’s allowed with Jesus because this is part of God’s greater hope and desire for humanity.

What to Do When You Are Stuck: Haiti and the Third Week

By Edmund Lo, S.J.

Photo: Jim Boynton, S.J.

To many people, January 12th may just be another day on the calendar; not so for me. It is the third anniversary of the devastating earthquake in Haiti, one which managed to kill more than 200,000 people. I happened to be there on that fateful day, as I had been sent to Haiti as a Jesuit novice just a week before. As Providence would have it, I was able to help out with the rescue effort at ground zero, as well as to learn about the Haitian culture during my five-month stay.

Some only know of Haiti in photos and video footage after the earthquake, which were mostly depictions of destruction, chaos and rubble. Some may not even know about it at all. In that sense, my arrival the week prior was priceless in many ways, as it gave me the opportunity to know a bit about the country before the disaster struck. I would use a Chinese phrase to describe both the pre- and post-earthquake state of Haiti: qian chuang bai kong (thousands of sores, hundreds of holes). The earthquake undoubtedly caused a catastrophic level of damage, but it did not create the crater-sized potholes on the road. It did not create the mountainous piles of garbage that one found on the street corners. It did not create racism or discrimination; nor did it create poverty, injustice, or corruption. If anything, it exacerbated an already desperate situation.

There is a Great Cry in Ramah

By John D. O'Brien, S.J.

Cogniet, Scene du Massacre des Innocents

One is at a loss for words in the face of the unspeakable tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut a few days ago. There are no words to speak right now, because I don’t think they exist. Or if they do, I do not possess them. It is true that we all reach for explanations, theories and solutions, and the professional world of words was alight with these almost immediately. Some have merit, to be sure, but frankly, I can’t debate these right now. For now there should be only grief. Rachel is weeping for her children; and she refuses to be consoled, because they are no more.