Sunday, February 4, 2018

Epiphany about Covetousness


Back in the late 1970s, when I was in my early forties, I spent Christmas day with friends. Both my parents had died, so I no longer traveled the 450 miles from Minnesota to Missouri to celebrate with Mom and Dad.

Let’s call these friends Darlene and Michael. They welcomed me to all celebrations and to supper anytime I chose to stop by. We three spent a lot of evenings together, talking about politics, the Catholic Church, books, television, nutritious eating, a wide gamut of topics that interested us. Their friendship was an important part of my life.

Today’s epiphany happened one Christmas morning as we opened gifts. They always gave me lovely gifts: a sweater, a stick-resistant frying pan, a twenty-piece set of daily dishes, a salad bowl fashioned by the local potter, a book of poetry. Always thoughtful gifts. I treasured both them and the gifts.

On that Christmas morning, Darlene, Michael, and I each sat with a stack of presents. At one point, Darlene picked up a gift, tore away the paper, opened a jewelry box, and took out a pair of pearl earrings. Atop each pearl was a small diamond.

She gasped. Michael grinned, clearly delighted with her response. “Open that next box and the next!” he said. In one she found a matching pearl and diamond necklace; in the other, a ring. Speechless, Darlene immediately donned the three-piece set. She glowed with happiness.

I watched all this, initially happy for Darlene. Then a strange feeling griped my innards: I felt covetous. I wanted someone—anyone—to spend that much money on me. If they did, then I’d know I was deeply loved.

Once again, the insecurity I’d felt since childhood shrouded me. If I weren’t worthless someone would shower me with expensive gifts. Now remember that I was sitting with a multitude of gifts stacked on the floor—gifts from Darlene and Michael, family members, and other friends. I had gifts; I wanted expensive ones. At that moment, for me, money meant love.

The truth was—and I recognized it even then—that I didn’t even like pearls and diamonds. Never had. I preferred silver earrings and necklaces.

Yet a mixture of feelings inundated me: I felt bereft. Envious. Worthless. Greedy. Ashamed.

Not wanting them to see what my face had to be revealing, I looked past Darlene and into the dining room where a crèche sat on the buffet. I looked at that scene and epiphany happened. Realization captured me.

Here were these three—Mary, Joseph, and the baby Yeshua. Poor. In a stable. Friendly with the poorest in the land. Not caring about pearls or diamonds or money spent. Content within themselves. Content with what life presented them. Content with love, freely given.

The vow of poverty I’d taken in the convent was meant to foster in me a poverty of spirit that would rejoice in the happiness, success, and abundance of another. Of all others. True poverty of spirit would recognize that in our Oneness each of us could rejoice in the happiness of every single one of us.

And so, shaking myself free of that moment spent in the present and in Presence, I got up from the couch, hugged Darlene, and told her how lovely she looked. I turned toward where Michael sat, bent down, hugged him, and told him what a fine gift-giver he was.

When I got home that night, I knelt before my own crèche and thanked the Holy Oneness of All Creation—that is, all those who have ever blessed my life in the past centuries and the near decades and the day itself—for my life and its wonder. I thanked Oneness for the Epiphany of the day.

Peace.


12 comments:

  1. For me it was realizing I would spoil some one else's good time, put a pall on the day. I can't recall that it came to me all at once. It just seemed correct to be happy for others, too. When I was an adult, I had an incident of a person not being happy at a family gathering, storming and slamming about. It was such a visual to me of not being kind. Love and peace to you.

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    1. Dear Joanne, thank you for sharing such an important epiphany. It's the kind that affects the lives of everyone you meet. Peace.

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  2. I've often wondered why some people are not aware of how their behavior is seen by others. Even when young, I can remember seeing people putting down other people (man/wife, white/black, father/son, etc.) and thinking... 'why don't they realize that they aren't belittling the other person in reality... they're belittling themselves in everyone else's eyes'. I don't think of this as an epiphany, just something that I realized early on.

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    1. Dear Rian, what you've written is what I consider an epiphany to be--a realization that comes, almost unbidden--and makes sense of something we've experienced or are experiencing. Peace.

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  3. Love this story. How wonderful that your epiphany chased those thoughts from your heart and let you bask and share in their joy. Too often people, many I know, never get that enlightenment and it only drags them down.

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    1. Dear Patti, there are still things that I'm aware in myself--dark corners and valleys that do "drag" me down if I permit them entry into my actions. Peace.

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  4. How revealing and thoughtful. I think I had too many epiphany's in my life to single out any particular one. Perhaps it was realizing all the things I'd learned from my parents, friends and now my wife which shaped my values and hopefully now my life.

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    1. Dear Troutbirder, isn't it a wonder when we look back to all the people who have shaped us and helped make us into the persons we are now. Our lives have been touched by so many other lives--for good or for ill. Peace.

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  5. poignant post Dee. I've had those feeling but it's been rare. I've come to understand that life is a gift. And for that I am thankful.
    R

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    1. Dear Rick, I so agree with you that life--its fullness and abundance, its joys and even its sorrows are a gift. Like you, I am thankful for that realization. Peace.

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  6. Wonderfully written, Dee, and, even more so, quite an epiphany. Thank you for this.

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    1. Dear Penny, it was a true epiphany. I can still remember the stillness that entered my spirit as I gazed through the room and into the dining room at the creche. It was a gift. Peace.

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