On November 9, 2006 Paul J. Borlik died in the dark, early hours of morning at his Grass Valley, California home. It was not an easy passing. He had gotten sicker, weaker, less able to move about; remaining in his own house may have been the only convenience and comfort he enjoyed during those last two months or so of hospice care.
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| Ensign Paul Borlik, during WWII, around 1942 |
So busy was I preparing for this particular journey (from Paris to Vichy) that I almost forgot the anniversary of my Pop’s death. Just thinking on you, dear Pop… I’ve always respected and loved you as my father. It’s more recently that I’ve come to understand and love you as a man.
It’s been five years now and I still relish the memory of this man’s unique characteristics as a person, his accomplishments, his simple manner, contagious humor, and so on. But I’ll probably remember him even more fondly for his foibles! He was a master of modern day “lament.” Many complaints were understandable – he was terribly disgusted with the direction eventually taken by television broadcasting, professional sports, news media – all his former profession. He could get moody and distant. I know too that Pop was often down on himself, maybe disappointed with his own life in a way that only men can be. More recently I find myself remembering so many people who over the years tended to gather next to and around him. Despite the fact that Pop may have felt himself to be terribly shy and uncomfortable in his own skin, a lot of people (especially men) seemed quite at ease with him. Before and after the funeral some of them spoke to me of how grateful they were to have even known Pop at all. I used to wonder…what did they see?
I do recall an event, back in the late 1950’s, that for a couple weeks or so transformed our reserved, shy Dad into an unstoppable powerhouse of ideas, enthusiasm…and wonder. He told us later that, because he had lost all appetite for food and worried that something was terribly wrong, he felt he had to consult with his doctor and parish priest. They were equally mystified but wise enough to prescribe patience, to just live through it, the doctor genially adding “maybe you’ll lose some of those extra pounds!”
It seemed that suddenly and for no particular reason Pop had fallen in love with life – his own life. He was overwhelmed with joy and new insights about existence, incessantly sharing about it in every single conversation with neighbors, co-workers, his wife and little children, pretty much everyone – especially with the Lord (from then on he seemed most himself in the presence of the tabernacle).
Today I could describe it only as mystical union.
Richard Rohr and many others speak often of these things, especially in the context of later life. These mystical moments are experiences of enlargement and connectedness or union. You become suddenly a bigger person -- you no longer feel the need to condemn, exclude, divide or separate. Interestingly these moments don’t often fit well with our faith-life in the sense that (unfortunately) much of our early “religious experience” placed us on a private path of perfection, something which none of us could achieve. If you’re lucky (or “graced”) you’ll eventually find that the path of union is different than the path of perfection.
This kind of "perfection" seems to say that by pure effort or by knowing more things I can achieve wholeness. But it’s also being separate from God, from anyone else, or from connection to the whole. It appeals to deeply/cultually-rooted individualism and our ego. Maybe too much Western Christian history has been driven by such “private perfection” sending us on a self-defeating course marked by endless competition, win-lose thinking, conflicts and wars. In any case, as a priest, it no longer surprises me that many people just give up—even many clergy and religious—when they see that this drive to perfecting my/our world just isn’t working. Too many of us end up practical agnostics or practical atheists, perhaps staying faithful to form, repeating the “right” words and going to church, but there is no longer the inner desire and expectation that is possible with the path of union. Rohr says that it’s not mysticism that defeats the soul; it’s moralism that does.
Anyway, Pop’s shangrila (as he liked to call it) lasted for a couple weeks or so and eventually he “landed right back in the dirt.” He never forgot that time though and, even if he couldn’t explain or describe it very well, Pop was always deeply grateful for it.
We children tend to be hard on our parents, especially during our adolescence. Our genetic ties might like a burden at times. Eventually, though, we might be grateful to discover that those same parents’ gifts and deficits continue somehow in us. For my part, I do hope so.
dpb
