Signs of enduring love

by Christopher Loetscher

Found among my mother’s things after she died, was a small, worn crucifix. It had been blessed and given to my father by his pastor, before my father set off at the age of eighteen, to serve in the navy during the Second World War.

My father wore the crucifix around his neck, with his dog tags, throughout his term of duty. No doubt the chromed brass and polished wood of the crucifix shone brightly at first.

Now, as I look at the cross in my hand, it appears rather full. Every bit of chrome is worn away. The wood has lost all traces of varnish and has been darkened by the sweat and oil of my father’s flesh, by the dust and heat of the aircraft carrier boiler room where my father stoked fires to power his ark, day after day, for two long years.

The brass corpus of the crucifix is smooth, its contours having given way to the daily motions of my father’s body and to the movement of his thumb when he held the crucifix in reverie or prayer. He probably clutched it when suicide pilots drove their planes into my father’s ship, while fire erupted on deck and below where my father worked. He touched it thinking of his home and loved ones.

My mother and father were high school sweethearts. They planned to marry when — and if — he returned from war. I think of them, young and impetuous, full of longing, dreaming in unison, desiring marriage and children. I think of them, separated by war and vast waters, begging God to preserve their lives and love, until they could rest again in each other’s arms.

Whenever I see or touch the cross my father wore, it stirs my memory and imagination. I think of my parent’s love for each other, of God’s love for them. I remember the struggles my parents endured, the suffering of people during war. I recall what Christ endured for us. I am reminded that the deepest longings of the human heart are universal — they reside, too, in the hearts of our enemies. I remember that God loves each human being and would draw all people into communion. I imagine how life could be different. I consider the toil required to make the possible come true. I awaken to the antiphonal call and response of grace.

Christopher Loetscher is director of the Office of Social Concerns for the Diocese of New Ulm.