Stigmata

On the way home from America, one of the films featured on our United Airlines flight was Henry Poole is Here. Henry is diagnosed as terminally ill. He quits his job and moves back to the quiet neighborhood where he grew up. He wants to close a circle, to end his days peacefully. He rebuffs his friendly neighbors. Really, what's the point?
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A nosey neighbor lady is poking around in Henry's back yard and discovers a water stain in the image of Jesus' face on the back of his house. Henry takes a look. He sees a bad paint job. Nevertheless, word gets out and Henry's back yard turns into a local Mecca. The dumb can speak, the blind can see; and Henry couldn't care less.
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"Hope won't save you", he tells his wellmeaning neighbors. They can't believe it, incredulous that Henry is blind to the miracle staring him in the face.


I have been told that my blogs about movies are spoilers, so I won't go on. Henry Poole is Here is about the eternal three: faith, hope and love; its a thought provoking story with a twist. Just the thing for a Henry Poole like me.


Every now and then you hear about these strange little 'miracles'. Like statues of the Madonna or people bleeding spontaneously from parts of the body where Christ was wounded. (These people are usually Catholics - non Catholics generally go to a doctor when they spontaneously bleed.)

Its called "stigmata". Most people dismiss it as so much bunk, most people not being Catholic. I for one (neither Catholic nor 'most people') buy it. But the question isn't, "Is it true?"; the real one is, "Is it the truth?" After all, that's the conclusion they (the Catholics) would have you come to.


My mother in law's father died once. In fact, he was so dead that they had him all wrapped up in a shroud for burial. (People weren't buried in coffins back then, over there in Bombay.) Fortunately, he came back to life before they got around to burying him. Once his wife calmed down, he told this story:

After he died, he was taken down a hallway to a place and "there was a trial". He was asked if he had any requests. He replied that his youngest daughter Rosy was to be married soon and that he wished he could have lived to see her married. At this point he found himself back among the living, wrapped up in the shroud.

In the monthes that followed until Rosy's wedding the old man told his story to a number of people. He wasn't sick any more. Rosy got married and about a week afterwards he was sitting outside on a balcony or a porch and his wife left him for a moment. She heard him say, "What, you've come already?" By the time she came back to see who he was talking to, he was already gone.


What does it mean?

Not much, really, unless you happen to be a member of the family. At the time it meant a lot to my mother in law, her brothers and sisters. It was a bit of comfort in their time of loss, but there are no spiritual truths here.
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Stigmata is a Catholic thing. It happens to Catholics, it strenthens Catholics, it gives them a little hope. I'm sure the bizzare, gory stories are true, but that doesn't mean it has anything to do with the truth. God, for reasons only He knows, sometimes does things a little out of the ordinary. Not to prove this religion or that; it's His way of encouraging people. A little miracle here and there gives people hope.
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No, Henry, hope won't save you. Not always. But you can take this to the bank; if you don't have any hope at all, you're already finished.