When Studs Terkel, described by Donna Seaman as “oral historian, writer of conscience and raconteur-on-a-mission,” died on Halloween in 2008, he left a tall stack of books behind him. None affected me more than one called Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do.
In response to the religious leaders' concern that Jesus was welcoming
and associating with clearly unreligious people, Jesus told stories
about God's attitude toward such wayward folk, as we find in Luke 15, from which this week's Gospel reading comes.
Our teacher cautions us that the corpse pose is the most difficult of all yoga postures to master, but after an hour’s exertion in warrior pose, downward-facing dog and cobra, the prospect of relaxing horizontally on one’s yoga mat brings both relief and the impertinent question, “How hard can it be?” Fascinated, I report to my husband, “Every day at the conclusion of yoga class we practice dying.” “That’s interesting,” he says, trying to share my enthusiasm. “It’s kind of like Lent,” I venture. "Lent is when we’re supposed to practice dying, right?”
Few things are more humbling for a professor than to hear your classroom assertions parroted back to you. In the student’s puerile response you hear an echo of your own pronouncement—but on undergraduate lips the thought sounds unbearably stupid.
Asra Q. Nomani found it impossible to mourn the loss of her dear friend and colleague, Danny Pearl. Pearl, a Wall Street Journal reporter, was beheaded in 2002, purportedly by Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, mastermind of the 9/11 attacks. After attending his 2012 arraignment at Guantánamo for the World Trade Center attacks, Nomani asked psychologist Steven Stosny the question she had long avoided: “What is grief?” “It’s an expression of love,” he told her. “When you grieve, you allow yourself to love again.” “How do you grieve?” she asked him. “You celebrate a person’s life by living your life fully,” he replied (Washingtonian, January 23, 2014).