What does “Sic transit gloria mundi” mean?
He was a Paulist priest “star.” He could do almost everything spectacularly well. He impacted the lives of multitudes. So, a large white marble “icon” or plaque was constructed in his honour, listing his triumphs and priestly labours for all to see. Yet as the years went on, his name faded from public awareness and attention focused on current affairs, other events, and achievements of others. The plaque, finally, wound up against a basement wall wedged between trash boxes and musty old furniture.
Should a research scholar writing the history of the earlier Paulist priests ask to see the famous icon, he might be greeted with a quizzical look and an honest question…”Alexander who?” Such a discursive narrative is not unusual. It is the stuff of which time is partially made. The human mind so operates perhaps for its own survival. How often do we hear ”The King is dead, long live the King”? Or variations thereof?
I recall with great clarity the instance of the Paulist priest who was universally viewed as our rare Saint. At the funeral Mass, heavily attended by the members of his community, his virtues were formally sung and poetic opinions were raised about his quick entrance into Paradise. Yet at lunch not one word was spoken of him…only eager observations about baseball, the weather, or community gossip. It was as if that Icon of holiness had never lived. So quickly this communal phenomenon occured after the somewhat mechanical rituals of praise.
Was such behavior a kind of defense? Perhaps even a need to blot out the “elephant” in one’s own awareness? That I too must die? Is it the experience of most human beings that we forget frighteningly quickly those whom we have loved and to whom we promised eternal fealty? As time passes, so does clarity and sharp recollection. The media, except for bright eyed zealots, often run by the adage “Nothing is so dead as yesterday’s news”.
Yet, perhaps there are deep emotional drives unseen and unrecognized operating within the apparently sophisticated and eschatologically oriented priests?
Was it some kind of masculine masking so as not to express the sorrow of losing a beloved person? Or not knowing what to say? Or was it simply what it appeared to be? We have done our job. That is done. What’s next? We don’t really want to remember. Or is forgetfulness built into human survival?
Philippe de Champaigne's Vanitas (c. 1671) depicting life, death, and time.
Without completely analysing this type of human behavior, the student of life might still draw some rules for healthy behaviour. The old Romans knew something of this. Hence, the Latin title of this little piece. “Thus goes the glory of the world”! It was apparently the pagan custom that a slave would stand behind a returning victorious General who was receiving the plaudits of the crowd to remind the hero: It all passes. Glory is a fleeting thing. You too will pass. Out of sight. Out of mind.
This sounds suprisingly similar to the thinking of the great Spanish mystic, Teresa of Avila. “Let nothing affright thee . . . all things pass . . . One thing alone remains . . .” It is God alone Who is present to me always, whether I am aware of His Presence or not.
Is there some kind of wistful thinking that “they” will nostalgically remember me with fondness and tenderness when I am called back to God? When in fact the human mind forgets so quickly? Think how we recover from the devastation of grief when we lose a loved one in death. Even a parent! This is the way it is !!
As Puck opined: “What fools we mortals be…” I am urged by my insight (or perhaps by the Holy Spirit) to say “Fie upon thee” to people-pleasing and to hopes of being remembered by others. My energy and attention and love must ultimately be driven by and to my Lord and my God, Jesus Himself. And surprise!!!! When I do that, everything I ever wanted comes to me. Maybe, the message of the “Hound of Heaven” is true and pragmatic after all.