January 14, 2025
My daughter’s attendance at Gettysburg College in Pennsylvania provided numerous occasions for me to visit the battlefield of that crucial engagement of the American Civil War. I was stunned to view the memorial marker for the 20th Maine on Little Round Top, and to read the names of those killed. It read like an attendance roster from my elementary school, listing the family names of many of my Maine hometown neighbors. And the first name on the list: Billings. Most likely not a direct relative, but the impression left on my heart could not have been more direct. I was pierced by a spiritual blade, painless, bloodless, unlike those held by those who had engaged on that hill in vicious hand-to-hand combat, yet tethered somehow to their weapons of temporal battle. I felt the pull of this same invisible bond in considering those who fought and died on these very grounds, whose day in August of 1778 was so different from my luxuriant strolls of late summer, enjoying the vistas they afford along the Narragansett Bay. We are bound to our predecessors, to our predeceased, to their battles, spiritual and temporal. We see this in the teachings outlined by Fr. Gregory Havill in this issue, which unveil our bond to Thomas Aquinas, to John of Damascus, to the people of Ancient Israel. A continuity in our taking up our mortality, in our incessant search for the Eternal, across centuries and millennia. As I age, such spans of time telescope down, often down to a single moment, this moment. And most stunning, such moments, even in grief, become moments of gift and gratitude.
Pax,
Blake Billings