This morning, before opening the door to head out, I saw a mallard duck in the yard. That’s unusual. It was the male. (The male is the flashy one with the green glossy head and the bow tie. Dress to impress is his motto.)
I couldn’t see the female but I knew — she must be there, somewhere.
Opened the door.
Two birds flew away.
The boy and the girl.
You know me well.
In the Catholic Church, there are the people and the players you see, but don’t think that these people are on stage without a backstage, full of people and players that you don’t. (The director, for example, won’t be visible to you, except for every move that you see and every mood that you feel. The writer, for example, won’t make a single sound, except for every word you now hear. And so forth and so on.)
And to be even more specific, don’t think that because you see a male duck, you’ve seen everything. The female is there, but she’s got you sure fooled. She was in camouflage. And she thinks it’s funny.
They say that the hidden spiritual sister of Pope John Paul II was St. Faustina. Don’t complain on her behalf that she was hidden. Don’t speak for her and say she wanted to be on display. Not everyone wants to be ‘out there.’ As Chesterton says, the best place to be is the shadow-filled dug-out, out of the lime-light.