As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

We’ve been blessed with some beautiful days this week. Sitting outside in the sunshine a couple of days ago, I noticed dragonflies flitting about our backyard. The breeze was light, the humidity low, and the there was a lighthearted whimsy to the movements of the dragonflies. I wondered about them, pausing in the moment to think of the good of their design. The perfect simplicity of their creation and purpose, for this they came…to do what they do in a form unique to them.

Truth has been much on my mind this week, as well as the prudence it takes to see it clearly. Prudence is the reasoned discernment of reality, seeing the truth of things, then acting rightly. But what is acting rightly? There are, of course, right actions in the sense of the most efficacious thing to do to achieve an end. If I am driving to the store and the most direct path is a left turn rather than a right turn, that would be the right thing to do…if getting there quickly is my primary aim. But what if my aim is the good of the moment, to live fully in the glory of creation in during the five minutes it takes to drive to the store? Perhaps the right turn brings me closer to the full good of what that drive might bring to my day.

The truth is that we are designed to live the good life, a life made good in living morally. An existence brought to the fullness of its design by engaging with it virtuously. We manifest our God-given dignity most fully in living that good life; in choices made less for the effectiveness of their outcome than for the good done in their making. Yes, the outcome may in fact reflect the virtuous good achieved in the choosing, but we don’t always strive for outcomes that reflect the good for which we were designed.

I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

In his poem, “As kingfishers catch fire,” Gerard Manley Hopkins is reflecting on the truth of our great design and living for the good of the imago dei in which we were created. For that I came.

Curiously, I awoke today thinking of Beowulf, the great hero of the epic poem written in his name. Believed to be a product of the 8th Century, the poem was written in Old English and comes to us as a tale of courage in the face of frightening evil. The hero Beowulf hears of a monster terrorizing the hall of King Hrothgar, attacking in the night and carrying off dozens of the king’s warriors. King Hrothgar suffers these attacks for 12 years, until the brave Beowulf agrees to battle the monster in single, unarmed combat, pitting his strength against that of the monster. In the great struggle, Beowulf prevails and the the monster, Grendel, limps back to the dark fens to die of his wounds.

The great poem is very long and this is not Beowulf’s only adventure. It is a story of courage, fortitude displayed in the face of danger and the uncertainty of the dark night and real monsters.

The foe I must grapple, fight for my life then,
Foeman with foeman; he fain must rely on
The doom of the Lord whom death layeth hold of.

Beowulf has been given great strength and great prowess. He knows the truth of this and sees it as gift and responsibility. Honor demands he meet the creature unarmed in a test of that strength though he is uncertain whether it is enough to overcome the monster. That is courage. The truth is that he is made for this, designed to confront such evil, and the good life is living fully in the truth of that design…even if it means his death.

The notion of a violent death as a measure of living the good life is jarring to our modern sensibilities. We go to great things to avoid pain, and certainly no one is attracted to the idea of their own death. We expect to live long lives and hope for happiness along the way. But a warrior of the 8th Century would see a good death, a death brought in the name of courage and honor, as a glorious measure of a good life – a virtuous end and fulfillment of his design. For that I came.

This week, I was asked to pray for a young warrior recently deployed to a place that will put him in harm’s way. I have prayed for his physical safety and the safety of his soul. I have prayed for his prudence and courage, for his sense of just conduct in the face of aggression, and for the integrity of his heart as he attaches himself to a greater mission. Ii pray he can see the purpose in it all and the goodness of his great design amid the broader movements of God’s Providence. I pray for his absolute good and for all those who love him and await his return.

It is easy to speak of noble virtue as I sit safely in my kitchen, sipping on a craft cup of espresso infused with just the right amount of perfectly heated water to delight my senses, as my loyal dog lays at my feet, my beautiful wife moves about at the start of her day, and I anticipate the company of my grandchildren in our shared celebration of Mass shortly. I like the notion of the good life in those terms.

As we approach the 250th year of our great American experiment, we should remember that our good life, however we define it, has not come cheaply or easily. Or that it is guaranteed. We also need to remember that there are worse things than death, both in this world and in what follows it. Living the good life is remembering that it is a gift, we are made with great care and purpose, and acting rightly in the face of the many reasons not to, is the ultimate measure of just how good our life has been.

Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

For that I came.