(AN ANALOGY): On the Occasion of the Death of Peter Signorelli

Once upon a time, twin boys were conceived in the same womb. Seconds, minutes, hours passes as the two dormant lives developed. The spark of life glowed until it fanned fire with the formation of their embryonic brains. With their simple brains came feeling, and with feeling, perception; a perception of surroundings, of each other, of self.

When they perceived the life of each other and their own life, they knew that life was good, and they laughed and rejoiced: the one saying, “Lucky are we to have been conceived, and to have this world,” and the other chiming, “Blessed be the Mother who gave us this life and each other.”

Each budded and grew arms and fingers, lean legs and stubby toes. They stretched their lungs, churned and turned in their new-found world. They explored their world, and in it found the life cord which gave them life from the precious Mother’s blood. So they sang, “How great is the love of the Mother that she shares all she has with us!” And they were pleased and satisfied with their lot.

Weeks passed into months, and with the advent of each new month, they noticed a change in each other and each began to see a change in himself. “We are changing,” said the one. “What can it mean?”

“It means,” replied the other, “that we are drawing near to birth.”

An unsettling chill crept over the two, and they both feared, for they knew that birth meant leaving all their world behind.

Said the one, “Were it up to me, I would d live here forever.”

“We must be born,” said the other. “It has happened to all others who were here.” For indeed there was evidence of life there before, as the Mother had borne others.

“But mightn’t there be a life after birth?”

“How can there be a life after birth?” cried the one. “Do we not shed our life cord and also the blood tissues? And have you ever talked to one who has been born? Has anyone ever re-entered the womb after birth?”

“No!” He fell into despair, and in his despair he moaned, “If the purpose of conception and al our growth is that it be ended in birth, then truly our life is absurd.”

Resigned to despair, the one stabbed the darkness with his unseeing eyes and as he clutched his precious life cord to his chest said, “If this is so, and life is absurd, then there really can be no Mother.”

“But there is a Mother,” protested the other. “Who else gave us nourishment"

“We get our own nourishment, and our world has always been here. And if there is a Mother, where is she? Have you ever seen her? Does she talk to you? No! We invented the Mother because it satisfied a need in us. It made us feel secure and happy.”

Thus while one raved and despaired, the other resigned himself to birth, and placed his trust in the hands of the Mother.

Hours ached into days, and days fell into weeks. And it came time. Both knew their birth was a t hand, and both feared what they did not know. As the one was the first to be conceived, so he was the first to be born, the other following after.

They cried as they were born into the light. And coughed out fluid and gasped the dry air. And when they were sure they had been born, they opened their eyes, seeing for the first time, and found themselves cradled in the warm love of the Mother! They lay open-mouthed, awe-struck before the beauty and truth they could not have hoped to have known.

(I don’t have the name of the priest, nor the Church [perhaps “Star of the Sea” {something appropriate like that}] but I believe it was from Marblehead, MA).