Healing Ministry 1
Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008
Secret
passions
Father Dn. Thomas Johnson-Medland, CSJ, OSL
Somehow, in the development
of life, in aging, and in the
approach of dying, our desires
and passions are reduced to
smaller doses but nonetheless
potent portions. We are pulled in
a thousand directions as we learn
the dance of aging and compro-
mise. We are often forced to con-
sume less of our desires, but in
doing so we learn to survive on
less. We still need to have our
small and secret desires met,
even as we lay dying.
Passions are mingled in our
lives; scenting each breath. They
rearrange our taste like a handful
of cinnamon thrown into a pot
with a shank of lamb, some ripe
tomatoes, extra-virgin olive oil,
and fresh green sprigs of basil.
Passions steep into the meat of
our exquisite and artfully divine,
more than common fare.
In our youth, large heaping
handfuls—fistfuls—of spice
must be added to flavor the stock
Father Dn. Thomas Johnson-Medland, CSJ,
OSL, Lighthouse Hospice, Cherry Hill,
New Jersey.
of our days. Youthful passions
are bold, somewhat manic, and
indiscriminate; they must be
loud, clear, and large. Large pas-
sions are moved about and
replaced by passions that are able
to clamor and scrape for more
attention.
But, in midlife and beyond, a
pinch is all that is needed to taste
the taste that will push us into
savoring subtle release. An aro-
matic hint can lure us into com-
plete rapture as our senses are
more highly refined and discrim-
inating. A frond of saffron is
detectable in a mound of fleshy
rice. We can sustain the trail of
many passions, only indications
calling us to satiation.
That our passions become hid-
den and secret is an alchemical
response to refinement. For
some, the ability to sense the sub-
tle result of being purged—again
and again—by the draining
presence of suffering and loss.
For others, it is a way to cope
with the need to sustain oneself,
finding nourishment and suste-
nance on smaller portions, and
more varied offerings.
However it comes, refinement
sharpens the taste and heightens
the feel of aroma. Morsels of pas-
sions are sweet. Morsels of pas-
sions are rich. Morsels of pas-
sions stop time and collapse its
confining walls—making path-
ways to ecstasy of its stones.
I have found these morsels to
be enough. They sustain me and
nourish new growth. In the
clutching of these crumbs—in
the ingestion of these bits—I
have found the fulfillment my
youth screamed to find in full-
blooded feasts in the ongoing
process culinary revolution and
constant change of cuisine.
Today, it is enough to shave the
chocolate into my cup of steamed
milk. That pounds of chocolate to
slake my desire.
Our passions and desires shift
and change throughout our days
in this life. At one moment, we
are consumed by knowledge and
wisdom, at another it is love and
sexual pleasure, and at yet anoth-
er it may be solitude, or choco-
late, or the waves. Ebbing and
2 Healing Ministry
Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008
flowing throughout our lives the
desires might change, but that
we desire and long to fulfill these
desires does not change. Perhaps
the object of our longing is differ-
ent, but that we long is not.
I think that the greatest and
most deeply rooted secret desire
in me is the desire for the woods.
I have longed for the earthy smell
of loam and the glimpse of
dampening bark against the
greening leaves since I was 10.
Many passages in my life have
been made through the support
of the out of doors. At 10, I
longed to live in the wilds, ford-
ing rivers, Nature.
Felling trees and shaping a
home took countless hours of my
daydreams. Page after page of
blue-lined graph paper con-
sumed me, drawling out of me
the plans of numberless cabins.
First there was one with lofts and
then another with tunnels.
The plans took fuller shape
when I garnered the full stock-
pile of my collection of Lincoln
Logs. The smooth, shiny brown
logs, carefully locked in
place—and relocked again and
again—gave the needed dimen-
sion that the plans could not
elicit from a 10-year-old mind,
or eye, or hand.
The mind turned over and
over again the idea of being an
adventurer. The notion turned
so many times in my mind it
began to tangle itself around my
heart. Tangling around my feel-
ing it satiated my love for being
against all odds in the wilds of
nature.
The feeling mounted, demand-
ing I spend time outdoors—of
course—but also meeting the
brave and capable isolates of
time. Conquistadors, warriors,
scouts, chiefs, explorers, trap-
pers, and pirates—these all
became my comrades. I read, and
read, and read creating a small
island of intelligence that I could
retreat to when the trees and for-
est were not around. I spun cas-
tles, and caves, ships and horses;
all of them mine and all of them
at my command.
I did not know that this child-
hood fascination and fantasy
would burrow itself into my soul. It
was there, in my soul, that it
became a passion. It is there, in my
soul, that it became entwined with
my own identity—the very ground
of my own being. It began to define
me and give me meaning.
You may entertain at will and
becoming something that drives
you on—and becomes a passion.
The one you consume and the
other consumes you.
That these words sound large
and looming is not fearful, for
there are times when each side
flips back over and becomes the
other once again. It is a cycle of
feeding. When a pleasure is sated
it then may take on a life of its
own and begin to consume the
one who has been pleased. At
some point it will all go back to
the beginning.
And then, what seems to hap-
pen as you sustain a passion over
a lifetime or any other extended
period of time, other things vie
for attention and pull at the
amount of time and energy that
you can invest in the passion.
Slowly, over time, you learn to
concentrate the pleasure and
consummation. You learn to
allow smaller doses of the pas-
sion to fulfill your inner hunger.
The playhouse that we built in
the backyard became the cabin I
longed to build in the wilderness.
It sufficed for the isolate-shed
that called me to the adventures
of a man and his desire to tame
the world. I kept all kinds of
camping, hiking, and trapping
gear out there. It was filled with
mounted bugs as well.
I was set free into the wilds
when I became a nature instruc-
tor at a local camp. I could enter-
tain the notion of becoming a
wilderness man and actually live
the adventure at the same time. I
would live for the summer in the
nature lodge on the edge of the
woods. I would teach others the
sacred way, the way to survive
against all odds.
That job went on for nine
summers. All the while I shov-
eled more and more informa-
tion into the furnaces of my
heart and mind. I learned all of
the local edibles—and ate them.
I learned about all animals—
and I trailed them.
As the days wore on, college
ended and the need for a fulltime
job took center stage. But, I
thrived in the woods on week-
ends and when I could steal
away after work. Marriage, a
family, aging parents all pulled
at how I could spend my time.
And with the passing of age, the
passion became secret; not by
virtue of a need to hide it. It
became secret by virtue of its
being absented in the daily rou-
tine of life.
I find myself stealing moments
from the wilds. I pull over to a
grove of trees, or I park by the
river on occasion. I just sit and
absorb all that there is to absorb.
Sometimes I wonder whether I
would have survived if I had set
off to stake my claim against the
wilds of the woodlands.
Sometimes I am thankful for all

that I have been through and a
part of until this breath. In either
case, it is in small and concentrat-
ed doses that I capture moments
to soak up the awe from a five-
minute sunset, to grab the splen-
dor from a babbling brook and to
capture the wonder in the wind
through the trees.
It is no different with the
dying. There are secret and hid-
den passions that they have and
long to fulfill, even in the short
savoring burst that five minutes
can offer. Perhaps, it is being
wheeled to the beach for a sunset
or savoring a small taste of Greek
coffee and baklava.
Whatever the passion is, it can
offer a simple and refreshing
taste of the divine as someone is
able to sip it slowly and deeply.
We can make the ineffable nod of
the affirmative (that great Zen
“Aha” moment) something we
partake of or we can facilitate its
happening for the dying. In
either case, a movement toward
Healing Ministry 3
Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008
fulfillment is very settling and
can bring echoes of peace and
calm into a life that is weak or
chaotic.
Behind all of the play of our
passions and desires, it is our
unequivocal longing to be ONE
WITH THE ONE. The meeting of
one desire is a chipping away at
the ultimate hope of all seekers:
that we could find our rest in the
ONE. How will we work that
into our care of the dying?