Mike
had been ever so close to his mother. They were more like best buddies
and mother and son. He felt he could tell her anything. And, as for understanding,
well, what other mother would let her son bring home thirty turtles of
various sizes and fill the backyard with them? It was quite a strange site,
especially the large one about thirty pounds that would snap at people
and chase them around the yard. Some of them were not too slow either.
Mike loved his turtles, but he loved his mother far more. He had a good
relationship with his father, but his mother knew his soul. When he grew
up, and got rid of the turtles in a local park forest, the faith and spirituality
that was hers had been transmitted to him. Eventually it would lead him
to a seminary where he would discern God's calling in his life.
As I said, Mike loved his mother. Her illness and the weakness it precipitated deeply worried him. She was still a young woman, only in her early forties. But, the doctors said the cancer was bad. She had surgery. She had radiation and chemical therapy. Nevertheless, she wasted away. He helped her to pick a black wig to cover the loss of her beautiful hair. Eventually the cancer overwhelmed her and she died. Mike was devastated.
Mike constantly prayed for her soul and that he and his father might endure the deep pain of this loss. He began to attend weekday Mass and regularly went to confession. Instead of becoming angry with God, her death seemed to draw him closer to the Lord. His mother had suffered terribly toward the end, if this final penance prepared her for heaven, then he wanted to insure that when his time came he would see her again in the company of the Lord.
One evening, while brushing his teeth in the bathroom, he casual glance at the mirror over the sink panicked him into immediate alertness. He dropped his brush and spat into the sink.
"Oh my goodness!" he clamored.
He looked intently into the mirror. It was gone. Had he seen it. For a moment he felt sure he had seen his mother looking into the mirror from behind his bent shoulder. She was wearing the house dress that she favored and that fluffy black wig that saved her vanity. No, it must have been his imagination, there was nothing there. He looked around, yes, he was alone.
He rinsed his mouth out with water and then catching a movement in the mirror of something behind him, he jumped to confront it. Again, there was nothing behind him. However, when he looked back into the mirror, an image was still reflected there. He froze. His breath became heavy.
The figure was again dressed precisely like his departed mother and with the wig carelessly thrown upon the head. But, the face-- the face was not his mother's-- it was that of a grotesque clown-- silently laughing and peering at him with almost reptilian eyes. He thought he was going to pass out. What was this thing? He surveyed the room and still could spy nothing peculiar, except in the mirror. He moved from the bathroom, keeping his eyes upon the reflection. The thing followed him, first with its eyes and then with the turning of its head. As he entered the living room his frightful experience was perpetuated by the reflection of the clown in the glass of pictures on the wall and upon the dark blank screen of the television.
This thing could not be his mother. His mother was a saint. But, why would this creature dress like her and even wear her wig? He knelt down to pray, fearful and yet also struggling still with the agony of loss. That is how his father found him when he returned from work.
Mike called the parish priest, a wonderful man who would encourage him to study for the priesthood, and who became a second father to him.
"What do you think, Father?" asked Mike in the rectory.
"It was not your mother," he spoke with absolute confidence.
"Then what is it?" the young man asked.
After a brief prayer, the priest continued. "I cannot say for sure, it is possible that your own grieving conjured it up. However, I suspect something more sinister. The devil attacks us where we are the weakest. Right now, the loss of your mother is very painful to you. She gave you your faith and taught you to pray. And yet, God has taken her away from you. I think what you saw was demonic. The devil seeks to mock your mother and the faith she gave you. Clowns are always frightening to little children. It is in itself a symbol that is directly the opposite to the comfort and security given by a mother. He seeks to make fun of her while also mocking you and your faith. He would love to have you give into despair, but don't you give him the satisfaction. If he thinks he is so funny, then laugh at him. Laugh at his pathetic antics and his empty promises."
Mike went home, and sure enough, the figure reappeared in the mirror.
"I'm not afraid of you. You're not my mother!" he shouted. Then he forced himself to laugh at the evil clown. Indeed, to show that it did not bother him, he went on to brush his teeth and made faces at the monstrous caricature of something human. The clown did not like it. Instead of a laughing face, it put on a grimacing scowl. Even its eyes were pressed down in fiery anger. To add damage to insult, Mike traced the sign of the cross on the mirror and said a quick Hail Mary. The image vanished, not to reappear.
Ultimately, the joke is on Satan, even if it is not funny. As with any who hate God and chose evil, it only leads to frustration and alienation. If we walk with the Lord, neither fear nor despair should be our lot. Jesus has promised never to abandon us, even unto the end of the world.