Tag: Faith

God is Not Overwhelmed

God is Not Overwhelmed

God is not overwhelmed.

With the myopia natural to humanity, it can be easy to view the present time as the worst time. Or, depending on your temperament and inclinations, to view the present moment as the very best in history. It is very likely that neither is true and that the present age lies somewhere between those two extremes. The perfect vantage point comes, naturally, from God, who sees what would both heartily encourage us and completely devast us.

God sees and knows all. The innumerable pains which are suffered silently within the hearts of humanity are known utterly by God. Yet He also knows the selfless acts of charity, the hidden conquering of vices, and the small but real ways people chose to love Him and each other. He sees the best and the worst of humanity, the pouring out of the hearts’ treasures and the outpouring of blood, the heroic and the demonic, the veiled humility and the brash pride of the world. I would not want to be Him, even with the ability to see how all of this works for the greatest good of each individual and the world.

And yet, God is not overwhelmed. He is not struck down by the flaws and horrors of humanity. What we did not see coming, He knew before the foundations of the world. What causes us to be overly elated, He takes with a peace which surpasses understanding. There is no plot twist, surprise, or cliffhanger for God. He knows everything and everyone completely.

It is not that He is passive or stoic or even distantly removed from our human drama. No, He is intimately involved with the very flutters of our heart, the little moments which cause a burst of joy or a piercing sorrow. He is not indifferent or unable to be moved by our plight. Rather, He is unable to be overwhelmed. The world He embraced and entered into, He has also conquered. It is sustained by His constant will and we exist through a persistent overflow of love which does not question if we are worthy. The Lord is very near and yet, thankfully, He does not get swept away in a million soundbites or the raging of violence or the bitter divisions which wend their way through the human race. He is a firm foundation, a rock, a fortress, a refuge.

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A Mountain of Meaning

A Mountain of Meaning

Writing a story or a novel is one way of discovering sequence in experience, of stumbling upon cause and effect in the happenings of a writer’s own life. This has been the case with me. Connections slowly emerge. Like distant landmarks you are approaching, cause and effect begin to align themselves, draw closer together. Experiences too indefinite of outline in themselves to be recognized for themselves connect and are identified as a larger shape. And suddenly a light is thrown back, as when you train makes a curve, showing that there has been a mountain of meaning rising behind you on the way you’ve come, is rising there still, proven now through retrospect.
-“One Writer’s Beginnings” by Eudora Welty

I had an experience which relates to this quote from Eudora Welty but which is perhaps true in the reverse. In a conversation with someone I don’t know very well, I was posed the question about why I’ve remained Catholic and faithful to the way I was raised. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this question, but I think I’m never quite equipped to answer the question well. There are so many things to say and yet I am uncertain what to peg as the reason I am still Catholic.

The short answer, I suppose, is the mysterious working of grace. How can I account for that which is unquantifiable, incalculable, and unknown? The prayers which have been prayed for me, the sacrifices offered on my behalf, the ways I’ve unknowingly responded to grace, the particularities of my personality, the effect of others’ words or actions, and far more have all had an impact on my heart and my life of faith. How can I offer a quick response? How can I even fully know why I still adhere to the sacramental life, why I find the lives of saints so fascinating, why I continue to follow Jesus when many people in similar situations or with relative experiences have not?

And yet here was someone asking a question and since he had not exactly remained in the faith of his childhood, it seemed more important to offer some sort of authentic response instead of just shrugging my shoulders and saying, “God is mysterious.”

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Honey From the Rock

Honey From the Rock

I looked up from my sink of dishes to see a plump baby bird and his mom perched on the railing of my deck. The squat baby tipped his head back, opened his yellow-orange beak, and received what the mom graciously offered. The mom’s intense blue-black head flickered to the tree and then to the sky, cautious and attentive, before bolting away in search of more food. Meanwhile, the baby bird hunkered down on the railing, no squawk or complaint issuing from his mouth as his mom left him.

For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly moved.
(Psalm 62:1 RSVCE)

This little bird, trusting in the faithful return of his mother, made me see again how I should be with God. Every time the mother took flight, the baby waited quietly, resting in the firm and certain knowledge that she would return. The most squawking happened when the mother had landed on the railing and the baby chirruped incessantly, eagerly clamoring for the food which was soon to be given. Otherwise, he was silent. He hardly moved. He never made an attempt to go get food on his own or to make any sort of search for his mother. He just waited in confidence.

Or perhaps he simply followed his bird instincts that said his mom would return with food. Yet how much more should I wait hopefully on the Lord, trusting that as He has promised, so He will deliver. The Lord will not abandon me or forget me. He can be completely trusted and relied upon. Though He might seem absent or far away, He is always laboring to provide the very best possible in each moment.

I am the Lord your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.
(Psalm 81: 10 RSVCE)

No conversation, no questions, no complaints. Just a neck craning back and a beak opened wide to receive whatever the mom was going to give him. And the mom provided each time. Sometimes she took part of the food back out, held for a bit in her mouth, and then deposited it again in his waiting mouth. Whatever she gave was received as good. I didn’t see the baby spit it back out or question if he would like what would be offered. Simple receptivity.

In these actions, repeated several times as the dirty dishes passed through my hands and became clean, I found a challenge offered to me from the Lord. Would I be like that little bird and receive all that He would offer me? Would I not question if it was really good or if I would like it or if there was anything else, but would I instead just receive from the Lord all He gifted? Could I trust the God of all creation, Who has led me up out of my own Egypts many times, as simply as the little bird trusted his mother? Will I take the offered cup and drink fully?

But my people did not listen to my voice; Israel would have none of me. So I gave them over to their stubborn hearts, to follow their own counsels. O that my people would listen to me, that Israel would walk in my ways! I would soon subdue their enemies, and turn my hand against their foes….I would feed you with the finest of the wheat, and with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.
(Psalm 81: 11-14, 16)

Recently, I’ve been pondering the truth that God is always giving us our greatest good in every moment. It isn’t something new I learned, but it isn’t something I have often found myself considering. While I often don’t receive fully what the Lord is offering, it has been renewing my perspective of life events and situations when I try to view it from this perspective of unfathomable goodness.

The priest who spurred this pondering shared a story which I have also been ruminating over. He mentioned praying for rain as a child and how this nearly destroyed his belief in the goodness of God since the rain often didn’t come or was delayed. As a child, his perspective was that if God heard enough people, He would give what they were asking for or be convinced to give them what they wanted. Yet he offered a more Christian perspective of what prayer should be with the Lord. When begging and pleading for rain and it doesn’t come, the faithful follower of Jesus should be able to prayerfully wonder, Lord, what greater good are you doing here in this place of our need?

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For the Love

For the Love

“The only part I didn’t really like was when she said that before she was a Christian she didn’t know what love was.”

After a recent talk at school, a few students were voicing their thoughts about the talk. The speaker had made a bold claim, one I hadn’t really thought about too deeply before my students offered their critique. Another student agreed and said he thought the speaker was being dramatic.

“Is it possible,” I questioned, “that being a Christian profoundly changes how she loved?”

“No,” said one student.
“Yes,” said another.

The one who said no came closer and continued with this question. The more I teach and the more I know about people, the more I realize that questions help answer better than arguments. Questions help clarify where exactly the person is, how much they know, and how much they have thought about the idea in the first place. So I posed another question, uncertain as I did so where exactly I was headed or what the next question would be.

“Is there anything different between how Hitler loves and Mother Teresa?”

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A Strength To Find Rest In

A Strength To Find Rest In

It was a late meal and before too long, my niece was soon battling sleep. Eventually, it overtook her and she laid with her head on the restaurant table while everyone else chatted and finished their meal. Then, my brother picked her up and carried her to the vehicle to go home. I don’t know if she slept through the entire trip home or if she simply acted like it, exhaustion keeping her calm and still.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t until the next day that I found myself pondering that scene. The similarities made me think of how my parents would often carry me from the car into the house after a drive home from somewhere. At times, I was really in a deep sleep and other times I just wanted to act like it. I would be partially awake as I heard the vehicle turn off, but I wanted to be effortlessly transported into the house. Once I reached a certain age, my parents would wake me up and I would need to enter the house on my own two feet.

What was so nice about being carried? Perhaps it was the sense of being cradled tenderly or the chance to be lovingly provided for even as reaching ages of independence. I’m sure sometimes it was just laziness, but it was probably most often the joy of resting in the strength of another. At six or seven, I wouldn’t have phrased it that way, of course. Yet if I look at the desires of the human heart, I am certain that was a central focus.

As an adult, we have to re-learn the art of resting in the strength of another. We often don’t want to be carried, physically or emotionally. The ease that comes with being carried in childhood often vanishes as we become adults. The sense of being carried starts to feel awkward and uncomfortable, like how it would feel if someone picked us up and carried us over their shoulder like happened when we were kids. We need to find anew the gift of resting in the Lord’s strength.

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Basic, but Beautiful

Basic, but Beautiful

I have a feeling that for the rest of my life when I return from a retreat, I will only be able to speak of graces and revelations that are profound in their magnitude but elementary in their complexity. This doesn’t bother me, but it was a bit surprising when I came to this conclusion a few years ago. While I’m not saying the Lord can’t reveal anything new to me, I think the revelations will primarily be a deepened understanding and solidifying of truths I already know, albeit superficially.

This understanding came about when I returned from a beautiful retreat. It was enlightening and life giving. Yet the main take-away was nothing new: God loves me. In fact, it seemed laughably basic. Didn’t I already know God loved me? Yes, of course. But after that retreat, I knew it in a deeper, more significant way. I experienced the love of God and it left behind a smattering of old truths seen with new eyes.

Sometimes, the students insist we all keep teaching them the same things. Sometimes, it is true that unnecessary repetition happens. But, it is also true that learning something as a child is quite different than learning about it as a high schooler or an adult. They believe that since they have heard the words before, they know it. Knowledge, however, is something that can be known with the head yet not known with the heart. It is often important to repeat well-known truths because they haven’t journeyed yet from words the mind understands to a reality the heart lives from.

High school students are far from the only ones to do this. The familiar sometimes seems uninteresting when actually we just haven’t plumbed the depths of it yet.

Jesus loves me.
God became man.
The Lord is faithful.
Trust in the Lord.
Jesus rose from the dead.

All of these truths have been heard by Christians innumerable times. Yet how many of these truths have fully penetrated our hearts? How deep of an understanding of the Lord’s love do we actually have? Do we really know and experience the faithfulness of the Lord or do we simply parrot the words? We can stay on the surface with these realities or we can bore down deep and imprint these words on our hearts. Like the circles within a tree, each experience with a particular truth can be packed in deeper and deeper, each additional layer increasing the beauty and profundity of the simple reality.

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Rome’s Concreteness

Rome’s Concreteness

The following night the Lord stood by him and said, ‘Take courage. For just as you have borne witness to my cause in Jerusalem, so you must also bear witness in Rome.’

Acts 23: 11

The readings for our pilgrimage to Rome were rather perfect. For a few days, they focused on Paul’s arrest and subsequent journey to Rome to stand trial. As we visited the Basilica of St. Paul’s Outside the Walls and walked old cobblestone roads, the Scripture readings came alive. Here was the place Paul had come in chains, insisted on preaching the Gospel, spoke to the Christian community, and later died for Christ. It felt more real, more alive when in the place where so many important things happened.

When he entered Rome, Paul was allowed to live by himself, with the soldier who was guarding him.

Three days later he called together the leaders of the Jews. When they had gathered he said to them, ‘My brothers, although I had done nothing against our people or our ancestral customs, I was handed over to the Romans as a prisoner from Jerusalem. After trying my case the Romans wanted to release me, because they found nothing against me deserving the death penalty. But when the Jews objected, I was obliged to appeal to Caesar, even though I had no accusation to make against my own nation. This is the reason, then, I have requested to see you and to speak with you, for it is on account of the hope of Israel that I wear these chains.’ 

He remained for two full years in his lodgings. He received all who came to him, and with complete assurance and without hindrance he proclaimed the Kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ.

Acts 28:16-20, 30-31

In excavated catacombs, in the ruins of the Roman Forum, and in the expanse of the Colosseum, the reality of what had transpired in this ancient city rang clear. We prayed before Paul’s chains, momentarily visited the area where he was believed to have been beheaded, and stood near where Peter was crucified. Traversing beneath the current basilica, we stood before the bones of St. Peter, our first pope, and experienced the feast of Pentecost in the square just above. Everywhere we turned we were encountering concrete reminders that the apostles had visited this place.

I love several particular verses in Romans, but I couldn’t help but be struck anew that this was a letter written to the Roman people. And as a girl from the plains of South Dakota, where anything from the early 1800s feels old, I couldn’t help but be a little jealous that little Roman girls and boys get to grow up reading a letter written to them by St. Paul. How loved that letter must be! How beautiful to read: To all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Then to read at the end of Romans as Paul lists numerous people to greet for him, real people who were working in the vineyard of the Lord and who knew Paul.

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Fifteen Years of Learning to Let Go

Fifteen Years of Learning to Let Go

Last week, fifteen years ago, my sister entered a Carmelite cloister.

At the beginning of the school day, I sat for a couple minutes, looking at my calendar announcing March 19th and remembering what had transpired other years on the Solemnity of St. Joseph. Fifteen years ago, we embraced, believing it might be the final time here on earth. Five years ago, we embraced as she moved north to establish a new monastery. And every year in between, I have recalled with tenderly fond pain the life we have been called to enter into as the family of religious.

I spoke about my sister’s vocation with my sophomores at great length this year. While I didn’t intend to spend so much time on it, they asked question after question and I found myself desiring to share this story with them. They were particularly struck by the great physical sacrifice that is found in the life of a cloistered nun. While I have been able to embrace my sister since her entrance, each time is a gift and never expected or something I can claim as my due. I explained that it is because my sister loves us that it is a sacrifice for her to not embrace us or be present for some of the big moments of life.

“But you didn’t choose that life. Why do you have to make that sacrifice when God didn’t call you to be a cloistered sister?”

Perhaps without knowing it, they stumbled upon the question that must be answered for each family member of a religious brother or sister. Why must I make this sacrifice when I’m not the one with the call?

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“All collective reform must first be individual reform”

“All collective reform must first be individual reform”

In a month-by-month planner from over a year ago, I found the following quote scrawled in the open boxes at the bottom of a page.

The future will be what we make it; let us reflect on this thought so that it may motivate us to act.  Especially, let us realize that all collective reform must first be individual reform.  Let us work at transforming ourselves and our lives.  Let us influence those around us, not by useless preaching, but by the irresistible power of our spirituality and the example of our lives.

Elisabeth Leseur: Selected Writings, pg. 135

Re-finding this quote was a great gift in that moment. I was looking through stacks of papers, discarding what I didn’t need so that I wouldn’t move unnecessary papers to a new home. The old planner brought back some nostalgia as I saw different meetings I had, random notes I had made, and, most importantly, saint quotes I had added to the large monthly planner to motivate me onward.

Servant of God Elisabeth Leseur spoke of personal reform and how only by growing individually can we hope to influence the world. She knew what she was talking about. Through her gentle, persistent witness (and an inspiring journal), her husband was transformed from an atheist to being ordained a priest after her death. It wasn’t because of her intellectual arguments, but rather her living testimony that brought a change into her husband’s heart.

What I have been led to consider frequently is this question: how would it impact my students if I embraced my faith with the radical zeal of a saint? (Replace “students” with “children” or “husband/wife” or “friends” or “siblings” or “co-workers” or whatever makes sense in your life.) Too often I think I can fake it or that my lack of discipline or fervor will go unnoticed by others. Perhaps it sometimes does. Maybe I do fake it and others are unaware. But the most important changes and transformations might be untraceable to me yet rely on my own personal holiness. Continue reading ““All collective reform must first be individual reform”” →

Childlike Trust

Childlike Trust

Kids can get away with so much.

Whether it is because they are adorable or because we can chalk it up to their innocence, they are able to do things that are unthinkable to adults.  The small child that escapes the proper place in the church pew and scampers toward the front of the church is often met with smiles, even if the bishop is offering Mass.  A few weeks ago, a child at an audience with Pope Francis ran to the front and when the Swiss Guards tried to block him, the pope welcomed him forward.

They also seem to have the freedom to just ask for things.  My nephew once saw some money sitting on my parents’ counter and, after clarifying that it was indeed money, asked if he could have $40.  Children are quick to ask for food (even if it is the food you are eating), a drink from your water bottle, and anything else that might be slightly weird for an adult to request.

Yet there is such freedom in their general disposition.  A freedom that is nearly enviable when one considers how they present their needs and desires to those capable of actualizing them.  It made me consider how freeing it would be to approach God the Father in that way.  What would it be like to truly be His child, with all of the fidelity and trust found in the hearts of the little ones? Continue reading “Childlike Trust” →