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Discalced

This past June 6th, I glanced out the sliding doors that lead to my backyard and saw a most exciting sight.

There was a black and yellow fluttering near the chain link fence that separates my property from the overgrown strip of land owned by the state.

Knowing that camera was nestled in his bag in another room, I thought the prospects of receiving an image unlikely – but I had to try. I ran to get him and, together, we walked cautiously to the wild bush spilling over from the other side of the fence.

She was still there, fluttering as she drank deeply of the nectar nature had provided. A beautiful, perfect tiger swallowtail butterfly. She spread her wings, allowing us to receive her image.

June 6th would have been my parents’ 63rd wedding anniversary. (For those of you who may not have read my old blog or might want a refresher on how the tiger swallowtail came to visit when my father died, you may link to that article here.)

Two days later, I was dashing out the door to an appointment when again, I saw a fluttering in my garden. I could not not look. Cell phone in hand, I beheld another stunning beauty:

Three days later, June 11, numerous tiger swallowtails soared over and through my yard. Awestruck, I simply gazed at them. Two danced in the air as in courtship. I saw more of these lovely butterflies in my yard that week than I have in the 17 years I have lived in my house.

June 11th was the second anniversary of my father’s passing into glory.

I am reminded of a favorite excerpt from a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

“Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”

I do not believe that my father has become a butterfly and now visits me as one. But I do believe that earth is “crammed with heaven” – and that this means far more than any of us can imagine.

“Mom, that lady wasn’t wearing any shoes!” I was once told a child said upon noticing my discalced state in church one Sunday.

It is true. My shoes almost always come off in church. I am standing on holy ground.

Perhaps I would not wear them at all if not for laws and snow and professional norms (which I hold loosely when it comes to being shod) and stinging nettles.

But I must relate one more thing. Last Thursday, I arrived in Minnesota to visit my mother. It was quite late by the time I got to her and I was worn out. But the next morning was sunny and warm. Her assisted living apartment is on the third floor, with treetops visible outside her window.

She was sitting with her back to the window. “Mom – I think I see a butterfly!” At first I wasn’t certain, nor was I sure with all the fluttering what type it was. But it slowed down, fluttering near the window.

It was a tiger swallowtail.

Because of age and arthritis, it is not a quick and easy thing for my mother to turn around. Initially, I thought the butterfly had left – but no, it was still fluttering around the window. Slowly, my mother turned around and saw it too.

In a moment or two, it flew away and I have not seen another since.

What does all of this mean? I do not know.

But I am keeping my shoes off.

+++

A question for my readers

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Greetings, dear readers,

May I ask your help? I have recently revived my blog O Holy Earth, and have discovered that no one is following it! Yup, 13 consecutive posts without a single page view!

O Holy Earth was initiated as more of photographic blog – which I had intended to be less specifically spiritual in focus so that those less inclined to religious discussion could still appreciate the earth’s beauty without feeling proselytized.

However, I found that the spiritual came oozing out of my pores when I commented on the images, despite my intent. And, admittedly, I have done little to promote the blog outside of my usual blogging circles.

So, I would like to hear from you, kind reader. If I have photographic reflections, would you have me post them here, even if they are more on the light side? Or would you prefer I simply stick to writing, with only the occasional image that illustrates? (O Holy Earth can always remain my private photographic journal.)

I am not asking for the sake of my ego (I know that monster must be stamped out) – but rather so that I use my time well and share what God has given me most appropriately. Too many blogs may be, well…too many blogs. Also, I know there are many online resources for beautiful photo images and mine are quite simple by comparison.

So I would truly appreciate your feedback, with a comment here or an e-mail at marykbenton(at)outlook(dot)com. Thank you so much.

(Note that I initially entered the wrong e-mail – outlook is the correct address.)

Why did I turn down this road?

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The most immediate answer, of course, is that I saw a hospital sign.

But I had no need of a hospital.

And before that, there was the sign for “Blackhorse”. I must have driven too far, I thought…

So I turned. I did not know where I was heading but that didn’t really matter so much. It just seemed time for a turn since I clearly wasn’t in the right place.

Perhaps I should tell you how all of this got started. It sounds like kind of a strange story, I know, but there is an explanation.

I had the day off from work today. For some unknown reason, no patients wanted to see me today so it became an opportunity to do other things.

While my car was being serviced at the dealership this morning, I received an e-mail from an aspiring psychologist at my alma mater indicating that I had been accepted as a subject in a research study for which I had volunteered. When could I come?

I could not easily make any of the many time selections she offered so, on a whim, I suggested today as a possibility. If, by chance, she had time free. She gladly agreed to meet me at 5:30 PM. I left Cleveland early to avoid traffic, was held up by two major accidents and arrived just in time.

Having completed a number of tedious tasks in exchange for delightful conversation and a small stipend, I decided that it would be fun to drive by the house where I had lived when myself a graduate student. These twenty-five years later, I did not even know if the house was still standing.

The University and its surrounding terrain have changed considerably in the decades since I last visited but, I thought, having driven the route so many times, I would surely find my way to my old home. Actually, I knew that there was a good possibility that I might not – but I felt open for a bit of adventure.

It is strange how an openness to adventure can strike at the least opportune times. It was nearly 8:30 in the evening and I had not yet eaten my dinner. There were many other tasks awaiting me.

I must also clarify that I am not at all prone to impulsive decisions and I am typically quite conscious of my carbon footprint, lest I burn fuel for no particular reason.

Another dimension to the story at hand is my habit of praying while I drive, aided by audio recordings, most often the Rosary.

When I began my excursion to the University, I had already said the Mysteries of the Rosary designated for Mondays, the Joyful. However, when I passed the second accident, with ambulance and firetruck blocking the road, it occurred to me that praying for those in the accident was far more important than any delay it caused me.

So I prayed the next set of Mysteries, the Sorrowful, while I completed the first leg of my journey.

After my volunteering was complete and I had set out on my little adventure, I thought, “Why not?” and began yet another set of Mysteries, the Glorious.

When I saw the sign for Blackhorse, Ohio, and realized I had likely gone too far, I briefly pondered what to do. However, the hospital sign was my cue. There was a hospital at the end of the road where I had lived. If I follow the signs to the hospital, perhaps that would bring me round to the familiar area.

(Now I might mention that I do have a GPS with my cell phone but the battery was quickly bleeding away its juice. I could use the car charger if really necessary, I thought, but let me just follow that sign…)

So I turned – and saw nothing familiar. Nothing at all. But this did not worry or upset me.

Daylight lingers long as spring gives birth to summer. All afternoon, promising clouds had huddled and whispered of showers but left nothing behind. There was no reason for me not to linger a moment and see…

Interesting little houses spotted each side of the street, interrupted by casualties of an endless battle waged against rural decay.

I drank all of this in as I drove and drove. No signs of the hospital. No more signs for the hospital. Nothing familiar, but pleasantly interesting in its brand newness to me.

Why did I turn here?

On the other hand, I felt no inclination to turn back. After all, every road leads somewhere and it seemed that I was meant to follow.

“Oh!” I gasped.

There it was. This was why I had turned here. It was right before me.

I was coming upon a bridge and there was no shoulder on the road where I could pull over. I glanced in the rear view mirror. No cars. I looked ahead. No cars. In fact, it appeared as though perhaps there never had been cars – nor would there ever be any.

I popped the trunk open. Putting on my emergency flashers and pausing the Glorious Mysteries, I emerged from the car to retrieve camera who, as always, eagerly awaited any adventure he was offered.

Standing there, together, alone on the bridge in the middle of places unknown, we received a glorious mystery, left there just for us.

No matter how I adjust or crop this image, it does not portray the glory of what we received. So brilliant, so unexpected, shining forth out of darkness in this unknown place to announce the Light.

It is Light. It is Glorious. It is Mystery.

This is why I turned. I was led and had to follow.

A priceless thing…

The Wedding Feast

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You and I have been invited to a wedding feast – the most glorious feast imaginable.

It is the wedding feast of the Lamb.

Now someone who is not familiar with God’s loving plan for His people might be very much puzzled by this statement. “There’s a lamb that’s getting married?” “Or you are eating lamb at the feast?”

In other words, they would naturally be confused, interpreting the language of Holy Scripture concretely, failing to understand that I am referring to the most profound love story conceivable.

I do not say this in judgment of the bewildered, however, because I also fail to understand this mystery to a large degree. But, given that I have at least glimmering of what the invitation refers to, allow me to share what little I know.

As our God made Himself known to our earliest ancestors, He made clear His desire for a covenant with them, a bond often described as a “marriage” bond. For example, His prophet, Hosea, recorded these beautiful words:

I will betroth you to me forever: I will betroth you to me with justice and with judgment, with loyalty and with compassion; I will betroth you to me with fidelity, and you shall know the LORD. (Hosea 2: 21-22)

Similarly, His prophet, Isaiah, wrote:

For your husband is your Maker; the LORD of hosts is his name, Your redeemer, the Holy One of Israel, called God of all the earth. (Isaiah 54: 5)

Why did the Creator of all things liken His relationship with His people to a marriage? I cannot know the answer to this, of course, but I suspect that, in part, because it was a covenant or promise that people already understood. He wasn’t introducing a foreign concept to them.

It also is apparent that He proposing a love relationship, rather than say, a covenant resembling a trade relationship or a treaty between nations. It was unique and personal, in that “the LORD, your God, has chosen you from all the peoples on the face of the earth to be a people specially his own” (Deuteronomy 7: 6).

But this is only the beginning of the story, the beginning of our understanding of the wedding feast to come.

As our ancestors, the people chosen by God to be His own, repeatedly broke their marriage bond with the Lord, something more needed to be done. Prophet after prophet, like a long line of failed marital counselors, did not seem able to reform this “adulterous” one the Lord had chosen.

So the Lord God sent His Son.

No longer were covenant matters simply between an unseen God who unveiled Himself only to a special spokesperson of the people.

Now, God had made Himself Incarnate, Himself a human person who walked and talked among His people, making known the Kingdom, the realities of the covenant. How could the people, now able to see for themselves how great was His love for them, not just as a people, but as individuals, refuse Him?

He freed them from the demons that possessed them. He cured them of their painful and terrifying diseases. When their children died, he raised them back to life before their eyes. He forgave their sins – without even asking what they were.

In the end, Jesus gave His life to bring us back from certain and eternal death.

He became the new Lamb, the One whose blood protects us from death, much like the blood of the lamb slaughtered at the first Passover protected the chosen people from the angel of death.

God Almighty sent the Bridegroom Himself to draw His bride into the marriage bond He had desired for so long. (See Mark 2:19, for Jesus’ reference to Himself as the Bridegroom.)

But who then is the bride?

I am.

And so are you.

His bride is the Church. But our Bridegroom cannot marry a building or an institution. He can only give His heart to people who welcome Him and give their hearts back.

But – but how can this be? How can our Bridegroom marry all of us? How many spouses can He have?

Only one.

And that is why our dear Bridegroom prayed that we might be One. As He is in the Father and the Father is in Him.

“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”

He said to him, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and prophets depend on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-40)

And so, loving Him with all of our hearts and souls and minds, we love one another into oneness, becoming bride for our holy and beloved Bridegroom.

Let the wedding feast begin…

+++

Having thus told, in brief, the story of the Bridegroom who came and died for His bride, we may be left with questions.

It is just a story, right? That is, a tale using marriage as a metaphor to help us better understand the covenant between God and His people. It’s not to be taken literally.

Yes and no.

In the one sense, it is very much a metaphor. There will be no “marriage” as we human beings think of it – no ceremony with legal documents, no sexual acts, no propagation of children and so on – between this holy Bridegroom and His bride.

But that does not mean there will be no marriage.

We, with our vision limited by sin and human weakness, often fail to understand the most central meaning of marriage which is union.

All the things that we as humans do as part of our marriages are to celebrate and try to achieve to the extent possible this very experience of union.

However, human marriage is but a foreshadowing of the “true” marriage to come. For as wondrous as human love, companionship, sexuality and childbearing are, even the best marriage inevitably falls short of the full and eternal union for which we were created. Its greatest gift is what it foreshadows.

But if it is metaphor, what then did St. Macarius mean when he indicated that matrimony of the soul with God “is not merely a simile. It is a real sacrament which takes place between the devout soul and God, making them one spirit”? (quoting Fr. Matta, see discussion at Here to pray.)

I cannot, of course, presume to know what another means. But I will share my understanding of these words.

To say that this “matrimony” is not merely a simile (or metaphor) suggests that it is something more than that. And I don’t believe that the “something more” is a literal interpretation. Rather, I believe he is describing a mystical truth, a sacramental truth.

If we look to the etymology of the word “sacrament”, we find its roots lie in terms meaning consecration or mystery. Hence, there is a union, a sacred making “one spirit” of God and the soul, that is mystery to our senses but utterly real by faith.

Perhaps our best analogy is in Eucharist. Do I believe that bread and wine consecrated are the Body and Blood of Christ? Yes, I do.

I do not believe that I am given a piece of the flesh of the earthly Jesus, resulting in cannibalism when I consume it, as a concrete, literal interpretation would have it. But I do believe that I receive His Body and Blood.

Our most sacred, mystical truths cannot be understood in the concrete language of the world and seem full of contradiction to those who do not yet have understanding. Even we who believe may easily be confused by it.

These words of St. Paul are good to remember:

We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit that is from God, so that we may understand the things freely given us by God. And we speak about them not with words taught by human wisdom, but with words taught by the Spirit, describing spiritual realities in spiritual terms.

Now the natural person does not accept what pertains to the Spirit of God, for to him it is foolishness, and he cannot understand it, because it is judged spiritually. The spiritual person, however, can judge everything but is not subject to judgment by anyone. (1 Corinthians 2:12-15)

And, if I might briefly cross-blog for just a moment, it is good to remember that the Fathers of the Church, in explaining union with God to us, teach that its fullness is experienced only at the resurrection of the dead. (See Revelation 19:7, for a Biblical reference to the wedding feast at the end of time.)

When God allows a person in this life to experience becoming “one spirit” with Him, the “matrimony” or union is but a foretaste of what is to come –

“What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart, what God has prepared for those who love him.”

And so we repent and struggle and love, that we might be one, ready to meet our Bridegroom at the end of time.

And we sing and pray and believe that, through the Spirit of God, we might understand and receive a foretaste of this glorious union too great for our senses now to bear.

Loose ends and small blessings

Perfection

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You may not have ever noticed this about me before me but I have a defect. OK, probably more than one. But there is one you can readily see in this photo taken of me last summer. I may look like my glasses are on a little crooked but that is not the case.

It is my eyes that are crooked! If you look at the top of the glasses, you can see rather plainly that there is a bigger gap between the frame over my left eye than there is over my right eye. My eyes were not set evenly on my face.

Now this is not a big deal really. After all, I can see well with my glasses and most people either don’t notice or are too polite to say anything. But the interesting question is: why didn’t God get it right?

Compared to creating and keeping the stars and planets in alignment, getting my eyes evenly placed on my face should be a pretty simple job. I wonder why He messed this up, even if only a little.

If this was all there was, perhaps we could let it go. But there seem to be some pretty major mistakes being made. I was looking on YouTube for videos on how to score and cut glass since, as some of you know, working with glass is one of my hobbies. I came across a video that fascinated me.

As with many instructional videos, the instructor’s face are not shown. Only his hands can be viewed as he carries out his task, scoring wavy lines and achieving flawless gentle breaks of the pane along his score. Exquisite.

But there is something else intriguing. There is something different about this man’s hands. Though our politically correct world likely has a better term for it, he clearly has a bilateral birth defect in the way his hands and arms are constructed. God really missed the mark on this one.

And then there is this other YouTube video I came across by chance months ago. (I really don’t spend that much time on YouTube but, when something strikes me as this did, I file it away.) This video is about a beautiful little girl and her parents who have been faced with and are living out a great dilemma. This little girl was born a boy.

This child was born with all the male parts but, from the time she was very little, she wanted to wear dresses, automatically reached for “girl” toys, wanted to wear her hair long and wanted to be addressed as a girl. To be dressed or addressed as a boy made her very upset. Her parents, whose other children did not have this issue, finally, in consultation with doctors, decided to allow their child to live as “she”, the self she experienced herself to be.

Wow. A transgender child? Obviously way too young to have chosen this, it seems like a gendered soul went into the wrong body type – or something. What was God thinking on this one?

How is that God who is perfection itself makes so many mistakes? Or are they not mistakes? Are all these anomalies the result of sin? God made human beings perfect, we sinned and, when evil entered the world, all of these strange things started happening?

Before we jump to any conclusions, let’s watch a little. You’ve already seen my flawed face above. So let’s watch our glass cutter:

This fellow, whom I have never met, is a master with stained glass and offers many online tutorials. What he is doing is nowhere near as easy as he makes it look. It is interesting to note that, early on in the video, he refers to himself as a “freak” – and his viewers have some things to say about that. I made a comment too when I first watched it.

This man has beautiful hands. They are very different from standard hands. But when I watch him work, I simply cannot say that this is a defect or a deformity. Perhaps God didn’t make a mistake…

Now let’s watch our child. (If you find the notion of transgender disturbing or repulsive, try to set that aside for a moment and watch, realizing that this is just a child who came into the world like any other child.)

Such a beautiful kid. No, I cannot bring myself to say that God messed up on this one either. I don’t know why there are these differences, but I cannot call Jazz a “mistake”.

Although it is possible that it is because of sin that illness and “defects” exist, other ideas have been given to me to consider.

We were not there when God created the heavens and the earth. None of us are His counselor (to paraphrase the book of Job).

We have many assumptions about how things are supposed to be in order to be right or “perfect” – but do we know what God’s idea of right and perfect is?

There is a saying among some religious people, when disparaging homosexuality, that “God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve”. This is supposed to be a witty confirmation that God does not approve of same-sex attraction.

But my rejoinder question always is, “But who then created Steve?” (Let no one say the devil, for he cannot create anything.)

It is an interesting pattern that, throughout history and across cultures, approximately 10% of the population experiences same-sex attraction. I have counseled many people over the years from this 10%, for issues related or unrelated to their orientation. Many have said, “Why would I choose this?”, a lifestyle that they must keep secret lest they be ridiculed or persecuted.

I do not know what God’s idea of right and perfect is. But I feel quite sure that when we become too convinced that we do, we humans commit some of the worst and most hateful sins known to humanity. All in God’s name.

We make other people feel like they are nothing. Or worse – that they are freaks of nature, unfit for human company, unlovable, unwelcome in the house of God.

But there is something else. My intent here is not to discuss gender identity or sexual orientation issues, the Church’s position on these or any such controversy.

Rather, I feel called to write about God’s perfection.

If my eyes were set perfectly on my face and every other little (or big) difference and deviation from the seeming ideal were corrected, what would we have?

Perfectly symmetrical, exactly formed Barbie and Ken dolls, all just alike.

And that would be perfect?

Herein lies the paradox, the beautiful paradox – perfection in life seems to be based on imperfection.

If you have ever loved anyone closely enough to have explored them physically, even just their hands or their face, you have likely noticed how delightful are those special little differences that make their index finger unlike any other, or their nose or earlobe especially memorable.

And life, when viewed on a larger scale, seems to be based on a similar notion. I do not know if it is literally true that every single snowflake is different, but certainly they are seldom if ever alike. There is sameness and difference in all of the creatures of a species – and likewise with the plant life. Each daisy is similar to every other daisy – but they are never identical.

And why is this? I do not know God’s mind – most certainly I could not. But I do see that life is dynamic – ever-growing, ever-changing. Only a static “life” (which would be no life) could produce the sort of assembly line “perfection” that we humans imagine to be perfection.

God’s perfection is apparently something different. I don’t know what is part of His perfection and what is the influence of evil corrupting it. I’m too blinded myself by sin to know the difference with any certainty.

As I indicated recently, I don’t believe that aggressive cancer is a “variation” designed by God. I believe it is evil. But I cannot even know this with certainty because I am not God’s counselor.

I don’t know about the artist’s hands or the transgender child or the many other differences that we encounter on a daily basis. Perhaps some or even all do stem from our ancestral sin and God in His goodness has allowed good to come from them.

I do not know. But I do know that God has created life to be wildly and beautifully growing and changing – not becoming increasingly uniform but rather increasingly variable and interdependent in a communion of love.

Though it may not immediately occur to us that this is so, God in His own Being is both sameness and difference. This is how God can be Trinity, Three (different) yet One (same).

Hence, it only makes sense that He should create life in this same fashion, in His own likeness, with both sameness and difference. There can be no Love in sameness, only when there is the difference of Other.

Our adversary tries to twist our thinking, however, to convince us that “perfection” is not in Other-relation but in sameness, i.e. “being like me”. Violation of this principle, masquerading as divine perfection, provides the basis for an insidious hate that seems justifiable to many a believer.

But for we who listen to the Spirit, difference is the air that we breathe, it is what keeps our souls alive because it makes love possible.

It is God’s greatest gift to us. It is our invitation into the communion of His love.

We do not need to know from whence the difference originates because the orders from our divine Commander in battle are the same in any event. If one is different by God’s design, our orders are to love. If one is different because of sin, personal or ancestral, our orders are even more so to love. We are commanded to love our enemies and to love the sinner.

And in God’s command lies our life, our hope, our salvation.

Without it, we would be lost in the “perfection” of our making, which is no perfection at all. It is death, not life. Hate, not love.

In Him, the “imperfections” of His creation are like the countless parts of a living orchestra of infinite dimensions, ever changing in color and shape, movement and sound, that He conducts and choreographs in an eternal dance called “Love”.

Come, let us join the dance, one and all. Let us dance and sing and love each other as we are in His great symphony of merciful love that knows no end.

+ Courageous Warrior

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This week, one of God’s most courageous warriors passed from this life into the Kingdom of God.

And I had the privilege of knowing her.

If you were to have met her, you would not have noticed anything extraordinary about her appearance. The only hint to her inner holiness was the simple claim printed on the key strap around her neck: “Jesus loves me”.

To some, this might have given the impression of oddity rather than sanctity, both in the wearing so many keys and in the bold simplicity of the proclamation.

As I came to know her better, I began to understand that for her these words were far more than a dime store slogan. This strap and these words were more like a “coat of arms” that she carried bravely into battle on a daily basis.

My description of her as a warrior might create a false image of her as one of those aggressive believers who accosts strangers to ask them if they have been saved. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, as she told it to me, people were always coming up to her.

She could not understand it, she would tell me. She could be in a public place minding her own business and people would just approach her needing healing. She might take a seat by herself on the bus and, despite there being many other seats available, the next thing she knew, someone was practically sitting on her lap, trying to get near her or touch her.

Many of these strangers were very grateful for her touch or kind words. But there were others who seemed to be possessed of a fury with her, despite her never having seen them before. Why did she draw such people?

It all seemed to have something to do with love and its healing power. Yet it was a funny thing about this warrior and her outlook on love. “Sometimes”, she said, “I don’t even want to love them but I can’t help it.” Sometimes she did not want to love, she indicated, because love was just so painful.

Why call her a warrior, this kind and ordinary-seeming woman who involuntarily loved and drew the afflicted to her touch?

It was from this “ordinary” woman that I first came to really understand that we are indeed at war. I am not talking about tensions in the Middle East or the violence of city streets. I am referring to the war of good versus evil, of the followers of the Lord Jesus versus those enslaved by the prince of darkness. (See my previous article Spiritual warfare.)

How she taught me is almost impossible to say. I am sure she did not set out to do so. I feel confident of this because, to her, the reality of spiritual warfare was so obvious that it did not need to be taught. It would not have occurred to her to tell me this anymore than it would have occurred to her to tell me that I needed to breathe.

What was so interesting about the lessons I learned from her was that I had to overcome obstacles in myself in order to grasp them. I had not set out to do this. Initially, my goal had been to understand her and help her find healing from the considerable pain she carried within.

In the course of this journey, however, every now and then she let slip something that sounded, well, kind of crazy… And I would have to stop and puzzle over it. Was it possible that I was being taken in by some elaborate delusion?

I ran into this wall a number of times as I got to know her – and always landed in the same place: no, she wasn’t crazy. She was right. She might not have been right about the details of a particular situation (she wasn’t terrible savvy with regard to worldly matters) but she was right about the spiritual realm.

She once said to me, “I don’t claim to know everything, but what I know, I know.”

I was quite struck by this remark. I’m not sure why – but perhaps because the things she knew were things that I wished I knew instead of merely believing.

“I’ve always known there was a God, even as a young child.”

Could I say that? Can I even say as an adult that I know there is a God rather than merely saying I believe it?

I realized at the time, I could not. But now I can. I can say it now because I prayed that it might be so – I asked God to help me to truly know Him and not simply believe. And I’ve increasingly learned how completely He answers my prayers. Why have I been so afraid to ask?

But, returning to our warrior. I do not think I have ever encountered anyone who so much lived in the world but was not “of the world”. I do not mean by this that she did not deal with practical matters or that she was detached from others – certainly the latter was not at all the case.

She simply didn’t “get” the ways of the world. However, the ways of God she understood as well or better than many a preacher or priest.

Sometimes it seemed to be my role to try to help her better make sense of this world and the people in it.

I explained to her once that some people who have their doubts about God do so because they cannot accept the evil in our world. They assert that because God created all things, God must have created evil too and is either powerless or unwilling to stop it.

“Really?” she exclaimed incredulously, wrinkling up her nose. “They think that?” She could not imagine how anyone could believe anything so ridiculous.

It was also sometimes hard for her understand that not everyone had the same spiritual gifts that she had. For example, she complained that when other Christians visited the sick in the hospital, “The people are still sick – and some of them are even dying.”

When I explained to her that it was not unusual for people in the hospital to sometimes fail to get well, she said that when she visited the sick and prayed with them, they always got well. As a result of this, people often wanted her to pray for them. She didn’t mind doing so – but she struggled to understand why they didn’t pray themselves.

But all of this does not really explain why this dear woman was a great warrior.

Perhaps the best way I can explain it is to say that she was born on the front lines. When I explained that to her, I admitted that I did not know why God allowed her be born in such a terrible place, a place where the warfare was so intense and so very dangerous.

But, I told her, I could see that He had given her some exceptional weapons (gifts) that not many other people have. With these, she had been able to not only survive, but become a vehicle of His grace, healing and love in the places where evil seems to thrive.

Her life had more trauma in it than most people could ever imagine. She struggled but did not talk much about it. Yet, perhaps her biggest struggle was that she feared for the fate of the souls of those who had betrayed her, beaten her and even tried to kill her.

She worried about whether she had done enough to try to bring them to salvation. It was hard for her to let it go – to comprehend that anyone, if shown it, could refuse the love of God that was so alive in her heart.

When I learned this past Sunday evening that this great warrior had been beset by an aggressive cancer, I was at the hospital Monday morning. She was not able to speak but she knew that I was there.

After greeting her, my next words were, “I heard that something evil has gotten inside your body and taken over.”

Neither of us were going to pretend that this horrible cancer had come from God. God does not do that sort of thing to His beloved.

Since she wasn’t able to say anything, I settled in and spoke some more. I asked her if she wanted to be healed, acknowledging that sometimes people are tired of fighting the fight. I indicated that we both knew perfectly well that God could heal her of this disease, regardless of how severe or advanced it was.

However, I continued, what we were to pray for was what was for her sanctification and the sanctification of those she loved. And thus, the glory of God.

While admitting that my vote was for her staying here – because I wanted her here – I readily admitted that my vote didn’t count for anything because I am not in charge. “God is in charge,” I stated the obvious, “and we need to trust in His wisdom”.

I sat with her for a while, reading from the first Letter of St. John and the Gospels. She was clearly in pain but her face relaxed some as she listened to the Word. Her hand rested on her heart and her breathing settled into a more restful rhythm.

Less than 48 hours later, she was with God.

Courageous warrior, faithful servant of Love, be at peace.

And pray for us.

Amen. Alleluia.

The progress of my soul

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(Having recently read Fr. Stephen’s post at Glory to God for All Things (click here to read), I felt moved to write a bit on “progress”. Certainly my aim is not to contradict any of Fr. Stephen’s excellent points – but rather to take the discussion in a slightly different direction.)

Is my soul making progress on its way toward God?

O yes it is – it is!

How can I be so sure? Well, let me tell you what Jesus said:

Which one of you would hand his son a stone when he asks for a loaf of bread, or a snake when he asks for a fish? If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him. (Matthew 7: 9 – 11)

Jesus has taught me that His Father is my Father and that I can ask Him for anything. Jesus even invited me to be on intimate terms with our Father, so intimate that I can call Him, “Abba”.

And so, every day, I call upon my Abba. I thank Him, I praise Him and I ask Him for help. I ask Him for many things, for myself and others. I ask for the Holy Spirit to bring His gifts, to work in me and through me.

I cannot imagine that my Abba does not give these good things to me. (If He did not, that would make the words of Jesus untrue and that cannot be.) Because He is my Abba – and I am but a child – I trust that He knows what I need and exactly how to take care of me.

I do not know, but He knows.

Of course, my Abba wants me to find my way to Him. This is why He made me. He never wanted me to get lost like this – but He hasn’t given up on me. If He had, He wouldn’t have sent Jesus to find me. And He wouldn’t have sent the Spirit to teach me.

So I trust that my soul is making progress. The funny part though is that, with me being but a child, I don’t always know when I’m going forward or when I’m going backward. In fact, I’m the worst judge of this there can be.

Sometimes my Father has pointed this out to me, a bit sharply even, but always with love.

I might think proudly that I have made great progress because I am praying often and with great joy. (I might even secretly think that I am holier than the others who don’t go to church or pray.)

But Abba has a good cure for this pride of mine. He takes away all the joy! I didn’t realize at first that He was doing this – it didn’t seem like the sort of thing my Father would do. But then, slowly, I understood.

It was His way of showing me how I did without Him. Ugh. That should have been enough to teach me not to take credit for His gifts!

Unfortunately, however, me being but a child, I learn slowly and make the same mistakes over and over. Abba is so kind and loving though that He doesn’t hold back His gifts for long.

When I repeat my mistakes and am struggling in the joyless place, sometimes I think I have gone backward. I think I am getting farther from God than ever.

But I am no judge. From what people tell me, these times may be when I am learning and growing the most. If God were teaching me to swim, I’d be learning more when my feet were kicking and my arms were swinging than when He was just holding me up, now wouldn’t I?

Not being able to make sense of all of this backward and forward stuff, how can I know I’m making any progress toward God at all? Could I be such a disobedient child that I will never find my way to Abba?

Such a thought sure is scary. I know I can be pretty disobedient at times – even though sometimes I don’t realize it until later, when He shows me what I did.

But I’ve learned that I don’t really have to be scared. Jesus told me that I just need to keep asking and our Father, who loves me even more than my earthly parents, will give me what I need.

I know that I am making progress – I’m not just spinning my wheels. But I know this, not because I’m good or because I’m getting better in some way, but because I trust Him. I trust that He’s doing in me what He promised to do. He’s making me a new creation. Without Him, I’d never be anything.

He is my Abba and I love Him. But even this is true only because He loved me first and is now showing me what love means. He sent Jesus to find me and now He lives in my heart. And His Spirit is always here with me. I’m never alone.

With all of these gifts, even a lost child like me cannot stay lost forever. He just keeps drawing me closer and closer – as long as I ask.

And I pray that I never stop asking. But even if in my foolishness I do stop asking, He will come knocking at my door. That’s how much He loves me.

I just can’t help but trust Him. He is my Abba…

A good paint job

Divine Mercy

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I have been a bit neglectful of this blog because of giving much of my time and attention to the book reflection at Here to Pray. However, in the Catholic tradition, today is Divine Mercy Sunday, a special day for understanding, receiving and becoming the Mercy of God on this Second Sunday of our Easter celebration. (I am aware that my Orthodox readers are still in Great Lent but God’s Mercy is, of course, every day.)

I am not going to write of the Feast or the saint who experienced the revelations related to it – for I have not studied them in depth. But I do know of His mercy – and need to know it more and more until I am transformed by it. I long for it, I desire it more than anything.

I asked God this morning if I could have a little something today – some words, an image – to express this wondrous Mercy of His. He gave me the simple crayon drawing below, which I share with you. It is, of course, completely inadequate as any effort to portray Him will be. I made no attempt at His features, only to draw His love – as though that were possible…

Wash in His Mercy, bathe in His love. Rest in Him who alone makes all things right, no matter how wounded or broken they be. Allow Him to give you everything you need and be forgiven of all. Allow Him to take your heart into His and transform it, that the light of this moment may shine on and on…