How Does Your (Spiritual) Garden Grow?

Jesus, Redeemer and Judge

The same Jesus Who was sent by the Father to redeem us is also the one Who will return, finally, to judge us.

What does it mean that our Redeemer is also our Judge?

The role of Jesus as Redeemer is summarized in the words of the Eucharistic Prayer: “…we were once lost and could not approach You, but You have loved us with the greatest love….”

His role as Judge is described in Matthew 25:31-46. In the end, Jesus will come in His glory to judge all people and separate them on the basis of what they have already done.

At the heart of these two moments – the moment of redemption and the moment of judgment – lies a single truth: Our response to the gift of faith, which we received at Baptism and in which we were later confirmed, tells Jesus what He needs to know.

His mercy and compassion are infinite; His love is infinite. He created us, not because we asked Him to or because He needed our permission to do so, but because He loved. He redeemed us out of that same love, so that we could again approach Him. It is, ultimately, up to us whether we choose to approach Him.

The words of Matthew 25:31-46 show us what it means to approach Him: that we saw Him hungry, thirsty, a stranger, naked, ill, imprisoned – saw Him in all these ways in those around us and even in the very least of them, and ministered to Him. In understanding our call to be present for and to serve all of the children of God – in finally understanding that we are called for others and not called to look out for ourselves alone, we begin to see what it means to live in faith.

Jesus as Redeemer shows us the path we must take, teaches us that He, indeed, is the Way. He as Redeemer teaches us the Word that He is and that He speaks into our hearts. He pours infinite grace on us, if only we will put ourselves in the way of it. He freely gives it all to us.

Jesus as Judge asks only whether we listened to and acted on His open invitation. His is a judgment born of love and mercy, and it will seem harsh only to those who continue to reject Him. He has told us in simple terms the basis for His judgment: that we saw Him in all those ways, and ministered to Him in the least of those we meet, or that we passed Him by in all those same ways and ministered only to our own material needs.

Jesus as Judge longs for us to be His own redeemed people.

And it is in response to this longing, to His loving invitation, that we begin to see how it is to live a life which responds to faith instead of obligation. Jesus, after all, has already paid the debt for sin. He has fulfilled the obligation by having “loved us with the greatest love,” and He has opened the way to reconcile us all to God our Father. We still are human, and we still are prone to sin; it remains only for us to choose to listen for and respond to His daily invitation: “Follow Me.”

St. John Berchmans, a young Jesuit scholar who died in the early 17^th century, said, “I want to be ruled like a day-old babe.” He was known for paying careful attention to the small things that led him to God. And it is that very simplicity that we should seek in living a life of response to faith. We are, in this realm of faith, like an infant who lacks the ability to make anything happen for herself or himself. We rely entirely on God’s love, grace, and mercy to bring forth our response. How ironic that in the same day, perhaps the same hour, the same breath, we may pray for God’s grace to lead us to live as people of faith – and then reject His grace when it leads in a path we don’t like.

Dearest Savior, my Redeemer and my Judge, pour Your love and compassion into my empty life, and fill my waiting heart and soul with a love that I cannot hold – such that in response to Your great gifts, I may serve You in each and every one of Your children I meet this day. Lead me so that my way is a way of love and service that always has You as both its source and its goal.

Alarmed in Prayer

When I tell someone I’ll pray for them, that’s a serious commitment. My life is very much about integrity, and part of that is the commitment to do what I say I will do, when I say I will do it. If you have asked me to pray for you, or if I have promised to do so, your name is on a list of people and petitions that I walk through with my Father God morning and night and sometimes in between.

If you are someone who thinks you have no one to, pray for you, think again. Because all the people who have no one else to pray for are high on my list of those I pray for.

If you are struggling with or suffering from addiction, mental illness, or serious physical illness, you are in my prayers every day, along with those people I know by name who need such prayers.

I used to think I prayed a lot. What I’ve learned is that prayer is a lot like cleaning house. While you are performing one task, two or three others pop up to get your attention. When I am praying, one petition leads to the next and to the next….

It occurred to me one day that there is more in this world that needs to be prayed about than I can ever possibly know or include in my daily petitions. What’s a girl to do?

You see, sometimes I can get lost in the part of my prayer time that involves putting myself in God’s presence and offering Him thanks, praise, and contrition. Then I get interrupted by the beginning of Mass or the need to fall asleep, with the part of my prayers devoted to petitions sometimes cut short while I am talking to God about all the things in the world I’m thinking need His help.

At first I thought, “Wow. I need to find the time to pray more.

Then I realized that what I really needed was to give myself the time and opportunity to pray more.

While I was having, and exploring, that realization, the alarm on my phone went off to remind me of something I needed to do, and in that moment an idea was born.

Seriously, I can’t make this stuff up. The idea came to me, fully hatched, to use my phone alarm as a prompt to pray throughout the day. My response to these prompts is, admittedly, subject to variation. Sometimes when the chime goes off (yes, I actually use the “chimes” sound!) I look at the prompt and think, “Oh, yes, please, Lord…” and tap the stop button. Other times, I’m much better about stopping what I am doing and really taking some time to pray. And the prompts are designed to lead me through a day of mindful prayerfulness, drawing to a conclusion in the evening where I look, with God, at where I’ve been that day in His service.

I’m sharing my hourly prayer prompts below, along with a brief explanation of each, in the hope that others might find them useful. The process is simple; set the alarm time, select the sound, and use the prayer prompt as the label or text for the alarm.

My bold suggestion: Don’t be too strict about turning these alarms off when you are around people. Some of the best opportunities to witness have come when people asked me why my alarm kept going off!

My prayer prompts start at 8:00 a.m. and go through 9:00 p.m. Others’ schedules may vary — and others may have different prompts that are more meaningful to them. Honestly, the prompts here just occurred to me as I was setting up the alarms, based on some favorite brief prayers and scripture verses.

8:00 a.m.: Here I am, Lord, ready to do Your will. I added this prompt after I had been using the others for awhile. It’s aimed at getting my day off to a good start spiritually be reminding me of my purpose. Even if I’ve been to Mass already, it helps me get my head right before the busy-ness of the day.

9:00 a.m.: Blessed are You, Lord, God of all creation, for in You is all our salvation. This prompt is based on the ancient custom of beginning a time of prayer with praise for God for something He does in our daily lives.

10:00 a.m.: To your Father, you are worth many sparrows. One of my favorite gospel passages is Luke 12:6-7. “Are not five sparrows sold for two small coins? Yet not one of them has escaped the notice of God. Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. Do not be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows.” This prompt reminds me that God is looking out for me with infinite love.

11:00 a.m.: Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. From Paul’s letter to the Phillippians, this prompt reminds me to reach into myself for the joy that God’s presence brings; it also reminds me of the joy that comes with knowing that I am where He has put me, doing what He wants me to do.

12:00 noon: Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. This ancient petition to Mary reminds me to turn to our Blessed Mother often. In the years I spent away from the Church, I lost touch with Mary. She, however, never gave up on me.

1:00 p.m.: Everything for the greater honor and glory of God. This is a prompt for humility. During my years in the convent, this brief prayer was a constant refrain for our activities. It reminds me that as I go about my day, my activities and my successes are not for my own honor and glory but for God’s. This means it is ok if someone else recognizes something good I have done, because it centers me on my service to God through what I’m doing.

2:00 p.m.: Lord, it is good for us to be here. Peter spoke these words for himself, James, and John after they witnessed Jesus’ Transfiguration on the mountain. As a prayer prompt, they remind me to be where God has put me, open to doing His work. Often, when this prompt comes up, I take a moment to think about “where” I am, to be grateful, and to ask God what He has in mind for me right then.

3:00 p.m.: …and the disciples went and told Jesus. This prompt comes from the story in Matthew’s gospel of Herod’s execution of John the Baptist (Matt. 14:12). After the execution, “His disciples came and took away the corpse and buried him; and they went and told Jesus.” I’m pretty sure Jesus knew exactly what had gone on, just as He knows everything that’s going on in our lives. But in the true nature of the personal relationship He wants to have with us, He invites us and wants us to tell Him. When I imagine this scene, I don’t imagine Jesus telling the disciples, “Yes, I know all about it.” I imagine Him embracing them in sorrow and sympathy; the following verses tell us that he withdrew from the crowds for a time after receiving this news. In reflecting on this passage, I think of Jesus hearing me tell Him about my day, my life, my issues and wants and needs and desires. I feel His love.

4:00 p.m.: Jesus rejoices when we turn to Him in love. This prompt grows from the previous one and from thinking about how Jesus actively seeks a relationship with us. It also grows from a recent conversation with my spiritual director. I was sharing how I look forward all day to seeing the look of delight on my granddaughter’s face when I arrive at her daycare to pick her up. My spiritual director said, “You know, that’s how God reacts when we come to him.” I have been entranced, ever since, by the idea of His face lighting up when I come looking for Him.

5:00 p.m.: Pray for all the people you encountered today. Here, near the end of the day as I prepare to settle into my quarters for the evening, I want to take a moment and ask God to bless everyone who has crossed my path that day. Like Mother Teresa, I pray often to be made a blessing to everyone I meet.

6:00 p.m.: Pray always. Another exhortation from St. Paul, this one from 1 Thess. 5:17. In context, this verse is nestled within a number of exhortations. For my day of prayer, it reminds me of my intention to give myself time to pray, and it reminds me also that in offering all of my actions to God, I can make my life itself a prayer.

7:00 p.m.: Lord, let me be a blessing. From St. Teresa of Calcutta, this prompt is both a look back at the day that is ending and a look ahead at tomorrow. It is the beginning of a daily self-examination as well as a focus of intention for offering the upcoming day.

8:00 p.m.: How has God blessed me today? Another step in examining my day, this prompt reminds me to be grateful for all the blessings of the day; it also reminds me that everything comes from God.

9:00 p.m.: How have I served God this day? In asking myself this question, I remind myself to be grateful for any good I have done, and I also prompt myself to contrition for all the times I fell short of the service I owe. Sometimes I am surprised at how many small opportunities for service I have found. Usually those come from something unexpected happening, so that I am able to fill a need I didn’t know was there. I often start that day with one plan in mind, only to find that God has something entirely different in mind. Thinking of my day as one of service to God through the people around me is a wonderful blessing, one that keeps me from being irritated when things don’t go as expected.

And so there is my day of prayer prompts. It is not a stretch to say that my life has changed for the better as a result.

Lord, I hear You calling me to prayer. You call with that “still, small voice,” so I need to listen for it amid the noise and confusion of the wonderful world you gave me to live in. I hear You calling me to prayer, and I answer. I don’t know, God, is it a meta-prayer? Because I ask You, in Your infinite love and compassion, to make me through prayer an open channel through which Your grace might come into the world. Amen.

Here I Am, Lord

Sometimes when I sit down to write one of these posts, the title is clear to me as I begin; other times, nothing occurs to me as my mind begins to explore whatever I think I’m going to write about. And sometimes, I sit down at the keyboard and find that my clever plan for the day’s post gets tossed to one side and something completely unrelated finds its way through my fingers to the screen.

This morning, I sat down with a pretty good idea of what I want to write about, but no title occurred to me. It will be interesting to see what suggests itself when I am ready to publish the post!

What’s on my mind this morning comes from two directions: The psalm, which is one of my favorites, and the gospel reading, which always puzzles me a little. I think both of them speak to the theme of transformation which seems to be calling for my attention these days.

Both Psalm 1 and the reading from Matthew’s 6th chapter call us to transformation through a study in contrasts. Psalm 1 give us the just man, who gives all of his attention to the law of the Lord and so rejects the path of sin. I love the imagery the psalmist offers of “a tree planted near running water, that yields its fruit in due season, and whose leaves never fade.” The early verses of the psalm point to how our very walking and sitting — the simple actions of our daily lives — are directed toward God when we are firmly turned toward Him. Reflecting on this imagery brings a sense of firm foundations and constant refreshment.

And then the contrast: “Not so the wicked, not so” — in the wicked man there is no foundation, no substance, nothing solid. Instead, we see chaff in the wind. Without God, there is nothing to hold onto and nothing to anchor us, nothing to save us from being swept away.

The gospel reading today continues the theme of contrast. Jesus points out that He and His precursor, John the Baptist, had different approaches to their physical needs for sustenance. John fasted constantly; the Pharisees claimed that he was possessed by a demon. Jesus ate and drank; the Pharisees claimed that He was a glutton and a drunkard who befriended sinners.

Sometimes you just can’t get anything right.

I think what Jesus is telling us here is that we need to be watchful for that call to transformation.

It seems to me that He wanted His followers to understand that it isn’t the choice of  fasting or of eating and drinking that is important. The choice that matters is the decision to follow Him. When we do so, we are open to being transformed into the kind of person the psalmist described — delighting in the Lord, planted firmly by the stream of His grace and constantly refreshed and growing in love as a result. When Jesus says that “wisdom is vindicated by her works,” I think He is referring to the fruits of the transformation He works in us. When we are following Him — consciously responding to His call, openly living in His grace — we are changed, and we are changing. We behave differently. We are not fooled by the outward appearances or the judgmental definitions the world offers. We see God in the faces and events of our day; we constantly ask Him to show us what He wants us to see; we offer ourselves into His service.

There is a hymn that beautifully expresses the response I think He is looking for: “Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I can hear You calling in the night…..I will go, Lord, if You lead me. I will hold Your people in my heart.” (Here I Am, Lord, by Daniel L. Schutte)

Transformation, the call. Love, the response. Never mind what it looks like.

Just now, I knew the title for today’s post.

In Unexpected Ways

The Old Testament reading for today, the Memorial of St. Lucy, is a study in contrasts and a beautiful expose’ of how God changes things in unexpected ways to bring about His will. From Isaiah, Ch. 41:

The afflicted and the needy seek water in vain,
their tongues are parched with thirst.
I, the LORD, will answer them;
I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.
I will open up rivers on the bare heights,
and fountains in the broad valleys;
I will turn the desert into a marshland,
and the dry ground into springs of water.
I will plant in the desert the cedar,
acacia, myrtle, and olive;
I will set in the wasteland the cypress,
together with the plane tree and the pine,
That all may see and know,
observe and understand,
That the hand of the LORD has done this,
the Holy One of Israel has created it. (vss. 17-20)

See how the Lord first reminds us that He keeps His promises. And then He goes beyond merely keeping promises. He is going to turn things upside down! He is going to quench His people’s thirst by putting rivers and fountains where they are least expected. He will change deserts and wastelands into forests of trees. He will go so far beyond merely quenching their thirst that there can be no doubt — no doubt whatsoever! — Who has done these wonderful things.

In this powerful and beautiful explosion of profound change, God is telling us that He wants to bring about the same kind of unexpected transformation in our own lives. He wants to fulfill His promises in us in a way that can leave no doubt as to Whose work is being done.

If we let Him, He will change us in visible, obvious ways — profound ways that are themselves the fulfillment of His promises. We will not be parched and afflicted. We will not seeking water in vain. Rather, we will be the refreshing water found in unexpected places. We will be the strong tree growing where no one expected to find a tree. We will be living witnesses to the One Who has worked such wonders.

But for our witness to be credible, for us to be poured out in service, we must be both open to the kind of change God wants to create in us and open to letting others see it.

Father God, let us be so filled with grace that we yield willingly to your love and carry it with us into the world each day. Show us, through the workings of Your Holy Spirit, how to find You in the unexpected moments of each day and how to change in the unexpected ways to which You call us. Let us, by the redemptive power of Your Son, Jesus, be bold in our willingness to be changed. And let Your refreshing Word flow through us like water to quench the thirst of all those we encounter this day. Amen.

Dewfall

The following reflection is one that came from a moment when certain words of the Mass suddenly stood our for me in a different way:

The priest says these beautiful words of the prayer over the offerings at Mass: “Make holy these gifts, we pray, by sending down your Spirit upon them like the dewfall….” Hearing these words, I feel my heart joining the gifts on the altar, to be made holy by the same Spirit, the same “dewfall.”

And my mind sets off in reflection. The dew doesn’t really fall, after all. It forms, and it forms only in certain conditions. The amount of moisture in the air, the time of day, the temperature of the air, a receptive surface, the temperature of the surface – the science books tell us each of these things must be just so, and must be in a proper relationship each to the others, in order for dew to form.

Just before I think to bring myself up short and end this distracting line of thought, I realize that if my heart is there with the gifts the priest is offering, the science has its spiritual application to this lovely prayer.

My mind begins to draw the parallels between my scientific reflection and the conditions surrounding me here. Some are created by God in the gathering of His people for this holy sacrifice of the Mass and by the priest through whom God’s grace comes to us in this celebration. The air is filled with God’s grace. The time is right, for any time that we offer ourselves in His presence is the right time. The warmth of God’s love surrounds us here.

Is my heart receptive? By the grace of God, we can be open to the workings of His Spirit. He does not force this grace on us, but when we seek it, it is always ours. Our open hearts and souls seek His grace, and it makes us receptive to His Spirit.

In science, the dewpoint is the temperature where the air, meeting the surface of a blade of grass or even a stone in the pathway, will yield its moisture to form itself and appear on that surface – provided that the temperature of that surface is itself just right.

The Spirit is always at exactly this point, always ready to be ours, and now – just now! – grace lights and warms my heart and soul, opened to His workings, so that the Spirit can yield Himself and be visible there.

On the altar, Jesus will soon be present through the consecration of bread and wine as His Body and Blood. In us, Jesus will soon be present as we receive His Body and Blood in the Blessed Sacrament.

And from here, we will go out as the visible evidence of His grace – all because He has made us holy by sending down His Spirit “like the dewfall.”

Holy Spirit, make of me a gift on this altar, receptive to Your grace and always ready to be made holy by Your dewfall. Make me a blessing to everyone I meet when I go from here this day.

Listening

At some point during my years in the convent, it occurred to me to capture the Psalms by writing what they meant to me. I suppose it was an early way of Lectio Divina prayer. Long before this beautiful way of praying with Scripture was crafted, I was reading these beautiful words of Scripture and writing out what they spoke in my own heart. At the time, my directress encouraged me to continue this work and even used some of my scribblings in the spiritual reading at mealtimes (we used to listen in silence to one of our group reading aloud from a selected work during the first half of our meals). At the time, I was hesitant — it seemed like I was sort of retranslating the Psalms, if you will, from English into more everyday language.

Now, I find myself newly intrigued with the idea. I’ve long since lost the work I did back then; I suppose I turned it in to Sr. Alvara or Sr. Judith as I did it, and it probably was not returned to me. Our preparations for vows of poverty and obedience involved ceding our claims to such things in favor of the interests of the community.

I first encountered the Lectio Divina approach to prayer about three years ago when a small faith-sharing group I was leading explored a series of presentations by Dr. Tim Gray on the topic. The words “Lectio Divina” suggest the approach within themselves; the literal translation, “divine reading,” leads us into the Scriptures, the Living Word of God. The steps, in most articles on the topic, are summarized as follows:

1. Read (slowly, prayerfully, mindfully — often reading the passage several times, sometimes reading out loud)
2. Reflect (what does the passage mean to you? what stands out? what seems to call for attention?)
3. Respond/Resolve (talk to God “as you would to a parent, sibling, or trusted friend”)
4. Rest (in silence, in God’s presence — and listen)

(https://www.evangelicalcatholic.org/lectio-divina/)

The final piece to this puzzle, for me, is that as a writer, I never quite feel that an experience — especially a spiritual experience — is complete until I’ve captured in in writing. This need is almost a compulsion for me. The Evangelical Catholic, in fact, recommends writing as part of step 3, when particular insights present themselves.

The beauty of Lectio Divina is in the way it leads one to listen for God’s promptings. This begins with the process of centering oneself on Scripture as the Living Word of God; by reading a selected passage slowly and reading it several times, we become open to it, and then in our time of reflection we can begin to hear what God wants us to learn.

What I find most fascinating and captivating is that third step — having a conversation with God. As someone who grew up on memorized prayers, I have always tended to absorb the formal “language of prayer” even in my “extemporaneous” prayers. I have been astounded by what has happened since I began to focus on having the kind of conversation with God that I would have with my brother. Once I wasn’t searching for the formal “language of prayer,” I became free to share everything with God. It wasn’t long before I found myself having this running conversation with my Father even outside the times of Lectio Divina prayer — just as I can sit with my brother over coffee and talk for hours, I find myself simply talking to God in my head about what’s going on in my day or about what I’m concerned about or thinking about.

The greatest beauty of Lectio Divina, for me, is the listening part, because God is always speaking to us through His Living Word. Jesus is present as the Word of God in this way. And He does indeed speak. Sometimes it’s the “still, small voice” that Elijah heard; and sometimes it feels like thunder (cf. Job 37:4-5). It can be quite startling to become aware of a thought, fully formed, presenting itself. There is no “voice” involved, at least not for me, but there might as well be — it is that evident that Someone is speaking to me.

Sometimes, His communication is much more subtle, as when a particular word or phrase in Scripture, prayer, other spiritual reading, or the Mass will suddenly stand out, and I find myself compelled to a listening sort of reflection. A simple truth: the grace to listen and hear and capture these moments is a life-changer. The more I listen, the more I hear — and the more I seek.

It is my hope and intention, in the coming days and weeks, to be able to share in this space what comes from some of those moments of reflection and listening.

Father, I need Your grace to keep me tuned in and listening so that I will always be ready to hear what You have to say to me. My days are busy and can be full of distractions. Please use them to get my attention so that I can “pray always.” 

A Prayer As I Age

In a few weeks, I will be blessed to reach the age of 6 — 6 dozen, that is. Seventy-two years since I first saw the light of day. Seventy-two years on a journey through a world that is at best a stopping place on our eternal journey, and at worst an enormous source of temptation to see this as being all there is, or at least all that is really important.

I’ve said before that the fear of death is rooted in our attachment to the things, events, and yes, even the people, that populate our lives. It’s part of our human nature to form those attachments — and they can help us be our best selves while we are here. But it’s also part of our human nature to let these attachments to what we can experience with our bodily senses, and our even deeper attachment to the feelings they evoke in us, become our primary goal and our main source of comfort. When that happens, we tend to cling to what we know, and that make us resistant to the changes that come with aging — and the ultimate change that comes with our transition to eternal life.

We all say, with a certain wisdom and dark humor, that aging is better than what’s in second place, and we even acknowledge that what’s in second place is inevitable. But how often do we think deeply enough about these changes to embrace them? And that’s really what we need to do, in order to free ourselves of the too-deep attachment to the temporary things of this world.

We are called, indeed, to live well during our time on earth — as disciples of Jesus, not as slaves to our youthfulness and our possessions and accomplishments — and we are called, finally, to praise Him forever in Heaven. This season of Advent is such a wonderful time for gentle reminders of where our true attachments lie.

And as I pondered these ideas one day, I found myself praying like this:

Lord God, You are to be praised as the loving Creator Who has given all living things their life, the time and span for which You hold in Your infinite wisdom. Please grant me grace to live out my life in full accord with Your will and in constant gratitude for the many rich blessings You constantly provide.

And another great gift I ask of You: please grant that I may age gracefully. By that I do not mean in physical appearance or beauty or even physical abilities. My plea, Father, is that I may have the grace as I age to continue in faith and to hear the voices of those who love me, so that I understand when they tell me that the time has come for me to stop driving or that I should no longer tackle stairs or other challenges, and so that I hear their concerns as coming from the heart. Let me hear and heed their advice and suggestions as offered in love with my best interests at heart. Lead me to the greatest independence I can enjoy, but save me from the need to cling stubbornly to my own ideas when they are no longer good for me.

I pray that you may surround me with people who love me and willingly help me and that as much as possible I may not be a burden to them. And Lord, please save me from becoming a disagreeable, cantankerous person whose moods and bad temper turn people away or cause hurt and sadness in them.

If it should be in Your plan and will for me that I suffer from mental or physical infirmities, or both, I beg of You the grace to suffer them with a gentleness of spirit that will draw my caregivers into the circle of Your love and join my sufferings with those of Your Son in His redemptive act. For my caregivers I ask the grace to see the value in their work and that they may receive Your richest grace and blessings as a reward for what they do. Let us all join our deeds with the redemptive sufferings of Jesus for the good of souls.

Father God, I fear the time when I may lose control of my bodily and mental abilities. Please grant me freedom from fear and let me trust in Your infinite goodness and mercy, so that I may always live in faith.

These things I ask in the name of Your Son, Jesus, Who told us that whatever we ask in His name will be granted. Amen.

Prayer for Times of Anxiety

Everyone experiences some form of anxiety. For some of us, it’s a fleeting sense of apprehension or dread that passes quickly; for others of us, it’s a pervasive and persistent thing that threatens to take over our emotions and our lives and that exhibits itself in myriad ways. There are probably as many treatment options in the world of medicine as there are forms that anxiety takes in our lives.

And as with all forms of medical treatment, they tend to work best when accompanied and supported by prayer. So for anyone suffering from any form of anxiety, whether fleeting and temporary or a painful part of daily existence, I offer this Prayer for Times of Anxiety. And with it, I offer my own prayer for those who suffer, that they may find relief.

Father God, You know me inside and out, top to bottom, soul deep.

Father, right now in this moment, anxiety threatens my peace of mind and puts in front of me every possible worry and fear – and even some that might be impossible, but still make me uneasy and fearful.

Your Son told us that You count the hairs on our heads, that not even a single sparrow falls but You know and care about it, and that we are worth many sparrows.   

I am the single sparrow, Father, and I am falling, and my human weakness makes me so very frightened.

Blessed are You, Father, for You raise me up on angels’ wings; You bear me on the breath of dawn; You make me shine like the sun, and You hold me in the palm of Your hand. Blessed are You, Father, for You remind me, with this time of fear and anxiety, that I am called to trust completely in You and that I can and must do so.

Here I am before You, and I beg You to send Your Spirit of peace into my heart and soul. I give You my anxiety and fear, and I trust You to fill the space that it leaves in me with love and peace. Please, Father, give me the grace to always remember to turn to You in prayer when this monster, anxiety, raises its ugly face on my life. Please give me grace to pray and trust. I ask this in the name of Your Son, Jesus, who told us that what we ask of You in His name, You will always give us.

Amen.

Right Here!

My two-year-old granddaughter, who can light up entire city blocks with her smiles, likes to emphasize the stories she tells with a couple of phrases. One is “all the time,” and the other is “right here!”. If she is feeling very strongly about what she’s telling me, it’s “all the time, right here!”.

Her fervent emphasis reminds me a little of Dr. Scott Hahn’s recounting, in the early pages of his wonderful book The Lamb’s Supper, of the first time he (then a Protestant minister) attended a Catholic Mass. He went there prepared to reject everything he saw and heard….until the Consecration. He writes that when he heard the words of Consecration, “I felt all my doubt drain away….I felt a prayer surge from my heart in a whisper: ‘My Lord and my God. That’s really you!'” 

My little granddaughter would add, “All the time! Right here!”

Each morning at Mass, in that chapel with the mosaic of the wedding feast at Cana, I find myself remembering Dr. Hahn’s words and the sense of wonder they impart every time I go back to them.

My Lord and my God. That’s really you!

All I can see is a white wafer of bread and a cup filled with wine; yet my heart is filled with wonder when I contemplate His very real Presence behind and in those forms.

When I receive Him in holy communion, all I feel and taste in my mouth are the texture and taste of that wafer of bread, that sip of wine. But my soul knows better.

My Lord and my God. That’s really you! All the time! Right here! 

My soul is captivated by the thought that while I can see and taste only bread and wine, the truth is that Jesus Himself is here. My soul can see and taste beyond these mere physical and earthly forms. My soul knows her Savior, her Bridegroom. My soul lives and thrives on the promise that one day, in God’s good time, she will not need to look beyond these physical and earthly forms and try to imagine herself in His Presence: She will see her Lord and King face to face.

The older I get, the more I tend to think about that ultimate transition to eternal life. I know full well that God has put me here in this world for a purpose and that He wants me to make good use of all the blessings and resources He has provided me here. But it is, by the very nature of the Universe God created, a temporary assignment, and a stop on the journey home. I’ve lost all fear of death as I have come closer and closer to a glimmer of understanding of what Heaven will be like. I really love my life, and I love and cherish all the people who fill it; and it is wonderful to know that there is more, much more, in the fullness of God’s time.

And that is where my mind goes to the grace of absolute trust in God. Our nature is to try to control things, to work toward the outcomes we want; God’s nature, on the other hand, is to provide for us the outcomes we need. When we’re busy trying to stay in control of the process, we make it difficult for ourselves to see that, and we get in the way of God’s work in us.

So I go back, once more, to my granddaughter’s enthusiastic emphasis, as I pray: Father God, instill in my heart and soul the wonder of Your will and the sense of complete trust that being where You want me is far better than being where I think I ought to be. Let me be always attuned to Your presence and Your will — All the time! Right here! Amen.

Water to Wine, and Pouring

The chapel at my local parish where weekday morning Mass is offered has a wonderful mosaic behind the altar. The mosaic depicts the wedding at Cana, with Mary on the left, Jesus on the right, and the bride and groom behind a table between them. In front of the table are several tall jugs, and a servant is pouring wine from one of them. Below the mosaic is the legend, “Do Whatever He Tells You.”

I often sit there before Mass and reflect on that mosaic. There is much symbolism in it, even in the three X-shaped fasteners on the draperies behind the wedding table, which often lead me into meditation on the mystery of the Holy Trinity — each is a complete X on its own, and the three X’s together are a single thing. And other mornings, the words below the mosaic help me get my mind and heart and soul into listening for the promptings of each Person of the Trinity to guide me through my day. I think of the Father leaning down to remind me that He made me out of love, and it’s that love that must go from me into the world; then I reflect on the Son’s call to follow Him; and I think finally of the many ways the Holy Spirit prompts me throughout the day.

Most days, I am led by those reflections right into the Mass, and my mind is thus awakened to the beauty of the prayers and gifts that follow.

Recently, though, with my mind so taken up with thoughts of how God calls me to change, my attention has been drawn to those tall jugs, and the servant pouring out the wine. Everyone remembers the story: The wedding feast is in full swing, and somehow the wine is running short. Jesus and His Mother are guests, and we see that Mary knows something about Jesus’ mission here, because she comes to tell Him about it. He responds rather offhandedly, but she knows, as only a mother can know, that the time has come, and she tells the servants to do whatever He instructs. Jesus confirms His Mother’s instinct by telling the servants to fill six large jugs with water and pour it out to serve the guests. They must have been skeptical, but they followed His instructions, and the wine that poured from the jugs prompted amazement among the guests — after all, what host keeps the best wine for later in the party when everyone has already indulged?

It’s Jesus’ first miracle, the first “big splash” of His public ministry, the first step, really, on the long road to that cross on the hill at Golgotha. The story is full of rich symbolism, and it has fueled many homilies and profound writings about marriage as well as about obeying God.

But for me, on this particular day, the image and words before resonated on a different note. I began to reflect, as I often do, putting myself into the picture and imagining the events as if I were there, thinking of myself in the role of a servant, a guest, even the host or the bride or the groom. And I realized that what I really wanted to be was the water in those talls jugs!

I wanted to be the water. I wanted to be the substance that Jesus changed, utterly and profoundly in its very nature, into what was needed at that very moment for the wedding party and their guests. I wanted to be the water that Jesus changed, and I wanted to be the wine that he created from that change, and like the wine, I wanted to be poured out. I thought about how pouring out the wine that Jesus made had created joy and relieved stress for the host of the wedding feast and had created happiness and joy for the guests; and it seemed to me that being like that water-into-wine was a marvelous way to carry God’s love into the world.

This desire has wound its way into my daily prayers and meditations. I feel myself awakening more and more to the ways in which God calls and prompts me to change — to make of myself a better servant of His will, to grow in this loving and very personal relationship He offers.

Make me like the water at Cana, Lord. Change me at the very heart of myself, and like the water-become-wine, pour me out in service to Your people.