“Blessed are all who wait for the Lord!” (Psalm refrain for today’s liturgy)
Recently I echoed in this blog the question of one of our Sisters who asked repeatedly: What are we waiting for? I was surprised when I put that question to myself just now and was greeted by several responses. The big things like: I’m waiting for the pandemic to cease, for a vaccine that stems the tide of deaths, for an end to racial violence in our country. I’m waiting as well for January 20th, Inauguration Day in our country when a sense of stability might return to us…slowly but surely. In a more personal way, I’m waiting for someone to hug me—safely. I’m waiting to go to a celebratory liturgy in a real—not virtual—church, and the privilege of travel to meet my cousin Molly’s new twin girls, born this past week.
I could go on…but each of us has our thoughts on that subject. The tension, sadness or frustration that can arise when contemplating this kind of thinking comes partially, I think, from the helplessness we feel because of our inability to change the situations. We are unable to change any of the things mentioned and many more. In our country, as in many places in today’s world, we are not schooled to patience. It is not in our make-up any more to wait because waiting implies surrender and that is not the American way.
What would it cost you today to surrender to “what is” and allow God to work with your helplessness? Might you get to a place of willingness? A place where you let go of your plans and move toward something deeper? lighter?
I was a parish faith formation director when mini-courses first made their appearance in religious education. I was a fan for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that it was easier to get four teachers (one for each 6-week commitment) than to find one willing to show up consistently for a 24-session course. The students also liked the diversity of teachers and topics. One year I decided to push the envelope even further by offering a one-week intensive which would replace one of the 6-week courses for 9th or 10th graders. The curriculum was as follows: mandatory attendance at an introductory 90-minute overview in the week prior to Holy Week as well as participation in services on Palm Sunday, Holy (Maundy) Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil and a one-page reflection paper on the experience, submitted within 2 weeks after Easter. Many of the students took up the challenge and profited so greatly from the experience that I repeated the course for a number of years. One of the added benefits of the experiment was the fact that most of the students needed a ride to church so many parents participated with them and found it profitable as well.
Our federal government is in shutdown mode today. It’s difficult to comprehend what a sweeping statement that is. It does not mean that just the senators and representatives are not working. It isn’t like a holiday when the banks and post offices are closed. All “non-essential” federal employees are “furloughed” and won’t be paid until the situation changes. This affects entities like the military, the Centers for Disease Control, security at airports…just to name a few. Not being paid until the situation changes is as much a psychological issue for some as it is the physical lack of a paycheck. As I read what is termed “non-essential” I feel a sense of sadness and the hopelessness that comes of the inability in any relationship to reach a compromise. It’s difficult enough for two people who don’t agree on something and cannot seem to find a way through the impasse, let alone 100 senators and 435 representatives! At this moment in our history, this “shutdown” is emblematic of the divide in beliefs and the inability or unwillingness of people to listen deeply so as to hear and find ways to solutions.
That place of “not-knowing” that I spoke of yesterday still holds me today as I think of the storm called Harvey that just won’t quit. How do people recover from that kind of devastation – both environmental and human? Even here, at almost the farthest northern point in our country away from those swirling waters and broken lives, I feel viscerally the distress and death. Physical death, the death of dreams, of possessions – all must reside inside any of us who have even seen the images on television and more likely if we know people living in Texas – and today in Louisiana. I have rarely felt the draw of depression on such a scale.
There are several references to light in today’s lectionary readings. Psalm 119 is both indirect and direct, calling on God to “let your face shine upon me,” while also saying to God that “the revelation of your words sheds light.” Jesus speaks very directly, telling his hearers (MT 6) “You are the light of the world” and then commanding them to “let your light shine before others” – not for personal gain, however, but to glorify God, the source of light.