Mustard Seed

Sunday, June 14, 2015 had the familiar reading about the mustard seed. It goes:

“This is how it is with the kingdom of God; it is as if a man were to scatter seed on the land and would sleep and rise night and day and through it all the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how. Of its own accord the land yields fruit, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. And when the grain is ripe, he wields the sickle at once, for the harvest has come.”

Again he said, “What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade.” (Mark 4:26-32)

I love this reading because it gives me hope. It tells me that even during the times when my faith is low - on something important, or something negligible - just having faith in God is enough. The purpose in having faith is not to create a result - the largest plant, the most gorgeous leaves, the most generous shade. The purpose of faith is to live your trust in God, through all things. 

Can you think of a time in your life when you had nothing to rely on but pure faith, and perhaps it wasn't even that much faith? 

God just wants us to show up for Him. The test that has your worried, the bill that needs paying, the stranger you want to speak to, the idea you want to pitch in the meeting - these are all opportunities to say, I don't know the outcome, but I will have faith regardless. And the beautiful thing is, when we do trust and rely on God - even this tiniest bit - His grace fills in the rest. The act of faith is enough. It shows God where our hearts are, trusting in His heart.

What a wonderfully comforting thought. You need not run a marathon for God's love. Praying, fasting and acts of service, of course, are all noble efforts, but in reality, this deep closeness we can have with God is accessible within ourselves, simply through having faith. Speak to Him, trust in Him and offer that mustard seed's worth of faith. In return, your faith will flourish and you will reap the rewards like grain at the harvest.

"This is how it is with the kingdom of God."

Corpus Christi

Every Monday night during jail ministry we have a Mass, or do a liturgical service, based on the previous day's (Sunday's) readings. Yesterday was the feast of Corpus Christi, which is of course all about the very real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. 

I don't know what it is about Mondays this summer, but if there is a torrential downpour to  be had, it happens Monday night. Tonight was no different - the little Accuweather app on my phone popped up with a tornado warning (pshaw) as I left work and while it stopped for the drive to the detention center, we sat in the multi-purpose room with the winds and rain howling around the building again. Rain is always nice, though, especially during summer, and especially when you are in a place so clinically, purposefully cold. It reminds you of what's outside - the fact that there is an outside.

There was just three of us tonight: two volunteers and one inmate. He is our regular, and we always marvel at the way these discussions help us all gain a deeper understanding of scripture. We covered a lot of ground, and I shared my own feelings on how the Eucharist is not the "easy" part of being, or becoming, Catholic. Some of the first Apostles left Jesus when he began speaking about his body and and blood because it is such a radical idea. For me, it has been much easier to think "God is love" and leave it at that, rather than get into really examining the sacrifice and the reality found in the Host. If that is how you come to the Church, that is fine, but eventually you must see Jesus there in the Communion. I say "must," because otherwise you are cheating yourself - you get this pinch of reality, when there is so much there that God is offering you.

A few weeks ago I did adoration, really and truly, for the first time. I have had other, brief experiences which were parts of some greater activity, so I don't feel they count. It was one of the nights when we arrived at the jail to learn programs were canceled for lock down, and it was of course another rainy Monday, with the rain water gushing in the streets. Cajethan had the brilliant idea to spend that hour, instead of just turning around and going home, to visit the Eucharist for perpetual adoration at St. Agnes. I was secretly thrilled at his suggestion because it had been on my heart for some time. I relished the opportunity to just sit with Christ - not even have to pray the Rosary or anything else, not attempt a grand and deep meditation practice, not read some holy person's words - just be. Look to the monstrance, feel peace and just be. 

And that's exactly what happened. There in that little chapel, with the floods soaking the earth outside, the devoted beside me adoring in their own ways - I looked at Jesus inside the monstrance and let go. How and why does that happen? Why does it work? Is it the beauty of the monstrance and the altar? The prayers of the faithful suffused into the very air of the room? Is it because there is no wrong way to adore? Of course there are appropriate and inappropriate ways, but sitting vs. kneeling vs. praying vs. reading - Jesus is just happy you're there with Him. I think that must be it. And if you are open to it and faithful, you feel it.

What a wonderful gift we have as Catholics. This is why we kneel before the pew; this is why a church without the Sacrament on Good Friday feels so horribly empty. Jesus gave us the gift of himself on the cross long ago, yet he also gave us the gift us his person in the Eucharist to be seen and met every day. If it seems too good to be true, just sit with Him for a while.  Ask to understand, and allow his Presence to enter your heart. What you feel may be impossible to explain to any other person, and that's fine. After all, that speaks to the very nature of our personal relationship with God. He is waiting for you, and He already knows you.

One Year

Today is the one year anniversary of my Confirmation into the Catholic Church. Hallelujah!

I began a long and winding post about how and why I received the Sacrament, but realized, while my story is unique to me in its details, it is not unique to me in its universality. I simply struggled with the same heartbreak and emptiness that we all have. I truly believe that - we are all made with this inner compass which seeks unceasingly for the divine. How we orient that compass as we seek - toward drugs and alcohol, by seeking attention, staying in bad relationships (there's an endless number of ways, really) - is what differs from person to person and, ultimately, determines your level of happiness. You will always seek, but you will never be happy anywhere but in the light of God. That's it.

What surprised me the most was not just how badly I wanted to draw closer to God, but how compliant I was. It was as if I was getting little promptings saying, "Ok, do this - attend this church. Now do this: go to RCIA. And now this..." and I did it. I did willingly, gladly, because all of who I thought I was, was nothing. It did not exist. The real me, whoever that was, was not in my relationship that I had ended, it was not in the person I had loved, it was not in the future I had imagined for myself, or all the millions of little heartbreaks and disappointments I had gathered up around myself. All of that had vanished. The little cocoon of unreality I have been living in was stripped away and I had what felt like nothing left. I was positively limping along, and ran blindly to the church like a child crying to its mother.

So I went to Mass, and I went to RCIA, willingly, obediently, hungrily. It's almost silly to me now - how obvious this all is. When we stop fighting God's will is when everything falls into place. But, you must learn that lesson before you can live it.

I began to see small chinks of light breaking through the blackness as I opened myself up to God. Perhaps then I realized, really, that this was the process of falling in love - truly falling in love - with the thing that was in front of me all along. How unexpected! The Church of my family, the Church I grew up in and turned my back on, just out of ignorance, had all the answers I could have ever needed. The Church that had answers to questions I hadn't even thought of. I began to understand Catholic teaching holistically - from the perspective that God wants us all to be our real, true selves the way He made us, and that this is the same thing as "holiness." To be close to God is to love oneself. That just being is enough because God created us. That we are here to get ourselves and others to Heaven, and that this is an absolute blessing. That God knows us better than we or any other person every will, and that He so greatly desires our happiness. And all of these things, all of them taken together, beat so loudly and wonderfully in my heart because I was just beginning to understand what was truly real.

If you'd like the whole story, I will gladly give it to you. I do not think you need it, though. What you need to know is that opening oneself to God is the easiest thing, the hardest thing, the best thing. I am the same person I was a year ago - but I am so much better, because I am so much more myself. I thank God for giving me a chance to look at my life and to slowly and lovingly draw me out of myself. Matthew Kelly always talks about our mission to become "the best versions of ourselves." That is what being Catholic means; that is holiness, that is sainthood and nirvana.

The God who created Jupiter and the oceans also created you. And you are the most important part of all His creation. Who are you? What is beating in your heart and calling you?