The Boy With the Fish

 

"There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish; but what good are these for so many?"

                                                  John 6:9  

         

  Aside from the Resurrection, the feeding of the 5000 is the only miracle recounted in all four gospels. It is interesting to me that it is about feeding the hungry. Generally in this story and its commentary (such as the homily at today's Mass) the focus is on the apostles and their relative faith or lack of it, on their questioning. It struck me this morning that my position is more like the boy with the fish.

He didn't understand the big picture

He knew he couldn't solve the problem of 5,000 hungry people

He knew he couldn't fix the world around him

He wasn't an apostle or any sort of important official

BUT

He didn't sit quietly feeling helpless

He didn't ask questions

He did the good he could

He generously offered what little he had

From that Jesus, who is the person whose job it is to save the world, fed the multitude while the apostles did the big job of distributing. And the boy? I suspect he sat quietly while it happened,

In the great Theo-drama of salvation history past, present, and future, my role is tiny, but He expects me to do the good I can in the place where He has put me, for the people He has sent, with the gifts He has given me.

It's pretty simple in the end.

This I Believe

This I believe:

1. God is. Nothing else really matters.
2. God is love. He is the trinity of Lover, Love, Beloved in neverending exchange.
3. The logic of love is creation~the sharing of love.
4. The gap between humanity and God demanded redemption. The continued gap calls out for salvation.
5. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him, not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it...  And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

 I accept the formulation of the Nicene creed, and I choose to be a submissive daughter of the Roman Catholic church, never blind to its greed, sins, and administrative blunders, but joyful in its life in the Spirit, the beauty of its traditions, and the communion of its saints.

My Creed

As I set out on my walk today, rosary in hand, I rattled through the Apostles Creed. We always begin with the fundamental statement of faith. It occurred to me though, that my personal fundamental statement of faith, my personal creed is much simpler.

God is and nothing else matters.

It is the first faith commitment I ever made and the foundation of my life.

Vines

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.         John 15:5

In many ways, this is the quintessential Easter text. Life for those of us connected to the vine.  The abiding part is fairly easy. It is a warm fuzzy sort of text. God's life is in me!

Remembering that last bit, however, is the tough part. We can do what? Nothing. All our work means nothing unless we do it with Him. A good marriage? Not without God at the center. Our efforts at spiritual life? Nada. Prayer? Don't even go there.


Most mornings I wake up with a prayer and remember the day belongs to God. Most. Not all. Evenings are another story. By about mid-afternoon (if not before) I'm running on my own power...which means running on empty. If it is a good day, I circle back around and tap in before I got to bed.

In this effort, as in all things, I need His help because I can do nothing.

The Inner Light

 This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all.
                                                                             1John:1:5

I've been reading about Quakers for my most recent book, and I have become enamored with the concept of inner light.

As a Roman Catholic, I value the structure of the church around me. In spite of eras of weak leadership, worldly popes, and/or men corrupted by power (and lack women's influence), having a center has generally kept us from splintering and from wandering into the extreme fringes of religious practice. Over the long haul of history, we get pulled back to center. Visionaries enrich the church; fanatics lead us over the cliff. Only time (and God's own judgment) sorts the wheat from the chaff.

That said, I've always believed each individual needed to listen to the work of the Holy Spirit in them, calling them to l rest in God as they go about their daily work. On days I remember to listen, my life goes well and my writing does too. On days I don't, I go to bed irritable, frustrated, and quarrelsome. What is that if not the inner light?

I trust the work of the Spirit in myself and those I love. I also view with caution the tendency of each of us to let ego and our need for control mistake "inner light" for "my desire." The only cure for that is humility and that, my friends is a life-long battle. Having the discipline of church, even if we don't always like what it says, helps with that.

Renunciation

 Renunciation of self is perhaps the most difficult of all.
                                                      Elizabeth Leseur
 
It is month four and Leseur is getting really serious.  She is treading in some dangerous territory! If I were a contemplative nun, I might understand renunciation and how it applies more clearly.  I'm wondering if I'm up for this. Perhaps I'm making it harder than it is.

This Lent I coordinated a program once a week after 10 AM Mass in our parish. What I didn't realize was that that particular Mass is the one most frequently used for funerals. Today I want to my third funeral for a perfect stranger in six weeks.

As is often the case I found my mind wandering, fantasizing about my husband's funeral. That isn't quite as morbid as it sounds. He is chronically ill. The first time I almost lost him I was forty, almost thirty years ago and I started planning the funeral as a sort of black humor. My thoughts run not only to hymns and readings, but to imagining who might travel here, what sort of gathering we might have, and what toasts I might make.When distracted in church I've learned to give it over in prayer. The Holy Spirit (object of our Lenten studies) came back with two thoughts. The first had to do with my fantasy of all those we love from our entire extended family gathered in my yard. I realized with delight that what I actually imagined was heaven, the ultimate family reunion. Our destination isn't the funeral celebration, it is God who will gather us all to himself.

I tried to sidestep the second thought, but it kept coming. Why Greg's funeral? What about mine? The inevitability of death isn't a new thought, but it has become more profound in my soul. All of this, whatever "this" is today, is temporary. That, my friend, is renunciation. I can accept that. It puts all things in their proper place.

But what about the meantime? I went back to LeSeur's list.

• Renunciation of evil. Check. At least I think so. "Of all things that might make me tend toward evil," is a bit dicier and I'll have to rely on the Spirit to point those out.
• Renunciation of the world. She says "those things that are solely of this world and have no place in the afterlife. She goes on,"I resolve to live for God alone, and for souls and for friendship..." Friendship! It is one of the things that goes on.  She notes also that she "lends" herself to the world to perform the duties of her place in life and of charity. She makes it sound manageable when she puts it that way, but I have work to do.
• Renunciation of self, she says is perhaps the most difficult of all. Yet, I already know that I can't be filled with Christ if I don't empty of self. Tough, but clear.
• Renunciation of human desires. She says that can be either for the sake of others or in a spirit of mortification.  I think this means actually embracing every opportunity to let another choose—dinner, which movie to watch, what to do on Saturday, and when to enjoy the blessings of the marriage bed.  Knowing it and remembering on time are two different things.
• Renunciation of spiritual joys and consolation. I wanted to whine, "That's not fair!" Actually I had just read two passages in The Imitation of Christ that said the same thing. If we cling to the gift instead of the giver we're going to fail.

Leseur recommends obtaining these things in prayer. It's the only way. I was right at the beginning this is hard. It is at least becoming clearer. I'll have to be satisfied with that.

Humility

Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart

Matthew 11:29                                                                             

 Leseur's third month resolution, humility, is, she says, one of the foundation pillars of the spiritual life. She holds up Jesus as the exemplar of the virtue. He who is greatest is the most humble. That presents a paradox that challenges us. We are incapable of mastering it; only the Holy Spirit acting in us can manage it. Perhaps that is the greatest humility.

Reading chapters from the Imitation of Christ as Leseur recommends daily just reinforces her focus on humility.  I've begun to think that virtue is not only the key to sanctity but the key to a long and happy marriage. I think she would agree.

Control and power sharing swirl around marriage and the temptation to turn the relationship into a tit for tat arrangement in which all activities, tasks, and opinions must be divided "fairly" is a trap. The very challenge presents an opportunity to learn and grow.

It seems to me there are two ways an individual can practice humility in marriage. The first is the more obvious. It involves silence, biting your tongue when offended, and submission to the other. It is contrary to our modern views on the necessity of "fulfillment" for each individual on the surface of it. Done freely, however, this kind of behavior is healthy. The one choosing silence or choosing submission is in control of his or her own decision to give freely out of love and without rancor. Done by force either from the other, out of passive aggressive spite, or from some misguided sense of obligation, it can become an ugly, cold thing. Only love protects you from that. Nor is submission a gender obligation. Beloved once told our prayer group he had no less obligation for submission in marriage than I did. As we've gotten older, the value of submission is clearer to me every day.

The other way of humility, however, is assertive. To say without anger or aggression, "you hurt me when you did that" takes great humility. Such an act puts the importance of the relationship, the love between the couple, at the center. Such an act requires that you put aside fear of rejection or conflict and even control over the ultimate outcome in order to say "we must fix this for both our sake." Such a conversation must not be confused with bickering, arguing, or attacking. It is the tougher form of humility.

Human beings being the complex self-centered creatures we are, there are pitfalls all around. The temptation to take power, the temptation to self righteousness about our own virtue, and the temptation to even take pride in humility all remind us what foolish beings we are. That is precisely why it is a foundation stone. Only when we accept our inabilities and throw ourselves utterly on the mercy of God and the grace of the Holy Spirit do we have any hope of real growth.

Silence

Silence is good for the soul, essential to recollection, and conducive to humility. Remember Our Lord's silence throughout His life and during the hours of His passion.

Elizabeth Leseur           

I discovered Leseur's writing only recently and was struck by the simplicity of her spirituality. She begins a series of "retreats," each with a resolution, with Silence. She has a resolution for each of twelve months. The beginning of a new year struck me as a good time to consider them one by one.

When I see the word silence, I tend to think of it in terms of shutting out noise. Turn off the TV. Shut out the news.  Retreat to a spot where there is no sound. Avoid social media. Get off the Internet. Quiet your insides. Those are all things to do. That isn't what she means.

Leseur writes about being silent. Her emphasis is on not talking, and particularly about not talking about herself. For years I've grappled with something that skirts the edges of her thought but misses the heart of it. I have tended to focus on listening, being attentive to God and learning how to do that by learning to be attentive to Greg first of all and all others as well. My mantra has been listen don't talk in prayer, in social life, and in business. It's my mantra because I'm not very good at it. My natural instinct is to blurt out every thought.

How is that different from what Leseur writes? I realized that by focusing on listening I'm in expectation of receiving something. While it can and should open me up to compassion and care, it is in the end an openness to receiving, not giving. Leseur sees keeping silences as a value in and of itself; it is part of her great emphasis on humility, the emptying out of self. That wasn't a value to me in my twenties. As I age I see the emptying as the absolute necessity of the spiritual life and I know it for the virtually impossible challenge it is. 

So. Silence. She talks at length about all of the things about which she won't speak: the petty, the mean, the material, but also her own interior life, her spirituality and blessings granted her. She leaves it all between her and God. She does write about it so perhaps I can be excused for keeping this journal.

Her final resolution is, I resolve to hide my spiritual life, and, to great extent my sufferings, interests, and material or personal occupations under a veil of silence.

Wow. Perhaps I can take baby steps in that direction.

Poverty of Spirit

Ten years of Franciscan education left me with the concept of poverty deep in my consciousness. It was, to great extent, exactly that, a concept.

"Blessed are the poor"
"Holy indifference"
"Live simply that others may simply live"

All those words have swirled around my spiritual and practical adult life. Now in my seventieth year I find myself returning to them again and again and wondering if I ever understood the idea at all.

In Light in the Darkness Elizabeth Leseur writes eloquently about silence, humility, and renunciation in ways I've never heard them before. Perhaps I wasn't listening. Perhaps as age takes its toll and losses mount, as they inevitably do in life, I understand them better. She even had me with "mortification," an old-fashioned word that would have made me cringe at twenty, but which begins to make sense in marriage or in any life with others when you look at the things life actually sends you.

It comes down, I suspect, to letting go. We can learn to let go of ego, of greed, of the need to win, to be right, to be powerful. We can do it without losing sight of our own great value as children of God. We empty ourselves out in order to be filled. The extent to which we can do that is the extent to which God can take over and do His work in our life and use us for the sake of those he sends our way.

Various writers and various saints have used different words to describe the same process. "The Little Way" of Therese of Lisieux is not that different than holy poverty. Maybe I'm beginning to have an inkling of what the great ones understood utterly. I hope so because the one thing I know for sure is, I have a long way to go and am unlikely to have too many years in which to do it.

I gave up trying to be a hero for God long ago, seeing it for the foolishness it was. Maybe it is time to let go of my life completely and let God have it. My dearest Franciscan mentor once wrote to me, "In your passion for truth and justice, don't neglect poverty and humility." I should have listened then.