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Thursday, March 24, 2005
On Being Alone Far From Home: A Holy Week Vignette
It's a relatively small church, tucked away on a side street of Solomon's Island, a small coastal town in southern Maryland. The sign out front says:
The church is as unprepossessing inside as out. The altar is a simple table. Behind it is a tabernacle pedestal with a Presence lamp to one side. Flanking the altar stage are two simple representations of the Blessed Virgin: one with the baby Jesus in her arms, the other without. Above the tabernacle pedestal is a large crucifix, and above that a stained-glass window depicting Christ preaching among the Hebrews.
There was no one there when I arrived. I genuflected before the altar, made the Sign of the Cross, and knelt in the frontmost pew for a decade of the Rosary, and then a few less stylized prayers. No one else arrived while I was there.
I am never comfortable when far from home. I miss my wife, my animals, my home, my books, and all the other comforts and props with which I've contrived to surround myself. I have a hard time sleeping in any bed but my own, and a hard time eating anything that didn't come from my own larder. Worst, whenever I'm away from home I feel myself to be standing on a step, beyond which is an irreversible disconnection. No, not death; something worse. Something that leaves one physically alive but permanently cut off from everything that gives life its value.
So when time permits, I find a church, and I go there to pray and reflect.
What does one seek from prayer? To what is it a reliable avenue? The oldest Christian prayer is a petition for both temporal and spiritual bounties. "Give us this day our daily bread." "Deliver us from evil." But want and evil are abroad in the world, and no amount of prayer, however heartfelt, will guarantee that they'll pass us unmolested.
In the movie Shadowlands, Anthony Hopkins as C. S. Lewis proclaims that he prays "because the need flows out of me....It doesn't change God, it changes me." I find this to be true. It is not for Man to change God, whether by prayer or any other artifice. We are told well beforehand that the answer to our prayers may be "No." But every prayer has a subtext, and all of them are the same: "Dear God, whatever You may choose to send, may I be strong enough to accept it, and to bear it."
Whatever you, Gentle Reader, might think of me from my emissions here, please know this: I am not a particularly good man. I've largely squandered the immense gifts that have been bestowed upon me. My conscience is heavy with unexpiated sin, and I have little confidence that I'll ever be free of it. God owes me nothing. Were He to turn His face away at my approach, it would be no more than justice.
But I pray nonetheless. It doesn't change God, but it might yet change me.
Lately there's been a lot of disorder in my life. My wife and I are having assorted difficulties with one another. One of my stepdaughters recently tried to take her own life, and though she's unharmed physically, she's just barely begun to recover psychologically. I've been diagnosed with a brace of medical conditions that will require lifelong care, as well as the sacrifice of certain pleasures of which I'd grown overly fond. I have a much-loved pet whose life will soon come to an end. There's more, but you don't really need to hear about it.
So I knelt there in that little church and I prayed, not knowing exactly what petition I meant to make or how to couch it. The clearest it ever got in my mind was "Will You show me the way out of this darkness, or must I find it myself?"
I was there a long while, praying, thinking, hoping for answers. No answers came. Still, there was peace there, and the sense of welcome that attaches to every Christian church: "Come unto Him, all ye that labor, all ye that are heavy laden, and He will bring you rest."
Presently I rose, genuflected and crossed myself again, and returned here to my hotel.
I left the church knowing no better what specifically to do about my troubles than I did when I arrived. And of course, I was still far from home. But I did remember the subtext. And I did remember that no merely human suffering can compare to what Christ endured on the Cross. Tomorrow, Christians worldwide will commemorate that terrible, inevitable day on which He offered up His life in token of our sins, forward and backward to the uttermost limits of time.
It was a timely visit, for I had allowed much to slip from my mind, much that I desperately needed to remember. It had been displaced by the pressure of relative trivialities, the this-too-shall-pass-away silt and detritus of a modern middle-class American life. I remembered it there, in that little church at the water's edge. Perhaps He reminded me of it.
Two thousand years ago, in an act of love beyond all comparison, the Son of God embraced the flesh and all the ills flesh is heir to, for our sake. He went to His torture and death at the hands of men who opposed all He stood for, for our sake. Three days later He rose from the dead to prove that His teachings were no arbitrary pronouncements of pique, no mere feel-good fluff. For our sake.
Domine, non sum dignus.
I know You will give me what I really need, Lord. You always have.
I will try harder.
Comments
May God answer your prayers my friend. He, in providing your friendship, was in answer to one of mine.
Posted by Pascal Fervor on 03/24/2005 at 02:13 PMA very timely post. Just what I needed to hear at this very moment.
Many thanks.
Posted by Jason on 03/24/2005 at 04:53 PMFrancis, your post was so touching. I will pray for you and your family. Someone once told me, God will test you, but he will never tempt you with evil. I try to remember that when I am going through difficult times.
Posted by Heather on 03/24/2005 at 06:13 PMYou and the family are ever in my prayers.
Posted by og on 03/25/2005 at 12:38 AMAmen, Francis, amen.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 03/25/2005 at 02:40 AMI have empathy for you in your trials. I, too have undergone a time of trying. I have not responded as well as I should have or could have. I have made errors based on my own judgment, because I did not think to ask God how I should proceed, that have compounded the trials. As I lurched from one crisis to the next, I began to wonder what else would go wrong. Since God never gives us more than we can bear, and I had borne all that had been given, was there more suffering in store, some new and unforeseen calamity that would test my faith to the limit?
My prayer life is still very shallow. I could and should say that I would pray for you, as I should be praying for so many others, but I would not do it, so I will not say it. And yet, I perceive that my will is being bent towards His. I feel more comfortable with His guidance of my life. Although I talk to Him far less than I used to, I am closer to Him than ever. I am beginning to understand how to let go of my will and allow Him to lead me.
There is still a long way to go, and I am stubborn, if nothing else, but He is shaping me according to His design. I am not happy, but I am content. I have begun to experience the “peace that passeth all understanding.”
I do not know why He has allowed these trials, but some day I will. And that is enough for now. God bless and keep you.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 03/25/2005 at 10:35 AMThank you for this post, Francis.
And amen.
Posted by IB Bill on 03/25/2005 at 01:33 PMMy last duty station was just south of there, NAS Patuxent River. Been to the Solomans old town district, and their American Legion many a weekend. Our Lady, Star of the Sea hearkens back to a time when men went to the sea, daily, to do battle not only with nature, but to reap the harvest of the deep….(especially the blue crabs). And in turn, The church was there for them to give thanks to God for granting them their *literal* daily bread, and continued survival against the elements, to bless the boats, to minister to the families. As you may also know, just down the road are two of the oldest Catholic churches in the country. Maryland being a Catholic enclave since the 1600’s in this country.
As far as personal contemplation goes, I am so far short of the mark…I would be moving up a rung or two on the ladder just to make it to “backsliding”. My biggest hope is God has a sense of humor, my greatest fear is he does not.
Have the best Easter possible, and a safe journey back home.
Posted by GuyS on 03/26/2005 at 12:55 AM
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