Earthen Vessels

From today's readings, 2 Corinthians 4:5-7

We hold this treasure in earthen vessels,
that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.
We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained;
perplexed, but not driven to despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed.

I've always loved the image of us mere mortals—the "earthen vessels"—carrying the greatest wealth possible. This passage also strikes me, though, because it speaks of the contradictions that are inherent in life, and in faith. Being human means that we are fragile and mortal, and that we struggle. But we are not alone, and we carry on. The letter goes on to describe the way the living carry out Jesus' promise of eternal life. Paul expresses the contradiction as such:

We who live are constantly being given up to death for the sake of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh.

Forgive me, but that's depressing. I get it, but I rather prefer this idea:

Since, then, we have the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, "I believed, therefore I spoke," we too believe and therefore speak .... Everything indeed is for you, so that the grace bestowed in abundance on more and more people may cause the thanksgiving to overflow for the glory of God.

It's inspiring to envision the members of the early Church spreading this message far and wide, to provide hope and comfort to those in need, causing "thanksgiving to overflow."

Readings like this one might seem to support an unwelcome notion—that happiness in mortal life is irrelevant, because we are meant to look only toward the life beyond this one. But I realize it's not an either/or scenario. Sharing faith, hope and love with our friends and family is sharing the promise of eternal life, yes; but it is also making the life we live now less lonely, more hopeful and more joyful.

Light My Fire

One of the reasons this blog was helpful to me during Lent was that I committed to posting every day. The posts were almost always reflections on the readings of the day, so that meant I was reading scripture every day. I forced myself to think about these words, what the message behind them might be, and what they meant to me and my spiritual journey. The discipline of daily reflection gave me a sense of momentum in my prayer life.

Since Easter, I relaxed the effort. I decided only to post a few days a week, and I got a friend involved to share the load. (And also because she is a brilliant and thoughtful, with a rich spiritual life.) That didn't mean I wouldn't read and reflect everyday, I told myself. I just wouldn't need to spend the time to put my thoughts on a page (sometimes sacrificing sleep or time with my husband in the evening). I'd have a little more freedom.

Well, it turns out that without the daily discipline of writing, I haven't kept up with the reading, or the prayer. And not surprisingly, something is missing. I find myself impatient, frustrated, and even a little bored. I don't think it's an accident that this rut coincides with my lack of prayer and spiritual exploration.

So I go back on the wagon. No, I still won't post every day, but I will take time each day to read and reflect. Tonight I turned to the readings and found in Exodus the story of Moses and the burning bush. These lines, in particular, jumped out:

As he looked on, he was surprised to see that the bush,
though on fire, was not consumed.

A couple of thoughts occur to me. One is that even during times of crisis throughout my life, I haven't been destroyed, and my faith has been a big part of that survival. But looking at it another way, I think about the "fire" I have felt at various times as I searched for meaning and for guidance in living the best life I can. Sometimes, like when I was blogging every day, I have felt somewhat consumed—deeply committed and singularly focused. Being consumed didn't seem so bad in that case. How can I get a piece of that back?

Most of us don't get signs and wonders like Moses did—God speaking to him through a fiery shrub. Sometimes we have to be our own burning bush, and steer ourselves toward the course that brings us the most life.

Moses was called to lead his people to freedom. I have to remember that, sometimes, freedom is born out of discipline, and hard work and sacrifice often inspire the greatest happiness.

Come to Me and Rest

All week I’ve been thinking about the beautiful homily I heard this past Sunday, focused on the Gospel message: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
 and I will give you rest.” After a lovely but tiring weekend, I was at my town’s cathedral on my own for evening Mass. I generally attend my local parish’s morning family celebration, which I love – it’s a vibrant, caring community which still operates on that old school vibe of a parish being the hub of a neighborhood. The cathedral is the exact opposite kind of place – vast, cool, hollow and not necessarily that connected as a community. Which sometimes is exactly what I need – quiet time, where you can feel empty and alone, perhaps even sad, and allow God to fill up that space.

The priest (whom I love, he makes going to the cathedral worthwhile) started by asking what people’s reasons were for being at that exact Mass on that Sunday. I knew I was going to get this one wrong – I was there more out of a sense of familial obligation of weekly attendance than personal desire, in the evening because I was exhausted and just needed some time alone. “Are any of you here for quiet time alone with the Lord?” Um, yes. Maybe not in the perfect sense of coming to God, but that is mostly what I was seeking. He talked about how one of the main things Jesus asks us to do is to come rest with him – and that while attending weekly Mass is perhaps not a key value amongst many modern Catholics, that this was the reason and the benefit – time at rest with the Lord. This is seriously easy! For all the parts of Catholicism that I often find enormously difficult – questions about faith, about Church teachings and practices, about the seriously hard road full of sacrifices that the Lord asks of us – this is definitely something I can not only manage, but need – that time when you can turn off the incessant background chatter of your own mind, and just be. I can’t pretend that I always find deep revelation, or even as much connection with the Lord as I may desire, at Mass – sometimes it really is just going through the motions. But I love this thought of God asking us to carve out time just to be looked after by Him – to give over our burdens, whatever they may be, and be at rest.