Tag Archives: Jesus Christ

Something Worth Doing

This morning after I did my morning prayer, I played a stupid game on my phone for a little while. I went to bed very late last night, and really, I just didn’t want to get up. I could afford to just chill for a little, but then a thought came to my mind. I couldn’t help questioning why I was playing that game. It’s not actually all that fun, and I’m so good at it by now that it’s basically mindless. I couldn’t help asking myself if it was God’s will for me to be playing that game. My ultimate conclusion was that, while it was perfectly acceptable for me to be playing a dumb game, it probably wasn’t exactly what He wanted me to be doing.

Anyone who really wants to follow Christ ultimately has to ask what God wants them to be doing. When asking this question, though, most of us, myself included, are usually wondering what God’s ultimate plan for our lives is. We’re looking at the forest, without always seeing the trees. I reflected on this, and I asked myself, “What would God want me to be doing right now? I don’t have to be ready for work for another hour or so, and it’s not like I have to go far (I would be traveling from eating lunch in the kitchen back to my bedroom which would then be my office).” I came to the conclusion that, even if I didn’t have a concrete answer, I did know that God would want me to be doing something worth doing.

That begs the question: what makes something worth doing? What gives value to an action, practice, or effort? Ultimately, what gives anything value? I recently visited a group of third order Carmelites, and am considering officially joining their order. I’ve only visited them once, and I have a lot to learn, but my visit was amazing, and the people were probably the nicest I’ve ever met. I mention this because at the end of my visit, one of the women gave me a glass tube. Contained inside was water from the Jordan River and the Sea of Galilee, a tiny shell from the Sea of Galilee, and some dust from Mount Carmel; a mountain in Israel where the first Carmelites created their order. Measuring the worth of that tube in terms of money makes it worthless, but I thought it was an amazing gift.

Last night I was reading about the history of the Rosary, and I read that when it started becoming incredibly popular and well known, people would make incredibly fancy ones with precious stones on gold or silver chains. Mine is made of wooden beads on a plain cord. I bought that one partly because I’m the cheapest woman alive, but partly because a fancy Rosary would not be my style. It’s value is contained in what I use it for. I think about the things I consider to be my treasures. I have some religious items that I consider treasure, and some of them actually are nice, but I also consider my ability to use the English language a kind of treasure. Technology is also a kind of treasure because the ability to communicate, learn, and quite frankly, to be entertained, is valuable.

I also discovered something late last night. The value or worth of anything must be determined by something greater than itself. I often find myself marveling at the fact that the God of the universe wants anything to do with me. I am one in literally several billion people, but my Heavenly Father literally loves the hell out of me. Making sense of that love is confusing at best, and last night I found myself thinking, “Lord, you knew I’d never be able to walk. You knew I’d have epilepsy. You knew I’d be just as messy as anyone else. You knew I’d give up on you, and give up on myself for a while. You made me anyway, and you still chased me down. I just don’t get it. I’m not even important.” At that moment something stopped me. I think He stopped me because my next thought was, “Actually, you think I’m pretty important. If you say I’m important, then I’m important.” That thought made me happy.

I don’t know what God’s ultimate plan is for my life, but I do know some things. I call my godparents “Aunt” and “Uncle,” but we’re not actually related. A few months ago, I learned that their daughter, so my kind-of cousin, is going to have a baby this winter. Even before I knew this, though, I realized that I had a growing desire to be a godmother. I thought it was kind of weird desire, but I prayed about it a handful of times. This past weekend, it was decided that I would be my “cousin’s” child’s godmother. I have an amazing relationship with both of my godparents, and I hope to have the same kind of relationship with my godchild.

I often listen to Christian playlists on Spotify while I’m working. There’s a song that sometimes comes on that I kind of hate because it’s about how Christians spend too much time singing empty words and twiddling our thumbs while the outside world suffers. This song kills me because I am a sympathetic person, and I hate to see people suffer, but because of my physical impediments, I can’t go out and actively do much about it. I didn’t mention the song specifically, but I mentioned my trepidation about it to my godfather. He told me that my prayers are more effective and heard more readily because I can’t go out and precisely because I want to help. Despite the fact that I’ve witnessed the truth of it, I’ve had to have it hammered into me time and again that prayer is powerful.

I’ve learned that prayer takes faith, and prayer takes patience. It is absolutely true that God often works in ways we don’t expect, and He often takes His time. Sometimes I realize that God has answered me months or even years after I prayed for or about something. Conversely, sometimes He’ll answer my prayers within thirty seconds of me praying. It takes perseverance, and it takes practice. I’ve been praying the Rosary every night for, I think, nearly a year now, and I still get distracted. Sometimes I get a lot out of it, and sometimes I don’t. The point isn’t what I can get out of it, though. The point is what it can do.

I want to focus mainly on the Rosary because numerous significant miracles have been attributed to it. In 1214 the Rosary was presented to St. Dominic by the Blessed Mother to defeat the¬†Albigensian heresy, which taught that the spirit was good, but the body was evil. Thus, they taught that suicide was a commendable practice. The Rosary, while essentially viewed through the eyes of Mary, so to speak, focuses deeply on the life and humanity of Christ, especially since the Luminous Mysteries–those that focuss on his miracles weren’t included until later.

The devotion of people faithfully praying the Rosary is attributed to nonviolent resistance to, and ultimate defeat of Communism in Brazil in the 1960’s. It was attributed to the healing of Father Patrick Peyton, an Irish immigrant to the U.S. who was diagnosed with¬†Tuberculosis, which in the 1930’s, when he was alive, was incurable. In 1945, when the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, eight Jesuit priests were together praying the Rosary less than a mile from ground zero. They miraculously survived, and suffered no radiation poisoning. Though not a miracle, I can certainly say that praying the Rosary has helped me to grow closer to Jesus and develop a relationship with Mary that I previously didn’t have.

The prayers of individuals can work miracles. That is absolutely true. I strongly believe, and I think I’m supported by history, though, that a bunch of people praying for the same thing can more readily move mountains. Even from a human perspective, it’s the difference between one kid pestering Mom or Dad for something, or two, or three, or maybe even six kids, if they have friends with them, all asking for the same thing. If you’re like me, you don’t always have people around to pray with you. That’s why getting to know the Blessed Mother, and maybe a handful of Saints is important. They may not be physically here, but they can and do pray with you and for you.

All of this is meant as encouragement to my readers, but also as a reminder to myself. If you don’t have the time, the money, or the physical ability to “go out” and volunteer or donate to charity, and that is a sincere desire of your heart, then pray. Do what you can, and don’t worry about what you can’t. Every day I can read, I can write, I can edit, and I can pray. When school starts back up for the kids, I’ll be teaching CCD. If you focus only on what you can’t do, you will ultimately do nothing, and that helps no one. Pray for the people doing the things you want to do because in this way, you are helping them, and vicariously helping the people they are helping.

I have focused mainly on praying for others, but I would like to emphasize that it’s just as important to pray for yourself. I would argue that it’s just as important to pray about nothing. We are meant to be holy and have a relationship with God. To have a relationship with anyone, you have to talk to them. I recently went to see Beck live, and I had a ton of fun. I had a ton of fun with Jesus because I prayed through the whole thing. I just said stuff like, “I’m having an awesome time. Thank you for this.” Pray when something is bothering you. Pray when you need something. Pray when you’re late to church and need a parking spot. He’s usually quick to help with that one. Pray when you find something weird or funny, and share the weirdness or the humor with Him.

Lastly, I just want to say that It’s perfectly okay to waste some time. I did a little while ago because, quite frankly, my brain was a bit fried. It’s important to make note of the things we do and the reasons why we do them. In the end, I felt that writing this was what God would have me do today, and I certainly feel that it was something worth doing.

Advertisements

What Did It Sound Like?

Ever since Easter I’ve been wondering off and on what Jesus’ resurrection sounded like, and how it might be rendered musically. I realized as I was praying a few minutes ago that I’m thinking about it too much, or maybe just too intellectually. There are, doubtless, many things no one can know about what happened at the tomb right when it happened, but certain things can be known, or at least, could be plausible.

There were soldiers stationed there overnight. What I imagine is a couple of comrades in arms muttering to each other because they were tired. With a sigh of relief, they see the dawn slowly approaching. It’s very quiet because it’s so early and because they wouldn’t have the noise of the city that we’re used to. It would be nearly, if not completely silent. Then the sun would come over the horizon, and they would hear something different.

They would be confused by the sound of powerful wings like nothing they had heard before. Then, maybe they would and maybe they wouldn’t see the angel, but something strange would happen. They would yell and undoubtedly, run away, maybe to tell someone, maybe to hide, or maybe just to try and rationalize what was happening and try to convince each other that they were not crazy.

The Angel would then role away the stone, revealing the entrance to the tomb. I don’t know what angels sound like or look like, but I do know what large stones being rolled on the ground sounds like. It would be reasonably loud, especially if it were pushed away with force, which it probably was. The light would flood into a previously pitch dark space, and Jesus would push away the shroud, take a breath, know what had happened, and step outside. Maybe he would talk to the angel, and maybe not. Maybe he left instructions for the angel to tell the women what to say when they came and found the tomb empty.

There are a lot of maybe’s in there. There’s ultimately too much I don’t know. Somehow, though, I just want the whole thing to be louder. I want to know what happened to the soldiers. I’ve never really thought about them before. To me, they’ve never really been an important part of the story. Thinking about it, though, to Jesus, everyone is an important part of the story. He knew who those soldiers were. He cared about them. Maybe at some point those same soldiers came to know Jesus through his Apostles. Then again, maybe not, but I don’t think they would have been unaffected by what happened. I guess this went in a different direction than I was intending, but it’s interesting to think about.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Trust

Several weeks ago, in fact it was before Lent began, the Gospel reading was about how Jesus couldn’t fully trust a certain group of people because he knew just how messy human nature is. This crushed me. It left me with the nagging question, “Can he trust me?” That’s a nasty question because the answer is complicated. I wrote a while ago about when I nearly lost a year’s worth of work, but I chose to trust, and I gave the problem to God. I chose to trust him, and my work was restored. The truth is, God knows everything about me. He knows about all my messiness, but I know that trust is a choice.

I recently made a choice. I chose to say “yes” to religious life. I’ve started working with my priest to find the right order for me. This is a really new development, but it feels right. I haven’t entirely embraced this in the past, even though I’ve considered it off and on for quite some time. I haven’t been totally willing to say “yes” before because the fact of the matter is, it makes no sense for him to choose me or trust me. I have no idea what he has in mind for me to do, but I don’t have to know. Last night I was praying my rosary like usual, but instead of trying to simply visualize what was going on, I tried to imagine what Christ might have been feeling during his Passion.

The second decade of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary focuses on his scourging at the pillar. I saw and heard the whip in my mind. I saw his blood. More importantly, I think, I realized that each of those slashes was one of my sins. His mercy says to me, “You’re worth it.” I’m worth it. He sees something in me that I don’t because I am messy, and not only is he saying that I’m worth that pain, but I’m worth dying for. He’s saying that my soul is worth carrying and taking the guilt for all my sins. With that in mind, how can I say “no” to him? I don’t know what he has in mind for me, and my soul isn’t totally trustworthy in the sense that I am faulty, but God chooses to trust me. What I have failed to grasp in the past is that God chooses to trust, too.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!