CowPi Journal

Will you sometime who have sought
So long and seek still
In the slowly darkening hunting ground
Catch sight of some ordinary month or week
Of that strange quarry
You scarcely thought you sought,
Yourself?

The gatherer gathered,
The finder found,
The buyer who would buy all in bounty bought,
And perch in pride on the princely hand at home,
And there the long hunt over,
Rest and roam.

— Edwin Muir

All of our all-school Masses are good, but this one was extra special on several accounts. First, it was grandparent’s day at our school and there were about 65 sets of grandparents and students out of a school of 290. We hold Mass in the church across the street and it was packed to standing room only. After Mass, the grandparents toured the school with their student as the rest of us tried to have class. As a teacher, interruptions to my classroom are irritating, but today, it was fun. I think my students enjoyed it too. Not because it delayed the lesson, but many of our elderly guest were fun, engaging, and energized by the students as they popped into our classroom.
Second, it was All Saints Day. I have always liked this feast (technically a solemnity) because it reminds us that we are all part of something much, much larger than ourselves, that we are part of the Body of Christ, Branches on the Vine, or whatever favorite metaphor that comes to mind. (Mass itself should do this too, but this day seems to emphasize it more than usual.) The Church (with a capital “C”) is much larger than just the earthly church. It is directly connected through Christ to the church in heaven and in purgatory (i.e. the Church Triumphant, Church Suffering, and Church Militant). The saints in heaven are praying for us as we pray for them. Wow! (For a long time, I have had this feeling that someone had prayed for me to find faith.) Of course Christ is always with us, but through Him, all of heaven is with us also. We are never really alone. Anyone who really loves is never alone. Something for me to remember.
Third, the Deacon was not able to make this Mass, and so, by luck, it was my honor to distribute the Blessed Sacrament next to the priest to the school and their grandparents. WOW!!! I got to smile and look half the school in the eye as I held up the Host and said, “Body of Christ.” What a charge! My smile grew wider and brighter as Communion went on, especially when I presented to the students I have in class (which is about half the school). I must have appeared giddy with joy. It felt even more special to give the Host to those few students who just came back from a four-day retreat with me this past weekend. What an honor and privilege! I am not worthy, but God uses us mere creatures where He needs. Thank you Lord for choosing me for this day to serve you and my students!

This prayer is kind of a modern version of the Anima Christi.

Jesus, may all that is you flow into me.

May your body and blood be my food and drink.
May your passion and death be my strength and life.

Jesus, with you by my side enough has been given.
May the shelter I seek be the shadow of your cross.

Let me not run from your love which you offer,
But hold me safe from the forces of evil.

On each of my dyings shed your light and your love.

Keep calling to me until that day comes,
When with your saints, I may praise you forever.

Amen.

I pray this prayer just about every morning. I always pause on the fourth line. Do I really think that with Jesus by my side, I will not need anything else? How many times have I wished to walk with Him and still wanted something else, or some one else? How many things have I tied myself to along with wanting God? Shouldn’t my longing for God be solely for God? Why can’t I see with my whole heart and head that He is enough?

The fifth line causes me to pause too. Shelter under the cross? Among all the pain and sorrow that occurred on the cross, do I really deep down believe that it all was transformed into happiness and joy, from defeat into victory, death into life? I do. I do. I do, but how deeply do I? Enough to run to it instead of from it every time I feel sorrow or pain?

Which leads to the sixth line. My first reaction to sorrow and pain is to run from it, or to fight it, or to avoid it, walk around it. Anything but engage it, face it, walk through it to the other side. I have been here enough now to realize that when I do let go, face it, walk through the fire with Him, I will be transformed as the eighth line says.

I recently heard a line that puts some things into clear perspective, “Go away closer.” My first reaction to sorrow, or even to joy sometimes, or to the awesome but scary love of Jesus, is to say, “Go away!” “This hurts too much. It will change me too much. You love me too much.” But I see that Jesus is there, the object of my longing, and I say, “Come closer.”

Two steps backwards, three steps forward. Go away closer.

Jesus, please bring me closer to you.

Penni asks, “Do you remain Christ-centered and where is your balance?”

I have no idea where my balance point is. As soon as I think I have found it, something knocks me off it, and I try my best to return to it. The funny thing is, as soon as I think I have returned to the last place I felt balanced, I find that the true balance point has shifted slightly to a new position, and again the tension and struggle to get there ensues. Ironically, my balance point swings like a pendulum between family/friends and solitude, between silence and noise, between prayer and action.

As for being Christ-centered, I pray St. Joan of Arc’s prayer. To paraphrase it:

God, if I am not in your grace, please put me there. If I am, may it please you to keep me there.

I find myself in an elliptical orbit around Christ like the comets around the sun. At aphelion, I feel like a ball of ice—distant, lost, cold, lonely, tarnished—desolation. At perihelion, I feel like a blazing comet with its tail all aglow—close, energized, warm, vibrant, shining—consolation. I would hope that the orbit is tightening up, becoming more circular, closing in on the source of light, but I suspect that it is becoming even more elliptical, more oblong and distorted, more erratic. The periods of consolation and desolation seem to be growing in their intensity. Unlike a comet, I think I am closest to God when I feel like I am the farthest away.

I am not too worried about it though. Although I have recently resisted it with much intensity, I am coming to accept with deep trust that this is the path the Lord has chosen for me. Love will point to the way ahead.

Surrender to the Beloved is paradoxically liberating and energizing.