A Reply to Love

from the foot of the cross

 

During the Christmas Octave in 2005, I was particularly struck by the feast days immediately following the celebration of our Lord’s birth.  I have a deep love for the liturgy and a great respect for the way the liturgical calendar is set up, knowing that there is a great deal of wisdom and intentionality behind it.  So I knew that the Lord had something meaningful to say to me even about the way the Christmas Octave is put together. 

I sat in a quaint Portuguese coffee shop across the table from my sister Emily, who was holding my seven-week-old little nephew James in her arms.  In the background, one of our favorite artists began to play on the radio, and through the glass door I had a stunning view of the bright red autumn leaves blowing on the trees and the large brick clock tower in the old part of town. 

It was with reluctance that Fr. Gregory, OCD, pointed me (a hyper, zealous novice!) to John of the Cross' "Counsels" on my retreat several years ago. "People often misconstrue his writings," Father said with a grimace, "but you may find this helpful." "Helpful" proved to be an understatement.

Garth Brooks wrote a song called Unanswered Prayers.  I remember hearing it many years ago when it was popular.  He talks about the time he and his wife ran into his old high school sweetheart.  He remembered praying fervently that she would one day be his wife.  But time has changed things to the point that he now can say, as the chorus goes:

Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers
Remember when you're talkin' to the man upstairs
And just because he may not answer doesn't mean he don't care
Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

When I was in my early 20s, before I entered the convent, I decided on a whim to try out to sing the National Anthem. I drove to our local minor league baseball stadium, waited in line, and when it was my turn, belted out “The Star-Spangled Banner” to the empty benches and the fresh green turf.

Each year on November 1st we have the opportunity to celebrate all of the saints in heaven!  That means every single person who is officially recognized as a saint by the Church, and those who aren’t.  Today we can pause and reflect on the lives of family and friends who have gone before us.  How have we seen them living a holy life and striving for sainthood?  How have they they inspired us to be a saint?  Today I often find myself thinking about my cousin Mark.  I want to share with you a reflection I wrote about him when I was in high school and was able to read it at his funeral a couple of years later.

Early one morning, there was a crowd on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, and four fishermen were bending over their nets, washing them.  They saw the crowd, but hardly took notice.  Their minds were on their beds, for they had been hard at work all night long and had nothing to show for it.  The bright sunshine of the morning reflecting on the water just hurt their tired eyes.

It was almost completely silent, but for the sound of footsteps on stone. I carefully climbed up the uneven staircase and ducked my head through the tiny entrance. There it was, about the size of a bathtub—a hollow in the rock of Mount Subasio. I had no words. I knelt down and, suddenly, I felt his presence—Francis. I imagined him coming to this unknown cave, not so much to run away from the world as to run to his Beloved.