There was one instance in particular that started me thinking deeply about life and faith. Early last Sunday morning, I was jarred awake by my phone ringing. It was Maria-- my next door neighbor who was about to be my roommate for the mini session. She was calling to see if I was up. "I am now!" I thought. Thank goodness she called; I had slept through my alarm. It was about 7:30. I rolled out of bed and threw on a tshirt and jeans. It was sprinkling and grey outside. I filled a coffee mug with orange juice and wandered next door. Her friend Chris, who has a truck, was going to help me move my furniture to Philip's basement for the summer before Mass (praise God).
I had met Chris before through Amelia. He had been helping with her Mary's Crowning project for the proclamation of the proposed Fifth Marian Dogma (Co-Redemptrix, Mediatrix, and Advocate). The first time I met him, he made me laugh. He was running around all excited about something he was talking to his friend about on the phone. He was lively and energetic and happy, pacing back and forth, smiling and talking excitedly through California slang, even though the conversation was about some disheartening things. For the rest of the night, he was jumping from one conversation to the other excitedly talking about the faith, the dogma, and joyfully speaking in Scripture verses to a girl who had come to hear about the proposed dogma. Just like that, he was out the door to do something else for the rest of the evening.
Last Sunday morning when we were all sitting in Maria's kitchen, he was more mellow with the cold, damp morning, but just as joyful. As we made some scrambled eggs and listened to random music on his phone, he started talking excitedly about the inevitable persecution that was coming our way as the Church in America. We talked about the healthcare ridiculousness and how the persecution had begun-- Franciscan had just issued an email to all the students about how they would no longer be offering student health insurance because of the HHS mandate. We were grateful for our University standing its ground but somber about what was to come. The air was charged with a sort of calm-before-the-storm, military-preparedness as we listened to Chris read an excerpt from an address Pope Benedict had given a few years back:
The church will become small and will have to start afresh more or less from the beginning.On that damp, Sunday morning, his words echoed in our three souls as something all too imminent. Chris, joyful as usual and not missing a beat, talked about perseverance and devotion to Our Lady, alluding to passages in St. Paul's letters. I couldn't help but think, if Pope Benedict's words do prove to be prophetic, Chris is ready. Not because he knows what exactly is or isn't going to happen, but because he trusts in the Lord and he knows he has the Holy Spirit to strengthen him and Our Lady to pray for him.
She will no longer be able to inhabit many of the edifices she built in prosperity. As the number of her adherents diminishes . . . she will lose many of her social privileges. . . As a small society, [the Church] will make much bigger demands on the initiative of her individual members….
It will be hard-going for the Church, for the process of crystallization and clarification will cost her much valuable energy. It will make her poor and cause her to become the Church of the meek . . . The process will be long and wearisome as was the road from the false progressivism on the eve of the French Revolution — when a bishop might be thought smart if he made fun of dogmas and even insinuated that the existence of God was by no means certain . . . But when the trial of this sifting is past, a great power will flow from a more spiritualized and simplified Church. Men in a totally planned world will find themselves unspeakably lonely. If they have completely lost sight of God, they will feel the whole horror of their poverty. Then they will discover the little flock of believers as something wholly new. They will discover it as a hope that is meant for them, an answer for which they have always been searching in secret.
And so it seems certain to me that the Church is facing very hard times. The real crisis has scarcely begun. We will have to count on terrific upheavals. But I am equally certain about what will remain at the end: not the Church of the political cult, which is dead already, but the Church of faith. She may well no longer be the dominant social power to the extent that she was until recently; but she will enjoy a fresh blossoming and be seen as man’s home, where he will find life and hope beyond death.
All week I haven't been able to think about anything else. The theme of silent preparation for a coming persecution and the perseverance that must accompany that have been echoing through my head and my heart. In class, we've been talking about liturgical catechesis, and Professor Pauley read us a striking account of a 4th century Easter Vigil (focusing mostly on the Baptism). The past few days, the themes of death and life in Baptism have been shot throughout my readings for the class, and so the theme that Chris placed in my mind was perpetuated-- death, life, perseverance, white (or red) martyrdom, giving it all for Christ joyfully.
In my own spiritual life, spurred by some conversations with Maria about growing and moving on and learning through relationships with other people, I've begun to notice how I ease into difficult things the Lord is asking me to do. I don't just jump in head first and trust that the Lord will catch me, although I suspect many times I should. I noticed how I take things slowly and think things through. But if I'm uncomfortable with something, I wait until the idea of it is more comfortable to start moving in that direction. Right now, I'm not really sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing or if it's sometimes good and sometimes bad. The only time I can really pinpoint me taking a leap without really feeling certain about the outcome is my transferring to Franciscan two years ago. And maybe that's okay. I'll continue to pray about it.
Through all that, I've been pondering the verse, "he who is faithful in little will be faithful in much", and taking it as sort of a consolation. Maybe my easing into things-- slowly but surely growing in my ability to trust the Lord and to come out of my shell-- is preparation for a coming persecution of some sort. Maybe my baby steps are what they are... steps that build on each other to create a solid resolve... a solid trust... a solid faith in the Lord concerning what he wants from me. Recently, I had to teach a lesson on faith, and a phrase came to my mind when I was writing my lesson, late at night, out of nowhere (which probably means that it came from God saying, "HEY. THIS IS THE POINT. DON'T MISS THIS"). It was, "the more you have faith, the more faith you will have." It sounds almost redundant, but it's really not. The more we let go and trust the Lord, the more we WILL trust the Lord to begin with because the Lord has always delivered when we trusted him. "He who is faithful in little will be faithful in much". It's a different way to apply the phrase, but I think it works.
On another note, I've been thinking a bit about who I am in a more superficial way-- what sort of things, cultures, attitudes fit with who I am. (Not "who I am" in a seriously real way, ie. "Who I am as a daughter of God, saved in the blood of Christ Jesus"-- that would certainly be more important, but it's somewhat unchanging, dependent only on whether or not I choose to live in a state of grace. BUT... more like... "if you would place me in an American culture subgroup, which one would you put me in?"). I notice that I get hooked on certain bands or singers for years at a time, and I sort of adopt their style into my melting pot of a personality as something that best expresses how I think or how I feel or how I see the world. (I don't really know how to describe this-- I'm not much of a philosopher). But, for example, lately I've determined that I'm some sort of strange mix between Gulf Coast Southern and Southern Californian (heavy on the Gulf Coast Southern, of course). Musically, NEEDTOBREATHE is the definition of my Southern-ness, and Jon Foreman/Switchfoot is the definition of my alien Southern California-ness. I say alien because I've only ever actually been to the LA and San Diego airports-- haha. But there's always been something about the surf & sun, beach/adventure sports, salty wet hair, and board shorts persona/attitude that I'm attracted to. I suppose that's why I liked the show "Rocket Power" so much as a kid (lol). But it is very true that although I've admired some sort of elements from that culture, I've never actually been a part of it. I've only aspired to be-- without the means to actualize it. Super metaphorically speaking, I am NEEDTOBREATHE but a part of me wants to be Switchfoot too. It sounds weird, I know, but just roll with me for a minute. I get this inspired feeling-- I can feel it in my bones-- whenever I really listen to Switchfoot and NEED, who (I think) really capture some small part of the essence of being Southern or Southern Californian Christians. I guess that strikes some part of who I am and I connect with it. *shrug* I dunno.
So... how does all this ridiculous randomness connect to the deeper stuff I've been thinking about? Well, mostly, it set the stage and the imagery for the poem I wrote this morning. It was also probably linked to the conversation with Chris (who is from Southern California) and with whom I joked briefly about how So Cal was probably the only other place besides the South I would be happy living (perpetual sunshine and beaches-- ha).
So, all this stream-of-consciousness is just to introduce the poem that is the result of all my recent pondering. Pray for me! and enjoy!
In Little, In Much
I am a child of the Gulf,
easing into the sea like I ease into death.
I go down to where the waters are calm,
and I can take a slow, submissive breath.
Small waves crash around me,
like small rejections and pokes at my pride,
but there it is easy to descend—
to take small hits—to take a quick dive.
The Pacific, however, frightens me.
It is Beauty in the form of martyr-making waves.
There, I’m not sure I could jump right in
The sudden terror of the cold, dark abyss
is like devastating blows to the life I’ve lived.
But You say there is life in this water—
Life, but only by death.
I wonder if the Gulf prepares me—
Coaches me for my Pacific plunge—
a persecution that will demand my life
but that will bring me to Life in return.
I meet California people—
ready and poised to jump in.
With paradoxical joy they await it,
Confident but humble as they depend on Him.
I wonder if it’s in their blood, growing up near the rush,
Or if I too should be ready now… all at once.
But I am a child of the Gulf.
Slowly, steadily I move,
and He moves me.
It’s a slow slide like a porch fan in summer
or a long, cool drink of iced tea.
The Gulf water stings, but it heals,
especially when I open my eyes.
The salt burns with a burn that refreshes
Like a refiner’s fire that destroys my demise.
There is exhilaration, I suppose.
There is promise in small, daily dives.
But the sandy floor is always near to catch my dangling feet,
Warm and comforting like a friend who revives.
I wonder if the Gulf is my training
for the deeper waters of Pacific blues
I ponder Your penetrating phrase,
“He who is faithful in little will in much be faithful too.”
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