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Catholicism, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Saints, Scripture

The Heart of Jesus – Pt 2

Carrie Sue Barnes

Thirty minutes ago, I decided to do a little writing. My ancient laptop takes several minutes to turn on and load up before I can open the browser, then another few minutes to load the website and move from link to link to reach this page where I can type up this post. So, I pressed the power button and walked away to retrieve my notebook from downstairs. As I reached the living room, I figured I had plenty of time to finish putting away the clean dishes which for some reason I’d only halfway done before my shower. In putting said dishes in their cupboard homes, I noticed how badly the trays in the silverware drawer needed to be washed. So I emptied those trays, made some soapy water in the sink, and washed them up. Next, I thought I really should comb out my hair since it was wrapped in a towel atop my head. My hair combed, I remembered my notebook still stowed in a bag in the living room. Reaching that room yet again, I noticed how hungry I felt as the noon hour approached. I thought I ought to have a snack or I’d end up with a headache as I so often do. Selecting something from the pantry, I headed back upstairs and promptly remembered my notebook again.

Now, here I sit. My dishes put away, silverware trays washed, hair combed, a bag of trail mix sitting beside that finally retrieved notebook, and my brain scrambling to recall the thoughts that prompted me to write in the first place.

Oh, how the fallenness inside me feeds on distraction. How busy the enemy of our souls prefers to keep us. I had a single thought on the goodness of the heart of God, followed by a thought of sharing that truth with you, and that enemy knew exactly what to do. Distract! Detour! Show her all the lesser matters that could have her attention, and convince her they deserve to have it!

No thanks to me and all thanks to the Holy Spirit, I do remember what prompted the urge to write though. It was a compilation of thoughts that have accumulated for three months now. Ever since the church’s celebration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in late June, I keep returning to these matters. On that mid-summer morning, I sat down to read the scripture passages for Mass and found myself surprised and a little perplexed. I expected straightforward verses on the love of God, or perhaps on the nature of love itself.

God is love. Love is patient. Love is kind. Faith, hope, and love remain, and the greatest of these is love. For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. All of these seemed obvious choices for the day’s readings. Instead I found a theme I did not predict: the Good Shepherd.

The first reading was from Ezekiel 34. While I have long been familiar with and fond of the Gospel passages about Jesus as the Good Shepherd, I tend to forget that His claim on that title was a direct fulfillment of God’s portrayal of Himself in the Old Testament. It is a portrayal of both tenderness and leadership.

I myself will look after and tend my sheep…. I will rescue them from every place where they were scattered when it was cloudy and dark…. I will lead them…. I will bring them back… and pasture them…. I myself will give them rest, says the Lord God. The lost I will seek out, the strayed I will bring back, the injured I will bind up, the sick I will heal, but the sleek and the strong I will destroy, shepherding them rightly (Ezekiel 34:11-16, edited).

This is not a distant, aloof God. This is a dedicated, leading, determined, caring God. And this is the same God who spoke in that day’s gospel passage, inviting the citizens of heaven to rejoice with Him over the repentance and restoration of a single one of His beloved flock (Luke 15:6-7).

The Sacred Heart of Jesus, the seat of His love and mercy, is the heart of a shepherd – of the Good Shepherd.

A couple weeks ago, we celebrated a beloved saint, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, mostly known as Padre Pio. He spoke countless wise words in his lifetime and one of my favorite quotes is a favorite of many: “Pray, hope, and don’t worry. Worry is useless. Our merciful Lord will listen to your prayer.” I imagine that if Padre Pio shared such advice with any of the men and women who sat before him during the up to 10 hours of daily confessions he used to hear, many of them would have asked ” how?” How do we not worry? How is that possible?

When I asked that question myself in prayer, the Spirit whispered immediately, “Because you are cared for by a shepherd with a perfect heart of love.”

A shepherd does not let his sheep wander where harm awaits them. He provides boundaries that do not restrict but rather clarify where they are provided for and safe. When his sheep do stray, he does not write them off and abandon them. He seeks them out. He combats the peril they’ve walked into and restores them to where they belong. The shepherd keeps watch. The sheep do not need to worry. They need only remain in the presence of their shepherd.

Do not worry. The One who watches over you never sleeps. (Psalm 121:3-4) Do not be afraid. The Lord who loves you is your rock, fortress, refuge, and shield. (Psalm 18:2) Cast aside anxiety and undue stress. He leads you to rest and restoration. (Psalm 23:2-3)

Do not worry. You are loved and led by the Good Shepherd.

Catholicism, Faith, Holiness, Jesus, Love, Personal Reflection, Prayer

The Heart of Jesus – Pt 1

Carrie Sue Barnes

By human understanding and language, the heart is the seat of love. It is the place from which comes goodness and virtue. When we speak passionately or honestly, we are speaking from the heart. When we love someone to a particularly high degree, we give them our hearts and it is considered the most valuable gift one can offer another.

Jesus, fully God and fully human, loves us with divine love from his human heart. In the Sacred Heart – our ancient and holy title for the seat of our savior’s love – resides his perpetual care and desire for us, as well as his glorious character. All virtues and fruits of life, all in which we could seek to grow in our own hearts, exist in perfection and fullness in the Lord’s heart. Be it courage, wisdom, generosity, understanding, honesty, strength, or any other trait we might pursue, it flows from the bottomless well of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Great and wondrous, selfless and sacrificial, God’s remarkable love is offered by way of his heart. As a groom offers himself to a bride at the marriage altar, and the bride matches him in return, Jesus holds his heart out to us. He offers his wholehearted devotion, his mercy, his protection – all that makes up his love – by giving us his beautiful heart.

He invites us to match him in the offering. We cannot match Jesus in the perfection and fullness, yet that does not lessen his desire to receive our hearts, our devotion, and our love.

These realities course through my thoughts as I sit before an image of Jesus. It is a mere copy of a lovely old painting; one artist’s imagining of the gentle, solicitous expression of our savior offering his love to us in the symbolic seat of that love. His heart, radiant with light and wrapped in the crown of thorns worn when he died for us, is held out in invitation. Take it, he whispers to my soul. I am yours and you are mine, if you so choose.

The Sacred Heart of Jesus by Pompeo Batoni, 1767
Personal Reflection, The Hidden Legacy, Writing

From Scratch

Carrie Sue Barnes

There’s a longing in my spirit to write. Let me be specific. I long to write consistently, fruitfully, confidently, and readily. Each of these descriptors that applied to my writing life now feels lost. When I think of how it used to be, how easily I could sit down with a pen and a notebook and write, it feels like a devastating defeat to be where I am now. It feels like I am nowhere.

How often what is felt is not the whole truth. Sometimes it is not the truth at all.

Now I find myself seemingly even more fixed in this low spot. The publisher of my novel is closing its doors. The wonderful couple who founded and ran the company are retiring and they are not seeking new ownership or leadership. Simply put, this means The Hidden Legacy will become an out-of-print book. I will use a significant portion of my savings to purchase copies so I can continue to promote and sell it myself. That will be the end of them though. The rights to the original manuscript will revert to me, giving me the opportunity to seek a new publisher or self-publish it.

When I received this news last week, the defeat felt solidified. No matter how full I am of the discouragement that has accumulated over the last five years though, the ache to write never leaves. I carry an enduring certainty that it is a key piece of the person God designed when He created me. The desire to create via the written word, and the joy that sparks into little flames on the rare occasions I do write; these have not left me. The entire situation would be easier by a longshot if I were free of that pull inside me.

It is painful, to be frank. But if the struggle is painful, how much worse it would be to wave the white flag. The resignation, the acceptance of defeat as a writer, is a darkness I refuse to step into. I live with it hovering in my presence and I am in a constant fight to keep my back to it.

With some darknesses, the only way through is through. That was the case with the griefs that took me into these dry years. That is the case with the restoration the Lord is working in me. The temptation is to wait out this darkness and dryness, counting on the ease and inspiration to eventually return. That is the temptation, yes, but it is the opposite of the Lord’s prompting each time I take it to prayer.

I will count on consistency. I will count on discipline and accountability. I will count on trust. I will count on God’s promises to fulfill the desires He has written on our hearts. I will count on Him bearing fruit where I no longer know how to bear it.

Why share this here? Why is this anything other than a personal journal entry? I suppose it’s because I’m tired of meeting every “Are you still writing?” inquiry with a shrug, a false half-smile, and “Yeah, it’s just going slowly.” Oh, the countless times I’ve had that exact exchange! Always with the temptation to instead say, “No, I’ve failed at that. It’s done.” Always with my mind packed full of discouraging words of disappointment in myself. I come away from that exchange every single time feeling like a liar; like I’ve misled the person and eventually they will discover the deception. That is why I’m putting these sentences here instead of in my journal. There is no deception here. No misleading. Only honesty and open admission of the realness of where I am as a writer.

Starting from scratch then, here I am. I refuse to put away the pen. May the Lord bring what He will from it.

Catholicism, Faith, Good Friday, Holiness, Hope, Jesus, Lent, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Scripture

The Good of That Friday

Carrie Sue Barnes

My sins are nailed on the cross with my Jesus.

My mistakes.

My failures.

My shortcomings.

My selfishness.

My self-loathing.

My rejections.

My punishments.

My shame.

They are nailed to the cross in the hands of Jesus and thus I can no longer hold them in mine.

With the repentant criminal beside him, I plead “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” and he assures me that he does. He remembers me. He remembers the me known by the Father even before I was formed in my mother’s womb, stripped of the sins that mar that creation. With his arms spread on the bloody cross, he moves my sin and shame away from me, as far as east is from west.

This is the redemption of Christ. This is the good of that incredible, unmerited Friday.

Catholicism, Easter, Eucharist, Faith, Holiness, Holy Thursday, Jesus, Lent, Prayer, Scripture

To Whom Shall We Go – Holy Thursday Reflection

Carrie Sue Barnes

Jesus said to the twelve, “Will you also go away?

Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life; and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.”

John 6:67-69

Simon Peter’s statement of commitment and faith comes after Jesus’s bewildering explanation of his being the Bread of Life. Surrounded by a crowd that followed him across a sea to continue hearing him teach and to witness his miracles, Jesus boldly declared that he is “the true bread from heaven,” “the living bread,” and “if anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever.”

As the verses pile up through John, chapter six, we hear these incredible words from Jesus and the unsurprising objections of his listeners. With each murmured doubt from the crowd, Jesus deepens his teaching. He reinforces it and makes no move to backpedal or soften the truth he is delivering to them – and to us.

Jesus is “the bread of life,” “true food” and “true drink” to be consumed by those who believe he is the way to eternal life. He is the fulfillment of every sacrifice and ceremonial meal of the Old Testament. He is the manna sent by the Father to feed God’s people, not for a day but for eternity.

When he finishes this discourse, the response that rose above the noise was, “This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?”

Isn’t that the question for me? For us?

It is the question that comes with the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and the necessity of that miraculous and baffling sacrament.

Just the same, the question accompanies every “hard saying” in the moral teachings of Christ and his church. It is heard behind the disciplines and virtues within the call to imitate Christ, which often fly in the face of what is deemed acceptable or good by the rest of society. From the unflinching declaration of Jesus that he is the way, the truth, and the life, the question comes in the appeal of the wide array of other ways, partial truths, and opposing lives I could live.

Who can listen to it? Who can accept it? Who can live it? The question arises from the voices around me and from deep within my own soul. I hear it echoing through times of suffering and confusion. When I don’t understand where to find God or what he is doing, it is heard above the noise.

“This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?”

Like the followers then, I, his follower now, can respond as many did when they “drew back and no longer went about with him.” Or I can speak in harmony with Peter – with imperfect yet wholehearted faith.

I can walk with Jesus with questions on my tongue, and still thoroughly convinced by all I do know and all I have seen and heard. I can trust that greater insight will come further down the road, just as it did for the disciples when the earlier words of Jesus replayed in their ears as he lifted the bread and wine at the Last Supper: “Take, eat; this is my body…. Drink of it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for the forgiveness of sins” (Matthew 26:26b, 27b-28).

It is from this place of faith and trust that I gaze at the body of my Lord on the Cross and in the Eucharist. With that gaze comes a swell of love, awe, and peace. With that gaze, my soul sees its savior and answers, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life; and we have believed and come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.”

Advent, Christmas, Faith, Jesus, Prayer, Scripture

Heaven Celebrated – Christmas Reflection

Carrie Sue Barnes
Artwork: Seeing Shepherds by Daniel Bonnell

And suddenly there was a multitude of heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Luke 2:13-14, NAB

This scene of the Christmas Story, with the shepherds under dark skies and the angels that appear in heavenly light, is a favorite to picture in my mind. It is second only to imagining the Holy Family in the minutes after Jesus’s birth. I had a difficult time choosing an image to add here but eventually came across this stunning painting by Daniel Bonnell and it is the closest I’ve seen an artwork come to matching my imagination’s recreation of the scene.

It’s just that in my head, I imagine so many angels. I see them packed into the patch of sky arching over the shepherds. I see a tremendous amount of glowing white and gold light surrounding, filling, and beaming from the angels.

In that sky, over those fields, is where we see the glory.

Jesus came without fanfare, but the Father lit the sky with the heavenly glory the Son left behind for Bethlehem.

A multitude of host! Angels uncountable. A host is a multitude in itself. The first angel’s message of the good news of the savior was heralded by a multitude of multitudes of angels. The Son of God was born to Mary and heaven celebrated. Heaven rejoiced. The angels spilled through the divine realm and into our sky. They came with light and joy and song.

My Christmas prayer is that I and every one of you will know the joy of the angels in the celebration of Christ our Lord. We reach this day in such varied circumstances, from the good and beautiful to the painful and discouraging. In every case, may His glorious light crack across darkness and magnify what already shines.

Merry Christmas.

Author’s Note:

It’s been a substantial blessing to spend Advent with you. Thank you for joining me. This reflection series is the first consistent writing I have done in 3 years. The Lord is faithful and I rejoice in Him.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Love, Prayer, Scripture

Nothing Will Be Impossible – Advent Reflection, December 24th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week 4, Sunday – December 24th

For nothing will be impossible for God.

Luke 1:37

With God, it is possible. These words from the archangel Gabriel are the only ones he needed to speak when Mary asked, “how can this be?”

Gabriel explained some things first, helping Mary to understand and thus helping us many generations later. He gave Mary insight into how she would bear the Son of God. He went on to offer a bit of supporting evidence in Elizabeth’s pregnancy, which Mary could confirm for herself and thus build her confidence in the angel’s message. Yet it is only his final words to her that answered the question of how these things could occur.

“For nothing will be impossible for God.” This alone elicits Mary’s fiat, her yes to God’s invitation to take up her incredible and unique role in humanity’s salvation. It is likewise the only truth necessary to elicit my own fiat.

To whatever God asks of me; to what work of His hands He calls me to participate in; to whom He asks me to serve; my yes arises from knowing that nothing is impossible for Him. I am not asked to do any of it on my own abilities and strength alone. I am invited to count on Him.

Hardships. Hurt. Illness. Grief. Trauma. Every single cross I am invited to carry in my following of Him. No less, the joys and successes; the opportunities, adventures, and marvelous blessings as I walk with Him. Every single one can be taken up with the hopeful cry, “Nothing is impossible for You, Lord!”

In all things requiring faith, my faith must stand upon two simultaneous truths: nothing is impossible for God, and God is love. In these I know and believe that God is capable of accomplishing what He sets out to do – no matter how impossible it may seem to me – and that what He sets out to do is always for my greatest good.

Is there any finer example of these great truths than the Incarnation? God becoming man in the humblest manner. God coming to live with us, serve our punishment of death, and defeat its hold on our souls. God opening the gates of heaven to every person who chooses to follow and believe. It is a most impossible plan, absurdly defying human logic and wisdom. Yet He does it, and He does it all for love of us.

With God, it is all possible. With God. it is all love.