Blog

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

Build It on the Rock – Advent Reflection, December 7th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Thursday – December 7th

Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock.”

Matthew 7:24, NAB

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I did tell you!”

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been in that argument, I’d pay all my bills in nickels. Of course, I’ve occupied both sides of it, and since it only ever happens between me and another imperfect person, I’ve been both in the right and in the wrong.

There is only one person with whom I could never possibly win this argument. I can picture it now… me standing beside Jesus on the edge of heaven while He speaks of my life in full truthfulness. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I’d exclaim. Jesus would give me that look that says, “Really?” and I’d know better than to continue.

How awful it feels when I’m on the “why didn’t you?” side of the debate. There is a feeling of helplessness when I realize I didn’t know what I needed to know. It’s compounded by the aspect of betrayal when I also discover that someone did know and didn’t tell me. No matter how minor or major the missing information, it stings each time.

God loves us too much to not tell us. He loves us too perfectly to leave us vulnerable to that unsettling experience. He is never negligent. He is not forgetful or subject to error. He gives us the truth in love and will not let us be caught unaware.

In speaking of the one who “listens to these words and acts on them,” the Lord sets the expectation. I read that passage and hear Jesus whispering in my heart.

Yes, the truth of the gospel should change things. You aren’t imagining it. My love really is what makes all the difference. And if it doesn’t make a difference, your house is on the sand.

The truth should prompt action. I don’t get to hear of God’s saving love for me and remain unchanged. At least, not if I want to meet the open gaze of my savior and say to him, “Lord, Lord,” as He leads me into the splendor of heaven.

There will be storms, with buffeting winds and waves, on the way there. Yet faith tells me I do not need to be afraid of any change God may lead me into. In listening to Him, I am equipped to build a storm-surviving house on the rock. His words are meant for me. The arrival of Jesus is not only the turning point for the individuals who encounter Him on the gospel pages, it is my turning point. It must be.

Lord, be my turning point. Be the cause of every change You desire to effect in me. May I listen and act, and stand upon You, my rock and my salvation.

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

This is the Lord for Whom We Looked – Advent Reflection, December 6th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Wednesday – December 6th

On that day it will be said: “Behold our God, to whom we looked to save us! This is the Lord for whom we looked; let us rejoice and be glad that he has saved us!”

Isaiah 25:9, NAB

As an avid fiction reader, I love a good dose of foreshadowing. That delicious moment comes, late in the story, when I see the pieces begin to fit together. I smile over how the author hinted along the way at what is coming to fruition now. It is a moment of true discovery, of “A-ha! That’s why the author did that earlier!”

Undoubtedly, this is the same reason one of my favorite things about the scriptures is the foreshadowing of the Old Testament being fulfilled by events in the New Testament. There are countless a-ha moments to enjoy.

In Isaiah 25:6-10, we hear of a day to come on the mountain of the Lord when God will satisfy His people with a great feast. Then, lo and behold, where do we find ourselves in the Gospel story in Matthew 15? Walking with Jesus up the mountain beside the Sea of Galilee.

He is followed by a great crowd of people. People wanting to hear his words and people in need of His healing. Jesus spends the day ministering to them, curing the ill and the broken. Already, there on the mountain with Jesus and His miracles, I can imagine cries of joy that echo Isaiah’s prophecy: “Behold our God! This is the Lord for whom we looked!”

Jesus wants His followers to be left with no doubt, so the story doesn’t end here. He knows the cracks the devil can make in the people’s faith. He knows the erosion that sin will inflict on their certainty. He also knows the prophecies of old.

Jesus sees their physical hunger, so He prepares a feast on that mountain. From a meager seven loaves of bread and a few fish, Jesus provides so much that thousands of people “all ate and were satisfied” (Matthew 15:37). God being a God of abundance, Jesus doesn’t even limit the feast to what would satisfy. He gave more, “seven baskets full,” and I expect many in the crowd understood then that the provision and satisfaction the Lord gives would not run out.

In a place much deeper than my reading preferences, I am roused to excitement by Jesus’s fulfillment of the Old Testament foreshadowing. What a feast He continues to provide for me and every person who draws near to Him! In God’s word preserved and proclaimed for all ages; in His church being the hands and feet of the savior until He returns; in His body and blood, broken and poured out and given “to the disciples, who in turn [give] them to the crowds” (Matthew 15:36); His provisions never run out along my way to the mountain of the Lord.

With every Advent season, I prepare to celebrate the day that Jesus arrived and began an entirely new era of fulfillment of God’s plans. When I open my Bible, gaze upon the cross, or kneel before the tabernacle and altar, I pray that my heart responds, “This is the Lord for whom we looked; let us rejoice and be glad that he has saved us!”

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

A Home on the Holy Mountain – Advent Reflection, December 5th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Tuesday – December 5th

The baby shall play by the cobra’s den, and the child shall lay his hand on the adder’s lair. There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the Lord, as water covers the sea.

Isaiah 11:8-9, NAB

I have a plethora of worries. It’s common for me to dub them concerns or apprehensions. I tell myself I’m only being aware and realistic. Most of the time though, I’m just plain old worrying. Much of it is tied to my children’s wellbeing, so you can be darn sure that if I saw my son or daughter traipsing anywhere near a cobra’s den, I’d be filled up with worry in a heartbeat. With that worry would come along anxiousness and a decent helping of stress.

As I write that, I realize how terribly often those words describe my state of mind. Worried, anxious, stressed, and over such a variety of matters. Maybe that is why Isaiah’s description of the peace in God’s kingdom has such a soothing appeal.

“There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain.”

Yes, please! Let me build my home there!

What is incredible about our loving God is He builds us a home there. He promises us a place in this kingdom of peace, justice, and full knowledge of the Lord. Does He stop there? No. He then comes and lives among us. He shows us by His own example how to love and pursue the kingdom of God.

Is that all? It is already so much. No, that is not all. He spells it out as simply as we need: “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). “And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also” (John 14:3). Then He bridges the gap between us and the kingdom – the gap of sin and death – and does so out of love alone.

When I consider how heavily my anxieties and fears sit upon my heart and exhaust my spirit, the freedom of living on His holy mountain seems like a dream. It is not a dream though. The Lord has made it a reality for me. For you. For each person I love. He wants me there with Him even more than I want to be there.

Many cultural messages attempt to claim that I can possess that desired home of perfect peace within this fallen world. Lord, guard my heart and mind against this fallacy. You are the way there. You are the truth of what peace awaits me in the eternal home you prepare. You are the life I will choose here until I reach the fullness of your kingdom.

Open the eyes of my soul to see the glimpses of that kingdom here and now, but keep my feet pointed toward your holy mountain.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Holiness, Jesus, Prayer, Scripture

A Marvelous Faith – Advent Reflection, December 4th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Monday – December 4th

But the centurion answered him, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; but only say the word, and my servant will be healed.”

Matthew 8:8, RSV

The fifth graders I teach at church on Wednesday nights are fluent in the language of distractions. The weekly lessons are often interrupted by random questions and comments from them, or by efforts to quiet their chatter by me. Once in a while, a question seems prompted more by the Holy Spirit than by the kids’ restlessness, and an unexpectedly rich discussion arises from it.

“What does humility mean?” That was the one in a recent class that derailed my lesson plan in all the right ways.

The centurion of Matthew, chapter eight stands in the forefront of my understanding of humility. I paraphrase his own words, in unison with the rest of the congregation, before receiving holy communion at Mass each week: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

Humility does not stop me from going to the Lord. Recognizing my unworthiness of God’s love is not an obstacle to receiving God’s love. Humility acknowledges my inherent worth, my abilities, and the value of my life in this world. Simultaneously, humility understands that all of that worth comes from being made in the image and likeness of God, and then being loved perfectly by Him. It says, “I am worthwhile, and all that is worthwhile in me ought to bring glory to Him.”

How better than that can I love Him back?

The centurion had faith strong enough to make Jesus marvel (Matthew 8:10). He was a Roman soldier, not a dedicated attendant of the preacher Jesus’s sermons; nor was he a man with opportunities to sit with Jesus, listening and speaking with Him as the disciples did. He was a ranking soldier managing the community, and likely hearing from various sources of the words and deeds of this Jesus of Nazareth. Perhaps he occasionally witnessed them with his own eyes and ears. Whatever his experience with Jesus, it was enough. He was a man who believed in what Jesus proclaimed and showed Himself to be. The centurion knew his unworthiness to host Jesus under his own roof, and also knew Jesus was exactly who he could and should turn to in his need.

That is humility. That is marvelous faith.

Lord, I am unworthy to be the temple you declare me to be. For you to dwell in me by baptism and nourish me with your own sacred body and blood is far more than I deserve. Yet you created me to be exactly that, your dwelling place. Even in humility, I can sing, “How lovely is thy dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!” (Psalm 84:1) and hope You marvel over any moment when my faith gives You glory.

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

Our God is Like No Other – Advent Reflection, December 3rd

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Sunday – December 3rd

From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides thee, who works for those who wait for him.

Isaiah 64:4, RSV

There are occasional moments when I am overcome by the love of God. I meet the eyes of the stranger taking my meal order or passing me in the store aisle, and hear the Lord say, “I died for this one.” I listen to my children’s laughter and I am filled with awareness that God loves me infinitely more than the humungous love I have for them.

It’s happening right now. I’m writing this at a high-top table in my favorite local cafe, with tears running down my cheeks and a full smile on my face. I’m pretty sure the manager is questioning if he should check on my mental stability.

All good here, sir! I just needed this vanilla chai more than I realized.

This God we love and worship conducts Himself in a wholly unique way. He is a God who serves. He pours Himself out for the ones He loves. He loves! That alone sets Him apart from any other god with whom we could align ourselves.

He loves His lowly creatures; these beings whose existence depends entirely on his divine choice. Our God does not regard us with self-gratifying pride because any good in us is a credit to Him (which is true enough). No, He loves. He crafts us in His own incredible image — in endlessly creative ways — and calls out to our hearts from the moment we are created until we see Him face to face.

He gives Himself to me. He reveals to me my value. He places Himself in unworthy human hands, first by the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, true God and true man, and forever after in every Eucharist I receive.

This Advent, as I prepare to celebrate His marvelous work of the humble birth of Jesus, my prayer is for my heart to fall deeper in love with this God “who works for those who wait for him.” I pray that I will give myself permission to get emotional over his love, and be touched by it in the spaces of my heart that need Him most. I pray that however His love affects me, I’ll have the courage not to thwart it.

Faith, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Scripture

The Two Faces of Still

Carrie Sue Barnes

I have spent what feels like plenty of time growing my knowledge of the effects of trauma, the stages of healing from it, and the gentle patience required to do so. No matter the amount of understanding though, there are days when it all seems to be taking too long. How can these things of the past still weigh so heavily? How do they still influence my emotions as often as they do? Why am I still discovering what sets off my trauma responses?

Still, still, still.

“It’s taking too long, Lord!” I have cried out on more than one occasion.

In those instances, He patiently reminds me that the time spent healing is still small; still disproportionate to the years spent on the receiving end of the relevant experiences. My therapist’s words repeat in my mind, “It’s still early.”

Still, still, still.

How tremendously often that word arises. It happened again last night. I was caught up in the undesirable realities that linger. I am still not writing with any ease. I am still fearful of connection and relationship. I still can’t fall asleep many nights. I still succumb to overwhelm in the face of trauma-triggering circumstances.

“It’s still taking too long, Lord!”

This morning, God invited me to push back and flip that word around. He nudged me to claim it for better things.

“The Lord will fight for you; and you have only to be still” (Exodus 14:14, RSV).

“Be still, and know that I am God; I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10, RSV).

“He awoke and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm” (Mark 4:39, RSV).

“Now therefore, stand still and see this great thing which the Lord will do before your eyes” (1 Samuel 12:16, RSV).

How different “still” can be from one meaning to the next. I wrestle with all that I strive to release and from which I long to be free. God instructs and invites me, even commands me, to be still.

Me. The storms. The discontent, the fighting, and the fear. Be still.

One detail I note from those verses and others is the stillness occurs in the presence of the Lord as well as right in the circumstances requiring His grace. Amongst the waves and in the thick of the waiting, when what lies ahead remains unknown, and in the face of the fight at hand, I can come before Him and be still.

Be still. God is present.

Be still. God fights.

Be still. God calms.

Be still. God restores.

Be still. God reigns.

Photo by Carrie Sue Barnes
Intentionality, Personal Reflection, Writing

Day One – Shake It Off

Carrie Sue Barnes

Today is day one. I’m rededicating myself to daily time spent on the work of writing. I am still trying to break through the writer’s block and bring back that fondly remembered flow when I set my mind to writing. Making it a non-negotiable piece of daily life has been the goal for a long while and the Lord has nudged me in recent weeks to recognize that I’m ready.

In the realm of the obvious, the one thing I know will help the matter is actually sitting down at my desk with my work. I know this just as certainly as I know procrastinating out of fear will not help the matter.

Today ought to be day three but yesterday the avoidance got the best of me. So, day one it is, again. The avoidance gave a strong effort at derailing me today too. In fact, I even played my saxophone for the first time months. Did I really want to play my saxophone? Not especially. There have been other days I wanted to play my saxophone, but today it was all about procrastination. I played for half an hour before I asked myself what the heck I was doing, and put the instrument away. I pulled out my notebook and queued up a Bach playlist exactly as I used to do. As it was long enough since I worked on the novel that I couldn’t jump back in without some rereading, I decided to type and revise the chapters written many months ago. It seemed like the best chance at productivity.

And it was! I typed and edited and rewrote sentences. I added dialogue and tightened up descriptions. A familiar satisfaction settled into my chest. I can still do this! It’s not gone! With each paragraph, my confidence solidified. It became easier to believe in a payoff to the months of patience while I waited for my mind and emotions to regain the capacity for creativity — something of which I have worked at convincing myself for a painfully long time. I am not defeated.

Two hours and one and a half chapters into the happy task, Microsoft Word closed itself down in the middle of supposedly saving my progress. I might as well have heard a maniacal laugh coming from the computer as I stared at the screen in disbelief. With great haste, I reopened the draft. Word launched like it didn’t have a clue what disaster it had just wrought; not a restored file in sight.

Gone. All of it.

I stared a little longer, hovering between the options of tears, anger, or laughter. I chose laughter. Sad, shaking-my-head laughter. Thankfully, I had a spark of clarity that no matter what, I had to redo my work. Being angry or crying over that discouraging reality would not make it less real, and might even make me less likely to get back at it again. It had taken so much to get to this point of writing with any sort of flow or steadiness for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t concede the progress I’d accomplished in those two hours.

I would not concede it.

Instead, I walked away from my desk. I poured a glass of wine, switched over to my favorite confidence inducing playlist, and danced around my kitchen. In between each song, I felt all the feels of disappointment, then shook it off a little more with the next tune. When the shaking off was adequate, I cooked dinner and read a few chapters of a book.

Today was a victory; a bittersweet victory. I’ll take it and celebrate. I’ll also shake it off and move on to day two, which I suspect will feel laughably similar to day one.