Category: Faith

Faith, Love, Personal Reflection

Aiming

Carrie Sue Barnes

“The line is thin between a selfish act and things you do to keep yourself intact.” I consider that one of the most insightful lyrics of the countless songs I have heard. It’s from “Same Mistakes” by Sara Watkins and the song is a beauty. That particular line resonated with me the first time I listened to it and does so again, perhaps more, this week.
I have a decision to make. It involves work and friendship and priorities. The direction to which I lean changes from day to day. Sometimes in life, thank God, clarity and peace of mind determine a choice and I am able to move forward in that choice with confidence. Sometimes not so much. After feeling convicted to turn in two completely different directions from Sunday to Monday, I began Tuesday with my Bible open on the kitchen table. As there is logic and good reason behind either choice, I felt convicted to seek the choice of love. Which way allows for loving as I should, while which way, valid as it may be, is the more self-serving? “Make love your aim,” was St. Paul’s reminder to me. Make love your aim…
This doesn’t uncomplicate things. This does not even decide things with desirable certainty. But I am given a lens through which to survey the problem, and a purpose to prevail over the handful of other tension-building purposes presently motivating me.
Faith, Scripture

A Voice Shall Sound

Carrie Sue Barnes

Each morning I start my day with three things: a shower, St. Patrick’s Lorica prayer, and reading the day’s Mass readings and a meditation on them. I don’t function well without the shower first. When I skip the prayer and Scriptures, the morning might go alright but the rest of the day seems to fall apart. Starting my day with God and His Word, that’s the anchor of my day. On the days when I set it aside and go about my business without paying heed to the Lord, in the back of my mind I know I’ve done myself a disservice. Pride can rationalize so many things, including excusing myself from prayer, but it can’t truly silence the Holy Spirit who dwells in me.

Yesterday morning the meditation was on the first reading, from Isaiah, and it closed with a little prayer. The words of the prayer were simple enough yet they stopped me in my tracks. “Increase my perception of your power, of your plan…” That phrase has been sounding in my ears since I read it. “Increase my perception…” Not speak louder, Lord, or move in bigger ways, or give me more knowledge of your plans, or be clearer in your guidance. Increase my perception; I feel like someone has physically turned me to look upon the same horizon from a new direction.

For one, this perspective on the “I need to know You’re near and You’re active in my life” prayer has me breathing a long sigh of relief. Like standing in a cool, steady shower after weeks of heat, I am fortified. The question of whether He’s near, whether He’s moving and acting and working and blessing – that question isn’t even necessary. It’s a matter of perceiving God – standing in the stronghold of confidence in Him, awakening my senses to Him.

For another, it casts a light on something I must face. To perceive another’s nearness or handiwork, without them announcing it, requires a great deal of familiarity. I can’t recognize one of Bach’s “Unacccompanied Cello Suites” used in a television commercial if I haven’t listened carefully to those compositions again and again. I can’t see a small painting and know it’s a detail of a Monet if I haven’t already looked upon the larger work of art. I can’t hear the influence of St. Thomas Aquinas in my friend’s discussions if I haven’t had at least a bit of experience with his work myself. The correlation between perception of the Lord and familiarity with Him is indisputable. And my familiarity with the Lord – not so much knowledge of Him or a personal history of experiences but ‘in the present’ intimacy – is not what it once was. As I consider my perception of His presence and movements, I know this is true. Faced with this admission, I found myself at the Eucharistic chapel at 10 o’clock last night. I just needed to be near Him. As I sat before my Savior, I thought about how amazingly easy it used to be to perceive His closeness, notice His movements, hear His voice, detect His guiding hand, rest in His protection… I could blame plenty of things in the last several years for robbing me of that intimacy, and while they all might rightfully carry a share of that blame I know that ultimately I didn’t fight for it.

I feel like I’m fighting now. My senses are heightened. The prayer, “Lord, increase my perception of You,” is repeated. This morning I found myself praying differently than I have for months, maybe even years. Lord, grant me the grace I need for today; the grace for the spiritual battle of today; the protection I need today; the mercy I require today; the clarity I need today; the wisdom for living today; the faith, hope and love in order to believe, trust and serve the way You call me to today. Lord, increase my perception of You today. Not Your plan for my future, not the blessings I’m looking for ‘someday’ but only what You are doing, how you are guiding, what you are asking of me here and now.

“For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel: By waiting and by calm you shall be saved, in quiet and in trust your strength lies… The Lord will give you the bread you need and the water for which you thirst. No longer will your Teacher hide himself, but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher, While from behind, a voice shall sound in your ears: ‘This is the way; walk in it,’ when you would turn to the right or to the left.”
(Isaiah 30:15, 20-21)
Faith, Family, Holiness, Scripture

Leaving It There

Carrie Sue Barnes

To give you an idea of the expansiveness of my family: Yesterday, my oldest nephew turned 25. Today, a nephew somewhere in the middle turned 9. On Sunday, my youngest nephew will be 3 weeks old. There are 4 more nephews and 4 nieces filling the spaces in between those boys. I’ve been an aunt since I was 3 1/2 years old.

I am not the same aunt now as I was then. That’s the thought that came to me as I was writing out yet another birthday card and signed it, “Love, Auntie Carrie.” The manner of my love, the things I’d like to teach them, the ways I hope to be an example, and the wishes and worries I have for them… oh, how that all has changed. This train of thought curved around to other realms of my life – being a sister to my 6 older siblings, a daughter to my parents, a friend to my friends. I considered how much growth is required in order for those relationships to not just endure but to bear fruit. With growth and change and maturity, relationships are richer. Without… it strikes me as unnatural to fight against change and growth for the sake of “keeping things the same.” It’s a losing battle. It doesn’t mean I don’t fall into that well-intentioned mistake at times, but if I take a step back and look at things with some clarity I have to conclude that nothing stays the same and nothing should. There are realities that are constant and lasting but such characteristics do not imply sameness.

The place where I find a paradox is faith. In Scripture we are instructed on the importance of leaving behind the ways of a child in order to mature as adults in Christ (see 1 Corinthians 13) but also the necessity of having faith like a child (see Matthew 18 and Mark 10). I’ve always struggled with that concept of having childlike faith. I’m one for going deeper, for learning and understanding more, for having tangible evidence that I’ve matured in faith. Seeing childishness as a vice in most areas of life, it’s tough to view it as a blessing when it comes to faith. I can explain the concept of childlike faith with my mind but have difficulty practicing it with my heart.

Occasionally I get a heart-reaching glimpse at the truth though. In RCIA class this week I taught on the topic of prayer. A broad topic that encompassed a lot of things. When I teach, I attempt to read the expressions of the candidates as they listen. Blank stares are tough to work with but anything else can be a real help to know if I should continue explaining a point or if it’s time to move on. At this class there was a moment where the need to explain further was blatantly obvious in the face of one candidate. I’d said that there was a significant difference between only bringing our needs to the Lord in prayer versus actually leaving our needs with the Lord in prayer. As I expounded on that statement it dawned on me that here was an instance of having ‘faith like a child.’

When a child, full of trust, brings a need to a parent, the child leaves the need there in Dad’s or Mom’s hands. He has no reason to continue to be bothered by it for he knows that his parent will take care of him. This is easily seen in the child’s faith as well. I have heard the prayers of my nieces and nephews, simple and self-assured. They are not weighed down by the things they have just whispered to God. I, on the other hand, bring plenty of needful requests to God. I have the knowledge that He loves me, that He will care for me, that He loves everyone I might be praying for, and yet I usually go out of the room (so to speak) carrying those same petitions in my arms. It is not so much an entrusting of needs to the Lord as an effort to show them to Him, like I’m making sure He’s aware of them. Being the capable, mature adult that I am (that’s a debate for another time), I go on attempting to answer the petitions myself. I go on striving for resolutions, worrying over dilemmas, dwelling in sorrows. I do not leave them with the Lord! How very, very unchildlike of me.

I am not promoting a lack of growth in the Christian soul. My faith should not look the same as it did when I was seven or seventeen or even twenty-seven, though that be merely a year ago. My prayer life should not look the same. The shape of the light that Christ radiates through my life should not be the same.

Again, it is not sameness that is to be attempted. This time it is retention.

Retention of the trust I had as a child, of the confidence in the Lord’s love which used to not just sustain me but overflow into rich joy in my soul.

Retention of the willingness to surrender – a willingness that allows me to tumble into the Lord’s warm, capable hands and, when He helps me stand back up, to not pick up the needs and sorrows that fell into His hands along with me.

Catholicism, Faith, Holiness, Jesus, Scripture

On St. Joseph

Carrie Sue Barnes

This week especially I am feeling entirely too wrapped up in myself. If there is any group of people capable of unwrapping a person from himself, so to speak, it is the saints. The saints – the men and women who are heroes of the faith, the holy ones of God. They are those who have reached the destination and reward we hope to reach. This is why they are worth studying, emulating and entreating for their intercession.

Today is the Feast of St. Joseph. This man holds a special place in my heart as the patron of my university household (sort of a faith-based sorority). I overlooked him until those years at Franciscan. This isn’t surprising as St. Joseph is a man easily overlooked. He speaks no words recorded in the Gospels. He appears only in the first chapters of Matthew and Luke and never thereafter. We do not have record of his death. Yet he is the standard for men, for husbands and fathers, indeed for all the lay faithful.

In a world where we are constantly speaking, texting, messaging, etc., silence is not only difficult to achieve but sorely undervalued. We equate silence with stillness. While that can be the case (perhaps needs to be the case more often), stillness is not the only circumstance for silence. For as much as St. Joseph can be called a man of silence, he is equally a man of action. A decision based on righteousness (Matthew 1:19); a change based on a message from God (Matthew 1:24); a journey based on another message from God (Matthew 2:13-14); the actions of Joseph are recorded with great simplicity because his following of God’s will was simple. Discern His will and do it. No arguments, no complaining, no doubting.

His place in the Holy Family as foster-father of Jesus, husband of Mary, protector and provider of the family raises him to be the example for all husbands and fathers. He lays out a gold standard for women waiting for their husbands and women actively serving and loving their husbands. His obedience to the commands of God, humble endurance of hardship, total dedication to Christ, and tender honor of Mary render him a model for every member of the Christian laity.

Joseph, to me, is a man of courageous faith, boldness of spirit, and steadiness of character. He does not do these things loudly or in a manner that garners attention to himself. Joseph is the living, breathing fulfillment of the pledge, ad majorem Dei gloriam – to the greater glory of God.

Oh, St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires. Oh, St. Joseph, do assist me by your powerful intercession, and obtain for me from your divine Son all spiritual blessings, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. So that, having engaged here below your heavenly power, I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of Father. Oh, St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you, and Jesus assleep in your arms; I dare not approach while He reposes near your heart. Press Him close in my name and kiss His fine head for me and ask Him to return the kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, patron of departing souls, pray for us. Amen.

(a 16th century (or older) prayer for St. Joseph’s assistance)

Faith, Friendship, Holiness, Personal Reflection

Questioning

Carrie Sue Barnes

A situation has arisen that has me questioning nearly everything. My motives and intentions, my ability to love as I ought to love, my friendships, my work; I feel like I’m being subjected to a scrutinizing exam to which I have none of the answers. That all sounds a bit dramatic which is something I don’t like to hear in my own words. I tend to get that way when I am feeling this low. Let’s put it this way: it’s tough to be hated. How am I to react to that? Apology, guilt, shock, sadness, anger, defensiveness – each of them have marched into my heart and are taking turns at the top of the stack.

Of course the words of Christ keep flashing into my brain, “turn the other cheek”… and the work of mercy to bear wrongs patiently. This isn’t to say I have no responsibility in this situation or that I am wholly without guilt. Yet I have never felt more keenly what Christ was talking about, that there would be circumstances that call for meekness instead of anger, patience instead of rash reactions, sacrifice for reparation instead of defense of pride. Only He knows what I’ll need in order to actually do those things; they certainly aren’t going to come out of my own strength or goodness.

For now I’d settle for some confidence in the “this too shall pass” mantra.

Faith, Love, Pro Life

Marching

Carrie Sue Barnes

I’m a pretty big Third Day fan. I’ve seen them in concert at least five times, own several albums, can sing along to many of their songs, etc., etc., etc. Even so, perhaps my favorite moment in their concerts is when they perform U2’s “When Love Comes to Town.” They rock that song. But you know who else rocks that song? U2. Yeah. Anyway, I was thinking about the March for Life coming up on Friday in our nation’s captiol. What should pop into my brain but that classic rock & roll tune, “When Love Comes to Town.”

When I explained where I was going this week, my 13 year old niece asked, “But why? What’s the point of that?” What’s the point of over 200,000 individuals of all ages, races and creeds marching through the streets of D.C. to the steps of the Supreme Court on the anniversary of that court’s devastating decision in Roe vs. Wade legalizing the more than 49 million murders of unborn children? Does it accomplish anything? Well, I don’t know if I can sum up what it accomplishes in the statistical, tangible terms people prefer because the reality is that the positive impact of any public display of pro-life principles is largely unseen. In hidden ways, God uses the willingness of people who make a stand and sacrifice for the culture of life. Can I count up the number of people who, once they witness the March for Life, realize that the number of pro-life Americans is not miniscule? Do I have any clue as to the men and women who might have chosen or encouraged abortion somewhere down the road if not for the seed of truth planted by the sight of the March? Do I have means of knowing if a congressman, a senator or a judge is given a boost of courage to stand their ground in favor of life in their realm of influence?

I don’t have numbers or names or exact answers to the skeptical question raised by my niece. I wish I did. I only know that when the streets are flooded with prayerful objectors to the widely accepted culture of death that is plaguing America, it is a matter of Love coming to town. Do we ever have an excuse not to take up an opportunity to bring love to our communities? I hold no doubt that God, who is Love, works in hidden and mysterious ways to filter that love into the hearts of all who participate or witness the March for Life. I cannot speak for their responses to that outpouring of love. I can only hold myself responsible for whether or not I brought any love to town.

Faith, Holiness, Hope, Jesus

To Her True Country

Carrie Sue Barnes

“I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same.” (C S Lewis)

This is the post I never wanted to write. Having written these posts: Please? and Joy Has Come, I knew I’d committed to writing the necessary follow up. What that follow up would be was known only to God. He has carried out His will. Amy died on Friday night, January 1st after slipping into a coma for a brief time.

I hadn’t seen Amy since June but from the bits shared with me by others, it was easy to piece together an image of her last weeks here. It is an image of faith and constancy that has repeatedly brought me to tears, challenging me to believe there truly is nothing that can, of its own force, separate us from the love and joy of Christ. As her brain was finishing its work on this earth, Amy’s mind was caught up in anticipation of eternal life. Her ability to communicate was dwindling, yet she repeatedly took up the topic of her Lord. She spoke of Him, she spoke to Him. She worshipped Him. She prayed to Him. She witnessed His miraculous presence in the Eucharist. I have a feeling that when she couldn’t communicate much else, Amy still managed to communicate her joy to her family. She looked forward to her true country, her home prepared tenderly for her by the Lord.

There are some beauties that overwhelm. They are almost painful to endure for you know that you are seeing beauty in its truest form and you cannot hold onto it. You cannot grip it and restrain it. This beauty must be released, trusted to continue on to thence from which it came. You must go on with the image of it ingrained in your heart’s memory; the experience of it drawing you toward more beauty wherever it can be found and making you willing to sacrifice anything that would mar its presence in yourself.

For numerous people, God provided this glimpse of beauty, a beauty shaped and molded for heaven, in Amy. I was able to hold in the tears until Mass this morning. As I worshipped there, knowing that my own meager devotion was joined with the perfect songs and prayers of the saints in heaven, the awareness that the beauty of heaven had, in a way, increased while the beauty of this earth had, in the same way, lessened could not be avoided.

I wanted to thank all of you who prayed for Amy and ask you to continue to pray for her husband, Todd and her family, Frank and Nancy, Michelle, Angie and Mike.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.