Category: Hope

Catholicism, Faith, Hope, Jesus

What It Means

Carrie Sue Barnes

I’ve just finished reading What It Means to Be a Christian by Joseph Ratzinger, who is now known as Pope Benedict XVI. This is a book of 3 sermons he gave one Advent season a few decades ago. The beauty of this book, in my opinion (formed by reading some of his other writings though far from all of his writings), is the applicability to all of us. While many might struggle with some of his other work (I like to think I’m an intelligent human being but sometimes the level of his intelligence and insight makes me feel like an uneducated child), this book is straightforward, simple to read and easy to internalize and contemplate. What better matter to internalize and contemplate than the meaning of being a Christian? Anyway, I had so many page corners folded over so that I could go back and reread passages and think them over properly that I couldn’t pass up the temptation to blog some of my thoughts. This may take a while…

p. 19 (regarding the evils in the world; all that seems as if it shouldn’t occur in a supposedly redeemed world) – “we quite often run a particular risk: that of not wanting to see these things. We live with shades down over our windows, so to speak, because we are afraid that our faith could not stand the full, glaring light of the facts… But a faith that will not account for half of the facts or even more is actually, in essence, a kind of refusal of faith, or, at least, a very profound form of scepticism that fears faith will not be big enough to cope with reality… In contrast to that, true believing means looking the whole of reality in the face, unafraid and with an open heart, even if it goes against the picture of faith that, for whatever reason, we make for ourselves.”

  • This was the first passage to jump from the page and into my thoughts for hours afterward. It is true that I often live this way, keeping the blinders on or downplaying the evils that exist and that I even personally encounter. I succumb to it often. My faith is strong, I might claim. My faith is steady. But does it maintain its strength and steadiness because I do not expose it to such tests as the world makes readily available to me, or because that faith has faced – openly, fervently, confidently – all that contradicts it?
  • The author doesn’t bring it up, but I think also of the pitfall of living in a constant test of faith. There are those who are consumed by all that isn’t well, all that ‘ought’ to be different. Their faith becomes desperate; never at rest in God’s peace, never reassured by hope. Though it may compel them to work for the common good and combat evil, they might not be able to slow down and explain to themselves or others why they are doing any of it. They might not trust in the surpassing power of grace and love that is our cause for hope.
  • I am also reminded of the words of John Paul II when he stated that teachers of the faith are called to teach Christianity “in all its rigor and vigor.” Whole, without fear, not balking at the risk of rejection or challenge.

pp. 35-37 – “Advent is a reality, even for the Church. God has not divided history into a light half and a dark one… There is only one, indivisible history, and it is characterized as a whole by the weakness and wretchedness of man, and as a whole it stands beneath the merciful love of God, who constantly surrounds and supports this history… for all of us God is the origin from which we come and yet still also the future toward which we are going. And that means, furthermore, that for all of us God cannot be found except by going to meet him as the One who is coming, who is waiting for us to make a start and demanding that we do so. We cannot find God except in this exodus, in going out from the coziness of our present situation into what is hidden: the brightness of God that is coming.”

  • This is part of the chapter entitled “The Hidden God”. Talk about perspective! All of time is an Advent season. I suppose I’ve already learned this, but I don’t think of it outside of the weeks preceding Christmas. To consider all of our days as Advent days, days of preparing and moving out from ourselves and toward God, is an enlightened understanding of history. The question of why there are such evils, such atrocities in a world that has been visited by Christ, a ‘redeemed’ world as we wish to categorize it, becomes a null question. Yes, this world has received Christ, has access to His grace and divine life, but we cannot forget that we are still not at our destination. Every generation, whether before or after Christ’s Incarnation and Paschal Mystery, is a generation of individuals beckoned to move toward a hidden God – individuals who have to choose.
  • The chapter goes on to speak of this hiddenness. In all His ways, God has remained hidden. Not entirely so, for do we not have Divine Revelation and above all, the Incarnation? Yet even in those events, speaking by human hands and voices, coming in human form; so humble, so veiled in His great glory. I demand signs and answers to prayers and declarations of His will; I wonder why He doesn’t make Himself more obvious. Who am I, though, to demand that He act differently for me than He has always acted toward humanity? And who am I to suppose I could handle Him without the veil of mystery?! He does come; He does reveal. I must seek Him in the hiddenness He employs.

pp. 39-40 “God’s incognito is intended to lead us onward into this ‘nothing’ of truth and love, which is nevertheless in reality the true, single, and all-embracing absolute, and that is why in this world he is the hidden One and cannot be found anywhere else but in hiddenness.”

  • This passage follows Ratzinger’s summary of Pascal’s teaching that there are 3 orders that exist – the quantitative order that is the object of all science, that is inexhaustible; the order of the mind, which doesn’t seem like much compared to all that exists in the quantitative order but is truly greater than that order because it is by the mind that we are able to “measure the entire cosmos”; thirdly, the order of love, of which he says “a single motion of love is infinitely greater than the entire order of mind, because only that represents what is a truly creative, life-giving, and saving power.”
  • God’s hiddenness compels us to move forward in faith, to dive into the reality of His love and mercy which cannot be fit into any of the categorical, measurable parameters a human mind is capable of using and understanding. We have to humble ourselves and seek Him in His veil of mystery, in His subtlty.
pp. 53-55 (regarding the “breakthrough” moment in the history of creation when Creator and creature meet, when God becomes man and enters human history) – “it becomes apparent that what seems at first to be perhaps just some speculation or other about the world and things in general includes a quite personal program for us ourselves. For man’s awesome alternative is either to align himself with this movement [toward God and toward becoming like God], thus obtaining for himself a share in the meaning of the whole, or to refuse to take this direction, thereby directing his life into meaninglessness… Becoming a Christian is not at all something given to us so that we, each individual for himself, can pocket it and keep our distance from those others who are going off empty-handed. No: in a certain sense, one does not become a Christian for oneself at all; rather, one does so for the sake of the whole, for others, for everyone… It should be enough for us to know in faith that we, by becoming Christians, are making ourselves available for a service to the whole… it means moving out of that selfishness which only knows about itself and only refers to itself and passing into the new form of existence of someone who lives for others.”
  • The great paradox of Christian life, of knowing God’s love and offer of salvation for you personally while realizing He does not offer it for your sake alone but for the sake of the whole of humanity. Is it not incredible that by becoming a Christian we are made able to serve God in whatever way He chooses?
  • Ratzinger mentions that it is not always for us to understand how God is using us or why He asked a service of us at a particular time or in a particular way. I see in this the reality that by faith we actually become enveloped by God’s hiddenness. Our lives are given an aspect of mystery, of ‘incognito,’ like God! It is a thrilling prospect.
p. 74-75 – “For what faith basically means is just that this shortfall that we all have in our love is made up by the surplus of Jesus Christ’s love, acting on our behalf. He simply tells us that God himself has poured out among us a superabundance of his love and has thus made good in advance all our deficiency. Ultimately faith means nothing other than admitting that we have this kind of shortfall; it means opening our hand and accepting a gift… [this reception of the gift] is grasping at nothing unless there is someone who can fill our hands with the grace of forgiveness. And thus once again everything would have to end in idle waste, in meaninglessness, if the answser to this, namely, Christ, did not exist.”
  • I am unsure how to comment on this. The starkness of this truth hits me hard enough. The prospect of nothingness, of meaninglessness, is dark; it is terrible. Consider that every moment for us is a pivot point. There is always a turning, always a movement: toward Him to receive Him and follow Him, or away from Him into meaninglessness. But faith, oh that great, great gift of faith! Faith places into our hands the truth, the reality of Christ, which lends all meaning to all of life.
Hope, Writing

The Waiting

Carrie Sue Barnes

My heart is heavy today. Not with distress or sadness, but with weighty thoughts and the unshakable need to pray. Yesterday did not end until 2 a.m. today, as I couldn’t bear to put down a particular novel I’d started reading earlier this week. The very satisfying ending did so much more than leave me happy. It compelled me to pray, to fall into the Lord’s hands and ask the questions I fear asking.

Besides the book, two other things have me asking those questions. One is a potential relationship I’d been excited to pursue until I was stopped in my tracks by a conflicting relationship. I feel I must step back and let it go, though I wish, wish, wish that wasn’t required. I am tempted to be selfish in this case, to not think of others with higher regard than myself, as the Scriptures would advise. Secondly, there is the reality that I have yet to hear back from the single, desirable publisher who has said they are considering my novel. No word for what feels like half a year, though it’s been a bit less than that, and no new ideas for who else to send the manuscript to when the likely negative answer is received. I cannot pretend I know what to do next.

This morning I read an article that continued the route my heart had taken up last night. The phrase “faithfully serving the Lord where He had placed [me]” keeps circling my mind. The author’s use of it had a nature of waiting and of contentment, allowing God to bring more into her life without specifically pursuing the ‘more’ at the expense of the ‘now.’ Perhaps it is the discouragement winning out against the drowning optimism, but I am nagged by the question of whether or not I am running from contentment. Do I write in order to avoid fully engaging in the placement the Lord has given me? Do I write because I am trying to create a life of my own planning and pursuit, rather than His? Because it’s begun to feel that way. If I gave it up and immersed myself in the circumstances in which He has placed me, would I be glad for doing so? Would I be grateful to be rid of that ongoing frustration of not being able to immerse myself in both? Or would I be sacrificing a calling, shutting down some of the life in me?

My prayer last night (or this morning, rather) ended with the idea of hope. I hope for things unseen, as every hope must be. My hope is for plans and life and love, unseen by me. But not by Him. I guess I just want to be where He prefers me to be, and do what He prefers me to do. I don’t want to have my back turned as He’s bringing a plan to fruition in my life, as He’s opening a door. I don’t want to pursue the ‘more’ at the expense of the ‘now’, but I do so passionately want more than there is now.

Hope

Distracted by Hope

Carrie Sue Barnes

This morning I’m having trouble concentrating. Maybe it’s the sunshine, my view of which the cubicle walls are cruelly obstructing. Maybe it’s the weekend full of good things that I didn’t want to see end. Maybe it’s the fact that I just noticed the bat is missing from the Ryan Braun bobblehead that stands next to my monitor… … Okay, found Ryan’s bat. Anyway, whatever the combination of causes, I am distracted today. I am trying to decide what could help. A mind-clearing walk would probably do the trick, especially if that walk took me to the adoration chapel for some time in prayer.

I’m wrestling with hopefulness. Optimism comes naturally to me, 92% of the time, but it also has a history of disappointing me. The call to be hopeful, as a Christian, is always resonating in my heart, compelling me to see the possibility in things, the potential and the silver lining. I can feel it pulling at me again. The great hope of eternal life won for me by Christ (the hope that doesn’t disappoint) spills over into littler hopes. But are there times that prudence or wisdom would have me curb the hopefulness, temper the optimism? The long fall when smaller hopes disappoint can really bruise.

Hope, Intentionality

Boldness

Carrie Sue Barnes

“It’s a bold move to Photoshop yourself into a picture with your girlfriend and her kids on a ski trip with their real father. But then again, Michael is a bold guy. Is bold the right word?” (Jim Halpert, “A Benihana Christmas” episode)

I experience frequent bursts of courage. They aren’t stretches or phases or anything else that might imply a lasting nature. No, my courage to make bold moves, decisions and statements comes in bursts; exciting little spurts that I find irresistable in the moment, and often regrettable after the fact. It’s true. When the courage hits me, it cannot be resisted. I am its dancing marionette. And boldness is a fickle, laughing puppeteer, swinging my arms and legs, opening my mouth and speaking for me. If I didn’t enjoy the passing moments of courage so much, I might build up some defenses against them. Isn’t it fun though? Isn’t it a thrill to say what you really long to say to someone, or to sign on for a challenge before reasoning with yourself against it? The power of that thrill, that self-daring willingness to try and willingness to fall, holds sway over me. Goethe (or whoever really made the statement) was right: boldness does have power and magic in it. He said it had genius too but maybe the presence of that characteristic shouldn’t be assumed. At least with me, it’s pretty hit or miss.

What is consistent is this experience of being true to myself. That’s what matters, according to Shakespeare, right? I have come to appreciate the integrity, the sincere engagement between my will and my actions that is involved in moments of boldness. Whether shallow and trite, or deep and meaningful, if the matter at hand requires any degree of courage, if it requires facing a moment of hesitancy with stubborn resistance, I am likely to consider it worth the effort. Is it always worth the effort? Is the bold choice always the right, the prudent, the wise choice? Are my instances of courage untainted by folly or selfishness? Nope. Lesson learned time and time again. Am I better off resisting though? I loathe the thought of becoming someone who is only guided by an “I know better than to try” or “I know better than to expect” attitude. How easily I might adopt that mindset! How self-contained and protected it would be! I won’t lie. Sometimes I wish for a little self-defense against the optimism and willingness to try that seems to come naturally to me. Sometimes self-contained and protected sound comforting. I’d not only have to sacrifice the boldness though; the self-respect would have to go too.

Faith, Hope

Danger, Danger

Carrie Sue Barnes

Post-midnight blogging is always dangerous. I get too honest. If I’m up this late and online, you can assume that my mind is restless. I should be praying, not blogging. Here I am though, needing to get these words out of my head and onto the page.

Waiting is a terribly tricky thing. Waiting is not the same as stopping, but it can certainly feel the same. When I start to feel the weight of waiting, I get restless. I search for something I can move or change. It’s a matter of compensation. If I can’t force the forward movement in what I am wishing for, maybe I can force it in another area. The impatience gives rise to new haircuts and afternoons spent shopping instead of writing. It leads to plans being made in full awareness that they won’t be fulfilled. I’ve learned to ride the waves of restlessness, to take it to prayer or lose myself in a book until it passes.

There are days though… oh, yes, there are days. And nights. Tonight happens to be one of those nights. This morning I was talking things over with the Lord and it all came down to one thing. I am confident in the goodness of His plans. I don’t feel the need to know all those plans right now. What I long to be certain of is that there are plans. I simply want to be assured that this isn’t it. I need to know that what I have in my life now is not all that I will have in my life. It’s not the most grateful state of mind but it’s honest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=301S7NgAkLs