Category: Scripture

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)

Midwest, Scripture

Sunlight

Carrie Sue Barnes

I am soaking in this sudden flood of sunshine like the driest of soils. The five day forecast: mostly sunny, mostly sunny, mostly sunny, mostly sunny, mostly sunny. We may hit 40 degrees in northeastern WI by Friday. March does not always arrive with such a glorious meterological upswing. This March (or its first week at the very least) seems to know better than to behave otherwise.

As any move toward Spring is apt to, this March appears to be busting at the seams with potential. Melting, greening, growing – true to the season, true to the peak of Lent, true to my life at present. Lent is plunging me into the goodness of serving and the necessity of trust. God’s graces are bearing new fruit, restoring in me the joy of soul that used to sing of its own accord.

I suppose this mood is nothing unusual. Yellow sunlight pouring through cold window panes has this feverish effect on most people. Yet, I do feel most unusual. No, unusual is not the word. I feel younger than at the start of winter, or even at the start of last fall, summer or spring. I am regressing in the best sort of way, to a better version of myself, a truer rendering. My, this is hard to capture and communicate! I feel… I feel like a walking psalm.
~

My heart overflows with a goodly theme…
Thou dost show me the path of life; in thy presence there is fulness of joy, in thy right hand are pleasures for evermore…
Restore to me the joy of thy salvation…
I will awake the dawn!
The pastures of the wilderness drip, the hills gird themselves with joy, the meadows clothe themselves with flocks, the valleys deck themselves with grain, they shout and sing together for joy…
So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom…
I hear a voice I had not known: “I relieved your shoulder of the burden; your hands were freed from the basket. In distress you called, and I delivered you; I answered you in the secret place of thunder”…
~
Faith, Scripture

Not Go Empty

Carrie Sue Barnes

Chalk it up to a combination of pregnancy brain and overtiredness but when my sister explained, “I don’t have my contacts in so I can’t hear what you’re saying,” I knew it was time for her to get some sleep.

And when I left home for the weekend without a scrap of work along, resulting in a 48 hour fight against a flood of anxiety, I knew it was time to run to Jesus. It was time to remember why I serve Him. It was time to believe He could (and would) supply whatever was necessary to do the work He had given me. There was a feeling of childish foolishness as I bent my head before my Lord. In His wisdom, He did not respond with comforting, coddling words. Often when I pray in the midst of stress, I am lulled into peace of mind by His invitation to rest in Him. Yesterday though, the Lord took a different approach.

The Gospel and homily at yesterday’s Mass spoke of the poor widow who gave all she had to God: two small coins amounting to a greater gift than all the donations of rich men and women who gave from their surplus. In the minutes after the homily though, it was not this story or its lessons that resonated in my mind. Instead, the 1st reading stayed with me. It’s one of my favorite passages from the Old Testament.

In those days, Elijah the prophet went to Zarephath. As he arrived at the
entrance of the city, a widow was gathering sticks there; he called out to
her, “Please bring me a small cupful of water to drink.” She left to get it, and
he called out after her, “Please bring along a bit of bread.” She answered, “As
the LORD, your God, lives, I have nothing baked; there is only a handful of flour
in my jar and a little oil in my jug. Just now I was collecting a couple of
sticks, to go in and prepare something for myself and my son; when we have eaten
it, we shall die.” Elijah said to her, “Do not be afraid. Go and do as you
propose. But first make me a little cake and bring it to me. Then you can prepare
something for yourself and your son. For the LORD, the God of Israel, says, ‘The
jar of flour shall not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry, until the day when
the LORD sends rain upon the earth.'” She left and did as Elijah had said. She
was able to eat for a year, and he and her son as well; the jar of flour did not
go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry, as the LORD had foretold through Elijah. (1
Kings 17:10-16)

My heart trembled to hear the Lord speak to me, sternly but lovingly.

“Do you suppose I will not do likewise for you? Will I not supply what you need when I ask something of you? Do the work I have given you! Do it well; do it faithfully. Have I asked you to do it based on your own merit? On your own skill and talent? Assuredly, no. I have asked it of you on the basis that I am able, and I will, give what you need to do it. The prophet asked for a mere bit of bread and a drink of water, and this was a burden to the starving woman and her child. It was reasonable for her to say she could not give what was asked of her. Without my grace, she’d have been right. She could not give it, but I could. If I will you to give of yourself – to serve- then I will also supply the gift. What is necessary from you is the ‘yes’, the willingness and the effort required to give away what I give to you. As the woman still had to knead and bake the bread from the flour and oil which I gave to her, so there is work to be done if you are to give from what I have supplied to you. Why then do you hesitate? Why do you talk yourself out of the effort? For love of me, you will continue. If no other reward, no other comfort, comes of it, will you continue for love of me, as an act of trust in me? Will you continue with the humble confidence of one who knows that I supply what I ask of you?”

I was struck by that paradoxical truth: that everything God asks of us, He also provides. In every instance that demands from me love or generosity or compassion or patience or courage, my yes will unleash God’s love, generosity, compassion, patience or courage into my own heart. The demands can be challenging and exhausting. They can be downright trying. Yet as I sat there in the church, staring up at the crucifix hanging above the altar, I knew that I could not stand my ground on one single excuse or argument against believing that God will faithfully supply for my needs as I serve Him. He will not allow my jar of flour to go empty, nor my jug of oil to run dry.

Scripture

The Light of Day

Carrie Sue Barnes

Sorry about that ranting blog last night. I was in a mood, and in that particular mood, I probably shouldn’t blog. Then again, it was honest. It isn’t as if I’m trying to paint an unrealistically pretty picture of myself on this blog. It’s just me, thinking out loud.

This morning I did what I should have done last night, which was to pray. I prayed for a spirit of contentment. For even if my life doesn’t squeeze into the custom-cut frame in which I’d like to fit it, it is not meant to be degraded by anger, jealousy or self-pity. God intends for me to be happy; the specifics of the happiness are often not my preferred specifics, but the source and reason for the happiness… well that’s established, lasting, incomparable. I have to rest on that when I’m weary of all the waiting, all the trying for the peripheral good things.

St. Peter’s words that I read this morning come at me like a command: “In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Without having seen him you love him; though you do not now see him you believe in him and rejoice with unutterable and exalted joy.” (1 Peter 1:6-8) I am not only deserving of better than disappointment, jealousy and selfishness, but I have a call to choose better. I am behooved to rejoice, to endure the tests for the edification of my faith and the glory of God. How can it not be so for one who was “ransomed… not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot. He was destined before the foundation of the world but was made manifest at the end of the times for your sake. Through him you have confidence in God, who raised him from the dead and gave him glory, so that your faith and hope are in God.”(1:18-21)

Faith, Scripture

Without Worry

Carrie Sue Barnes

After writing an email encouraging a friend not to worry over a situation, I was thinking over what it means to not worry. My mind immediately goes to the Gospel of Matthew, chapter six: Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat (or drink), or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span? Why are you anxious about clothes? Learn from the way the wild flowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith? So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom (of God) and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil. (vv. 25-34)

Don’t you love that sort of backhanded reassurance at the close of the passage? Every time I read it, I think maybe Jesus didn’t need to add that to his otherwise highly uplifting words. Taken negatively, it is sort of this last ditch effort to convince us we shouldn’t worry about tomorrow. “If the truth that God provides and is faithful and generous doesn’t keep you from worrying, well, then, just focus on the fact that there is enough problems today to keep you well occupied without adding in everthing that might be wrong with tomorrow.” Probably not what Jesus wanted to convey to the listening crowd on the hill that day. So I will take a second look… “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.” What it causes me to keep in mind is that there are, in fact, plenty of things to worry about. It is not that Jesus is telling us there are no reasons to worry, no problems, dilemmas or hardships. No, I would never dare to say that there is nothing to worry about. Instead, I come to a two-fold, rather uplifting conclusion. Firstly, worry over tomorrow or any future day’s problems is utterly pointless. It is only today that I can do something about, not tomorrow. Secondly, while we can acknowledge the “sufficient” causes for worry in a day’s time, Jesus has given us every reason to choose not to worry. Did He not just say that God knows of everything we need, and that He will provide for us far beyond the ways He provides for the rest of His creation? It may seem like a fine line, but there’s actually a sizeable difference between trying to convince yourself that you have nothing to worry about versus choosing not to worry about any of it. Like so many aspects of the Christian life, living without worry is a matter of choosing truth, choosing hope, choosing faith.

I love this Winston Churchill quotation: “When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.” A very freeing realization, if taken positively, is that I do not know what tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year will bring. I don’t know. It’s a humbling truth about being human, but awfully wonderful too… assuming I have faith in the great God in heaven who does know all that will and won’t happen. Surrendering worries, be they valid concerns or imagined problems, into God’s hands is the most logical action a person can take. It doesn’t mean ignoring what needs to be done, or neglecting to take care of ourselves or make reasonable preparations for the future. No, surrender is not synonymous with inaction. It is choosing to entrust to God everything that might tempt you to worry; it is living and moving within the guiding, protective care of God’s faithfulness and wisdom; it is being honest with yourself about what you can do, what you can’t do, what God calls you to do, and what God calls you to let Him do.

Catholicism, Faith, Scripture

Listening to the Apostles

Carrie Sue Barnes

I feel like blogging but I don’t feel much like thinking. The light above my desk is particularly bothersome today. It seems brighter than usual, glaring off my screen and making me wish I could close my eyes… or at least wear a dorky visor cap.

Over the weekend, I decided to begin reading the catholic letters of the New Testament. I’ve read them all before, but in pieces and for various reasons, never straight through and with a single mindset for all seven of them. The ones I’m referring to are the Letter of St. James, the Letter of St. Jude, the 2 Letters of St. Peter, and the 3 Letters of St. John. They’ve come to be known as the catholic letters, as in, written for the universal church (the word catholic means universal), as a way to distinguish them from St. Paul’s letters and the Letter to the Hebrews which are written to more specific groups or individuals. This term is not intended to separate them as Catholic vs Protestant. St. Paul was Catholic, folks. All Christians were Catholic during the time of the New Testament writings and for centuries upon centuries afterward.

The nature of my faith and life in the Church as apostolic has been on my mind. Every time I recite the Creed, I declare that I believe in an apostolic Church. The heritage of the Church, with its ordained bishops and priests able to trace themselves back to the original Apostles, and its teachings arising from the earliest days of the Christianity and never departing from the teachings of Christ and the Apostles (developing in understanding, yes, but departing, no), this heritage is immensely important and wonderful. There is such security in it; security in truth. So I greatly value the apostolic Church, but do I recognize the need for my own faith, the way I understand it and live it, to be apostolic as well? This question reaches me from two angles. One is that I am to be rooted in the apostolic teachings, never weakening or compromising the fullness of truth for my own convenience, but taking full advantage of the deposit of faith that was entrusted to the Church by Christ and passed down faithfully over generations by the Apostles and their successors. Two, I mustn’t forget that to be an apostle one must be sent out on a mission. The switch between disciple and apostle came when the men were commissioned by Jesus to go into the world and preach the Gospel and build up the Church. They are no longer only followers of Christ but also emissaries of His teachings and life. The Church is apostolic in both of these ways (faith & mission), and the Church is made up of its members. The members must be apostolic in both ways too. I must be apostolic.

So as all this inhabits my thoughts and challenges my heart, I figure a good place to start is with the catholic letters. What did the apostles want to say to the Church in those first decades of Christianity? That same Church is the one of which I am a member, the one that provides me with the Sacraments and the fullness of truth, so I would gain much by listening to those first ministers of the Sacraments and teachers of the truth.