Tag: #advent

Advent, Christmas, Faith, Prayer, Scripture

Splendor and Might – Advent Reflection, December 14th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week 2, Thursday – December 14th

Let all your works give you thanks, O Lord, and let your faithful ones bless you. Let them make known to men your might and the glorious splendor of your Kingdom.

Psalm 145:10, 12, NAB

I see glorious splendor in every sunrise and sunset. I see it when I sit on the water in my kayak, or stand with my eyes on the twinkling stars. The splendor is there in every season: when the leaves change color and when the frost sparkles on the tree boughs; when flowers bud with new life and when the sun soaks the earth in warmth.

The might of God looms in the mountain peaks and in the canyons carved into the earth. His might sounds across the lands in orchestras of rain and thunder.

As the psalmist describes, the works of God do make Him known to us. The way they point our thoughts and emotions toward goodness – and to God as their source – is how those works thank, glorify, and reveal Him all at once. How generous of our Lord to provide such an endless supply of connection to Him. He must be intensely determined that we know Him and His love.

No work of His hands reveals Him more than the crown of creation: the human person. Every face I look upon, from the tiniest child to the oldest adult, is a glimpse of the face of God. Each smile and each touch hold the splendor of His kingdom. Readily, I recognize the splendor and might in the earth’s great wonders, yet how inconsistent I am in recognizing the same in my brothers and sisters on that earth – and in myself.

As His precious handiwork, I am included in the invitation to make God known to the rest of His creation. I can get caught up in the question of how I can stand in the same category as the incredible displays of God’s beauty, creativity, and intelligence. Or, I can believe that God equips me for anything to which He calls me.

Even when the days and nights feel like drudgery, my life can make God known.

Through the exciting peaks and painful valleys, my life can reveal Him.

If I spread joy, or encourage, or create good from my talents, or forgive, or speak truth in love, my life can give glimpses of the Kingdom of God.

Christmas is the day when God’s splendor and might were revealed in an incredible manner. They were heard in the words of wondrous angels in shepherds’ fields, and they were contained in a beautiful infant messiah asleep on humble hay. Christmas is when we are reminded that God will reveal Himself by His wisest designs, and we need only give our yes for Him to involve us in doing so.

Lord, thank you for making Yourself wholly knowable in Jesus Christ. Keep my eyes upon the gift of every person You create, and the opportunity to encounter You in each one. I pray that You open my eyes to how my life can reveal You to others. Grant me the wisdom and courage to eliminate anything in my thoughts, words, and actions that is an obstacle to my and others’ view of You.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Gratitude, Prayer, Scripture

All That He Is – Advent Reflection, December 13th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week 2, Wednesday – December 13th

Do you not know or have you not heard? The Lord is the eternal God, creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary, and his knowledge is beyond scrutiny.

Isaiah 40:28

This passage is as familiar as my favorite sweater. I, like many others, find reassurance in it; a reassurance that has carried me through moments made for weariness. It dawned on me today how much of my fondness for the passage comes from the verses that follow, rather than from the one I quoted here. Those verses speak of soaring and running with renewed strength. They speak of what God does for me.

How can there be so much reassurance in what the scriptures say God can and will do for me? Why am I bolstered by every reminder that the Lord is my strength, or that in Him I can be courageous? The answer, simple and true, is because of who God is. Every facet of His nature builds the most reliable of fortresses.

God’s promises are worth my attention. There is no fault in standing on the grounds of what He has done for me, what He is doing for me, and what He will do for me. In fact, it is what should occur if I am the woman of faith I aim to be.

However, for those grounds to remain standing through the most trying lows, they need to be laid upon the bedrock of God’s nature. In all that He is, I can see both how and why He does what He does. Knowledge of Him leads to glorifying Him, and both lead to a sustained faith across every hill and valley.

Lord, with every praise I might offer, may I love you more for who You are than for what You may accomplish for my sake. In this way, You will render me able to love as You love me.

You are all good. I praise You, Lord.

You are perfect love. I submit to You, Lord.

You are all knowing. I trust You, Lord.

You are eternal. I worship You, Lord.

You are present through the heavens and the earth, without exception. I bow before you, Lord.

You are the creator and sustainer of all life. I owe everything to You, Lord.

You are God, in whose image I am made. I glorify You, Lord.

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

Like Sheep, or Cows, or Humans – Advent Reflection, December 9th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Saturday – December 9th

At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.

Matthew 9:36, NAB

Cows used to wander into our yard from the neighboring farm when I was growing up in Michigan. The cows escaped the grazing field’s fences a few times a year and clomped up the road to my parents’ property. Vehicles needed to avoid them, their hooves tore up our grass, and one even kicked a large, lovely dent in our car door. Oh, and they pooped. A lot.

It was messy and aggravating. Yet, I always felt a little sorry for those wandering cows. When the farmer showed up to herd them back home, usually with my dad’s assistance, I imagined the cows felt the cow version of relief, and that the familiar ground and boundaries of the farm brought a sense of safety. “This is where I belong. It is good to be here with you,” they’d say in the language of Moos as they gazed at the farmer with their big, dark eyes.

Maybe if Jesus hailed from the Midwest, the crowds of people would have reminded Him of cows without a farmer. No matter the livestock comparison though, Jesus looks on us the same way. He sees us break through boundaries that only exist for our wellbeing. He understands our curiosity and tendency to wander, and He is aware of the resulting wounds. Like a caring shepherd or farmer, He goes out to find us. He meets us not with anger and condemnation, but with compassion and wisdom.

I have a picture on my wall that says, “Dear one, you are not being condemned. You are being rescued.” I put it up while I was deep in the turmoil of changing my life. The changes couldn’t come without acknowledgement of the ways I’d chosen to walk away from God and the life I was meant to lead. With that acknowledgement came the great gift of forgiveness, yet I struggled every day with harsh judgment of myself. God had cast aside my sin as soon as I asked, but I still clung to it and let it slow down every step I was making toward Him.

Like Jesus looking at the crowd in the Gospel story, He looked on me with pity. Through times in prayer and reading God’s word, and through voices sent into my life to speak truth and share love, Jesus met me where I stood in the crowd. He and the ones He sent reached out to untangle my feet from the briars of sin and its aftermath. He saw me as worthy of rescuing, and for that I thank Him daily.

We’re all in the crowd. We’re all in need of our divine shepherd. In preparing for Christmas, let us prepare for the great celebration of our shepherd’s arrival. He comes to rescue. He comes to heal. He comes to love.

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Jesus, Love, Saints, Scripture

The Wonder of God’s Choice – Advent Reflection, December 8th

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Friday – December 8th

Brothers and sisters: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens, as he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him.

Ephesians 1:3-4, NAB

Say it about yourself.

This was advice I received once when I was struggling to see the promises of God as applicable to me. I felt like I was watching the goodness from a distance. I’m susceptible to reading and speaking of the marvelous love and works of God only in large scale, all-humanity terms. Doing so protects me from the vulnerability of the personal nature of divine love. In a contemplative vision of Jesus, St. Teresa of Avila once heard Him say that He would create the universe again just to hear her say that she loves Him. A love that deep is entirely personal and invites the vulnerable surrender of my heart to His. Since vulnerability scares the daylights out of me, I’m learning to look that fear in the face and say the truth about myself.

Blessed be the God and Father of my Lord Jesus Christ.

He has blessed me in Christ with every spiritual blessing.

He chose me in Him, before the foundation of the world.

He chose me. He chose me. I get stuck on that one (in a good way) and find it only makes sense from God’s perspective, not mine.

I wonder if Mary got stuck on it too. It’s easy enough to imagine. After the angel Gabriel’s declaration that she had found favor with God, she may have marveled, “He chose me.” With her massive act of faith in saying yes to God’s plans , she perhaps let it sink in – the honor of it all – with the thought, “He chose me.” And “He chose me” might have been the reassurance she rested upon while facing the questions of how and why and what was to come.

God didn’t choose me to be the mother of my Lord, but He did choose me to be who I am. He prepared the avenue for my existence from farther back than centuries of generations. He ordained the ways my life could build the Kingdom of God, if I say yes to His plans. The people I have the opportunity to love, God saw fit to make me the one to give that love. He placed in me the voice I carry and its potential to deliver truth, beauty, and goodness. He designed by His hand the spiritual gifts I could possess.

He chose Mary.

He chose Joseph.

He chose Peter.

He chose John.

He chose Paul.

He chose me.

He chose you.

From before the foundation of the world.

Say it about yourself: He chose me. I choose Him.

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, 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.