My First Date

One of my favorite places on earth is the great Cathedral of Chartres, located about an hour by train south of Paris. For me, it represents the richest expression of Gothic architecture, and the Gothic is, again for me, the most religiously evocative type of architecture. When I was a doctoral student in Paris many years ago, I would journey as often as I could to Chartres, and each time that I approached the building, I did so, not in the manner of tourist, but as a seeker coming to the end of a pilgrimage. Chartres is famous, of course, for its transcendently beautiful stained glass, but it also boasts hundreds of exquisitely rendered sculptures of Biblical figures. On the north porch of the cathedral, there is a statue that I particularly savor. It is a depiction of John the Baptist, and it shows him as an emaciated figure (after all, the Bible tells us that he ate locusts and wild honey) holding an image of the Lamb of God. But what is most striking about the sculpture is the face of the Baptist. He bears an expression that bespeaks an aching, a longing, a looking toward something that he does not have but wants. Some of the Saints that surround Chartres Cathedral seem blissful, already in possession of the great good for which they longed. But not John the Baptist. He yearns, pines, hungers still. And this makes him, par excellence, a Saint of Advent. This holy season, of course, calls to mind the coming (adventus) of Jesus in history, but it also anticipates the arrival of the Lord at the culmination of the age, that time when, as Saint Paul puts it, Christ will be “all in all” (1 Corinthians 15:28). This fulfillment, obviously enough, has not yet happened, for the world is still plagued by wars, famine, floods, earthquakes, and pandemics. And our lives are still marked by depression, failure, sin, and frustrated plans. None of this tells against the fact that God’s creation is good, but it does indeed confirm the intuition that this life is, as the Salve Regina puts it, ‘a vale of tears.’ All of us, therefore, wear the expression of the John the Baptist of Chartres: craving an absent good. Might I suggest some practices for all of us Advent people during these upcoming weeks? First, we should deepen our lives of prayer. As John of Damascus told us long ago, to pray is to “raise the mind and the heart to God.” It is to be consciously aware of God, present to Him. Even if we wear a somewhat anguished expression as we do so, we should turn our faces purposely to God, and as we pray, we should allow our yearning for God to surface. C.S. Lewis told us that the aching of the heart for God–and it is a real suffering–is properly called ‘joy.’ Prayer, in a way, is the cultivation of precisely that sublime form of joy. One of the very best ways to practice this form of spiritual attention is to spend an uninterrupted hour or half hour in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. A second Advent suggestion is this: wear the world lightly. The reason that we feel spiritual anguish is that the deepest desire of our heart cannot be met by any merely worldly good. We look to something beyond our ken and capacity precisely because we realize, consciously or unconsciously, that the hungry soul cannot be satisfied by any amount of esteem, riches, power, or pleasure. The attainment of any of these goods produces a momentary bliss followed by a letdown, a disappointment. But this truth mustn’t be allowed to depress us; rather, it should compel us to adopt the spiritual stance that the spiritual masters call ‘detachment.’ This means enjoying wealth and then letting it go; using power for good but not clinging to it; taking in honor and not caring a whit for it. It is to adopt the attitude that Saint Ignatius of Loyola calls ‘indifference.’ Advent is a privileged time to practice this virtue. A third and final suggestion is this: we should devote ourselves to doing one of the corporal works of mercy. These acts–feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing the naked, visiting the imprisoned, etc.–are concrete acts of love. It is easy enough for religious people to speak of love in an abstract manner, but to love means to will the good of the other. Therefore, it is dense, real, particular, something that shows up. And Heaven–that ultimate joy that we long for–is nothing other than love, love in the fullest possible sense, love without limit. Aquinas says that in Heaven, faith will fade away (since we will see God face to face) and hope will disappear (since we would have attained what we hoped for), but love will remain (since Heaven is love). So, when we love someone here below, in even the simplest way, we anticipate our return to the homeland, we stir our craving for Heaven. So, as we move into the spiritual space of John the Baptist, as we enter the season of Advent, we should pray, we should let go, and we should perform the works of mercy.

When Mary and Joseph took Jesus to Jerusalem to be presented, as prescribed by the law, they encountered Simeon and Anna in the temple. Simeon was a righteous and devout man who prayed daily for the Christ child to come. Anna, who worshiped day and night with fasting and prayer, was also waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem. They had both been waiting eagerly, day in and day out, for the coming of the Messiah. They prayed, fasted, and hoped. I wonder, at the end of the day, as each of them went to sleep, if they whispered to God: “The Christ child did not reveal Himself today as we hoped He would. But we will continue to pray and trust that it will happen.” I believe that they persevered in praying daily. If Anna and Simeon had grown so weary that they gave up praying, fasting, and hoping for the Christ child, they could have easily missed the Heavenly encounter. But they were faithful and continued to pray, trust, and hope each day. They listened to the Holy Spirit daily. Because of their faithfulness and willingness to be led by the Holy Spirit, when Mary and Joseph came into the temple with the Christ Child, they knew that He was the awaited Messiah. When my prayers seem to go unanswered, it is tempting to get discouraged. Faithful Simeon and Anna, help me to keep on going and never stop praying. It may be that my prayers will not be answered on this side of Heaven. However, if Simeon and Anna can trust, pray, and never give up hope, then I too will trust, pray, and hope.

Life can be full of unexpected twists and turns, but you can still hope for the best when you start doing this. Around this time of year, more than fifty-five years ago, there was a knock at the front door of our family home. We weren’t expecting anyone. My mother answered the door to find friends and co-workers heavily laden with boxes of food and toys for Christmas. It had been a challenging year for our family. My father became paralyzed that spring, my mother had to support the family, and money was scarce. These faceless strangers exuded joy and happiness at the prospect of making our Christmas a little merrier and my parents’ burden lighter. The memory is etched deeply in my mind. That experience of unexpected need, bewildering sorrow, catastrophic loss, and miraculous support helped form the person I have become. It is hard to understand the purpose of why something is happening in our lives. Christians are expected to believe and accept that through the joys and sorrows in life, God truly loves and cares for us. The old saying, ‘Offer it up,’ may rarely be spoken these days, but it was loud and clear growing up. My family lived this reality every day in our home. Nothing Special “Yet, O Lord, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You are our potter: we are all the work of Your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8) Imagine for a moment the lump of clay that I am. The Master Potter can see the potential in this pile of mud, a daughter and instrument for His purposes. To the untrained eye, perhaps one may imagine only a coffee cup or toothbrush holder, but to the Almighty, this lump has an indescribable purpose in His plan, both in history and time eternal. The dilemma is, the lump starts as nothing special, needing to be uniquely crafted for the work he/she will be called to do. The Potter is unconstrained and intentional. He is purposeful, thorough, and ingenious. He knows the storyline, the characters, and the situations in which He will insert His masterpiece into, to do His Will. He knows the circumstances that will properly form and prepare her for this work. Nothing is too small or inconsequential in her formation. She may wonder why her father had to suffer so much, why she had to grow up fast, and why her future would give her challenges both excellent and excruciating. She shed tears as she waited for children who were delayed in coming, thus learning to rely more on God and surrendering her expectations to His omnipotent care. The trials helped to polish her rough spots and taught her to yield to the Master’s touch. Every detail is essential, every encounter for His purposes and will. Each spin of the potter’s wheel and the gentle guiding caress of the Master’s hands provided what was needed to perfect her parts. Growth opportunities were prepared, as well as people to assist her along the way. Grace was flowing as He put everything into motion. Tried and Tested I look back and glimpse the reality of this in my life. God provided, equipped, and accompanied me in every circumstance and situation. It is mind-boggling to realize how attentive He has been all along the way. Some of the most painful experiences of my life ended up being the most beneficial. The fire of the kiln both hardens and refines, strengthening the object for its purpose. The pottery can also shatter more easily when dropped. This is not the end but a new beginning and purpose in God’s economy. Much like ‘kintsugi,’ the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using fine metals mixed in lacquer, God can remake us through the brokenness of life. I continue to grow and have been remade again and again. None of the hard lessons were inconsequential or bad luck. Rather, they helped develop me into a daughter who relies on God—trusting and surrendering without reserve. Yes, Lord, you continue to shape and form me, refining my heart and refreshing my soul. Thank you, Father, for not giving up on this lump of clay every time I yelled: “Stop, I can’t take it anymore.” You formed and knew me, tried and tested me, and have found me worthy, I pray. Take time today to reflect on how the potter has formed you, prepared and equipped you to do His good work in you and for His Glory. It is truly a beautiful thing to behold.

My dog enjoys going for walks, but he wants to be in control. He doesn’t pay attention to my cues. He doesn’t care where I want to go; instead, he goes wherever he wants to. I keep him on a short leash because he tends to chase after cars. If I allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he would get hurt. My dog is stubborn. He pulls and tugs with all his strength. He doesn’t understand that I am only trying to protect him. I wonder if I am as unyielding as my dog. The Lord guides me along the best pathway for my life. He advises and watches over me. Yet, sometimes, I am like a senseless animal that needs a bit and bridle to be kept in check. I feel I know what is best for me. I don’t want to wait for God’s timing. I want to chase my desires and follow my impulses. I am reluctant to stay calmly by God’s side and seek His will in all things. Lord, train me to yield to You. Teach me to trust that You know what is best although it may not be what I want. Help me want to please You more than anything else. May I enjoy walking by Your side faithfully and attentively as You lead me along the best pathway for my life.