A Floral Host of Witnesses

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us. 

Hebrews 12:1

I am grateful for this beautiful image given to us by the writer of the book of Hebrews.  A great cloud of faith heroes whose faith through all the trials of their lives witnesses to the immense and mysterious love and faithfulness of God, even when we don’t understand what is happening in our lives.  A great cloud of faith-filled men and women who are now watching and witnessing our lives from wherever they might be in the Great Beyond.  I see them somewhere in the heavenly bleachers, cheering us on as we’re down on the field, running the race of life and living out our days here on this good earth.  Supporting us.  Eager to see us do well.  Eager to see us shun the wrong and get things right.  To hold fast to our faith in God’s purpose and love in our lives and in the life of our world. 

As I take my daily walks through my neighborhood this spring, I’ve discovered another cloud of witnesses in these later years of my life.  The daffodils, the crocuses, the spring cherry trees, the tiny bluebells and the even tinier periwinkles.  The dogwood and magnolia trees, the lush Andromeda, the shy violets.  They greet me each day as I pass by, nodding their blossoms in the gentle spring breeze.  And as I return their greetings, I’m reminded of something that Carlo Carretto, an Italian priest who spent years in a North African desert, once said: “You must not believe it is only you who look at things; try to believe that things look at you.” 

These precious little flowers looking at me?  Cheering me on like that heavenly host?  Offering me the stories of their difficulties and endurance?  Whispering that I am not alone in this magical, mystical journey through my years?

I have come to see them, yes, in just that way, as witnesses to my life, cheering me on.  Reminding me of the wonder of the God of all creation, who called into life the Himalayas, the ocean, the tiny purple violets, and my tiny life.  They pour into my life the richness of their pinks and blues, their shining whites and yellows, the multiple shades of purple that all witness to a wondrous presence of joy at the core of all of life.  They witness to the faithfulness of the Creator who sustains life through icy winters and summer storms. They sing to me a sacred song of a holy God who yearns for us to live our lives according to God’s ways and to care for the exquisite beauty he called into life so many eons ago.  

Yes, like the heavenly cloud of witnesses beyond, these spring delights have become for me an earthly cloud of witnesses.  They both are such a gift!

To See the Other

When Jesus entered Peter’s house, he saw his mother-in-law lying in bed with a fever; he touched her hand, and the fever left her, and she got up and began to serve him. Matthew 8:14-15

(picture from “Catholic 365)

When I read this passage recently, I was struck by the two words “he saw.”  When I asked Peter’s mother-in-law about her experience with Jesus seeing her, she happily told me about it and then asked if she could tell her story on my blog.  But, of course!  The following is her story in her own words.

He saw me, St. Matthew records. When Jesus entered my son-in-law Peter’s house that day, he didn’t avert his eyes when he saw this aging old body stashed on a bed in the corner. I wasn’t a pretty sight, to be sure.  But Jesus saw me, and I want to add to Matthew’s narrative by saying that, when Jesus saw me, he didn’t just glance briefly at me.  He looked in such a way that I knew he really saw me.  Saw me as a person who was feverish and hurting and untidy, yes, but also saw me as a person with a rich life history, a person with hopes for wellness in body and in spirit, a person longing to continue to contribute and be of value to my world.

Matthew goes on to say that Jesus then came over and touched my hand, and that with that caring, powerful, healing touch, the fever left me, and I was able to get up and do what I had always done for years—serve my family and my guests. 

What Matthew may or may not have understood was that Jesus’ seeing of me was actually very much a part of my healing.  Day after day as I lay on that bed with people coming and going through our busy house,I sensed that those people only saw an old woman, “poor thing,” and I noticed how quickly they looked away.  But when Jesus looked at me, I felt a new wholeness, even in my sickness.  My spirits lifted.  My heart was warmed.  There was a healing in those eyes as they looked at me.  Yes, I still had a fever, but it wasn’t the only important thing about me.  Jesus’ recognition of me gave me a renewed sense of self-worth, a hope of greater wholeness, a peace and strength in remembering that I was more than my fever.

I tell you my story today, centuries after this blessed event, because I want to remind you that your seeing of others can be so very important to them, just as Jesus’ seeing was for me.  Knowing you see and value them can strengthen their self-esteem.  Can give them new hope in themselves.  Can enable them to know they are not forgotten by others and by God. 

I know.  It isn’t always easy to see “the other” who may be a difficult person or a person facing difficult times.  Your culture tends to venerate the beautiful, the successful, the productive.  To stash the rest away in some corner where they won’t be bothersome.  But I hope my story will encourage you to see more clearly the hurting among you: the sick, the homeless, the immigrant, the depressed teen who’s struggling with his identity, the single mother trying to make ends meet.  To see them for more than their labels.  To see them for the deep and rich mystery that they are.  You can’t solve all their problems.  You can’t heal all their ills.  You don’t have Jesus’ eyes, and your seeing will not have the power of the eyes that saw me, but I can assure you that your seeing others who are in need will help them feel a little more whole, will help them gain some new strength, will offer them a hope that is often so elusive. 

A final note.  Your seeing others may even help them (and may help you as well) to sense, even if at times in a rather imprecise and undefined way, that the Christ who saw me is also seeing them, seeing all of you, as Emil Brunner so beautifully says, “with the gaze of everlasting love” that gives them an “eternal dignity.”

Of Dammit Dolls and New Year’s Resolutions

      

   As a younger woman long ago, I always enjoyed making New Year’s Resolutions and looking forward to all the things I wanted to accomplish or “be” in the coming year.  I have long since given up the practice.  Primarily because resolutions eagerly made on January 1 were so often forgotten by January 26! 

          In my later years, I have found the practice of “daily resolutions” much more meaningful and helpful.  Sometimes these include resolutions to accomplish this or that task, but more often they are determinations and prayers to be more fully present in my life, in my world, and before God.  Daily Determinations and Prayers:

          –to be more fully present to whatever I am doing or to whomever I am with

          –to be filled with wonder at the mystery, glory, and joy of life, even in dark times

          –to breathe in Spirit’s steady stillness and calm in all of life’s ups and downs

          –to breathe in confidence in myself and trust in God’s loving, ever-present help

          –to practice compassion for myself and for others

          –to learn forgiveness for myself and for others

          –to accept graciously my limitations and live abundantly with them

          –to lean into gratitude for all that’s good in my little life and in our world

          As I open my laptop each morning, I take a few minutes to breathe in and pray these simple resolutions.  Has this practice made me a saint?  Hardly! And that’s where my little dammit doll comes into the story.  When I received this little doll as a gift, I initially used it to thump out my anger at something unpleasant in the news or something that had irritated me closer to home.  It relieved some tension, to be sure, and often helped me smile a bit at the sheer fun of whacking the poor little doll.

          I still use her in this way, but more recently my little dammit doll is also helping me with my daily resolutions.  Reminding me through the day of my morning determination and prayer and helping me, when I fail, to say “dammit, I didn’t quite make it here,” or “dammit, I failed badly again.”  In these times, I don’t whack myself with her (maybe I should!), but I simply let her wacky presence remind me of who I want to be, of how I want to live. 

          I think my little dammit doll smiles at me when I look at her and admit my failings, my slip-ups, my carelessness.   

          In these moments, I like to think she’s mirroring for me the smile of God.